tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-50888021994936111322024-03-08T13:00:54.215-08:00The Salt ShakerTAKE IT WITH A GRAIN!Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger79125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5088802199493611132.post-4699105290345182572018-03-03T07:49:00.004-08:002018-03-03T07:49:36.792-08:00Paying MyselfSo, I've learned a lot about my ADHD, and one of the most important things I've learned is that ADHDers have addictions. Usually drug and alcohol addictions that help to suppress anxiety and stress, but addiction can also manifest in the form of shopping problems. That I am guilty of.<br />
<br />
Luckily, I am on the verge of paying off some big credit card debt. It's piled up over the years, between the car accident, poor paying jobs, losing my decent-paying job, car repairs, adulting bills, and a joyful, semi-indulgent lifestyle, but I'm excited to get my tax return and be almost-debt-free for the first time since I was rear-ended in 2009.<br />
<br />
Another problem ADHDers have is trouble with memory circuits and interruptions. In the book I read by Dr. Hallowell, I sympathized with Sarah, who said, <i>"It's been so many years living like this, thinking I'm stupid, but knowing I'm not."</i> Sarah shared a list of things of her irritating symptoms with Dr. Hallowell, including this story:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>"Someone left (a cough drop) on the dashboard of our car. The other day I saw the cough drop and thought, I'll have to throw that away. When I arrived at my first stop, I forgot to take the cough drop to a trash can. When I got back into the car, I saw it and thought, I'll throw it away at the gas station. The gas station came and went and I hadn't thrown it away. Well, the whole day went like that, the cough drop sitting on the dashboard. When I got home, I thought, I'll take it inside with me and throw it out. IN the time it took me to open the car door, I forgot about the cough drop. It was there to greet me when I got in the car the next morning. (My husband) was with me. I looked at the cough drop and burst into tears. (He) asked me why I was crying and I told him it was because of the cough drop. He thought I was losing my mind. 'But you don't understand,' I said, 'My whole life is like that. I see something that I mean to do and then I don't do it. It's not only trivial things like the cough drop; it's big things too' that's why I cried."</i><i><br /></i>--<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Driven-Distraction-Revised-Recognizing-Attention-ebook/dp/B005GFII62/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1520090019&sr=8-1&keywords=adhd+driven+to+distraction" target="_blank">Driven to Distraction</a> (2011)</blockquote>
<br />
I'm the same way. I forget to close cabinets, do my laundry, dry my laundry when I remember to wash it, fold my laundry when I remember to dry it, and so forth. It's embarrassing, but I can get so hyper-focused on a task that I forget about eating.<br />
<br />
I tried medication for a while, and that really helped me slow down life so that I could function. During that time, I managed to get in the habit of some good routines, but I did eventually stop the medication after I was bullied out of my job. I was an emotional wreck and I needed sleep. I was depressed and miserable after a year of torment and abuse. I also needed to detach from life.<br />
<br />
My ADHD diagnosis was something I struggled with emotionally. I'd only come to recognize the symptoms in myself after I'd begun teaching. This is true for many ADHDers--when life's demands increase, the deficit begins to show--and I was lucky to have been working with diagnosed children at the time, because that allowed me to recognize the symptoms in myself.<br />
<br />
I had to fight to get a diagnosis--my old PCP refused to treat me and told me it was depression--but I wasn't depressed. I absolutely LOVED my job. I LOVED working with kids. I just had a hard time prioritizing, and I couldn't stay organized to save my life. I'd put a piece of paper down, and I wouldn't be able to find it for hours. I'd catch myself walking circles in my classroom late into the evening. My brain would say: "Go make these photo copies. Oh wait, you need those things photocopied too! Go get those to save time. Oh wait! Why are there crayons all over the floor? You have to pick up these crayons. Oh, why is my stapler here? Go put it on the desk. Oh wait, you forgot to clean your desk. Clean your desk. Oh wait, you didn't make your copies!! Where did I put them. Go look for your copies!! Okay.... wait, what was I looking for??"<br />
<br />
That isn't depression, that is ADHD, and I was so lucky to have a young boy in my class that year whose mother was a doctor. She advocated for him, and even though I didn't see it at the time--she was patient with me, and that patience ultimately led to a self-realization that I never imagined. I, without a doubt, had ADHD.<br />
<br />
After changing doctors, I was eventually referred to a specialist who confirmed what I had suspected. With my newly confirmed diagnosis, I became so mad and frustrated with myself. "No, you are just lazy. Stop being Lazy. Just do what you need to do."<br />
<br />
That didn't help, and I eventually caved and began taking medication. Medication helped, but so did counseling and the support I received from my doctors. But I know medication isn't a cure-all. Medication helps slow my brain down so that I can make better choices in the moment. So that I can listen to the voice inside my head that says: you need to do this. Medication helped me develop a level of autonomy I didn't know existed.<br />
<br />
With all that said, I'm not on it as of right now--though I do think about going back to it. However, I've realized that some of the expectations of my former work environment were not humanly possible and that the toxic climate of my old school was one that really exacerbated my disability. Now that I am in a functional work environment, I am better-able to use my passion and love of teaching to drive my organizational deficits. Granted, I'm still not perfect, but no one is. Maybe when I get back to teaching, I'll give the medication a second go--but for now, I'm content with being me.<br />
<br />
<b>Paying Myself</b><br />
At home, however, I'm struggling a bit. I keep forgetting to do my laundry, and my room hasn't been "clean" a day in my entire life (though it is marginally better than it has been at any other point in my life). I forget to bring my clothes upstairs to my room, and they sit on the stairs. I lose paperwork, and I'm really not where I should be for this point of my life. So, I've decided to give myself an allowance (and hopefully curb my impulsive spending habits; two birds, one stone, right?)<br />
<br />
So far, it is kind of working. Because I'm still on a small income, I'm treating myself like a child. $1 per task, with an occasional bonus for bigger tasks. (If I fix my resume, I'll get a whole $10, by golly!) It's stuff I need to do anyway, but I'm just too overwhelmed internally to do it. I'm also punishing myself by taking money away--especially if I eat too much junk food in a day. (Damn Captain Crunch cost me 25 cents!) I've been really honest with myself about things, and I'm so far enjoying that--it's really helping my slow down and focus on my priorities.<br />
<br />
I've earned:<br />
$1 for cleaning up my room<br />
$1 for unpacking my suitcase<br />
$1 for helping around the hosue<br />
$1 adulting with the insurance companies and getting my refund from groupon (phone calls stress me otu)<br />
<br />
I've also lost $7 for an impulsive purchase I made for water shoes. I deliberated this punishment for a while, and decided it really wasn't something I needed.<br />
<br />
4-7= -$3<br />
<br />
Which I earned back, mostly.<br />
$1 for walking the dog when I felt too tired to<br />
$1 for spending more time organizing my room<br />
$.25 for picking up dog poop I was tempted to leave to pick up tomorrow<br />
$1 for cleaning up after the cats.<br />
$.25 for starting to pack for next weekend<br />
<br />
Right now, I've got a whopping 50 cents to spend!<br />
<br />
It sounds silly, but I have to start somewhere, right?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5088802199493611132.post-91207262189984012732018-03-03T06:47:00.003-08:002018-03-03T06:47:47.754-08:00Hello Again; The story of PriaI have been meaning to blog. So much has been changing in my life, and I'll never remember it all. Since my last post, I've started teaching, had a rock-star 2 years, was diagnosed with ADHD, bullied out of my job, just about hit rock bottom emotionally, and have been slowly building myself back up.<br />
<br />
The ADHD is tough, and so I have started an experiment with myself. It's based on what I do with my students, whom also needed a little extra motivation. So far it has been helpful.<br />
<br />
Anyway, I am currently working in my dream-district and hoping to be teaching there next year. I love my job and I'm so happy to be back in a positive work environment. Looking back over my experiences, I have to say that 3/4 districts I've worked in have been dysfunctional for one reason or another. It's truly scary. But more on that later.<br />
<br />
My family has two dogs. It's weird to think of because I can still remember a time in my life where I wanted ONE dog so desperately, and when I got him he was a handful. Even though I wanted more, I never actually pictured having two of them. One had been a handful, though, and as loving and intelligent as our dog was, he was sure a pain in the ass! He would do whatever he wanted, constantly get into trouble --eating candy or whatever he could sniff out-- run away after deer for hours at a time, listen selectively, and he was occasionally difficult/aggressive with other dogs.<br />
<br />
After my first dog, Lucky, died at age 14, my mother swore we would never get another dog. About a year or two later, I started having an itch to get another. I'll admit that I'd been a bad dog owner before, and that was partially due to being young and ignorant. I'll even admit that my cousin, whom I now haven't spoken to in years, was a big factor in my decision to get another dog. I watched him raise his police dog, Marco, and I learned so much about dogs in doing so. I didn't just want another dog, I wanted an amazing dog. One that could do tricks, be taken places without stress, one that wouldn't run away, and--most importantly--one that would listen.<br />
<br />
Flash forward to me and my sister waking up at 6AM and driving over to Lewiston in our old Saturn, with no heat, on a cold winter morning to be first in line at the Androscoggin Humane Society. There was this adorable little puppy up for adoption. I was going to call her Pheobe, and she was going to be amazing.<br />
<br />
After waiting in the freezing car (our heater didn't/still doesn't) work, we were first in line. Unfortunately, the lady who gave out the tickets that morning gave us ticket #2. They'd given the first ticket to another lady, who'd curiously looked in the window and pointed to a staffer--now I know she was pointing to one of her friends. They'd had an inside connection, and they stole the puppy I wanted right from under my nose. Something I'll never forgive any of them for.<br />
<br />
We left without a puppy, devastated.<br />
<br />
Then maybe a month later, we found a website--Molly's Moments. They were a rescue organization that was saving a litter of Australian Shepherds-mix puppies from South Carolina. I fell in love with a little boy named Jensen, but his adoption was already pending. So I wanted a beautiful tri-girl named Julia, I think. She was also pending adoption. My third choice was a tie--There were two pups left--one Jessa and one Jenna. They were both cute, and the only notable difference between their doberman coloring was that Jessa had more brown on her face, and Jenna had more black.<br />
<br />
After much deliberation, I put in a request to adopt Jessa.<br />
<br />
The original transport fell through because they puppies tested positive for a parasite, and so about a month went by before they were deemed healthy enough to make the huge trip. My sister and I volunteered to assist with the last leg of the transport. As we were waiting in Portland, we received news that one of the girls had to stay behind because she was ill. We spent about 2 hours fearing it was Jessa not arriving that night, and when we were assured Jessa was still on her way, we spent a whole week worrying if there had been some mixup.<br />
<br />
The puppies arrived in Portland, and we loaded them into my mom's Ford Explorer. They were scared, and I really wish we had taken more time to admire them, but they were loaded in and we were on our way to Bryant Pond, to deliver them. Out-of-state rescue dogs must undergo a week of quarantine when they arrive in Maine, so that was truly agonizing. I remember when we arrived at the shelter, the woman's son picked up Pria and put her in my arms. I never wanted to let her go. She was so tiny, with long legs and a beautiful coat. It was so late that we didn't want to keep the woman up late, so we left rather quickly, but not before snapping a few shots with our cell phones-- I wish we had taken more.<br />
<br />
All week, I kept waiting for a call: "Amanda? Sorry, there was a mixup and Jessa didn't make it up. Your puppy will be here ____ and after a week you can pick her up?"<br />
<br />
That call never came. If memory serves, we were supposed to pick her up on the 8th of March. It was a Saturday. Something happened, though, and if we didn't get her sooner, we wouldn't be able to get her until later, so the woman agreed to meet me at Food City after work on Friday, the 7th. I was so excited I asked my boss if I could leave early (this was back when she liked me) and went to get my puppy. This was another time I wish I'd savored the moment more, but I was bursting with new-mom jitters that I didn't. She also didn't come with a collar, so Heather showed me how to use a leash as a make-shift harness and I was so worried about the traffic on 302 that I quickly put her in the crate in the back of my mom's truck. I was determined to do right by her, and that meant crate training.<br />
<br />
I was so full of new-mom jitters, that I'd forgotten to tell my mom and sister that I was picking her up an hour earlier than planned. As I was driving home with a traumatized, crying puppy, they were on their way to meet us. When my mother called to see where we were, and heard the puppy crying in the back, she internally cringed, and later shared that cringe with me repeatedly. "What did I say yes to?" she'd admit. She thought this puppy would be obnoxious and horrible.<br />
<br />
I got home and took a quick selfie with her outside of the car before bringing her inside.We'd set up a small area in the kitchen for her and put on her beautiful collar that my mom had bought her at the Goodwill--black leather with colorful glass beads. She was perfect.<br />
<br />
It took my mother a whole hour to say, "I love you" which I still tease her about today. And even though I can still remember the exact moment (and location I was at when) I picked the name, Pria, my mother spent a year trying to get me to change it to Breeya.<br />
<br />
That is the story of how I got the most incredible puppy ever.<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5088802199493611132.post-75392055453814129152016-07-04T19:29:00.001-07:002016-07-04T19:29:20.610-07:00Back from falling off the face of the EarthWater splashes on the rocks behind me, as I lounge in a recliner on the dock. The sky is black, littered with stars... Ok, that is an exaggeration. The stars are scarce, and the fireworks that once colored the horizon are now dwindling. Mars stares back at me-- a tiny, red marble in the sky. Jupiter is to my left, with a slightly yellow hue.<div><br></div><div>Across the darkened lake, a myriad of colored lights from boats and houses disturb the blackness that would otherwise be lost to a great emptiness. It is like sitting at the end of the world. Even though I have seen what is out there, from this space and time, it is nothing.</div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5088802199493611132.post-343132203867669602013-01-20T10:20:00.001-08:002013-01-20T10:20:31.914-08:00Ask and Ye Shall ReceiveSlightly annoyed with my family right now. I sometimes feel like I'm the only person aware of the happenings in this household. Of course, I'm being melodramatic, because honestly I don't really give a flying flip, but it just goes to show how things are run here.<br />
<br />
Example: The printers in our house have been broken for about two months now. When I first noticed this, and became frustrated with this, nobody gave a shit. I was talking to myself. And so, I gave up, because no one else seemed to care about the printers, so why should I? I could always print from work.<br />
<br />
Now the tables have turned. My sister is back in college, sure. She needs to print. Sure. But instead of asking me to help her with this issue, she has a secret pow-wow with my mother in which she complains that the printers don't work.<br />
<br />
I actually hadn't even noticed the printer had been relocated, until my mother asked why it wasn't working. "Why isn't the printer working?" She asks me out of the blue this morning.<br />
<br />
"I don't know, I told you guys that it wasn't working months ago." I reply.<br />
<br />
"Oh, well if you get a chance, your sister needs you to help her fix it."<br />
<br />
Um... Can she not ask me herself? She's currently upstairs playing her guitar, so excuse me if I don't want to stop everything I'm doing to go fix a printer. Yes, I'm doing stuff too. Reading for work & attempting to write a book, but, yes, let me drop everything to work on your problem!<br />
<br />
Not.<br />
<br />
I'm a bitch that way, I guess. But if she isn't going to ask me herself, and she needs to get mom to ask me, I find that insulting. Truth is, she probably just made one subtle off-comment about the printer not working, and my mom being who she is takes the driver's seat on the issue and starts hounding me about the matter. Except she doesn't come out and hound me as much as she does so covertly.<br />
<br />
As I'm sitting down, deep in thought she comes out and says, "Well, what does the printer cable look like?"<br />
or, "I guess I'm going to go downstairs and look for the printer cable."<br />
<br />
Seriously? Can you not let your 21 year old daughter fix her own damn problems? Why is it your job?<br />
<br />
I suppose I'm just being hyper-analytical after our last big blow-out. It happened the same as last time. I wake up on a Saturday morning, and after a week's worth of work, I am mentally and physically exhausted. I choose to lay around and relax and this notion is supported. "It is ok if you take it easy, honey, you work hard all week." She says.<br />
<br />
In her head, she feels I'm a lazy, useless, individual that doesn't do shit.<br />
<br />
So I relax, read, check my facebook, and lounge around. But around 9AM, the questions begin. "Aren't you going to go to the post office? Don't you have some deposits to make?"<br />
<br />
No, if I cared about the flipping post office, I would go. My mail will still be there Monday, I really don't care. If I had something to deposit, I would have done it Friday. Really don't care either, because it isn't like I'm overdrawing my account or anything. Everything can wait until next week--this is my veg-time.<br />
<br />
Ok, so mother gets all huffy and decides she cannot wait and goes out to the post office, then she gets back from doing that and becomes irritated that I haven't cleaned this or that. So rather than say rationally walking away and finding something else to do, she either does it herself or starts getting passive aggressive about it. Yesterday she told me I should clean my bathroom, which, I had already cleaned three days earlier.<br />
<br />
"Oh. I didn't know that."<br />
<br />
Well, why did you think I should clean it then?<br />
<br />
So she cleaned up the frying pans and dishes from the breakfast I had made. She didn't care about that, though, because it was nice of me to make breakfast and that was her way of helping. And she cleaned the entire bathroom, because it was stinky from the dog. And the next thing I knew I was the worst scum this planet had ever seen, because I was just "relaxing" while she was killing herself cleaning.<br />
<br />
???????<br />
<br />
Ask for help, you'll get it. I might not drop everything I'm doing to come running and help, but seriously!<br />
<br />
I know I'm not perfect, and that I can be lazy, but I don't take my shit out on other people. I don't think I do, anyway. Maybe I do? I don't know, but I'm getting sick and tired of being on the receiving end of people's shit.<br />
<br />
The other day I came home from work and Sister was listening to music. Normally I do like to have a few minutes of quiet time when I walk in from work, but this has been a bone of contention for her, so I let it slide. I made one silly joke about the song she was listening to and she jumped right down my throat. What did I say?<br />
<br />
"Oh, this might actually be a pretty song if it didn't sound like he was singing, OH Mamamamama to his mom.It's a little creepy."<br />
<br />
Well, boy did I hear it after that! So much for lightening the mood with humor!<br />
<br />
Then, when she pulled a bunch of burnt tortilla chips out of the oven, I tried one and immediately inherited the batch. I actually got scolded for attempting to try a not-burnt one from the second batch, "You already picked your serving!" She tells me.<br />
<br />
I did? I thought I was just trying one, I didn't realize it was an eternal commitment--otherwise I would have waited for a better batch of chips. When I asked to trade a few burnt ones for a few not, I was considered rude for not asking the right way. Apparently my request was too one-sided, and it wasn't fair for mom to get burnt chips... Uhmmm ok?<br />
<br />
So they ask me how my day went at work, and when I explain, I'm lectured about how "unclear" my description was, and that I confused them and that I needed to speak more clearly. I got crap about the vegetables I brought home, because I didn't put them away BEFORE I started searching for cough syrup. (Oh, yes, I was sick as a dog, couldn't breathe or talk, or think) I got crap about the whipped cream I didn't put in the fridge (that they left on the counter, so I assumed they wanted it out for their own strawberry shortcakes) And I got crap for not drying the dishes, even though they told me not to because I was all germy.<br />
<br />
Umm? #@(*&@#*!(&<br />
<br />
Are you shitting me?<br />
<br />
Every single thing I said or did was nitpicked into a negative conversation, and finally I just said fuck it and went upstairs to take a shower.<br />
<br />
I might be lazy, I might be forgetful, but at least I'm not intentionally bitchy.<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5088802199493611132.post-3995239400861683512012-06-17T10:15:00.000-07:002012-06-17T10:15:03.298-07:00Dear Officer, What Did I Do???I am always wary of public-postings of my run-ins with the law. They are few, harmless, and quite frankly, hilarious, but as a teacher I have a reputation to uphold, and the way things are so easily misconstrued on the interweb, well... I'd rather just not.<br />
<br />
However, this blog is a reminder to take things with a grain of salt, so here is the story about my rebellious behaviors.<br />
<br />
Today is Father's Day, 2012, and last night my sister and I went to a concert. Jukebox the Ghost. I'd never heard of them, but my sister really loves them and wanted to go, and despite the fact I'd spent the day hacking up a lung with my cold/flu/sinus whatever, I had promised her months earlier that we would go together, so I chose to suck it up and go.<br />
<br />
The first crew was pretty amazing. I had no idea what they were singing about, but they were culturally diverse and very talented. The guy with dreadlocks played the trombone and guitar. The lead vocalist played base, trumpet, could whistle, and I'm sure he had a handful of other talents incorporated into all of their songs. It was pretty cool to watch them play all the parts. They were called Bright Moments, if you're into that stuff.<br />
<br />
The next group also had a great sound, though they stuck to the basics. They also played so loud that I couldn't understand a word they sang, but you could tell they were very charismatic. Unfortunately, the more my mind struggled to understand their lyrics, the more it wandered, and I was soon off in my own little world. I wondered if the two lead singers were involved romantically--maybe they were married, or in love like Johnny and June. Or maybe the geeky looking guy that reminded me of Reid from Criminal Minds was secretly in love with the girl, and was hoping to save her from falling in love with the other guy, because he seemed very cocky and arrogant, even if that was just his stage face. As you can see, my mind should not be left idle. I tend to overthink and create crazy scenarios in my brain.<br />
<br />
Well, after plotting out the band's entire future, I decided I didn't quite care for them, which was slightly disappointing considering I really liked the music. I also made a mental note to check them out online, if I could remember their name--I really couldn't understand that either. It sounded French, and the venue was very loud. I'm sure I'd see it somewhere before I left, though. Regardless, I found them resembling certain people I've met throughout the years and will not loose sleep if I never see them again.<br />
<br />
The third band was very good, obviously--being the main attraction and all. My mind still wandered, though, as I started imagining what their lives were like off-stage. What were they like? Did they have girlfriends? Kids? Were they nice people, or did they have star-complexes? Which lead me to thinking I should write a book about a traveling band, only to realize I know absolutely nothing about bands or music. I'm so lame that way. In fact, as we waited for the bands to set up, my sister mocked me for my inability to do a schoolyard trick that involves locking your hands together and wiggling your middle fingers about. Seriously, what kind of trick is that? Don't we frown upon the middle finger anyway??<br />
<br />
Well, like I said, I had a good time at the concert, especially since I wasn't the only sickling in our crew. In fact, had it not been for the occasional cough and whatever came rising out of my lungs with it, I probably would have forgotten I was sick. I was tired, but it was late, and at least my nose wasn't constantly running.<br />
<br />
Yes, so, the concert was fun. The drive home wasn't.<br />
<br />
Driving around at midnight is a very awkward feeling. None of the streetlights work as they are constantly flashing; the city is dark and empty. Me and my overactive imagination get the best of me, yet again. Well, it started long before the drive, I suppose. My car has been acting funny for a while--though all the mechanics I've taken it to have said it has passed all its tests with flying colors. The day prior, though, the check engine light was on. A week before that, the battery light was flickering. That paired with the feeling like it is occasionally about to die on me as I'm driving, makes for quite a tense commute. But what do you do when you know something is wrong and all your mechanics say things are fine??<br />
<br />
Regardless, before we'd parked for the concert--as we were driving around for probably a half hour TRYING to find a spot to park in this city which I barely know--my battery light flickers a few times. Great. Whatever, I have my triple A card.<br />
<br />
Ok, so we find a very shady back-alley street to park on. There is one other car parked, and a want-to-be-gangster waddling down the road with his undergarments showing. As he does this, you hear him holler out something along the lines of, "FIVE OF US AND ONE OF YOU, YOU REALLY WANT TO DO THIS, @$!!@!*-ers" Insinuating he is about to fight with someone. We did not see 5 of anyone, in fact we only saw one, so either the guy was @$!!@!crazy or we were lucky to be parked behind a big truck. Either way, we were stuck between continuing down the one way and becoming a witness to a murder/asskicking/psychotic break and driving around another half hour, with my car possibly about to die, trying to find ANOTHER parking spot--OR just park in the shady alleyway and run for our lives. We chose to run for our lives.<br />
<br />
We spent a few minutes debating if it was safe to park in this alley--(1) because of the potential murder/asskicking/psychotic break, and (2) because I've already received 1 parking ticket in the area, and I just didn't want to risk getting towed. Eventually we deemed making use of this spot the better option. As we sit in the car, shady-car guy pulls up behind us. He sits in his car, making me nervous, until I say, "LETS JUST GO!" and we grab our valuables, pop them in the trunk, and quickly inspect the meter.<br />
<br />
Then shady-car guy gets out and walks up behind us. "You all set?" He asks, and as I try to decide whether he is a stalker/serial killer/ or just interested in the meter, we decide he is just following our cue on the parking. So we as three laugh and say why the heck not and start trekking up to our destination.<br />
<br />
"You going to the show?" He asks.<br />
<br />
"Yeah," We say,<br />
<br />
"How do you know the band?"<br />
<br />
"I don't" I admit that I'm just tagging along. Sister says she's a fan and we laugh. Eventually, we realize this guy is going to a different concert, and we part ways. But in the back of my mind I can't help feeling as though he'll be waiting for us when the show is through. Or, that the backalley is going to be filled with cops, or thugs, or my window will be smashed because I left my GPS holder in the window, and my dad always says to take that down in the cities. But it's fine where I work, and that is far more dangerous--even if it is a school in broad daylight. I envision my windshield smashed, my battery dead, and thugs who want to kill us.<br />
<br />
I am seriously paranoid. I get that.<br />
<br />
Well, we leave the concert in a slight rush, because if any of my horrific thoughts actually happen, I would like the people leaving the concert to be able to hear us scream. We hop in the car and quickly drive down the shady alleyway--thankful there are no people to be found. We drove around for several minutes until I was completely lost, and had to pull over to get my GPS out of the trunk. I figured it would be safe to do this in a hannafords parkinglot, but then my GPS added to the discomfort by telling me to drive over the curbs of the parking lot and drive behind the the abandoned store towards the dumpsters.<br />
<br />
No.<br />
<br />
So we drove around the parking lot until I found an exit, then Michelle recalculated the route. My sense of direction wasn't too off, because I ended up bypassing a lot of Portland by getting lost. Still, I'm glad I had my GPS.<br />
<br />
As I'm driving, through the deserted post-apocalyptic feeling city, feeling like a criminal for disregarding all the blinking traffic lights--some new blinking lights appear in my rearview mirror. I nearly die.<br />
<br />
What did I do??<br />
<br />
I frantically review the past few minutes of my driving--the lights are all blinking! That means they aren't working and to proceed with caution--right? Isn't that what it means?? Was there a stop sign? What did I do? Was I speeding? I couldn't have been! What?! What did I do!!?<br />
<br />
I pull over instantly, thankful that my mother had at least returned my registration--but where did I put it? What the fuck did I do?!<br />
<br />
The cop pulls up behind me, then pulls out, lights still flashing. Then he pulls up ahead of me and pauses before pulling out again and shutting off his lights.<br />
<br />
What. The. Fuck. Just. Happened.<br />
<br />
I'm shaking at this point, trying to figure out what to do next. I am actually quite tempted to take my sister's friend up on his offer to let us spend the night--but I shake it off and say, "You obviously did nothing wrong, otherwise he would have given you a ticket."<br />
<br />
I look to my sister and she is equally as confused.<br />
<br />
Ok, so I get the courage to drive again, pull back onto the street and continue home--being hyper-vigilant now. I continue on, until all of the sudden, I spot the officer ahead--idling at the exit of a laundromat. The second I'm about near the entrance, his lights flash on and I hit my breaks, stopping as he darts out in front of me.<br />
<br />I'm shaking again! What do I do? How do I pull over when I am blocked by him? Is he after me? What is going on? Is he a cop? What the hell did I do?<br />
<br />
The thoughts race through our minds, and we eventually wonder if this is one of those fake-cops rumored about--the kind that trick you and kill you. Yes, I'm paranoid, but what the hell--really! After time freezes, his lights shut off again and he drives off.<br />
<br />
Ok.<br />
<br />
Breathe.<br />
<br />Ok.<br />
<br />
Breathe.<br />
<br />
Just go home. I want to go home.<br />
<br />
This is why I don't have fun.<br />
<br />
This is why I stay home.<br />
<br />
Why am I here?<br />
<br />What did I do??<br />
<br />
Ok, you are blocking the road. Just drive.<br />
<br />
Continuing on, we spend the better half of our ride trying to make sense of the encounters and trying our best to shake off the scare. I've pictured jail time. False imprisonment. Mistaken Identity. Being framed. Dirty cops. Fake cops. The works. But we cannot make sense of what has happened--or what hasn't happened. I'm so stressed I can barely focus. Some of the lights I noticed afterwards were NOT blinking. Maybe I ran one by mistake? But what about the second time? Did he change his mind and want to pull me over? What the hell did I do??<br />
<br />
All the drama seems to have remained in the city, but it is dark and I miss my turn. I find myself in the dark on a stretch of land I infrequently travel in the daytime. I do my best to estimate the speed limit--it's either 40 or 50 at any given point, so I figure 45 will be safe. I'm home free. I just have to find the gas station and turn and I will be able to curl up in bed and relax.<br />
<br />
At this point, we are now laughing uncomfortable about the whole thing. We're maybe 10 minutes from the house, and all I can think about is bed. Bed, and the cop lights that light up as we pass the only other car on the road.<br />
<br />
My heart freezes again. Seriously. What did I do? What the fuck did I do?<br />
<br />
I pull over instantly, and realize this cop is not letting me go. What is the speed limit here? I had to have been 40. Or 50. It's so dark, I don't even know where I am, and I just want to cry. The lights are still flashing behind me, and I realize I don't know where my registration is. It's in the book--the book I threw in the back seat. The book I can't find. My license is in my pocket. The registration? I'm mortified. I'm going to be put in jail--no they can't do that! It will be fine--oh God, what did I do? Here he comes... Stay cool. Stay calm.<br />
<br />
"What did I do???" I cry. I feel obligated to tell him I've already been almost-pulled over twice, but then feel that information might lead to more of a hassle. I realize that opening line is probably incriminating enough, though. Still, I'm wracking my brain to figure out what exactly I did wrong. I'm shaking again, ready to cry.<br />
<br />
He tells me my headlight is out.<br />
<br />
Oh.<br />
<br />
Are you shitting me?<br />
<br />
That's it?<br />
<br />
We make small talk, and that's it. He runs my plates, my license, it takes forever. I hop out of the car, and sure enough I have only one working headlight--until I tap it a few times--then it comes back on.<br />
<br />
I laugh, and wait for him to return to let him know it IS working. He is surprised and says I'm lucky--not in a smug way, but in a sincere, "hey, that is pretty cool" type way, and I finally relax. He gives me my things and tells me to have it looked at just in case. I thank him and I'm on my way.<br />
<br />
I still can't believe it.<br />
<br />
Stay tuned for my pre-Mother's Day fiasco from a few years back....Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5088802199493611132.post-86662959162382062792012-06-17T08:56:00.002-07:002012-06-17T08:56:25.691-07:00Never a Dull MomentA few years ago, one of my good friends told me that my life was like, "an episode of Desperate Housewives." I laughed, of course, but knew she was correct. Mind you, I hate the drama, and though I have spent a great deal of precious energy following my another friend's advice to just "ignore drama," it just always seems to find me.<br />
<br />
I will avoid the more serious issues I've been having, as of late, with the interpersonal aspect of my life. Those issues are far too sensitive, deep, and frustrating to blog about today. Today I would much rather talk about the dramatic morning I've had, and the incredibly frightening, though harmless, encounter I had with the law last night.<br />
<br />
Like I said, never a dull moment.<br />
<br />
This morning, I awoke to the rabid squawking of our bird. He sometimes doubles as an alarmclock (not really, but if he is covered for too long in the morning he rings his bells and alerts us that he wants to wake up.) The chatter in the morning is usually soft, unless he hears other birds outside. Then we assume he is delusional and planning his own jailbreak.<br />
<br />
Well, the first few times I heard his wings flap and squawk, I thought nothing of it. The second time I became concerned, but the third time I knew something was wrong. I did not jump right up, assuming it was something silly. The cat likes to jump on top of the cage and stare at him--scary until you realize she's more afraid of him than he is of her. He pecks at her, and her claws have no way of reaching him through the tiny bars.<br />
<br />
Then I hear the wings flapping again--they've been stuck in the cage in the past, and knowing birds are all hemophiliacs, I start to panic. I quickly toss on whatever I can find and run down stairs to check on him. He's still covered from the night, so I carefully remove the draped blanket and find him pinned to the top of the cage.<br />
<br />
Well, hooked.<br />
<br />
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<br />
Hooked like a fish.<br />
<br />
It takes me a few minutes to process him hanging upside down from his beak--claws clinging to the top of the cage. What do I do? What the hell?<br />
<br />
Apparently, birds' beaks are not entirely attached to their faces (a fact which we've known after long ago discovering the awkward armor-gap that would technically be considered his chin.) They remind me--or at least Olie's does--almost of a turtle's shell.<br />
<br />
Well, for whatever reason and by whatever chance, his beak became hooked on the hanger of one of his bells this morning. I still don't know how, but it was quite difficult to understand, and even more difficult help.<br />
<br />
Midst the jungle of toys, swings, and perches that decorate his cage, he was more than 3/4ths of the way inside, clinging not but an inch from the top of the cage, wings flapping, completely frazzled. This paired with the fact he hardly ever trusts a human hand made his rescue impossible.<br />
<br />
Ok, THINK, I thought, and instantly call for my mother. After explaining about 3 times that the bird is stuck, I decide calling her into help was not my smartest choice, but as it is her bird, I don't get hostile. I get a glove instead, and hope that he can position himself into an escape. No such luck--he just freaks out more, flapping and clinging to the glove.<br />
<br />
Failed attempt number one.<br />
<br />
My mother then puts on the glove and tries grabbing him to unhook him--but with how far he is in the cage, the shortness of her arms, and the angle of the cage's opening, I wind up yelling that she's doing more harm than good. I try thinking of something else, but we just can't. Can I take apart the cage? Not without freaking himout more--it is too secure.<br />
<br />
Bird 911? Do we load up the cage and bring him to the vet? What the hell do you do when your bird is hooked to his cage?? I call my sister, running upstairs to try to inform her of the situation--hoping a fresh mind will find a strategy to free him, meanwhile in the back of my mind, I think Wirecutters. Wirecutters! I will tear open the cage. Can I tear open the cage? Where will the bird live? Whatever, we can fix it after we get him out, because he isn't going to live if he is stuck to the cage.<br />
<br />
I run to the tool cabinet and pull out a pair of pliers and flat head screwdriver. Not really sure what the hell I need that for, but it seemed like a good idea at the time. Perhaps I could pry open the hook he's hooked on? But how without moving the bird? Mom yells that wirecutters are useless, but I don't see another option.<br />
<br />
All I have is pliers and a screw driver, and eventually the knowledge that the bell is fairly cheap and consists of 3 main parts.<br />
<br />
Ok, the lovely wikipedia informs me that there are more than 3 parts to a bell. 10 total, but screw that, this is my story, and there are only 3. Maybe 4--can't quite remember since I have destroyed the bell at this point, but whatever.<br />
<br />
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<br />
Ok, part 1, the "dress." That rests ontop of the cage for some reason--we sometimes put toys on top of his cage for him to play with, and this is apparently a VERY BAD decision--nothing like this has ever happened in our 3+ years of bird ownership.<br />
<br />
The S-hook is not really part of the bell, but it is part of the problem. Both parts of the S-hook are inside the cage, and much smaller than in the picture I've provided.<br />
<br />
The "tongue" as they call it, and whatever keeps the tongue from falling out--those are also atop the cage, obviously with the bell's dress.<br />
<br />
With that in mind, and knowing that the bell is cheap, I grab the top part (alleged head) of the bell with the pliers and decide to start turning the dress. The metal is strong enough to resist, but with no other option, I keep twisting and turning--doing my best to keep from turning the bird as well. Eventually the bell falls apart, tongue falling into the cage, hook falling out of the bird's jaw, bird hanging upside-down only from his feet.<br />
<br />
He quickly climbs down the cage and for the first time ever, accepts my outstretched finger. Unfortunately, we can see his wing is bleeding--again, a very serious problem for birds. But he is so shaken, we definitely cannot grab him just yet. We let him sit on our shoulder and do our best to inspect his disturbed feathers. Two spots are bleeding, but surprisingly dry and a bit crusty. This settles our anxiety for a while and we do our best to dust him with flour (as we have read acts as a clotting agent)<br />
<br />
So with our battered, floured, bloody, frazzled bird, we try to figure out how long he has been stuck for. We surely would have heard him during the night--so hopefully this tragedy was recent. Hopefully I heard him soon enough. He spends the better part of the morning with us, but won't eat--not even noodles--his favorite treats.<br />
<br />
About a half hour later he caves and tries a noodle. The blood still looks crusty, and is not dripping. Still, we grip him with the gloves and open a wing to further inspect the damage. Some wings a cracked but not bleeding. He seems ok, and he's since eaten and had something to drink. Now he sits perched on the back of the sofa, in his glory, listening to my sister pretend to play the guitar.<br />
<br />
Fingers are crossed that is the end of this story!<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5088802199493611132.post-35020164840829918402011-09-26T17:47:00.000-07:002011-09-26T17:47:31.979-07:00Quote me, I'm brilliant!I had to share this, just because I think it's pretty amazing.<br />
<br />
"I protect my brain cells by NOT drinking; I wouldn't expect my aunt to understand the helmet thing either."<br />
<br />
Backstory: My family is full of alcoholics. I've recently found out that one of my aunts continuously accuses me of being socially awkward because I refuse to hang out and get drunk with the rest of my family. This is also the same aunt who started the rumor that I was a lesbian, because I haven't dated much. <br />
<br />
The latest gossip from said aunt is that wearing bicycle helmets when riding bikes "is stupid." When my mother tells her that it is the safe thing to do and that my sister and I wear our helmets, she replies, "I know, they look stupid."<br />
<br />
So I repeat: "I protect my brain cells by NOT drinking; I wouldn't expect my aunt to understand the helmet thing either."<br />
<br />
End rant.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5088802199493611132.post-86944322759474176842011-09-23T17:27:00.000-07:002011-09-23T17:27:51.992-07:00My PickleThis morning, it hit me.<br />
<br />
I'm the girl with daddy issues. <br />
<br />
I'm sure I thought it before, but every now and then it just hits me again. <br />
<br />
I spent years not realizing it, and quite a few pretending "it's not so bad." But there it was, right before me this morning. I'm the girl with daddy issues, and there isn't a thing I can do about it. <br />
<br />
I'm stuck, and it's really pissing me off.<br />
<br />
I almost broke down this morning, but I held it together. Too much stuff going on in my own life to be bothered with all that family drama, but at the same time, stress tends increase thinking about it. Don't know why, but it does. Whenever I'm stressed, more stress comes to my mind. Whenever I'm happy, I tend to not think about unhappy things.<br />
<br />
I'd say I'm typically an easy going kinda gal.<br />
<br />
Well, like I said, this morning I almost lost it. When my sister came home this past weekend, we somehow wound up talking about our father. I sort of angrily, accidentally spilled the beans about his feelings. "If we don't care, he doesn't care" was basically the message I got from him.<br />
<br />
If we don't want to have anything to do with him, fuck us.<br />
<br />
Thanks Dad, love you too.<br />
<br />
Well, I know that is just anger talking, and I've tried to work it out. I actually called him several weeks ago in an attempt to make communication. I was going for a job interview, and I decided to spend the day in the local Borders, hoping to brush up my study skills. Still, I felt obligated to call and talk to him and let him know WHY I wasn't seeing him that particular weekend after we'd had a fairly decent weekend together.<br />
<br />
He never answered. Nor did he call back. Nor has he called me. So....<br />
<br />
On one hand I feel like I should call and make more of an effort. On the other hand, I feel like calling just to tell him to go fuck off. I mean, seriously, if he doesn't give a shit enough to call me, why should I care?<br />
<br />
I thought about calling him this morning, but with my birthday less than 9 days away, I refuse. Why call him so he can think I'm just fishing for presents.<br />
<br />
The last thing I said to him was "My birthday is coming."<br />
<br />
It sounds really selfish, but I assure you the conversation was nothing of the sort. He kept bugging me to take the iPad he'd gotten me for Christmas. "I got it for you." "I got it before the fight" "You should take it."<br />
<br />
You would think any person in their right minds would take it, but I just cannot. It's a symbol of how sucky our relationship is. It's fake, and materialistic. The only time we ever see each other is on holidays--gift-giving and gift receiving holidays. How can anyone consider that a healthy relationship?<br />
<br />
"Hi, Dad, thanks bye! See you at Christmas."<br />
<br />
Is he fucking blind? He really thought we had a great relationship. How could anyone consider that a great relationship? I even said it to him, and I will never forget the look on his face as he registered it in his brain. "Things have not been good between us for a while."<br />
<br />
I just want to call and scream at him, but I can't. Instead I just sit here and want to implode. I've had a headache all night just thinking about it. And work. I've got so much stress at work, and then I think, "He doesn't even know I Have a new job. He doesn't even care."<br />
<br />
So why should I care? I should hate him. But I know what will happen. I will hate him, and then he'll die, and I'll be stuck hating myself for hating him. I'll be stuck regretting that I didn't try, and I'll be stuck feeling like shit.<br />
<br />
So I can't fix this, and I can't ignore it. What the hell am I supposed to do?<br />
<br />
Now the sister is pissed, and hurt. She didn't know the whole "Fuck off" I had gotten beforehand, and now that she's put two and two together, I don't know what she's thinking. I feel opted to send her the same message I sent her years ago, the "oh it's not so bad," but really it is. I mean, how should I fix things with them, if I cannot even fix things between us? And why should I? Why the fuck do I have to be the person to fix everything? <br />
<br />
Then the logic sets in. <br />
<br />
Alcoholic. Alcoholic. Alcoholic. Alcoholic. <br />
<br />
They don't care about anyone. Not even themselves. They just want their drug. Just like junkies. <br />
<br />
He doesn't have a single caring bone in his body. He is so filled with denial that he just doesn't get it. <br />
<br />
But why do I have to suffer?<br />
<br />
I hope he doesn't call me on my birthday and pretend everything is fine and dandy.<br />
<br />
I will lose it.<br />
<br />
I feel so tempted to just bitch him out on facebook. Let the world see him for the cowardly loser he is. Then I think, don't be such a freak. That's what drama queen teenage girls do with their stupid mental break-downs over idiots. It won't do any good, and it will just make you look crazy.<br />
<br />
But, Grr. Just grr.<br />
<br />
I wish I knew what to do. Why won't this just disappear from my mind? I have so many better things to waste my energy on.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5088802199493611132.post-91727722133967004472011-08-25T15:29:00.000-07:002011-08-25T15:29:17.933-07:00I can see the light at the end of the tunnel!My one goal for this summer has been to complete the story I'm writing--or, rather, the story I've been writing for the past 4 years.<br />
<br />
Granted, 4 years is a long time for a story, but it's not like I spent the past 2,103,795 minutes of my life actually writing. No, subtract the time I've spent working, and sleeping, and the weeks I've gone through dry spells. I would estimate that I've actually spent less than a few weeks actually writing. <br />
<br />
But chapter by chapter, I continued to plug away at it, and with 3 days left of vacation, I am literally only a chapter or two away from closing the first story! I just have to figure out if I want to squeeze the ending into one chapter or spread it out over two. I'll probably post two, but I don't see it taking more than that! <br />
<br />
I cannot wait to spend the next 4 years of my life writing the second story!! ha =)<br />
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5088802199493611132.post-80654937031479393902011-08-23T10:43:00.000-07:002011-08-23T10:43:51.714-07:00My really bad mood.Ironically, I am in another really bad mood.<br />
<br />
I guess it is just stress, because this is my last week of vacation, and I am feeling slightly stressed about going back to work. I'm feeling disappointed that I will not have my own classroom for a third consecutive year since my graduation. I'm feeling stressed about the whole dating thing. The dad thing. Everything. I'm just feeling stressed about everything today.<br />
<br />
I promise one day to come back and write happy notes about how great life is, but for the time being I apparently just like to bitch about stuff. So, here it is. My latest rant:<br />
<br />
My sister's birthday present has arrived. A brand new laptop. Congratulations. I've worked my ass off so that I could buy myself 2 laptops, and here she is getting a second one.<br />
<br />
Backstory. When I was 16 I got a laptop for my birthday. It wasn't the greatest laptop, but it was my very own, refurbished, laptop. It had its flaws, but I absolutely loved it. It was better than getting a cell phone--it was the best present ever.<br />
<br />
When I started college, I worked at the computer department as a work study. Now, I was not the average work study, because I actually worked. The department head would always praise my hard work and dedication--and loved me because I would actually do work for them--and not just sit down and read books all day. Yay me! The hard worker!<br />
<br />
I saved up enough money so that I could buy my own, brand new, laptop. It was the greatest computer ever, and I would still be using it today if it did not burn in a house fire. Yeah, my favorite laptop is melted into the ground. <br />
<br />
Well, after the fire, my sister and I both got new laptops to replace our old ones. The one I got was not the greatest machine ever; it was actually a huge pain in the ass. So when it broke this year, I was quite excited because it meant I could buy myself a new one. And I did. Well, I actually wound up buying myself two new ones, because the first new one I bought was broken and had to be returned. This second one is working better, still has its quirks, but I am thinking I might keep it.<br />
<br />
Well, I didn't have the money to buy this new laptop, but I put it on my credit card figuring I'd be back to work this month and would be able to pay it off shortly. That is all fine and dandy. I have a job, and I work for the nice things that I want in my life. Unlike my sister.<br />
<br />
Not a week after I buy my new laptop, Mom starts talking about how she wants to buy a new one for my sister. Well, isn't that just dandy. I'm one part frustrated as hell, and one part jealous. Jealous because, um, I would have liked someone to buy me a new laptop, but I'm mostly frustrated because here we are in debt, and talking about perhaps selling our house because of said debt, and you want to go out and buy her a new fucking laptop? Thanks for that. Really.<br />
<br />
Not for nothing, but you made this kid promise you she would get a summer job, and she didn't even try. She made ONE lame-ass attempt to get a job after the summer was already over. You bitched about how she didn't work all summer, and how she doesn't help out at all, and yet you want to go and buy her a laptop??<br />
<br />
Is it just me, or does this seem like the most idiotic enabler's plan ever????<br />
<br />
First off, she doesn't need a laptop. Contrary to popular belief, it is possible to go through college without a laptop. Yes, it makes it easier, but there are other options. (IE, School library, or repairing broken laptop, which I've suggested can be done by actually bringing broken laptop to my friends to fix in exchange for food.) Use of other people's computers typically adds to the frustration of computerless college students, which then motivates said college students to get off their asses and get jobs to pay for new laptops. <br />
<br />
I'm sorry, but when I needed a new laptop for school, I paid for it myself. We didn't have the money to go buy me a new laptop when I needed it, and here we are--in worse of a financial situation--actually talking about perhaps selling our house--and Mom goes out and buys her a new laptop??<br />
<br />
I mean, that makes sense to me. I told her again and again, but she doesn't care. And she didn't care. She kept asking me, "Which one do you like better?" and I would kindly plead the 5th.<br />
<br />
Seriously? Mom wants her to grow up and wonders why she is so lazy, yet everything my sister needs is handed to her on a silver platter. And they wonder why I'm in a bad mood. Maybe because no one listens to me?<br />
<br />
What really set me off today, though? This completely insane happy bitch on the coworkers page. I won't speak much about it, because I don't want this to be traced back to my own identity, but outside of work I am a consultant for a certain company. And there is this one consultant who thinks her shit doesn't stink if you know what I mean. If I ever wanted to smack someone upside the face, it is this woman. The frigging Richard Simmons of the company if you know what I mean. Always posting her inspirational, "You can do it; my life is awesome yours can be too" shit that makes me want to reach through the computer and strangle her.<br />
<br />
First off, she is always the first to reply to messages posted on our coworkers page--unless I post them. For some unknown reason, my messages often go unanswered or ignored. Which is frustrating. Whenever someone posts something positive, she comments. Whenever I post something positive, its ignored. Whenever I say "I'm frustrated with this... any advice" she tells me not to be so negative--like she doesn't have a emotional bone in her frigging body.<br />
<br />
Is she so detatched from reality that she doesn't get frustrated by people? Oh wait, she's plastered her face all over the internet like some freak, so she has 30+ recruits she is profiting from. If I had that many, I'd be happy too, but I wouldn't rub it in to other people's faces, because guess what? People aren't all vain like you, and people aren't all as lucky as you.<br />
<br />
She apparently thinks she is SO GREAT she is now posting her own personal videos in our coworkers page. So she's too good to write messages to us now?? You have to get your face all plastered into our personal group? NEWSFLASH! NOBODY WANTS TO SEE YOUR FACE! Who cares!<br />
<br />
God I am in a bad mood. <br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5088802199493611132.post-73883089487438237982011-04-18T19:19:00.000-07:002011-04-18T19:19:22.999-07:00Why are parents so incredibly frustrating?Could someone explain that to me?<br />
<br />
Mom and I just had a fight over the dumbest thing, but she just gets to me sometimes, and I lose it. Like, tonight. She has a bean bag that needs a cover. One of her friends left it behind when she moved out of another friend's house, which is great, I've always wanted to buy a bean bag, now I get to save money. But out of the blue she tells me to buy a cover or she is throwing it out. <br />
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Uhm, hi, but my budget doesn't exactly work like that.<br />
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Not when I'm about to be paycheck-less because I work in a school and do not get paid throughout the summer. And, not for nothing, but we already had this conservation two days ago when she told me to buy it the first time, and I told her I would buy it when I went back to work. <br />
<br />
"What's five bucks?" She says, like it is nothing. Five bucks is nothing when you have a job or some reliable form of income. In a few months I will have neither of those things, so excuse me for wanting to save the money that I do have for things that are a little more important than stupid bean bag chairs.<br />
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Now the sis is mad because we fought, and mom is being pissy with me because the sis is mad. Gotta love being home.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5088802199493611132.post-52235038932788445272011-04-09T17:38:00.000-07:002011-04-09T18:22:56.426-07:00BlehI feel Bleh.<br /><br />I can't explain it, I just feel Bleh. No motivation, no ambition, just bleh. I think I am feeling overwhelmed. <br /><br />Got out today, went for Chinese. Met an old friend, and had a lot of fun talking. Met a new Scentsy customer, which was great. Now I'm just sitting here again feeling bleh. I want to write, but I can't force myself to get up and go do it. Instead I sit here... Thinking about planning. I should do planning, but I don't want to. I should also clean my room, or pick up the kitchen, but I don't want to do that either... Just want to sit. How depressing.<br /><br />How bleh. <br /><br />What's with me? <br /><br />Last night I went to bed at 9. I feel like I should just go to bed now; why not? I'm not doing anything anyway. Then tomorrow I will wake up and do nothing again. I'll think about all the stuff I want to do, and I won't do it because I will be too busy feeling bad about all the things I SHOULD be doing.... but I won't do those either. I need to find a way out of this slump. <br /><br />I hate feeling Bleh.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5088802199493611132.post-3093767597912737802011-02-23T15:37:00.000-08:002011-02-23T15:49:59.710-08:00Well that just put me in a bad mood.(Note: This rant obviously excludes the relatives: LapNoodles & Homemakerman)<br /><br />It has been on my nerves for a while now--the fact that my family is pretty unsupportive as far as my new business goes. They complain about how much I advertise. And while my neighbors will literally pinch their pennies (just ask my bank teller) to help me make a sale, do they offer to at least look at a catalog? No. I cannot even GIVE them free stuff. <br /><br />But, whatever, you don't want to spend your money. Fine. I am ok with that. I just expect you would have the common courtesy to tell your friends to me promote. Is that really asking too much?<br /><br />Tonight was the last straw, though. A complete slap in the face! My Aunt called to tell me that her friend signed up to sell. Great. Thanks a lot! Two minutes later, I log in to find the other consultant in MY TOWN, the one I took under my wing so to speak was the recruiter.<br /><br />Maybe I am over reacting, but another person to my team would have been nice. My 3rd recruit would have lined me up to a better promotion. And you would THINK that since EVERYONE I am related to knows this particular person, it MIGHT JUST ONCE have come up in conversation that I sell too. But, nope. My family just sucks. <br /><br />Thanks guys! Really appreciate all your help!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5088802199493611132.post-47813591477260460312011-02-13T20:09:00.000-08:002011-02-14T15:09:48.588-08:00An Awkward ConversationSo, how did this happen & what do I do?<br /><br />My new years resolution was to expand my social life and maybe find a guy, but now it appears I may have two. Does this mean there is a love triangle forming above my head? I sure hope not. I don't care for the drama.<br /><br />As you know, I met cheesepuff guy a few weeks ago, and met him again Friday. I think things are going well, despite my lack of experience in the dating field. But out of no where, Camera Guy sends me a message on facebook today. <br /><br />Now, I have not yet mentioned Camera Guy, because I did not feel he was worth mentioning. That sounded sort of harsh, so let me clarify. Camera guy is a guy I still haven't figured out. I am not sure if I am attracted to him, because the few pictures he has online seem sort of goofy. But he went to the same college I did (which made me feel safe enough to add him on facebook) and he is a real good photographer (hence the nickname camera guy). Still, camera guy never asked me out or showed any interest so I always assumed he was just a friend. Until, of course, last night when out of no where he sent me a message. "hi".<br /><br />I was not paying attention, because I was writing my story, but when I did notice, I replied "hey" and I sort of got the feeling this awkward feeling that the out-of-the-blue message was regarding an earlier facebook post about the date I had been on with cheesepuff guy.<br /><br />Well, he did not respond until today. We casually talked about my Scentsy business for a while because I had the sneaking suspicion he was maybe curious about the date, but I wasn't going to bring it up. Then he asked, "Well any big plans for V-day?"<br /><br />I said I didn't know, because I don't. And he asked about Cheesepuff guy and the date. I said that he hadn't mentioned it yet, but it was sort of an awkward time to start seeing somebody because we had only been on two dates and boom! Valentines Day PLUS his birthday. <br /><br />Well, Camera guy then informed me that if Cheesepuff guy did not do anything on Valentines Day he was a loser, and probably gay. (Although reading that also sounds a bit harsh, so I will note it wasn't said in a mean or vindictive way; just a joke) I couldn't help but laugh, as honestly the seemingly too-good-to-be-true cheesepuff guy may have had a smile that threw me off. <br /><br />So now I am completely confused. A fish out of water. I am confused about so many things, and I know I have to take things one step at a time, but for someone who is learning how to walk in this crazy, dating world, I could sure use some advice!<br /><br />Do I get a birthday present for Cheesepuff guy? I was thinking a Ninja Turtle card, as he has mentioned them before, and maybe some Jelly Beans. Do I consider Camera Guy a second player in this game? Do I tell Cheesepuff guy about Camera guy? Should I be disappointed if I don't get a Valentine? Oye. I am ready to crawl back up to my cat-lady mountain and give up!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5088802199493611132.post-1154214537188521692011-02-08T17:11:00.000-08:002011-02-08T17:21:15.076-08:00Drugs Bug MeWe had an interesting visit last night, from a drug addict?<br /><br />I put the question mark there as to hopefully not wrongfully incriminate an innocent person, but I'm pretty sure he is a drug addict. It's just such a harsh term to throw around, I wish I knew for sure. But I'm pretty sure, otherwise I wouldn't be posting this here and now.<br /><br />Anyway, if he was not "high" he was probably under the influence of something, because I don't know too many people who would show up at your house, irate, about something that happened ?days? ago, especially when his own idiocy is to blame?<br /><br />Here's the scoop.<br /><br />Our neighbors hired Drug Addict 1 to shovel off their roof. Drug addict (in question, anyway) never showed up to do the job he was hired to do, so our neighbors hired a second drug addict to do the job the first failed to do. <br /><br />Are you with me so far?<br /><br />Well, before Drug addict 2 could get to the job, drug addict 1 had already started the job. But Drug Addict 2 had already been PAID for the job, so when my mom saw Drug Addict 1 shoveling, she informed him that he was not going to get paid, as DA 2 had already been paid.<br /><br />Well that was fine, until 9 O'clock at night when DA1 showed up all upset about not getting paid.<br /><br />Now, not helping the situation is the fact that the original "supervisor" of the neighbors roof is also under the influence of something, and has a hard time getting stories straight to begin with. So what happens when all this goes down?<br /><br />My mom calls and screams at the neighbor, who is listening to regurgitated stories from a drug addict and delusional individual, and I spend all night sleeping with one eye open, just in case the pissed off drug addict decides to come slash my tires or something.<br /><br />What a fun world I live in!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5088802199493611132.post-64927491974478022682011-02-08T17:02:00.001-08:002011-02-08T17:10:33.550-08:00AHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!I just had to get that out there because I feel like screaming.<br /><br />Have you ever talked to someone who just irritates the hell out of you? You may feel as though they take random stances because they know it will set you off? I have this one Uncle who always gets into it with me on online "debates." But his definition of "debate" means ignoring your side and just telling you what he feels, all the while trying to be humorous by throwing out lame, and insulting jokes. <br /><br />Imagine arguing with a textbook.<br /><br />"Is it going to snow today?"<br />"On this day in the 15 hundreds it snowed."<br />"Yeah, but is it going to snow today?"<br />"Snow is white and cold form of precipitation that falls from clouds in the form of ice crystals"<br /><br />Excuse me while I go and spontaneously explode out of sheer frustration.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5088802199493611132.post-38108162575153173492011-02-03T17:51:00.000-08:002011-02-05T05:45:42.361-08:00A Crazy Awesome DayLast night I didn't get much sleep. All I remember is having an odd nightmare about the DOP. Not sure of the DOP is an actual governmental organization, or anything, but it my dream it was sort of like the DOD, but instead of defense it was protection. Anyway, I dream that I am sleeping in my old house in Everett, and this old black guy knocks at my door. I half hear the conversation he has with my mother, but regardless of the dire urgency there is to get us out of the house, I continue sleeping.<br /><br />"You need to evacuate right away!" he says, "There is a problem with the water."<br /><br />I think I actually got up and looked at my cell phone at this point, because I consciously remember reading "3AM" on my LG chocolate. About an hour later, the man appeared again and said, "YOU NEED TO GET OUT OF THIS HOUSE NOW!!"<br /><br />It had been exactly one hour on my clock, so either I woke up at 4AM or dreamed that I looked at my clock and it said 4AM.<br /><br />As if this was not a weird enough dream, I apparently had another which I do not seem to recall at all. The only reason I know I had it was because my mother informed me I disrupted her sleep screaming, "RACHEL* IS THE KILLER!! RACHEL HAS THE KILLER'S FACE!!!!!!!!!!!"<br /><br />*Rachel is a pseudonym for my stepmother's name. Apparently I convicted her of murder last night.<br /><br />Well, by the time my alarm clock went off, I was dreading the day ahead. The ride in to work was rough, with all the snow we had just had from our latest snowday. If that isn't a horrible enough way to start a new day, then how about this one. I put my coffee on the roof so I could reach in and get my bag, and what does the coffee decide to do? Well, it sat perfectly on the roof until I stuck my head in the car to get my things. Probably a half a minute AFTER I placed it on the roof, it comes spilling down on my jacket! My newly washed, white jacket.<br /><br />After work, I also had (what I consider anyway) my first real date. There has been some controversy about that. I suppose prom does count, even though I spent half the night trying to avoid the guy I went with. But anyway, Cheesepuff guy invited me out to a Thai food place around the block from where I work. So, of course, I'm trying to kill some time, and I head to the copier to make some copies. (I am currently looking for a fish sitter for our class fish. If anyone is interested, please call 555-2893 {please note, that is a fake number so please don't actually call it.}) <br /><br />But, seriously, I don't want to bring the Beta home over vacation, as I live so far away, so I was making copies of a letter home to see who would be interested in watching the fish over vacation. Murphy's law says that BOTH photocopiers are broken. So I try to fix one. I get the paper out, but can't find the switch it is telling me to fix. I look at my coworker who is struggling with the same issue on her end. I showed her what I did to get the paper out of mine, remove her jammed paper, and the same error message pops up.<br /><br />"You're on your own from here, I can't find that little thing." I tell her; Most of the parts are labeled A, B, C1, but this was just a little tab they wanted us to switch. She found it quickly, which made me feel quite dumb. Still didn't fix the issue, though. We kept working at it until my pants were covered in toner, or ink or something, and I sit back and think, "I have to go on a date. I am covered in coffee and ink. Who the hell cares?" <br /><br />On my date, I was quite honest. I even told Cheesepuff guy, "The last time I tried to impress a guy, I wound up in the ER." (Please see, <a href="http://the-salt-shaker.blogspot.com/2010/05/snake-snack.html">The Snake Snack</a> for more information) All and all, I think the date went well. We talked for about 3 hours!! It only ended when I looked out the window and said, "I should get going." Then we talked a bit longer until I said it again.<br /><br />I just hope I didn't talk too much. I can do that, sometimes.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5088802199493611132.post-20614586187177776892011-02-01T15:18:00.001-08:002011-02-01T15:48:06.641-08:00Apparently I'm a bitch.I'm sort of confused.<br /><br />Imagine a big, fancy vase on the edge of the table. This isn't just any vase. It is one-of-a-kind, and priceless. You jump, and see it wobble. You continue to jump, regardless of the fact you KNOW something bad could happen and the vase falls and shatters to pieces.<br /><br />Mom walks in, and _______________________.<br /><br />Can you fill in the blank? <br /><br />Apparently, I'm a bitch. My blank does not include, "going easy on the kid who makes a stupid choice." My blank includes accountability, and responsibility. The "kid" should have known better and taken steps to insure the vase would not get broken. <br /><br />I should probably fill in a little more details. The "kid" is not really a kid, but a 50+ year old man with a drinking problem. The vase is more or less his relationship with his children, and the thought of jumping is actually the act of really pissing me off. More specifically, having a major pissing contest with yours truly, the designated driver. So now the question is, what do I do?<br /><br />I talked to a cousin last night who basically told me I was being too hard on him. I suppose I'm slightly offended. If the kid knows there is a chance jumping will break the vase, and still the kid continues to jump, are we really supposed to look the other way and make excuses for this kid? Or do we hold him accountable? What is the lesson learned from looking the other way? Am I supposed to just let things slide? Until every vase I own is smashed to pieces? Is it my job to be more careful with my glassware? When this kid refuses to stop jumping, do I just ban him from my house?<br /><br />I guess I haven't thought much about it until now. Not sure why it's stuck in my head now. I guess I've just been too busy with life to figure it out. That and the fact I had a nice, hour-long conversation with one of my aunts about just how much my family sucks. It's stirred up a lot of thoughts I'd rather suppress. <br /><br />I actually started thinking ahead. I can't have a phone conversation with him. Tried and he just pissed me off. Started blaming everyone else for the choices he made. That is a peeve of mine. Thought to the best advice I've had so far, and that is simply to avoid him when he is drinking. Then I started to wonder, when exactly will that be? First thing in the morning? I don't wake up early. In fact, I don't feel like doing much of anything until late afternoon. Maybe we could have lunch, but I can't see that happening. He would just have another macho pissing contest. I would say, "I won't go out with you if you drink," and he might agree, but what if he decides he has the "right to drink" as he has told me time and time again it is his life and he can do what he wants with it? Then what? I never go to lunch with him again? <br /><br />I tried picturing what talking to him would be like, this summer. We're together in the kitchen, and I can't even think of what to say to him. I just don't know what to do. I just want to stop thinking about it.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />You make a stupid choice, andUnknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5088802199493611132.post-16782776377729313042011-01-28T19:23:00.001-08:002011-01-28T19:47:05.972-08:00Today was PJ Day at work.I figured it was a school-wide thing, but when I got out of the parking lot and saw several of the other teachers in their normal attire, I started feeling out of place. There was me, in my froggy PJs and bathrobe... Yup. The lazy, new girl who didn't feel like getting dressed. <div>
<br /></div><div>Most of the people stared at me; a few told me they were jealous; and a few others just asked, "PJ Day?"</div><div>
<br /></div><div>"Yup."</div><div>
<br /></div><div>I will admit, it was very hard to sit at the breakfast table and look down at my Pajamas. I kept telling myself, "YOU NEED TO GET DRESSED!! Oh wait.... IT IS TIME TO GO!!! YOU ARE STILL NOT DRESSED.... Oh Yeah.."</div><div>
<br /></div><div>If that wasn't hard enough, imagine my reaction when my boss came in and told me I needed to go to a PBIS training.. My eyes grew wide and I looked down at my outfit. Seriously, you know those bad dreams where you find yourself naked in school?? It was just like that. My boss came in and told me I had to go to a meeting, and so I took off in my Princess Sorority PJs.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>So, off I walked into the wrong meeting, and sat in my PJs until I was told to go to the smaller conference room. Fortunately 3/4 of the others in the room were also in the wrong conference room, so I was able to get all the awkward stares and questions (and jokes) out of the way before moving to the right room.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>Yup. So that was my fun day!!!</div><div>
<br /></div><div>What else? I almost ripped the steering wheel off my car on the way in this morning. Yup. I was just imagining it was the radio announcer's head. Was listening to the moron praise Charlie Sheen's pathetic life. Like, literally, this is what he said on the radio this morning.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>><><><</div><div>"You'd never guess what Charlie Sheen's done now! It is so amazing! Every guy in the world is going to be jealous! He is like a god, or something. So what did he do? He had a brief case of cocaine. Yup! A briefcase! Full of cocaine!! He knows how to party!! And that isn't all! He was watching porn. With Porn Stars. How amazing is that??"</div><div>
<br /></div><div>Uh, yeah, that womanizing bastard is a drug addict and should be thrown in jail. Anyone else would be in jail, but why not him? And why is that soo amazing and sooo desirable? ME+HEARING THAT+SOMETHING IN MY HANDS= DECAPITATED RADIO ANNOUNCER.</div><div>><><><><</div><div>..What else? I know there was something else... Hm.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>Oh yeah. Cat fight in work. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>This has been going on for quite some time, and it is starting to get on my nerves. There are these two people who get along like oil and water. Fortunately for me, they are the two people I work closest with, so, yeah, big ball of fun. I just want to go in and do my job, not have to pick sides and play counselor. But every day they come to me and complain about the other. I just listen, nod, and shrug. I've got it down to a science, and I try to stay as neutral as I can, but today I was really annoyed. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>One of them actually said to me, "Sorry to put you in the middle. I know you like ___. I just really was bothered." And I listened, nodded, and shrugged. I was actually surprised when A went to talk to B about her feelings and B shut down and stuck to her guns, which pissed A off, and I was just like... Why didn't I just go straight home??? </div><div>
<br /></div><div>Uggh. I was so tempted to give them a pair of gloves and have them duke it out, just so they could be done with it. But then if I had said, I'm sick of you both putting me in the middle of your crap, I would have upset them both. A would be mad that B talks about her, and vice versa. And then they'd be mad at me for betraying their confidences, and madder at each other for knowing they'd been talked about. Whatever. People clash. At the end of the day, what matters is the kids. GRR!!!!</div><div>
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<br /></div><div>><><><</div><div>Final laugh? Well, I wore my PJs today and got pulled into a last minute training with the state REP for PBIS as well as some other people I had never seen before. Fun, fun. But the topping on the cake was when I realized I had to go shopping for my Scentsy party tomorrow. Oh boy. Me. Pjs. Walmart. Never a dull moment!</div><div>
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<br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5088802199493611132.post-53852020920791563242011-01-25T17:03:00.000-08:002011-01-25T17:25:32.509-08:00Ok, So Is It Me Just Being Me?<blockquote></blockquote><blockquote></blockquote>Really, I need to know. Maybe I'm making a big deal out of nothing, but what if I'm not?<div><br /></div><div>As you all know, my dating life is pathetic. And I am apparently intolerable as far as internet dating goes. Though, in all fairness, I'm not entirely to blame for my lack of dates. For instance, take Soysauce guy. Really cute, really funny, real potential. Until I look him up on facebook. Status: in a relationship.</div><div><br /></div><div>Hmm, just call me home wrecker. Or did I miss a memo? Is that the new thing these days? You can officially break up with your girlfriend once you've secured a new one? Or maybe he thought he was cool enough to keep us both in the dark. Uh, not in this day and age buddy.</div><div><br /></div><div>Then there is Creep-o. I felt bad for him, up until he admitted to me that he hated his parents so much he'd kill them if he ever saw them again..... Yeah, conversation ender there! </div><div><br /></div><div>Then there is the guy who drives me crazy. Every time I sign on, he starts talking to me, but he doesn't say much. In addition, he likes to argue. So if I told him, "I had yesterday off because it was a workshop day." He would sit and argue with me about it. Forgive me, but I think I know a thing or two about MY LIFE.</div><div><br /></div><div>Then there was this last guy, who had a lot of potential. I really liked him, and was just waiting for him to ask me out. Never did. We were swapping horror stories about our lives and he tells me, "My girlfriend jumped off a building to get back at me. It was pretty messed up, so I have trust issues."</div><div><br /></div><div>Ok.....</div><div><br /></div><div>Well, I said "I wouldn't blame yourself because anyone who does that to themselves to hurt someone else is clearly unstable and needs help. " Apparently, something about that was wrong because he never wrote me back afterwards. I don't get it.</div><div><br /></div><div>So that ship has sailed, and out of nowhere this other kid e-mails me. I will call him Cheese Puff. (Story to follow). I sort of like Cheese Puff. We have a lot in common. In fact, we have so much in common, I've asked him twice if he is plagiarizing my profile. Doesn't drink, sort of shy, on track with his life, wants to have kids before he's old. We both like the Red Sox. I say I like Orlando Cabrera, he likes Orlando Cabrera. I say I loved Kevin Millar, he loves him too. It's like I'm talking to a mirror. So creepy.</div><div><br /></div><div>Everything I like, he likes too. It's like he is my twin. My opposite-sexed twin. Is this humanly possible? He's afraid he is too boring for me because he likes to hang around and play board games..... ..... (More ellipses for effect)... I AM BORING AND LIKE BOARD GAMES!! Except, it isn't boring when I'm hanging with the right people. </div><div><br /></div><div><div>This guy would be almost extremely perfect, except for the fact that I feel like he is fake. The conversations are so real it is pretty awesome, but every now and then he says something that strikes me as fake. Like he keeps telling me I'm the coolest person he has talked to....it is almost like he is coaxing me up, and then today he writes:</div><blockquote><div></div></blockquote></div><div><div><blockquote style="color: rgb(85, 85, 85); font-family: Verdana, 'Bitsream Vera Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 19px; ">"I'm guessing you would want to meet at a public place, so I was thinking maybe we could meet somewhere to eat and I'll get us some lunch or dinner. "</blockquote><blockquote style="color: rgb(85, 85, 85); font-family: Verdana, 'Bitsream Vera Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 19px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: normal; font-size: 16px; "></span></blockquote></div><blockquote><div></div></blockquote></div><div>I am probably over reacting, but that sentence just stuck out. Like in a creepy way. Maybe he was just being nice, but maybe he is a serial killer. You never know. SOMEONE TALK SOME SENSE INTO ME!!! </div><blockquote><div><blockquote style="color: rgb(85, 85, 85); font-family: Verdana, 'Bitsream Vera Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 19px; "><br /></blockquote></div></blockquote>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5088802199493611132.post-66098703610076185992010-11-25T09:59:00.001-08:002010-11-25T10:06:58.869-08:00Black Friday ShoppersJust a warning from my personal experience: Don't buy Kodak, or you will probably regret it like I do.<div><br /></div><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div>Fine. I could print my homework in approximately 7-10 business days....</div><div><br /></div><div>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?</div><div><br /></div><div>Well, conveniently, my printer is now out of waranty and they want me to pay for the print heads. Seriously?? </div><div><br /></div><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div>Hmmm, will I ever trust your company again? What do you think?</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5088802199493611132.post-23046313580136061182010-07-30T09:35:00.000-07:002010-07-30T09:54:53.099-07:00What 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 <a href="http://the-salt-shaker.blogspot.com/2010/07/i-got-digits.html">this guy</a> 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)<div><br /></div><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div>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.<br /><div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div> <div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5088802199493611132.post-36317220963757702412010-07-27T14:34:00.000-07:002010-07-27T14:48:21.461-07:00I Got DigitsThis 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.<br /><br />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!<br /><br />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."<br /><br />I can't wait to see where this one goes!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5088802199493611132.post-23299279988590618372010-06-29T20:20:00.001-07:002010-06-30T13:32:16.202-07:00Oh 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.<br /><br />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:<br />-------------------<br />(loser 1): that not true<br />(me) haha well i am cynical and i beg to differ<br />(loser 1) well in ur profile states u want get married and have 3 kids<br />(me) I was just being sarcastic<br />(loser 1) so what ideal date?<br />-------------------<br />What a compelling argument!! You can see why he'd be a winner.<br /><br />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!!"<br /><br />Moving on to asian guy.<br />-------------------<br />(asian guy) how's your luck been here<br />(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 ?<br />(asian guy) huh? what do you mean<br />(me) i take it you havent had much luck on the site?<br />(asian guy) oh yeah. I think it's easier for girls here?<br />(self) ha, right (and I think--oh yeah, I remember this guy now. the pity party, poor me, poor men)<br />(asian guy) what are you looking for here btw ((I HATE THIS FRICKING QUESTION))<br />(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?<br />(asian guy) oh I think you getit wrong. it's actually the other way around<br />(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 match.com<br />(asian guy) actually it's the girl in many case I guess<br />-------------------<br />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.<br /><br /><br />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!!!<br /><br /><br />EXAMPLE: (Academic attraction) The whole idiot-grammar thing really irritates the hell out of me.<span style="font-weight: bold;"> Not saying I'm perfect*</span> I'm just saying I'm well-versed.<br /><br />So maybe I'm picky, but I'm holding out for the full package. I have high standards now, thanks to my cousins. <a href="http://musingsfromthebigpink.blogspot.com/">Homemakerman</a> 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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />-----------------------------<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Edit: Yeah, that was pretty bad; actually I was missing two or three whole sentences. I think it's polished now. HaHa!</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5088802199493611132.post-88310255985745278872010-05-27T08:53:00.000-07:002010-05-27T09:11:01.284-07:00My 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."<br /><br />This makes me sad.<br /><br />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.")<br /><br />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 <a href="http://lapnoodles.blogspot.com/">tumbelweed</a>" 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."<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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?<br /><br />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."<br /><br />Ug!!! Why!!! No!!! A second bad-news call!!!<br /><br />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. <br /><br />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!!!!<br /><br />Love you guys!!!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2