Thursday, November 25, 2010

Black Friday Shoppers

Just a warning from my personal experience: Don't buy Kodak, or you will probably regret it like I do.

So disgusted with this company, it's not even funny. We purchased a $500 printer a few years ago, and it never worked properly. Would have been more adamant about getting it replaced if we hadn't been burnt out of our house at the time. Not that it would have mattered. I'd asked twice for them to take it in for repairs, but they just told me these things "happen" and would have to send me a new print head, free of charge.

Fine. I could print my homework in approximately 7-10 business days....

This issue was constant. If I did not use my printer for more than a week, I would need to replace the print head to get it up and running again. Major pain in the ass, if you ask me, but at least I didn't have to pay for it, right?

Well, conveniently, my printer is now out of waranty and they want me to pay for the print heads. Seriously??

Thanks a lot Kodak, you suck!!! Called customer support, they refused to transfer me to someone who could help, then the IT guy actually hung up on me.

Hmmm, will I ever trust your company again? What do you think?

Friday, July 30, 2010

What a pleasant surprise.

So I was sort of disappointed today when I logged in to check my e-mail and didn't see a message from this guy I've been talking to online. We've been e-mailing back and forth for a few days, and I've been wondering whether or not he was going to ask me out. My theory was that if he was interested he would, unless he was too interested and then he would have already asked me out? I overthink these things, but I like to understand where people are coming from and what they are thinking. Thusfar, I've been good at weeding out the people who just want to get into my pants. (All you in your 40s with your midlife crisis mobiles, yes you, I'm on to you)

Anyway, the messages from this particular guy have been slowing down, so I started thinking that I either bored him or scared him away. I logged in to the dating site to see what this other guy had written to me, and there it was: the guy I liked had asked me out. I just didn't get an e-mail alert because it had been sent too late.

So now the ritual freak out begins. What do I wear? What do I say? Do I really like him enough? Do I even want to go? I mean a booze cruise is hardly my idea of a good time--me and drunk people don't get a long. Plus I don't even know where it is, and I don't want to be driving around some place I don't know at night by myself. Maybe I'll pass and offer an alternative. Coffee. Yes. That plan is looking better and better every second.

Tuesday, July 27, 2010

I Got Digits

This expression is new to me, and slightly fantastic. Seems like all my weeding and pruning has finally paid off. My fingers are crossed because he seems really nice and smart and wonderful. Damn, I'm already in love with the guy, but what can I say? He has horses. 3 horses. Building his own house. Can alter a wii remote as a walking aid for blind people. Seriously? Am I jumping the gun too fast? He seems pretty darn perfect.

Here are the two problems I have: (1) I am taller than him, which for whatever reason makes things awkward for me. It's only 3 inches, and I'm sure it won't be a big deal, but I just always assumed the guy was supposed to be taller? (2) He won't, or hasn't, asked me out yet. He gave me his number, and told me to call him. I'm old fashioned, I want to be chased, damn it! Chase me!

Anyway, that is me just being extremely picky, and in comparison to the other people I've met, I can definitely deal with these "shortcomings."

I can't wait to see where this one goes!

Tuesday, June 29, 2010

Oh look, here comes the loser brigade! (REVISED)

I am so terrible, but those were my thoughts as I logged into my "Dating Page" and was bombarded with IMs. I am so vain it kills me, but I just don't see myself dating Mr. Starwars. I'm also contemplating if not being attracted to someone because of race is considered racist, but I think I've already blogged about that.

Regardless, I am talking to two Asians and a dweeb--the three of them message me every single time I log on. They always ask me how I am and what I look for in a man. Great. Am I overthinking this? Why does it matter what I look for? I just feel when someone asks you that, it is just because they are trying to be something they are not. Smokescreens and mirrors to be shattered years into a marriage after 5 kids and a dog named Pete. I actually used this analogy on one of the guys, and he argued with me:
(loser 1): that not true
(me) haha well i am cynical and i beg to differ
(loser 1) well in ur profile states u want get married and have 3 kids
(me) I was just being sarcastic
(loser 1) so what ideal date?
What a compelling argument!! You can see why he'd be a winner.

Anyway, I told Loesr 1 I didn't want to give him my name because I worked in the schools and didn't want my info to get out. So, he proceeds to ask me how long I've been a single teacher. Realizing I had just over-shared and created some sicko-fantasy in this guy's mind, I informed him that I was, in fact, a janitor. I was going to tell him my ideal date was to go to an extravagant restaurant with fine dining and a cello player, to see if he'd deliver (not that I'd ever meet him). Not the way the conversation turned. He started guessing local districts where I might work. Again, the brain screams," BLOCK HIM! BLOCK HIM NOW!!"

Moving on to asian guy.
(asian guy) how's your luck been here
(me) don't know yet, i've been sort of reluctant to give it a full shot; i take it you haven't had much ?
(asian guy) huh? what do you mean
(me) i take it you havent had much luck on the site?
(asian guy) oh yeah. I think it's easier for girls here?
(self) ha, right (and I think--oh yeah, I remember this guy now. the pity party, poor me, poor men)
(asian guy) what are you looking for here btw ((I HATE THIS FRICKING QUESTION))
(me- continuing the argument) i found out guys actually get free memberships to some dating services because there are so many girls and not enough guys. can you believe that?
(asian guy) oh I think you getit wrong. it's actually the other way around
(me, being humble yet fact-delivering)i don't know, that is what i've been told by a guy with a free subscription to
(asian guy) actually it's the girl in many case I guess
Compelling evidence, yet again. I can't argue with that. Now I'm a jerk. A big jerk. But I can't see myself with someone I'm not attracted to--especially if I can't stand talking to them. And I'm not talking about just a physical attraction, but an emotional and academic attraction too.

EXAMPLE: (Emotional attraction) when a guy tells you that he'd kill his parents if he had the chance, it sorta screams BLOCK HIM NOW!!!

EXAMPLE: (Academic attraction) The whole idiot-grammar thing really irritates the hell out of me. Not saying I'm perfect* I'm just saying I'm well-versed.

So maybe I'm picky, but I'm holding out for the full package. I have high standards now, thanks to my cousins. Homemakerman and even Mr. Jerk. Yep. That's right. You guys did me in. I cannot lower my expectations. I want a nice guy who can cook, clean, and spell. And so I continue to wonder who the first guy to break my heart will be.... I guess I keep thinking that if I study the game and learn the system it will help, but I sometimes wonder if I'm just prolonging the inevitable. Like everyone says, love is unpredictable.

Anyway, for now, tormenting these guys seems fun. One now, and for whatever reason, thinks I work for the FBI. I seriously don't know where this came from.

Edit: Yeah, that was pretty bad; actually I was missing two or three whole sentences. I think it's polished now. HaHa!

Thursday, May 27, 2010

My cousins hate me and only send me bad news.

I love my cousins, but I fear they only call me with bad news. It's actually gotten to the point where I look at my cell phone, see a message from them, and go, "Uhoh, they aren't coming."

This makes me sad.

They have yet to come up because of this "supposed" birch allergy (I've never heard of such a thing, so I think they mean to say, "Sorry, I don't like the way you stalk our children with your fancy camera and it's a little nervy to want to play with them 24/7 so we can zonk out on the couch or have some time to ourselves for a change.")

They were supposed to come up last weekend, and after lunch on Friday I looked at my phone to see the time: "One missed call from tumbelweed" At first I was excited, but then I thought about it.. "Why would they call me this early? They aren't supposed to be leaving until 3.... Oh no!" My heart fluttered with panic. "They aren't coming."

It was torture all day, because all day I'd been bragging about how I'd get to see my adorable niece and nephew, and hang out with my cousins, and play boardgames, and have intellectual conversations that don't seem to happen as much when they aren't around. I had to wait two whole hours to find out if I'd have a glum weekend.

It's ok, though. I would rather know in advance. It's easier to be disappointed from noon on than it is to go another few hours with the delusion of happiness. The fall is easier, I think. Think first story, rather than 24th floor, you know?

Anyway, it's ok, because they said they'd come up the 11th. But, as I am out on my way to my doctor's appointment I realize I have a text from Tumbelweed. This is highly unusual, because 1) tumbleweed does not text; and 2) Well... it is just weird because she doesn't text. Anyway, the message had been a reply to a picture I'd texted to her e-mail. So I read it over and it read, "I have bad news."

Ug!!! Why!!! No!!! A second bad-news call!!!

Again, I'd rather know in advance, because thinking they are coming for 2 weeks is more like a fall from the moon than a 24 story building. And I understand the point; if I had a chance to make some extra money, I would definitely keep working. I almost chaperoned a field trip, but got rejected because I wasn't a guy. Not entirely fair, but I wouldn't want to share a bunk with a lot of teenage boys.

Anyway, regardless. I feel bad posting this because I don't want to hurt any feelings, but I'm pretty bummed, and bored, so I needed to do something. I do wish they would call me with some good news, though!!!!

Love you guys!!!

Monday, May 24, 2010

The Snake Snack

I was officially labeled "food" today. It was quite interesting. Apparently I tasted good--so good that the class pet did not want to give me up.

It was around 8AM, and my student and I entered the classroom to find a substitute teacher. He was kind of cute, so I decided to show off by taking out the class pet, Monty, a California King Snake. Now, I've done this dozens of times throughout the year, so I didn't think twice when I opened his cage. The only time I got that wonderful, "this was a bad idea" feeling was when he lunged for my knuckle.

This was certainly not the sort of attention I had aimed to receive, so I wasn't quite sure how to react. He coiled around my hand, as if to crush the mouse he thought I was.

>>Remain Calm<< My head told me, and, surprisingly I did. Even as he encompassed my wrist with his death-grasp, I stayed cool, calm, and collective. I tried to pull him off, but he didn't want to let go. The most I could do was unwrap him and hope he'd give up.

"Uhm, I need a little help over here." I said softly; no one heard me. Everyone was on the other side of the room talking about the day's agenda. "Guys?" I called again; eventually they caught on. I was so embarrassed I stared at the ground, but I wish I could have seen their reactions--half of them feared the snake. No, more than half. Most of them feared the snake. All but 2, and me, the lunch meat.

A few of them came over to me, my student included. She took charge of the situation like a pro. "Could you call the nurse?" She asked the sub, and started squishing the snake's head hoping he'd release me. I didn't want him to get hurt, though. He squeezed tighter, too, irritated by our plans to interfere with his breakfast. Eventually the nurse was called, and everyone stood around me thoughtless. I felt my legs start to wobble a little, but laughed when the sub told me how calm I was.

Honestly, I thought the snake was never going to let go. He was hungry, and he had his little snake brain set on a nice, big, "hand-mouse." I knew his teeth were in me, and I didn't know they'd be removed. I was afraid they'd have to kill the snake. Then I got the genius idea to run my hand under the sink. The nurse showed up on my way over.

"He's still attached??" She said alarmed. Great. Another ophidophobic person.

I ran my hand under the sink, careful to make sure the water wasn't hot. Then I debated on turning the water hot. Then I decided my idea was stupid.

A student who'd run to talk to the snake owner said to put my hand under water and pry him off with a knife. I was sure I'd lose my finger then, but it's good the class had plastic silverware.

I put my hand under the water, the nurse got tongs and a knife. It worked like a charm, but felt weird as his fangs left me. I threw a paper towel over my injury and watched the snake angrily slither around the counter. My student still had his tail, the nurse still had the knife, but no one wanted to touch him! Upon his release, he'd tried snapping at me, or so I was told. I was just glad to have my hand back to myself. I told the nurse to hold his head down with the knife and I'd grab him. She looked at me like I was crazy. "You're going to touch him again?" She said surprised. I shrugged. No one else was going to. It wasn't a big deal either.

I grabbed him and my student and I put him, tail end, back into his tank. I was quick to put the top on, too, and clamp it into place. It was over, or so I thought. The nurse made me go to some ER clinic for precautionary reasons. Not a big deal except I absolutely HATE missing work. I also am not too keen on city driving, but my GPS saved my life. (Though it did want me to get on the freeway; hell no!) I made it back eventually, with antibiotics and a sore arm. They gave me a tetnus shot, also precautionary.

It was funny; the secretaries teased me and said they'd never seen a snake bite before. I felt horrible, too, because some guy came in with a hole in his skull; they made me switch rooms because they needed to stitch him up. I passed him on the way out; he had a napkin to the left of his skull. I had 4 fangmarks and a little bacteria.

Got lost trying to find the supermarket to fill my prescription. Found my way back to work eventually, and treated myself to Tim Horton's just because I deserved it!

This entire incident has been portrayed in two different ways, which I find interesting. The kids say I was completely freaked, and that my legs were wobbling. I'd say that was an exaggeration. They shook a little, but they only knew about it because I said so. And there wasn't as much blood and drama as they claimed. It was pretty hush hush, IMHO.

The other story describes me as a hero--they say I was so calm and cool with it--when they themselves would have screamed and flung it against the wall. I've been trying to cover for Monty's digression. Truth is, I feel bad for him. I think he's being evicted from his home because of this whole situation. They say they have to get rid of him, because he is a liability. I understand the point, but it's sad when "no pets [are] allowed."

Today is now Thursday and I have a check-in back over at the clinic. Feels like such a waste. Waste of gas, waste of time, waste of money. I'm fine. My finger is still attached, I haven't turned into a snake (though my colleagues now refer to me as Medusa). Maybe I should call and cancel? I don't know. I just know

I volunteered to help clean Monty's cage, and, of course, by "clean" I mean hold him for an hour and watch. It seems stupid, but I'm hoping that by showing that I am not afraid and that his little tirade was just an accident, people will get over the whole incident. They seem to think he is a rabid animal that needs to be put to sleep, when really he was just hungry.

I hate that they are taking away the class pet, and I hate that it is basically my fault. That's all I have to say.

Tuesday, May 18, 2010

Wow. A Part of Me Died Today.

I just got a text from my mom, via e-mail.

What it said shocked me.

"Crazy Woman" is the pseudonym I choose to use for my old neighbor, Crazy Woman.

Mom: Crazy Woman was murdered. (Text confirmed by NECN)

Before my sister was born, my parents bought a house on Lynn Street, in Everett. We bought the house from my aunt, who warned us that our neighbor was a bit screwy in the head--to put it mildly. It was a long time before we realized just what she meant. We lived beside her for 13 years. We did not part on good terms.

In fact, the year we moved away, as we were trying to sell the house, we noticed Crazywoman attempting to drain her pool into our basement!! Now, I don't say this to be petty, but I clearly remember her, every single year prior, draining the pool into Lynn Street. She had the hose, and even plumbing (I think) out to the front her her house. Yes, I think there was a white tube for draining her pool; but I remember the tidal wave of water splashing out to our street; except for when we were moving.

Fortunately, we had a good foundation, and caught her as she was doing it, but that just goes to show what kind of a person Crazywoman was. She was nuts. The kind of nuts that attacks your mom because your mom forgot to pick her up milk that night... I wish I was kidding, but I can still see the cops' lights flashing on our old, white house (which is now purple).

Crazy Woman was your typical, old, highly-religious grandma figure. (And I believe the more religious you are, the crazier you are!) To my knowledge, she had only two children. One was a big-wig beautician out in NYC--whom I never met but was told wanted nothing to do with her--the other, sadly, passed away from AIDs. I believe there was a third, whom died in a fire, but I never heard Crazywoman talk about her.

Kerry; I liked him. A lot. Not in the "I was attracted to him" sort of way--although the only image I have of him is wearing a speedo--Ha! I liked Kerry because he was so nice, and misunderstood. He was your stereotypical, super-sweet, gay guy. I don't remember him to be flamboyant, I just remember he was awesome. I can't even remember why. It depresses me that I didn't know he died, and I wish I could have known him better. All I remember of him is that I'd see him over the fence, and I'd jump up on to the metal fence to talk to him. (Crazywoman had a tall, wooden fence, and we had a short, metal fence; they lined up perfectly, and so I would always hop up onto ours, while hanging on to hers, and talk to them both. One time, I actually snapped off the point of her fence; must have been weakened by years of use. She was not happy, but I don't remember her being mad at me.

Crazy Woman was the kind of woman who most likely beat her dogs. We didn't talk to her for a year or two before we moved away, but I remember watching her out my bedroom window. Her on her hands and knees, gardening in her tight-purple spandex. Her second dog, Rainbow, went from a healthy, happy, pup to a cripple. Literally, I remember him in a diaper, dragging his back legs around the back yard. I wish to hell that I'd called the ASPCA, but I was young and didn't know better. Plus she was crazy. That isn't much of an excuse, though. Rainbow used to cry some nights; We think she locked him up in the bathroom. You never really know what goes on behind closed doors, though.

I remember, towards the end, I was afraid to go into my front yard. She was always there, always watching. For some reason, she went from loving gestures of "I Love You" to solid glares. Whenever my mom would walk by, she would curl her fingers to the side of her head to represent devil's horns. That's one of the last things I remember her saying to me, too. She told me my mother was the devil. Something along the lines of, "God help you, Spawn of Satan."

I remember bits and pieces of her house. You would enter, and there was a hutch to the right. She had gum there, and a bunch of crap that I never bothered to look at. Pictures, I think. Once she told me to get a piece of gum out of the drawer; I think it was a medium colored wood. I told her "no thanks" and she was insulted. She asked "Why not?" And I told her, honestly, I didn't want to eat old gum. I thought it had been there for years. Old ladies didn't chew gum--that was my logic, anyway. She was unimpressed.

To the left of the entrance was her living room. There was a sofa, I think? Light colored. I remember the carpet. I remember her Christmas displays took up the whole room. Big statues of Santa, and dolls. I think her tree went in there too. That room lead to her living room; there may have been a sofa in there too--I don't quite remember. I know she had a TV in there, because I remember her showing me her illegal set-up. She had a black-box, and some sort of contraption that allowed her to watch her living room tv on her kitchen TV. I remember playing with Rainbow in that livingroom. Scruffy little dog. When she first brought him home, he was amazed by his image in a mirror. It was hilarious. I think she had a computer desk there too; big and light colored. It's weird what you remember, sometimes.

Somewhere between there and the kitchen was a bathroom; I think it actually branched off of the kitchen, but I'm not sure. But picture a square, broken into 4 sections, and that was her house. the first block on the bottom right was the entrance, to the left was her living room, above it was the other living room, to the right of that was the kitchen, and back down is the entrance. Somewhere between the kitchen and the second living room was her bathroom. Regardless, I bring up the bathroom because of two particular memories. She bought a fancy sink, so fancy that I laughed and called it a bird bath. She was insulted, but it eventually turned to a game. "Bird bath, bird bath," I would harass her. She would retaliate by giving me raspberries on the neck, or back, embraced in a big hug. It was funny. The other memory, which I'm not entirely sure of, but hope is not true is that I remember her underwear. I had an odd flashback of someone washing her underwear in her sink, which is completely weird. I think I either watched her washing her underwear in the sink, or she had me wash them. Why I would do it is beyond me, but I was a pretty dense kid. If she told me I had to do it, I probably would have. Anyway, I have apparently repressed that memory, because I can't remember what really happened... Moving on.

That was Crazywoman; she could be really nice, and she could be senselessly nasty. I remember the stories of when she threatened a woman down the street with a knife; She hosed another one down in an argument. Her road rage almost got her thrown in jail (or it did get her thrown in jail, and she was bailed; I will probably never know the true story.) But she followed a woman home and tried beating her up because the woman had cut her off on the highway. This is the woman who brought me to church prior to my back surgery, and asked the church pray for me.

My aunt says she once spilled kitty litter on the sidewalk, and Crazy Woman retaliated by taking a bag of kitty litter, and shit, squirming with maggots, and dumped it on her front door. Knocking to ask my aunt how she liked the mess. My aunt retaliated by grabbing it and running it to the second floor of her home--tossing the bag out the window and into Crazywoman's pool.

The stories are endless. And so I am fascinated with this story. I wonder if that is normal? This was once my home, that was once my neighbor, that is my old house in the corner of the news articles. I sold lemonade in front of her house. I rode my bike around that corner. She came to my birthday parties. Took pictures of me when I went to my Jr. High Prom. She probably still has them!

I want to know what happened, exactly as it happened, and what's more is that I want to know who killed her. Was it random, as they says? Or did she finally push someone too far? Did she still remember me? Did she still take pity on me? Does she still have pictures of my family, or the old home videos she shot of us? Did she know I thought she was crazy? Did she know she was crazy?

I will never know. I hate not knowing.

Thursday, April 8, 2010

Peeve of the Day: RECYCLING!!!

Now that I've complained about audiobooks and toilet paper dispensers, I need to talk about recycling. It's great, don't get me wrong, but the "big man" who does it is a complete hypocrite. (Say what??)

Ok, I went to a small Catholic college in Maine, and one of my core classes was "Environmental Science." I learned lots of things like, anything white is bleached is bad for either you or the environment, or both. For instance. It is much safer for the environment if you use the brown toiletpaper and paper towels because the process in staining the supplies white is very bad. Yet, just about any public building (including my college) used white. This is how I learned about the hypocrisy's of the "big man."

Another example: Bottles and cans. EVERYONE recycles bottles; but what about #4 plastics and cans? Cans are usually recycled, but any other material is hardly worth the effort (after all, you don't get 5 cents for a can or a Dunkin Donut's cup! Why bother?

Do you know how many Dunkin Donuts cups I see in the classroom every day? At least 7 between the 3 classrooms I frequent. All that plastic is thrown in a landfill because it is not profitable to recycle.

So, yes, I had a huge grudge against my Environmental Science teacher in college. I have a huge beef with all schools in general, and I test the system every chance I get! Whenever I have a yogurt, or plastic cup--anything recyclable--I put it in the bottles' bin. I hope one day it will catch on....

Wednesday, April 7, 2010

Audio Books [Annoyance of the day]

My annoyance today is Audiobooks. They are great, really, unless they are CDs and you import them to a computer. Have you ever done this?

I have. I've imported a good number of CDs onto my student's computer, and I've come to the conclusion that whoever actually makes the CDs is either really stupid, or a monkey. I'm sure of this, really!

Most Audiobooks have about 5-10 CDS. And, when you import them into computers, you would think (with all the idiot-proof technology we have today) the importation would be idiot proof. But, sadly, you would be mistaking. The tracks of the CDs never really import in order. In fact, sometimes, they don't import the right at all! For instance, I was importing the book "Black Like Me" for my student; When I imported it on my computer, the tracks were labeled something like "The Speed Act of Seduction" (There was a jaw dropper!) So, iTunes doesn't always get it right; I'm not really sure who to blame, there. It might be Apple's fault for being a freaking control freak and wanting to download the CD's info from the web, rather than importing it from the CD. Or, it could be the publisher's fault for not burning the proper information on the CD in the first place (thus forcing iTunes to have to download track and titles). I don't know! But I do know this:

CD1: 1aa, 1ab,1ac, 1ad.... 1az--- 1ba, 1bb, 1bc, 1bd ... 1bz
CD2: 3a, 3b, 3c, 3d (note how the pattern changes)
It gets better! The tracks on CD 3 are EXACTLY THE SAME as CD3, making it impossible to sort by track title!!!

After that CDs 4 & 5 are quite similar, though distinguishable. Disk 6 is gospel music. If you listen to it, it's the same book, but the tracks are labeled:

1. Amazing Grace
2. Holy, Holy, Holy
3. What Yo Want
4. Now Thank Our God
5. A Mighty Fortress is Our God

I don't get it. Fortunately, I can usually sort the 215+ tracks by Album Title or Artist--but every book is different! Sometimes the titles are "Book Title CD 1" and two disks later it switches to "Book Title [Disc 04]" It is much easier to sort these than the actual tracks, though!

Summary of this annoyance is: Audio books on CD should be created by people; not monkeys.
The End.

Annoyance of the Day

My annoyance today is myself.

It's not technically "me," though. I'm just using "me" as an example.

My annoyance is really when people say something like, "Here I will post my daily annoyance." and then actually post once every two weeks. You can't say, "I'm going to post daily," and then not post every day. Anyway, I give up. Posting again soon, though. Maybe that will make up for my lie =(

Monday, March 29, 2010

Someone has stolen all the un-store-bought-cherries!!

I went shopping last night; it's my favorite past time.

Although, it was a whole lot more fun when I didn't need someone to do all my heavy-lifting for me. It sucks watching from the sidelines feeling completely useless. But, anyway, last night my sister and I went on a quest.

We had to get swiss cheese and cherries.

That's a winning combination right there, I tell ya. If you haven't had cherry-swiss you don't know what you're missing. I don't know what I'M missing because I've never had it either. In fact, I'm pretty sure NOBODY on earth knows what they are missing, because anyone who has tried it has probably died. I hope you all can tell I'm kidding by now, but I'm going to add this disclaimer anyway: Disclaimer: I am not responsible for any illness, sickness, or death that may result in anyone or anything's attempt to mix cherries and swiss cheese together. Eat at your own risk.

Ok, back on track: The cherries were actually for our ham. The swiss was for onion soup my mother made. The shopping was just for getting out of the house.

We went to Walmart, got our things, but could not find cherries! They had the lame, surefine brand of cherries that tasted awful. They were so bad last time we got them that I refused to put them on top of my ice cream sunday. Imagine, an ice cream sunday without a cherry on top--it's indecent!

Well, after we got all our things, I said "Let's go to Shaw's to get cherries." My sister put up a fuss and said we should just buy the surefine ones at walmart. I said, "No, you don't understand. Storebrand and surefine cherries suck. I want the real ones."

So I made her go over with me and we continued our quest for the cherries. We searched the store but only found Shaw-brand cherries. I rolled my eyes. "What are we going to do now?"

She didn't know, and I didn't know, so we debated for a minute. Then another minute. Then about an hour. Just kidding. But we eventually said, "The hell with it--Shaws cherries it is!"

I made my sister open them up on the ride home to taste them; She thought I was being a pain. An overly-anal, cherries-have-to-be-absolutely-perfect pain in the ass. But that pain in the ass was right. She had the cherry in her mouth for about 5 seconds before she started gagging on it. It was so disgusting that she had to use every ounce of her being just to swallow it. It was so bad that she wouldn't give me one to taste while I was driving. I had to pull over just to taste it--and she was right.

I can only describe the taste because I was unfortunate enough to have a pill start to dissolve on my tongue that very morning. It was the same taste, basically. Disgusting. Makes the other half of your tongue climb up your throat and your shoulders curl, disgusting.

So we stopped at a gas station. "Odd question, but do you have maraschino cherries?" That got the clerk to think.

"Yes, I actually think we do." She said bringing me to the back of the store. There she pointed to the bottom shelf, and there sat two kinds of cherries. White Swan and Mother's Maid. With everything I had been through, I didn't dare run the risk of picking the "wrong brand" so I bought both.

I made my sister try them, and they, for the record, were both delicious!

Thus, making the moral of the story: when it comes to cherries, don't skimp!

Thursday, March 25, 2010

Crappy Idea? [Peeve of the day]

I was sitting in the bathroom stall when I got the idea for this post.


Why do they put toilet paper holders, especially the covered-wagon type, so low to the ground? I mean, if they were any lower, they would be on the ground and unsanitary. Is there a reason for putting them at toilet-level? Besides torment?

My biggest peeve at the moment is those damn covered type. I guess they look more like a hot air balloon than a covered wagon, but you see what I mean. (and if you don't see what I mean, look left and catch on, ok?)

Why am I annoyed by these? Well, as mentioned before, they are hung too low in the stalls, so you have to do the reverse-limbo just to get your toilet paper. And, to further complicate matters, most toilet seats have pee all over them, so rather than do this sitting, you have to hover. )

Let's not forget that this gets worse! If you're not fortunate enough to find some paper dangling when you enter, that means you have to suspend your bend and spin the wheel 1-1,000 times before you find the start of the roll. Might as well be a game-show, with prizes; at least it would be worth the trouble: "Find the Toilet Paper-- win a car!"

Seriously, though, finding the start of the toilet paper is sometimes more difficult than finding the start of scotch tape. What's with that? Static? Or just a cleverly devised mechanism called "messing with people."

Another thing I dislike about these stupid contraptions is that occasionally, the restroom-keep will cruelly stuff in a roll of toilet paper that is too large for the holder. Has that ever happened to you? They cram it in there, so tight, that you need two hands and some sort of a lever to spin it (not to mention you are hunched over as far as you can go just to gain access to the damn thing). I have literally dug through 10-20 layers of toilet paper just to get some. The bathroom attendant must love me.

Tuesday, February 23, 2010

I bought perfume.

I think it is a big step for me, you know? Like a life changing experience.

Seriously, though, a lady at work sells Avon, and I recently bought perfume. Two bottles, actually. Go me!

I was sitting at my table flipping through the catalog when I discovered the "scratch and sniff" page. O0oh-La-La! Despite mockery by my student, I flipped and smelled each available fragrance until I found one that I really liked. "Windscape." It was advertised by a pretty lady in a blue dress, surrounded by a blue background--light and happy. Serene. Beautiful. Damn advertising.

The other scent I liked was for a guy, so I was happy to get away with an order under $30. Then, I found "Sassy." I liked Sassy too, though it smelled quite similar to Windscape. And it was on sale! Only $8!! Wow!! I am my father's daughter! I wound up buying that too.

Anyway, it was a very riveting thing for me. The only perfume I have is from my mother. She bought me a set for Christmas once, and I haven't worn it. 1) Because I work in a school and that would just be weird (and more than likely against school policy) 2) Because I have no social life or need to smell good. 3) I think it all smells gross!!!

But not this stuff; this stuff was pleasant. So I bought it with the wonderful fantasy of having a date sometime. That is part two of my plan: finding a date.

Bought my mom some eye-pencil sharpeners, because I think I broke her last one with a colored pencil.... Maybe it had been a crayon, I can't quite remember. I also bought some cute bath-paint-soap for my niece. Her birthday is coming, and I thought it would be awesome if she could paint her brother. Plus the scents were awesome! Coconut, Bubblegum, and Cotton Candy? Who wouldn't want to smell like food? And be painted on? Seriously?

Anyway, I get the order yesterday, and my sister reads the warning label. Leave it to her. (Granted, I thought about whether or not her parents would like putting "chemicals" on their kids, but it's Avon so it's got to be good, right?) Well, after the huge list of disclaimers, it alerts us that it is flammable and to keep kids away from fire. Which makes me wonder, what idiot started a fire in his bathtub to discover that this product was harmful in this way? Really? Isn't a bath at the opposite end of camp fires, grills, and... oh, candles I guess? For couples who want to have a nice, romantic night painting each other? That makes sense... I guess.... Moving on....

Further research (from also states that the product has given at least 2 people hives. What a great auntie I am!

Monday, February 15, 2010

My Dog Eats Raw Venison and His Cousin Licks Kitty Litter

So, yes. The above title is true--and all discovered this weekend when my cousins came for a visit...

Where to start? So much to say... I just don't know.

I guess the title is a great start. My dog --an 11 year old English Springer Spaniel-- eats raw venison. Literally. Bloody, nasty, guts and all, deer meat. Isn't that gross? Well, I can assure you that thought is not nearly as gross as actually catching him in the act-- and finding his white snout red with the obvious. GROSS!!

The deer washed ashore at least a day before my dog found it. It was Saturday when my mom woke me up to tell me that our 3 bald eagles were down by the beach. We didn't think much about it, as they have been seen hunting in the area on occasion. The last thing we suspected was them out scavenging deer parts yards from our front door. Anyway, later that day, after getting back from a walk with my dog, I noticed the carcass.

It was gross, but the eagle sighting made sense. It was still very disturbing, though. There was a huge hole in its gut and it's eyeballs were missing. Guts splayed out on the frozen ice. If that isn't bad enough, the next day, after all this, and after finding my dog and 2 of his buddies "digging in" the next day, we realized someone (or, actually some"thing") had run off with one of the poor thing's leg.

The whole thing is just gross, and we cannot get rid of it. We've called the game warden, the sheriff, and just about anyone else who is available over the weekend. No one wants to remove the deceased--except my mom. She wants to just bury it in the backyard, but I won't let her. I don't want her touching that thing. I don't want my dog touching it; I don't want her touching it. I just want animal control..

On a lighter note, his cousin, a 4 year old boxer, licks kitty litter. We discovered this when we crated her up for a day trip. How does a boxer eat kitty litter while crated? Long story, but the crate she was crated in was actually purchased for my cat. (Yes, I bought a large-breed dog crate for my cat--deal with it.) Unfortunately, my cat has an attitude problem, and when she gets angry with me she pees on things. In a desperate effort to keep my little, obnoxious, "brat-cat," I bought her a giant crate to create a condo. The idea was to crate her when we left the house--we constructed a resort for her to play in--complete with scratch post, food, drink, bed, and, of course, litterbox. Unfortunately, yet again, this doesn't work. When crated, she digs a hole in the center of the litterbox--spilling litter everywhere--and rests Moses-style in the center of the green box.

While the kitty condo is what kids today call an "Epic Fail," the idea behind it is great. It's a neat little place for the girls to do their business, and so it remains in the corner of my bedroom as an "accident deterrent." Where one litterbox fails the second seems to help--and now that you know that, you can understand why there might be a piece or two of kitty litter on the bottom of the crate.

Yes, even though I vacuumed 98% of the kitty litter up out of my room, a small percentage remained--at least until my cousins' dog came to help me with it. While locked up, she was apparently so distraught she needed to binge eat cat litter... And, you might ask, "What is better than that?" Well, how about the fact it took us nearly 10 minutes to figure out what smelled so awful once we got home (and where that awful smell came from)

So glad I could share this with you!!!!! Have a great night!

Sunday, January 24, 2010

Damned Philosophy!

Every now and then I catch myself in an ethical dilemma. Normally, it’s nothing much bigger than a simple, “Do I point out the fact that guy has food on his face, or let it go because I don’t want to embarrass him—although it’s embarrassing enough just because it’s freaking sloppy joe day in the cafĂ© and he looks like a savage beast.”

That, for the record, has never happened, and I’m actually not sure it even constitutes the title of “ethical dilemma.” But the point is that every now and then you find yourself in a position where you have to make a choice that has harsh consequences either way. Just like the situation I’m in now.

I have the blessing of knowing a guy who knows a guy who can save me quite a bit of money on this project I’m working on. I have a truck that needs a new muffler, along with some other work. Money is tight (where isn’t it, right?) and so it’s great to think I have an alternative to the sleazy, over-priced mechanics at the local shop. (Not saying they are all sleazy, or even that ours are, but if you had one conversation with my father, you’d be convinced the sky is falling, ya follow?) Anyway, I have a great alternative to auto-mechanics because, as mentioned, I know a guy who knows a guy, and then some. The only problem is: if I pay the guy who is known by the guy, there is a good chance my money will be will be used for something I don’t approve of. I’m not talking football tickets, or a rap concert either. I’m talking about some bad stuff which I really don’t want associated with my blog. So, the ethical dilemma ensues: do I turn my head and save a pretty penny, or do I stand on a very expensive principal and go with the mark-up mechanics? I just don’t know.

About a year ago, I could have cared less about what people did with their own money, and sometimes I still could care less. I also tend to believe you should take the high road no matter how treacherous, just because it is the right thing to do. But, here, I am stumped. I am afraid that if I stand on principal it will break the trust this person has with my family—quite possibly the only connection said individual has with the real world. Potentially driving him/her to do something stupid. Then the “hammer” in me says, “Screw that, (s)he makes his/her own choices, and if that’s what they do, so be it. It wouldn’t be your fault.” If this is the case, I should just hire this individual. But, a year was a long time ago, and a lot has changed since then.

This person has been through a lot, which isn’t an excuse, but it is still a consideration. So would an all-out confrontation of her/his problems be wise? The Hammer says it don’t matter, but the moral conscience says, “Tread gently on thin ice.” I’m pretty sure science says, “Smash the damn ice until there is no place else to go but back to land.” If those metaphors don’t make sense, I apologize. They fit in my head with everything I know about the matter.

After all, this person is here now because no one had the <3 to stand up and straighten them up beforehand. (Inside joke on the <3, but I think you can figure it out.) I can do nothing, and nothing can happen. I can do nothing and something can happen. I can do something and something can happen, AND I can do something and nothing can happen. I just don’t know what I should do… except stop watching lifetime. Those feel good, stand up for change movies do NOT help.

Sunday, January 17, 2010

It is weird to read.

This post serves as my quarterly report (sounded good in my head) to Tumbleweed, as I was given a very strict ultimatum. If I had not read, in completion, the book "Moon Called" by author Patricia Briggs, by February, she (my cousin) would not come visit me (in February) thus intentionally depriving me of my rights as an Auntie to her children. With that said, I am proud to report I am nearly halfway through the book, very much into the story, and will have it read by said date. (And knocking on wood that I don't jinx myself for saying that much)

I refuse to admit that I "like" the book, on principal. Even though I've already began pricing the second book of the series, I still maintain that I don't like to read because I'm a stubborn jerk (Hey! Give me a break! It runs in my family.)

I am interested in the story, as far fetched as it seems sometimes, it seems realistic to--in regards to the whole fantasy/werewolf theme. What I like the most is the sensibility behind Briggs werewolf-mentality, such as the references to wolves, packs, and Alpha's (My cousin, Mr. Jerk, is a dog trainer, so when I read about dominance, submission, eye contact and territorial disputes, I laugh and say, "That sounds plausible." {but I don't actually use the word plausible in my head; my brain isn't really as sophisticated as I sound on paper }) Anyway!

I like the main character because the cover says she's pretty, and I'm vain like that. Had a huge debate with my high school friends about "pretty people" but I can get into that later. Moving on, I found a few grammatical errors (not that I should talk) and I think the dialogue is pretty weird. I don't know what it is about book-people but they never talk like normal people do. They're always so formal and precise. It annoys me. This is why when Mercy doubts herself I feel like she is more human.

Well, like I said, it's weird reading. It is very different from reading a book for school--my brain doesn't know what to do with it. A part of me says, "Get the notebook, that might be on the test." and the next part says, "You idiot, there is no test, there is no book report, read faster! Think babies!) And then I read on, but worry I might forget who is who, and then debate on whether or not I should draw some sort of venn diagram.

I've noticed two things in reading, this book, though. Three, actually. The first is that I'm not as bad a reader as I thought. The second being it is very lonely to read, because I have no one to talk about the story with. (watching TV is easier that way because we're all on the same page *chuckle*) And the third would be I miss my cousins because I always feel so much more "intellectual" when they are around. Even if I can't win a game of taboo with either of them.


Words Unspoken

So, I started a new blog post, but it will never see the light of day. It makes me sad, because it had such potential, then I went off on a tangent about work. I suppose I could have edited it a bit, but when good words just come to you, I feel it is important to maintain their integrity. Hmm, that sounded better in my head. Like one time when I talked about a hotdog's integrity. Also sounded better in my head.

Random. Well, I have been gone for a while, and now I am back. I hope to stay back. I have several posts written out (Yes, that's right, in actual hand writing) but at the current moment I am too lazy to get up and retrieve them from my bag. I explained the reasons they were handwritten in my last post--the one you will never see-- sorry. Ha ha. Maybe one day I'll post it, and maybe one day I'll get those papers and type up what was written. Until then, I'm sitting on the couch and thinking about what I want for lunch.

Sunday, January 3, 2010

My Haywire Muse

My muse is like a lightbulb, flickering in a storm. It's almost on, but not quite. It's usually somewhere between working, being useful, and dead. Which is better than dead, I guess, but still as annoying.

I really wish there was an easier way to write. I need complete focus to get anything done now-a-days, and that's annoying too. Even when I have the time to sit down and get some writing done, I can't focus or get comfortable. Then I'll waste hours of time trying to channel my creativity into a single sentence, or idea, until I just give up.

I have been writing this one story for over a year. Over two years, really. I started, probably, around March of 2007, months after my house burned down. Since I lost virtually everything I'd ever owned or created, I was forced to start from scratch--which is had to do when you're broke, homeless, and a basketcase. (Though I think I held myself together well).

TV became a necessity to escape the stress. We had a show a night, and my favorite was Supernatural. I've always been a sci-fi buff, from X-Files, to Buffy, to Charmed, and then some, but it took me quite a while to get into Supernatural. I figured it was another knock-off, and refused to watch it--even as my younger sister drooled over Jensen Ackles. All her friends obsessed about this show, and I was convinced they were brainwashed.

Regardless, once the house was gone, I had nothing to watch on Thursday nights, so I started to watch Supernatural. It didn't take long for me to become addicted to the plot, the genre, or the characters. (More specifically, a single character played by the adorable Jared Padalecki)

Since my sister and I were still in school, one of the first things we replaced were our computers. (Homework comes first, you know!) Around that time, my sister's friend, who I shall refer to as Kidney, got us hooked on a virtual chat game. (Instead of the regular, old, text chat, you could create a character for your conversations and live in a 3-d world. Pretty nifty). Jokingly, I created a "Dean Winchester" character for my sister, and she created a "Sam Winchester" character. The game quickly morphed into a RPG game, and we would spend hours goofing off.

We had a reoccurring theme that "Dean was an evil SOB and he'd beat up Mariah for no apparent reason" I'm not sure why this was fun, but it was. We'd earn credits and give Dean this "Evil look" with glowing red eyes and fanged teeth. Mariah's articles included bruised skin and bloodied bandages. (Wow this actually sounds depressing on paper).

Regardless, we had fun, until school started picking up. One night, no one was online to chat with, and I had nothing to do, so I started writing it all down in story-format. The plot sucked, so I had to add to it, then twist it, then change it all together. It eventually made a few good pages (in my humble opinion) so I added more and more until I got to where I am today. 52,005 Words on 177 typed (12font) pages.

In my head, I have an additional 8 stories mapped out, not to mention countless spin-off plots. 2 Years, 1 Obsession, and it all boils down to me sitting here with writers block.

I need a life.

Saturday, January 2, 2010

I blew it.

It's 2010, and I actually thought I would be able to escape 2009 without being sick again.

I was wrong.

It happened just after 6PM, December 31st 2009. Yes, that is right. Just hours away from the new year, and my throat begins to itch. Only one side, of course, as I have a very unique tonsil problem. (Here is one of my infamous, 2-page side notes: I usually have tonsillitis on my right tonsil. It's unheard of, I know, and I only know this because the first time it happened my doctor rushed me to an Ear Nose & Throat Specialist because he thought I had an abscess on said tonsil. Granted, it wasn't actually my doctor, it was an intern or something, but it's needless to say I was freaked out. I thought I was going to die.

It had been a Friday, and I was supposed to have gone down to see my cousins that weekend. Needless to say, after that 911 visit, I don't think we made it. It's generally a bad idea to go visiting small children when you are getting sick. But, I can't remember more than that--oh wait.

When we realized that I wasn't dying, because the nice Dr. Man who STILL refuses to take out my tonsils bluntly, head-shakingly, said, "It's just an infection. Why did you come here? Who sent you here? And what was his name again?" we went for Chinese food feeling pretty stupid. The only reason I remember this is because the nice, deceitful, and totally unbiased Asian man told us it was "the best Chinese food in Maine," and that his food was "way better than our favorite Chinese food restaurant."

Well, he was biased, and he was lying, and he was nice. So nice we said we'd come back, although we never did. And never will. The lesson, though a hard one, was learned: never trust a restaurant who has double-pained glass windows with bullet holes in them. It's pretty creepy, even if it was only a few holes and they were potentially BB gun holes.

Regardless, I learned that night that his food sucks, there IS only ONE good Chinese food restaurant in Maine, and that I will forever be stuck with my one, stupid, defective tonsil. Seriously, I've been back to that "best ENT specialist" and he won't take my tonsils. He won't even take one! I can't even bribe him to take them. It's depressing.

Sidenote officially over. Where was I again? Oh right. My boogers. I've debated all day on posting about boogers, because honestly the thought of reading a blog about boogers makes me sick. But this isn't about me, now, is it? No, really, the only thing that changed my mind was a recent encounter with my niece and nephew, and there is just something about wiping up baby boogers that makes boogers less intimidating. So, I say to myself, I can do this. I can write about boogers.


Oh yeah, and if you are grossed out, like me, by this particular issue, skip to my next post NOW.

Boogers. They are nasty, and disgusting. I think mucus should be banned from the nose all together. Even when you're not sick you get that crusty, dry-nose shit in your nose, and it hurts. And what do you do? You can't pick your nose, because THAT is gross. But you have to breathe in pain? It doesn't seem fair.

Here I am, though. Two days in to 2010, and I'm already on my 3rd box of tissues. I can't stop blowing my nose, because I like breathing, and I strongly dislike the thought of not being able to do it. Even though I blow, and blow, and can't get anything out, I try because I just want to breathe again.

Have you ever seen a little kid with a runny nose? I see them all the time, and do you know what little kids do with those runny noses? Despite the fact they can't breathe from them? They take a nice, big, snuff in and swallow all that crap. Then they can breathe for a while, until it comes back, then they do it all again until their parents tell them, repeatedly, to blow their noses.

I, personally, remember doing this. I remember this vividly every single time I see a kid do it. It makes me shudder, because I can remember the salty taste, and I actually remember doing it. I'm sure you did too, even if you won't admit it. But that is why kids do it (1) because it vaguely reminds them of potato chips, and (2) because they don't know better.

I've learned better. In fact, I actually consider myself an expert nose-blower. (Not that you'd guess that by my current box-count). For instance, when you blow your nose, lifting up a nostril will allow more air-access, and it is far easier to blow a stuffy nose in a steamy shower than it is to blow on a tissue. I also know of this potentially-little-known thing I call (in my head) the raisin booger; the raisin booger is the best kind of booger, because if you get one of these, you can usually breathe for about an hour.

I actually discovered the raisin booger in the shower a long time ago. I was blowing my nose, in pure frustration, probably for hours, and it popped out. It was huge, lumpy, greenish-tinged-purple booger. It was so gross, and so huge, that I remember freaking out because I thought I broke my nose.

My mom always told me that if I blew both nostrils at once, I'd break my nose. (Yes, I used to try blowing both nostrils at once--how else does one become a professional nose-blower if one doesn't try absolutely everything possible?) So, yeah, I'm not sure if anyone else has these raisin-boogers, but they are the only good thing about being sick--like I said, if you get a hunk of raisin booger, you can usually breathe for about an hour. The only thing I'm not sure about is whether or not it's good to completely remove a raisin booger from it's habitat. Seriously, if you get all the mucus out of your nose, is that good or bad? Lately, as in this cold, I've been feeling like there has been a hole drilled into my nose. Raw nerve. Headache/eye ache sort of stuff. Maybe that's just sinus pressure. Maybe I've had too much cough syrup. Maybe I should just go to bed.

I just hope I haven't blown it and screwed up my nose. Ha. Pun, totally, intended.