When your work involves anything to do with writing computer manuals, you know work’s going to be like scraping your brain with sandpaper. I accept the boredom as inevitable, and appreciate that I’m good at what I do, people mostly leave me alone, and I get paid like a pimp.
Taking those positives, I long ago got used to the constant tscht-tscht against my grey matter.
We’re currently fixing everything that’s wrong with a web site, and my to-do list has gotten out of hand. My boss offered to take about 20 of my 150+ items, so I happily assigned them to her. Mid-way through her fixes, I got an IM:
[16:14] SheBoss: I’m about half-way through the SIRs you gave me, and I have a new appreciation for how boring your job can be.
Kickass.
Not too long ago my nephew announced that God visited him on the playground.
I know some of you just gave that an, “Awww.” I, however, am of the opposite opinion.
Perhaps it’s my being in the South, but I’m now seeing way too much of religion geared toward children that mimics the way Sesame Street hammers the ABCs into their little heads.
Indoctrination via song and story is still indoctrination, and it very much raises my radar when it comes to protecting those kids.
I understand that kids at the boy’s age are coming to grips with the realities of a scary world.
Pets and grandparents die. People lie. Others cheat, steal, and take other unsavory actions.
Their little brains process this world and naturally seek an explanation. For example, child abuse isn’t something the kids can comprehend, but punishment is. And knowing that someone who hurts kids is being dealt with by the biggest and baddest boss out there brings some comfort. It doesn’t explain the actual issue, but it does pacify the need for there to be some right to this wrong.
Since they’ve started attending church, they have been making comments that throw me. Most uncomfortably is that any cross is “where Jesus died”. And, by the way, “Why are there so many crosses on the side of the road?”
Anyway, my anti-indoctrination for kids spiel aside, the kid said something rather funny.
After exclaiming that God visited him on the playground that afternoon, we asked what God had to say.
“God says, ‘Two thumbs up!’”
My convictions aside, it’s hard to argue with that.
[09:38] Me: I have this urge to say nice things to you
[09:38] Me: I must be ovulating
Am I the only one who has a problem with Edible Arrangements? These franchises are popping up all over the place, and they just piss me off. I acknowledge that it’s one of my irrational angers, but I just don’t get it.
They’re bringing fruit. That looks like flowers. To your office.
It’s worse than a stupid cookie-gram.
Sixty dollars! For fruit!
If I’m spending $60 on fruit, it had better be at least four 750ml bottles and fermented.
Other things I irrationally dislike:
Those caveman Geico commercials. Going to concerts. People who use big words to sound smarter. Fanta. Back rubs that don’t involve the Thumbs of Death. Insincere compliments. People who make noise when they kiss. Inconsiderate drivers. Whiskey. Later finding out that he’s got a girlfriend. Dogs. Cheap shoes. Thoughtless presents. Sarah Palin. Unscented candles. Horses. Slow walkers. People who snap their gum. The color green. Bowling, no matter how much I drink. People who can’t take a goddamn joke. People who get pissy when I say goddamn. Being touched on the face. Anything peach-flavored.
When I first got to Texas, it looked like I was going to inherit my sister’s current vehicle, providing her with another that I purchased. I took the initiative to put new tires on what was about to be my car. Things never quite settled on the vehicle swap. I got over it, knowing that the $400 for tires was needed. That was that.
Well, not too long ago, my sister was driving home with the kids when her tire — I kid you not — exploded. A couple of farm kids stopped to assist the single mother on the side of the road at midnight, busting a u-turn to check on her when they heard the blast.
The next day she went to Discount Tire to have them make good on the full warranty, and she was driving off without hassle a mere hour later.
Kudos to the company for their service. I feel it’s safe to say that God also gives them two thumbs up.
For those not hip to the Facebook, your main page lists these ‘feeds’. Feeds contain your friends’ user-defined statuses (“Jo has the neighborhood kid out there mowing her lawn. Totally worth $20.”), any site activity you’ve taken recently (Jo has joined the group “Not turned on by 18-yr-olds who mow your lawn for cut-rate prices.”), and any posted links (Jo suggests “match.com for dates, not trolling the younguns in the neighborhood.”).
As said above, I’m fascinated by them. Because I have more than ten friends, each time I log onto Facebook, there’s something new.
Of my eleven friends, I have a good number from my high school. Like many small Texas towns, many people from here love Jesus. Sure, Sure. Lots of people in all sorts of places love Jesus. Blah blah blah. But these people REALLY love Jesus. As in, they exclaim everything is a product of Jesus’ doing, live in their little church bubbles where everyone agrees with that way, and don’t see how anything about their behavior differs from much of the population.
Now, before I get into the meat of this, I’ll go ahead and say that I don’t care if you love Jesus. I know plenty of nice people who do. However, my Jesus-loving friends do nice things because doing nice things is the right thing to do. These Jesus-loving Facebook friends do nice things because they want to make Jesus happy. I see just as much wrong with this as I do with Dick Cheney talking about torture.
READ: Torture is wrong because it’s wrong; not because it’s not always effective.
That being said, I’m especially drawn to the Jesus-y exclamations on these feeds.
One comment was about a child was turning one, and his mother exclaimed, “Praise the Lord!”
How about, “Happy birthday!” instead? I mean, sure, it’s great you managed not to lose the kid for twelve entire months. But really? You needed Jesus to not screw that up?
Another wrote a blog about how she wants to be more Christ-like. Her primary focus: not kissing strangers.
I cannot make this shit up.
And another was dealing with sick kids who kept re-infecting each other. Instead of shaking her first at viruses and vowing to have her family wash their damn hands, she says, “Satan leave us alone.”
I damn near had a coronary at the absudity.
A friend and I were chatting on IM the other day and discussing what I’d noticed. It reminded me of ‘bible dipping’ from Running with Scissors.
Bible dipping is basically the magic eight ball of divine prophecy. You think of a question, seek guidance from above, and then land your finger on a random page and passage to help answer your inquiry.
The friend was looking for an example, and my pointing yielded interesting results.
Me: Does Matthew smell like cheese?
Me: “and his skin, and his dung”
Me: WOW
Me: This thing really works
Matthew: wow.
Matthew: wow.
Matthew: really wow.
Although uncanny, I’m pretty sure Jesus had nothing to do with this.
I really and truly keep trying to update my blog, only to write something about how much I hate being in transition, not really knowing where things are gonna go. I’m not about to emo out on anyone (bad poetry isn’t my style), so I’ve decided to dedicate this entry to telling you what you’re missing by not following me on Twitter.
Weighed in at the gym: 14 pounds down. I don’t see a difference, but I’ll take it.
As mentioned in the entry from the other day, all I do is work and work out. As further paragraphs in this blog entry will prove, it’s not entirely true; but I do work out on most evenings. Since I haven’t really done anything intentional to lose weight, it’s proving that consistency is key to seeing a change.
Go figure.
In truth, I don’t see that change. But my jeans are telling me it’s true. And my shirts. And my gym clothes. Any my gaping bras, DAMMIT.
When I get down a bit more I’ll consider a large-scale shopping excursion. Until then, I need to find a local, fashionable friend to tell me what to buy. Since leaving Chicago, I’ve resorted back to nothing but plain-colored shirts. At least I’m now wearing them with cute skirts, wedge sandals, and awesome jewelry instead of plain jeans and chunky-heeled boots with silver studs.
Happiness is “Men in Black” on TNT.
I so rarely watch movies (despite what this entry will have you assume), but there are a few that feel like home.
We all know that “Amelie” is every girl’s favorite movie. I found it so absolutely delightful that I left the Dobie theater and walked straight to the record store on the Drag and bought the album. And though I deem it charming and love the story, acting, and soundtrack, my favorite movies are still those with karate and explosions.
Particularly, “Rush Hour” and “Rush Hour 2”.
My TV watching is also along those lines, but it’s not as embarrassing to say that “Burn Notice” is my favorite show.
For the record, I’m looking for a boyfriend with TiVo since “Burn Notice” starts at the beginning of June.
Rascall Flatts and ‘mutton bustin’ were worth my AmEx points.
Right before I moved, I checked my AmEx points and saw that I had roughly a gazillion of them. I planned on getting myself an iPod since everyone else seems to really like theirs. I even went so far to find a faux-boyfriend to load it with music so I wouldn’t have to invest in hard drive space for MP3s or install iTunes.
I loaded up the points page, browsed through the selection, browsed some more, and then hit the browse button even harder, like I meant it. Alas, all they had was a stupid silver iPod. Silver is not purple, so I defiantly didn’t get one.
So instead of buying an iPod to listen to music I don’t even really like, I accumulated even more points.
Then I found myself in Houston and remembered that the rodeo exists and that I love me some boot-scootin’, and I blew all of my points on tickets for my family.
My maa, Jenna, and I saw Rascal Flatts. We liquored my mom up, danced in the aisles, and had an all-around good time — despite the woman next to us smelling like she sprayed herself with every available perfume in Walgreens. With so many rhinestones and big hairdos around, I vowed to amp it up a notch the following week.
The following Wednesday, I took the entire Keena clan (minus my oh-so-studious brother) to see Reba. Forgetting about my broken foot (Did I mention that? No? So, I broke my foot. All is fine now. The end.), I wore boots. Other than the crippling pain, we had a great time. We took the kids to the carnival first, watched the cowboys and cowgirls so their things, then settled in for Reba’s show. For about 20 minutes of the show, my niece and nephew dropped it like it was hot. Then the boy announced he had growing pains in his shins, and the girl was tired. So we left. And went to the carnival again because they apparently weren’t *that* tired. All in all, it was a fantastic night.
A week later, Jenna and I took off by ourselves for Keith Urban. Despite not particularly caring for music, I’ve been to my fair share of shows. Of everything I’ve ever seen, this was the best show I’ve been to. Keith Urban was ah-may-zing. If you ever have the chance to see him, DO IT. It was so much fun.
After that show, Jenna and I got our IDs out and went to the big tent on the other side of the fairgrounds for an adults-only show and dancing. We made friendly with another group of women and danced until they shut the place down.
Besides all the family stuff and partaking in some great entertainment, there was also something called mutton bustin’. My descriptions can’t do it justice, so I’ll leave this topic with this video:
Not only is Boy cuter than the other kids, he’s better at t-ball too.
My time in Houston primarily revolves around my family. After my sister got herself a couple kids, the dynamic at our get-togethers really changed. I actually *gasp* like these people I’m related to.
That being said, I spend A LOT of time with my niece and nephew. I regularly find reason to pick them up in the early evening, take them to run my errands, and stop for dinner before dropping them back at home.
Despite a Facebook page full of reminders that people have similarly-to-my-sister squatted out children since I left this sleepy little town 15 years ago, I’m still shocked when I see someone I previously knew at tee ball practice with their very own 5-yr-olds.
So odd.
But as this area’s header says, my nephew is better than your kid. The end.
Happiness is a half-off diet cherry limeaid.
Do I really need to explain that Sonic has happy hour from 2 until 4 every single day?
Was reminded tonight of just how impeccable a southern man’s manners are.
I have a man friend who whips between being a special someone and a not-so-special someone. It’s one of those things where things could potentially work out really well for smoochin’ and whatnot, but neither of us is willing to move to make it happen. And since neither is willing to do anything, nothing ever happens.
But when the sweet pea comes into town for work, I’m always reminded why my long-standing crush continues.
We have one of those relationships where we can be talking about nothing in particular, then it jumps into way more truth-telling than I’m comfortable doing with anyone else, and then jumps back into safe territory without me even taking a blink.
He touches my inner gooey parts, even if he doesn’t get to touch the outer, more fun gooey parts.
Drunk and at my high school nemesis’ house. She is fucking awesome.
There was a time where I had a very bad boyfriend who did very bad things because he’s a very bad person who should be hurt very badly. One of the things he did was turn me against someone I was acquainted with, and she against me.
Fast-forward 15 years, and I received a Facebook message from her. With a little hesitation, we met up at her house for Indian food and to catch up.
Lo and behold, she’s really, really awesome.
3.5 bottles of wine, some Wii bowling, and whole lot of laughs later, I have a for-real friend.
Grapefruit overload!
My dad came across a foreclosure not too far from their wiped-out house and wanted me to take a look at it with him. He told me about a grapefruit tree in the backyard, so we first stopped at the busted-up house to fashion a PVP pipe for some orb-picking. We walked away with better knowledge about the house’s pier and beam damage and two grocery bags full of the best grapefruit I’ve ever put into my mouth.
The grapefruit were so good, I *might* have gone back for another sack full of breakfast.
In striving to continue to expand my real estate business, I’ve been eyeing Galveston for a good, long while now and have made several trips out to that dirty little island. It’s by no mean one of those beautiful white sand beaches where the blue waves lap at the shoreline, but I’m a little in love with the place.
If I ever settle down there (a distinct possibility), I’ll have to put a grapefruit tree in the yard.
Newsweek: Stress is good for you. Screw you, Newsweek.
For the past several weeks, I’ve been packing for a move to an unknown location. My thoughts on where to land vacillate quite frequently. I’ve finalized my location to Austin’s Hyde Park neighborhood (and will be signing a short-term lease this weekend), but for a while it switched between that, Galveston, Phoenix, a nicer part of Houston, and my ever-present dream of Hawaii.
With exception to Hawaii, those are great places to do the above-mentioned real-estating. I figure if I can land somewhere for a couple months, I can see what there is to see for properties.
That, and there’s a man in Austin who I need to hammer things out with and figure out if it’s a Go or a No-go. But we’re not going to talk about that right now since I don’t mention smoochin’ unless it’s a Go. Do note that I’ve kept my mouth shut for years now.
That being said, there’s been a significant amount of stress in my life. And I don’t care what Newsweek says, I prefer my life stress-free.
Even better: Renters approved, and they want most of my stuff. In Chicago soon-ish to clean things out.
After some donkey in my Chicago building listed her similar unit $50k below market in an attempt to sell it quickly, I put mine on the rental market and got renters immediately. That meant I had to hustle up to Chicago to clean out my place for them to move in.
My very first post-flight encounter with another human was in line to buy a CTA card to ride the train into the city. There was a single line for two machines. Being second in line, when the lady in front of me didn’t have her money out and was fiddling with her purse, I announced that I was going since I sufficiently had my shit together prior to being at the front of the line.
The old bat didn’t like this, exclaimed that she had her money ready, and insisted that I not go before her.
“Fine, you go.”
Under normal circumstances, I’d not be such a sack of crap. In my defense, my flight was at an ungodly hour. And, really, the lady had more than enough time to pull $2.25 out of her purse and position it in-hand to keep others from waiting any longer in the line.
She shuffled forward, putting her first dollar bill in. Then her second. Then she hit vend.
Again, under normal circumstances, I might have said something. Ya know, like, “Note the eye-level signs, lady. The train no longer costs $2. You need to put in another quarter.”
But since she was so insistent that she was ready to roll, I let it go and smirked to myself about how pissed she was about to be when she’d have to stand in line again to add a quarter to her card.
I was done with my transaction just in time to witness her smack her stomach on the turnstile and be told by a not-so-friendly CTA employee that she needed to learn to read signs.
Buuuuuuurn!
The rest of my weekend went pretty well. A friend kept me constant company while I packed everything up. My not-boyfriend and I coordinated his movers to facilitate a mass move with both our items. I had dinner with the gays and learned a new game that’s worth remembering. I had brunch with a couple friends and shared girly talk. I had dinner with the regulars. I had another dinner with another set of regulars. The movers pulled up to take the last of my stuff as I was literally on my way out the door to go to the airport, and it was kinda zen to say goodbye to Chicago.
Miracle of miracles, $62 and no diabetes.
And in final news, the cat indeed doesn’t have diabetes. He’s back to his normal self, and I’m not spending $200 a week in getting him poked and prodded.
Well, apparently Jesse’s started telling the story of Jesse and Jo. If we were Hollywood types, they’d call us Josse.
Alas, we’re not Hollywood types. But his sister and I are. They call us Mo and Jo, and they even have a yogurt chain in Phoenix named after us. Or at least that’s what we’re pretending while holding hands and skipping into a field of daisies while Jesse and her boyfriend “Anew” are holding our abandoned purses.
On that note, this revitalization of my blog comes because Jesse’s tens of readers are clicking over here, and it’s a little sad that the top entry is months old with photos of my oh-so-many purses.
Sidenote: The light blue Kate Spade had to be retired, and I’ve since replaced with a no-name blue-green bag with a zipper, two outer pockets, an inner pocket, and a buckle. *And* I just found a Coach bag in a local consignment store that makes me wiggle my fingers and chant, “I want, I want, I want,” like it’s a really cute baby who’s old enough to sleep through the night and laugh, yet young enough to think I’m it’s momma and love me forever and ever.
Sub-sidenote: Yeah, yeah. I’m a 29-year-old woman. Babies are getting cuter. Got any comments about my change of heart? Kindly keep them to yourself. Thankyouverymuch, jerks.
I’ll let him continue with the story about how we met online, how we met in real life, and how I fulfilled expectations for being a pain in the ass to the exact amount that people (READ: he) will still put up with it because I say enough funny things to make up for it.
All that being said, I truthfully don’t have much else to say. Life in Houston doesn’t give me much to say. I know I’m leaving in the not-too-distant future, so I haven’t been particularly motivated to meet people or do things outside of family matters. All I really do is work out, and I’ve subsequently lost 14 pounds.
Working and working out don’t make for good blog entries.
That, or I want little evidence of my few months spent here.
Either way, that’ll have to do for now. This is at least something to get the purses off the top of the page. More to come later.
Poor Hambone was acting weirdly two days ago, so I called my parents at work to compare notes. Mom noticed he hadn’t been eating his usual amount. Dad noticed he needed help getting onto his sleeping chair. I noticed he was walking funny and sleeping significantly more than the usual 18 hours per day.
One person noticing any of the symptoms wouldn’t necessarily put together that something’s wrong. However, all three notes combined had me rushing to find a vet in the area with availability that day.
For those of you who have had the pleasure of meeting The Bone, he’s not a passive animal. He’s a strong-willed being who doesn’t seem to understand that he’s about a tenth the size of a human. When taking him to well-cat visits, entry into The Rage Cage (a.k.a. his carrier) is an event that requires physical strength and mental agility on my part. Have a plan, expect the unexpected, and react accordingly and swiftly when plans A, B, and C fail. Usually I end up wrapping him in a towel to confuse him, dump him into the cage, and then apologize profusely as I zip and Velcro everything up.
Two days ago he allowed me to put him into The Rage Cage, barely sighing as I lifted him into the car. My heart broke a little that he really wasn’t feeling well. Then it broke a little more when he started getting motion sickness in the car and I couldn’t explain to him what was going on due to his lack of comprehending the English language. The situation was all-around sucky.
However, things got a bit better than I pulled into the vet’s office and there was a big banner stating this was voted the clinic of the year. Now, I know voting on these sorts of things isn’t fool-proof. After all, Chicago’s CitySearch site lists Excalibur as the best dance club, neglecting to mention that NO ONE in the city uses CitySearch, so it’s tourists casting their votes based off of one night spent at a cheesy club in the heart of Chicago’s hotel row. But I digress. The banner put me at ease nonetheless.
The staff and vet were swift to take us into a room, check him out, draw a bunch of blood for $200 in tests, and tell me what they thought was up. His glucose levels were high, so more blood was drawn for more tests. Repeat the process of everything above the next day, and today I have a diabetic cat with an infection, two weeks of antibiotics, an appetite stimulant, another $200 vet bill, and an appointment for next Tuesday evening to run some more tests before deciding when to start him on insulin.
This morning I awoke to him begging for food — something he hasn’t done in days. And then he also reacted with a little curiosity and urgency to a bird on the porch. So although he’s napping excessively, he’s already improving.
Here’s to hoping all is good in Hambone-land soon.
How is that I cannot for the life of me remember where I parked my car? The other day I came out of the mall and carried the four-year-old all over, looking for what’s been deemed my ‘donkey car’ because of its lovely brown shade of paint.
Up and down the aisle, I carried my 36-pound baby princess, covered in an additional pound of glitter from our outing to ‘the princess store’. The so-called cold front moved in, and she was complaining about her lack of a jacket and trying to snuggle into me, making carrying her exceedingly difficult.
She wasn’t amused when I hoisted her up and asked her to find ‘the donkey’. But there it was, hidden behind a large truck.
Good job, baby girl. You’re better at finding my car than I am.
Since making it to Houston, essentially all I’ve done is watch movies. I really don’t like watching movies, but my lack of a vehicle makes it difficult to leave the house.
So, in exchange for talking about how I feel about my updated living situation, I’ll instead tell you what I think about the movies I’ve seen.
Hopefully this list will save you some time. After all, every hour and a half adds up.
NOTE: My movie scale goes from -3 to +3.
The Onion Movie. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting from this movie, but this wasn’t it. I made it through the whole thing, but I was really, really bored that night. I’m pretty sure if I looked at the copyright date, it would be one of those Internet heydays where everything got a green light and thousands in backing. Verdict: -2.
Saw. This was more gruesome than I thought and not one of those jumpy horror movies. There was a bit of thought put into it, and that made it worthwhile. If blood or horror movie death scenes make you squeamish, this isn’t for you. Verdict: +2.
Saw 2. See above.
Saw 4. Ditto.
P2. Two things: I can’t believe this piece of shit got made, and I can’t believe I watched all of it. Really, I stuck around to see how much worse the movie can get. If things women acting defenselessly in horror movies pisses you off, I’d suggest not watching it. Verdict: -3.
The Heartbreak Kid. With exception to The Royal Tenenbaums, Ben Stiller movies piss me off. Heartbreak Kid was more Meet the Parents than Zoolander or Dodge Ball. It was a little funny and a little charming, but oh so generic. Verdict: +1.
Stranded. I can’t give you an opinion on this because I turned it off after 20 minutes. If you’re looking for a non-drug sedative, this would be your movie. Verdict: N/A.
27 Dresses. People who know me in real life know that I love me some celebrity news. But when it comes to Katherine Heigl, there’s a bitchface mean streak in me. She really brings out the anger in me, so it was especially funny that she was the only celeb I saw on my trip to LA. I made it through this entire movie without too much effort. It was fine. Whatever. If you’re looking for a formulaic romantic movie without too much comedy to make it so your girlfriend will later sit through Cloverfield with you, this wouldn’t make you want to rip your eyes out. Verdict: +1.
Wall-E. This was fine. I was distracted by four kids who felt it necessary to tell me every part that was coming up next, so I can’t give a real assessment of it. Verdict: N/A, but everyone tells me +3.
The Ruins. I’m going to repeat myself: I can’t believe this piece of shit got made. Verdict: -3.
Little Nicky. I wasn’t expecting another comedic genius like Happy Gilmore, but I was still disappointed by this one. There’s really nothing to say. Verdict: -1.
Frosty the Snowman. This wasn’t the old version with the rabbit. This one’s hat belonged to the dad’s dad blah blah blah. Would I ever choose to watch it again? No. Did it keep the kids occupied for about an hour? Yes. Verdict: You decide what’s important to you.
The Devil Wears Prada. This is again another generic movie made for mass audiences. There wasn’t really anything worthwhile in this movie, except the scene where it’s flashing to her clothes while she’s walking to work. I wish I had reason to wear cute clothes to work. Read the book, though. Verdict: +1.
Rambo. I like karate and explosions. This had both. Verdict: +2.
10,000 BC. I didn’t make it through this movie either. Too long, too slow, and too many British accents. Verdict: -2.
Cloverfield. This movie was shot from a neat perspective (be warned for possible stomach churning from the camera’s constant motion), and there was a lot going on in my beloved “explosions” category. I blinked, and 50 minutes had gone by. And then right as things are getting all too scary and shit, the movie’s over. If you’re looking to spend a little over an hour watching a movie, this is the only one of the above I’d suggest. Verdict: +3.
Yeah, I have a big ol’ crush on Rahm Emanual. I’m not oging to lie. Not only do I have a penchant for Jewish men, I also seem to have a thing for arrogance. (No worries. In real life I keep the arrogance attraction thing in check.)
For those who are familiar with Rahm, you’ll find this funny. If not, I’m sure there are other blogs with things going on.
