Friday, August 04, 2006
It seems that old guys and lesbians like Mags…oh, and foreign men from countries you’ve never heard of before where dog meat is a delicacy and bathing is forbidden.
Yeah, I am a Goddess…
One old man in particular seems to have developed a crush on me. I first started noticing that I was the object of his affection when he stood by the copy machine when I was making copies-it appeared to most that he was simply waiting his turn while talking to me.
But when I was done, he’d leave the area without ever making a copy.
His adoration became more apparent when the fresh scent of Drakkar hit me as I entered the office. I work with a bunch of engineers who are quirky and boring all at the same time. They are quirky in how they act, but boring in how they dress and well, smell…
So the smell threw me off. It wasn’t until another engineer came over to tease me, telling me that he never wore cologne until I worked here.
Great. Thanks. Nice to know.
This man, just so you know, has hair, but is in the “I have less hair than I used to so I comb it over” group. Not bald, so I’m not afraid of him, but still, gross.
And apparently, his hair loss did not affect his chest. Or maybe it did, and he’s just been promoted to an even grosser level. But, as luck would have it, he wears his shirt unbuttoned just enough to “show off” his wiry mass of grey hair.
While leaning over my desk “making eyes” at me.
He’s made innuendos and openly flirted, and on my birthday card last week he wrote:
“I wish I was 30…”
Meaning, he wishes he was young enough for me to like him…
Poor little hairy old guy.
It seems though, that God is testing me. Knowing all of my pet peeves and “Ew-Gross” thoughts, I’ve been plopped smack dab in the middle of a Mags’ Freak Show Heaven or something.
Bald men with hairy chests, Snarfy men with massive amounts of nose hair, and let’s not forget “I’ve got half a skanky fingernail” guy…
And they are all the nicest people here…who come and talk to me on a daily basis. Maybe I’ll just start wearing my glasses everyday, and take them off when they round the corner…
A VERY HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY BLUE EYED-GETTING MARRIED SOON-CAPE MAY CAFE EATING-KNOWER OF RANDOM FACTS-OLD JUST LIKE ME-FLORIDA GIRL, FRIEND,
Thursday, August 03, 2006
Calibration of life can often be done by using a Magic 8 Ball. Before asking the ever important life altering questions, you must first test the M8B by asking it obvious Yes/No questions to see how in sync it is with you.
Today I started with:
Mags: “Do I have 6 toes?”
M8B: “Yes, Definitely.”
The error was in how I asked the ball the question, not in the answer. I do, in fact, have 6 toes-in fact, I have 10! I should have asked if I had 6 toes on one foot…
Because of the snafu, I had to ask another question:
Mags: “Do I have 11 toes?”
M8B: “My sources say no.”
Right! So onward I went…
Mags: “Will I ever like Salmon?”
M8B: “It is certain”
This may bring me great joy.
Mags: “Will the sun come out tomorrow?”
M8B: “My sources say no.”
(Let’s be honest-no weather source can be trusted!)
Mags: “Will my walkway come out right?”
M8B: “You may count on it.”
Mags: “Will my dream come true?”
M8B: “You may rely on it.”
(I am relying on it already)
Mags: “Will there be world peace?”
M8B: “Outlook not so good.”
Start building your bomb shelters!
Mags: “Will I live a long, happy life?
M8B: “Reply hazy, ask later.”
Mags: “Will the LOST get un-LOST?”
M8B: “Ask later.”
M8B is obviously friends with Ian & everyone else who’s mad at Greg for being a spoiler.
Mags: “Secret question”
M8B: “Signs point to yes.”
I knew it! I knew it! I, I, I knew it!
You, too, should take a few minutes to consult your Magic 8 Ball. If you do not have one, send me your question, and I’ll be happy to ask mine for you!
…you rummage through your clothes to find things you’ve bought but never worn (with tags on) so you can return them for $11.99 even though you may have paid $21.99. (No receipt)
…you do a mental inventory of your house logging the things you can sell for quick cash.
…you think about putting an ad out advertising yourself as a babysitter, even though you haven't done it since high school, and even though you're 30.
…2 words: Ramen Noodles.
…you take cold showers or baths with water warmed on your stove to avoid running out of oil.
…you eat as little as possible at home and hope that you get to taste lots of stuff at (culinary) school.
…you’ve eaten olives for dinner and a pickle for dessert.
…you wonder if the next time your phone hangs up on someone, if it’s because you didn’t pay the bill.
…you wonder if they *really* pay for blood donors.
…you contemplate becoming a Girl Scout leader for the cookie money.
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
A. If I fell off my bike and broke the smallest bone in my body, what specific part of my body did I probably land on?
B. Name the animal that produces milk that never curdles.
C. You are walking through a field, and you find something to eat. It doesn't have bones, and it doesn't have meat. You pick it up and put it into your pocket. You take it home and put it on a shelf, but 3 days later it walks away. What is it?
Being an admin assistant has opened my eyes to just how lazy people are. One lady walks to my desk to switch paperclip holders when hers is empty instead of walking to the supply cabinet to refill it herself. The cabinet is closer to her than it is for her to walk to my desk. Someone gave me a hand written note attached a memo asking me to please white out a comma. Writing the note took maybe 10 seconds (not to mention the walk to my desk-maybe another 30 seconds) but whiting out the comma-2 seconds. Pure laziness.
The snarfy man with massive amounts of nose hair is going to get held down and groomed. I can’t take it anymore. Especially because he’s one of the nicest people I work with and he insists on being very interested in my life and who I am. (Which I appreciate-really, but I sit lower than he stands, and my view is really gross).
They just don’t get it. I need work in order to work. In the meantime-I blog.
How is it going to be 104 today but feel like 115? (Yes, 115!!!!) I never understood that. If perception is reality, and it feels like 115, isn’t it 115? And how do they know what it “feels” like? Do they conduct random surveys with people on the street and ask “What temperature do you think it is RIGHT NOW?” “How about NOW?” and then compile the data and average it?
I am supposed to go dig up shrubs that are being given away by nice people in my capitol city. But it feels like it’s 115 out, and I hate dirt. It might not happen. (But they are FREE)
I’m debating getting a kitten again. It gets pretty lonely in my little house, and even though I can’t really afford food for myself, the kitty kompany might be fun again. It’s been a while (about 2 years) since I had to give up my kitties b/c of Lamie Jamie…besides, old people eat cat food all of the time, right? (JK)
Shit. Water money time. There goes another $3.
I was given about 40 scratch off tickets for my birthday and I won $3 and a free $2 ticket from the CT ones…when I went to cash them in, the guy just gave me $5. Is that weird? What if the ticket I was supposed to get was the $5 billion winner? I think I may have gotten jipped.
Oh boy, he comes Snarfalupagus again…
Scabs is back as a freshman. It is sort of funny to see him with other another class, especially when he's bossing them around.
It's sad to learn that you really were not on someone's "favorites" list.
We made 3 tarts yesterday...classic fruit, apple tartin (It's supposed to look mushy and brown like that-they are 1/2 apples caramelized with sugar and butter with a sweet dough baked on top) and a peanut butter and chocolate mouse tart.
You know you are poor when all you have in your fridge is margarita mix (which was gifted to you), cereal and cream cheese.
BUT, if you are going to be poor, it's good to be a culinary arts student-even if it means you'll be eating tarts for the next week...(Pasta and beef on Thursday though!)
It's amazing how a lack of money can make you feel like shit.
It's funny how certain sayings never leave your head...for me, I just said, "Go to sleep you weary hobo". Matt used to torture me with that song (I have NO idea what it is, so don't ask) b/c I hated it so much. He once set our computer up (Incognito-like) so that when you shut it down it sang that song. Funny-but also annoying.
I may not be a "clinical" insomniac, but at this point, I don't care. I am freakin' tired!
They don't teach this in culinary school, but they should: Plastic wrap 101. I am so lame when it comes to wrapping stuff!
I don't want to lie to my classmates, so I change the subject whenever they bring something up. If it comes to it, I'll lie until I can catch up.
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
2. If you had the chance to press a button and find out for sure whether or not God exists, would you take that risk, even if it meant that believers might find out there isn't one or that non-believers might find out that there is?
3. Are you more a believer of following the rules or more of a rules are made to be broken type of person?
1. If we're talking a little overweight, I'd take that option because I could still live a happy and active life. But if it was clinically obese to the point where I couldn't get out of bed, I would choose to be blind, because if all I could see were my bedroom walls and the tv, that would be a waste of sight anyway.
2. No. Part of having faith is believing in something even though you can't see it-you feel it-like the air. Pushing a button to find out if God exists would mean I don't truly believe, and I do.
3. Sadly, I'm a rule follower. I wish I could be a wild and crazy girl who lived on the edge, but I'm not. I stand in line, even when other people are cutting, I study for tests even though I am tired and pay for items even when they can be stolen.
Monday, July 31, 2006
My father, it was true, was one of the top salesmen in Connecticut. He had a talent for finding out what people really wanted and selling them one step above what they needed. He always had a job; mainly because he was a "functional drunk"-worked hard sober all day, drank hard all night.
His estimated arrival time from work should have been 6pm-that's if he didn't stop off at the bar first. If that was the case, we never knew when he'd be home-sometimes it was only an hour, other times I went to bed without even seeing him.
When he did come home early, my life was a crap shoot-I never knew which dad I was going to get. Mostly it was a moody one-someone who wanted to joke around and be nice, but who snapped when he didn't like a particular chuckle or look I gave him. I learned quickly to retreat to my room when I saw his headlights, pretending I had homework, or that I was tired.
He never hit me. Not even when I was bad. But sometimes, I wished he would. Sometimes, I thought it would hurt less.
At least then, I wouldn't have to feel guilty for hating my father.
Sunday, July 30, 2006
Sometimes, marching to your own beat doesn't get you to where you wanted to go.
And sometimes you wonder why you didn't see it then-why your music was so loud that it drowned out the sound of everyone else's, when in fact, together, the harmony would have been lovely.
I did things backwards. And now it feels like I am getting too old to do some of the things I missed. And now I'm too ingrained in my life. And there will always be an excuse, a lack of money, and I will always be the girl who jumped in.
Don't get me wrong. I'm glad I jump. I just wish the bugee cord snapped me up before I hit the water. And it would be nice to have people to jump with.
People I used to know jumped later. They took their time with things, enjoyed being young. I was too serious. I didn't take the time to develop friendships, learn about myself before getting married, live in a city and become a cool city girl who sips drinks and has deep conversations about life.
I never went to a free concert and sat on a blanket, or flew to the Caribbean with friends.
I feel like I'm always rebuilding, but the frame never stays put.
It's like a tornado comes along and in one fell swoop knocks every nail out, the wood crumbles, and all I have is the foundation. And I have to rebuild again. And just as I think that I can top the building off, and add the roof for shelter, the winds start up again.
And I have to rebuild.
When will the wind stop blowing? Surely, my house isn't made of straw...when will everything I try to rebuilt be strong enough to remain, even in the wind?
Big time. I want to go frolic in the sun today, sit on my deck with a non-school related book...but instead, I'm sorting junk in my 3rd bedroom, fretting over bills to be paid, and mowing a lawn...ick. But a new birthday cd does make it better.
Now, the reason for this post: These 2 stories...
Mel Gibson and John McCain
This is something that I have always hated about celebrities and the publicity they get...THEY ARE JUST PEOPLE!
Sure, they live sensational lives, eat at the best restaurants, and are generally prettier than the rest of us...but they are people, and they do "human" things, just like you and me...
Who cares about the fact that Mel Gibson got arrested for drunk driving? I don't. You shouldn't either, unless you are a family member or personal friend of his. If that's the case-yeah-get him back to AA-do you live in the same town as he does? Are you worried that he may smash into your car or hurt someone you love? No? Then move on.
Also-why do they always feel the need to post credentials about the star when they report bad stuff? "He killed 17 people in a drunken rage, but he won an Oscar for Braveheart" ...Ridiculous.
And the John McCain story...that, in particular bothers me. Because I'm sure that Mr. Karsmarski in Deluth and the Polaski family in Tarrytown (no thoughts on why I chose 2 Polish names) would love to have it known that their sons, too, have given themselves to fight for our country.
Just because McCain is a senator doesn't mean his son is more or less courageous than all of the other young men and women who devote themselves to the armed forces.
Show me a story about people nobody knows.
Show me an inspirational story about a celebrity who overcame a drug addiction and is using it to help others less fortunate or tell me John McCain's son opposes his view on the war and is protesting.
Those things are less predictable, and those things, I find, are more interesting.
...You dropped RUNGS by drinking that OJ sis...sorry!! ;)
(Confirmed-I'M the nicest sister)
It's weird not having someone in your life anymore, even though they really haven't been "in" your life for a while..you find yourself thinking, "So and so would TOTALLY think this was funny" or "They only person who will think this is cool is (ghost friend here)". But it's for the best.
Remote control cars are cool for about 5-10 minutes, depending on the cool ramps and tricks you make them do. After that? Annoying. The incessant buzzing noise that emanates from them makes you want to rip the eyeballs out of the operator and use them for mini speed bumps.
Getting cherry pitted really hurts. Yes really.
It melts my heart to know that my little cousin insisted on using her own money to buy me a birthday present all by herself. It's even more heartwarming to see her face light up when I opened the box...
Margaritas are not fun to drink alone.
I would have been there sooner, but I got stopped by a car full of clowns and they stole my car so I had to walk the rest of the way. You understand, right?
Grass grows WAY too fast. And flowers needing to be watered? I got no time for 'em...