25 May 2006

The call I want to make, but shouldn't and hope I don't.

I can't even begin to tell you how incredibly hurt I am to find out I mean so little to you that you can't at least call me to say goodbye. It's a colossal disappointment, but it isn't a big surprise.

I just wanted to wish you all the luck in the world before you go. I hope this exceeds your every expectation and is better than you could possibly have dreamed. I hope that you are happy and fulfilled. I'm sure you'll be wildly successful.

Be safe. I wish you all the best.

24 May 2006

Google vs. Yellow Pages

Today, the Star Tribune ran a couple of stories about Google Trends. Google Trends shows what people are searching for in different cities. It seems that we search for lefse and beer, among other things.

I usually take Google for granted, because using it has become second nature to me. I use it to answer every question to which I need an answer. I had an e-mail this morning from someone wondering if I had a copy of version of The Streets' "Dry Your Eyes," on which Chris Martin sings. The guy who sent the e-mail said he'd looked for it unsuccessfully and thought that if anyone would have it, I'd be the person. And I do have it, now. I did a Google search on "the streets, featuring chris martin." Lo and behold, there's a link to the song in about the third or fourth link on the page. Why wasn't that the e-mailer's first action? "Well, instead of using Google, I'll just find Jessy's profile and e-mail her through the website to see if she might have it." That's so much extra work.

What would I do without Google? I shudder to think. When I was out with Brian last week we talked about how often we use it. Carrie and I were sitting on the deck last night talking about a variety of things that we need to Google. I probably say "I'll have to Google that when I get home," at least once a night when I go out.

What about the Yellow Pages, you ask? Every day this week when I've come home from work, I've had this inner discussion with myself about Google vs. Yellow Pages. It seems our phone books have arrived, because there are four giant bags from Dex (or whoever the fuck the phone book company is) sitting in front of my door. And every day, I wonder who the hell uses a phone book these days? I rarely even use an online phone book, unless you count the reverse look-up. I Google the business whose phone number I need and get their number from the company's website.

After I ponder the real numbers of people who use a phone book, I start to get pissed. First of all, I didn't ask for these stupid phone books that I'm never going to use. I'm not going to use them, and now it is my responsibility to dispose of them. I get angry because I think of all that wasted paper. Yeah, it may be recycled (though, I haven't a clue if it is or not), but it's still a waste of materials and resources (energy to produce the books?) to make and distribute something to me that I don't want. The disposal of my three (?) unwanted phone books is now weighing on my mind. I finally brought my bag into my apartment with the intention of taking them out back eventually. Just throwing them in the trash isn't good. However, I'm not sure if I can recycle them with my regular recycling. I remember sometime in the past that there are special recycling places for unwanted/old phone books. Though, I could be dreaming that. If that is true, if anyone thinks I am making a special trip to recycle my phone book, they are smoking the crack. Seems kind of counterproductive, anyway, to go out of one's way and waste gas, to recycle something they never wanted.

Plus, the three other bags for the three other units have been sitting on the front steps for days without being picked up. I'm guess if I don't want to see those any longer, I'm going to have to take care of them myself. And by take care of them myself, I most likely mean throw them in the trash. So fuck you, Dex.

23 May 2006


The craving for Twizzlers disappeared as I wrote about it. But there are others. There are always others. And they're not all related to hormones. Or maybe they are.

Unobstructed nostrils.
My bed.
A cold beer on a warm patio.
A whisper in my ear, lips so close I get chills.
A day off.
A hug. But more than just a hug; to be folded into arms that make me feel safe, happy and loved. Really, though, "just" a hug would do wonders.

I want Twizzlers.

I've had a hankering for some Twizzlers for a few days now. But today, I want to eat so many that I feel sick. I want them to be a little stale. Stale to the point that they're hard to chew; so that when I eat enough to make me feel sick, my jaw will hurt.

22 May 2006

Two Buck Chuck.

Minneapolis has a Trader Joe's. It opened a mere seven days ago. And it's not actually in Minneapolis. It's in St. Louis Park. Close enough to the border, though.

I was very excited to visit the new grocery store. Mostly because of the world-renowned "Two Buck Chuck." In most (or some?) of Trader Joe's stores, the cheap wine is actually $1.99. Unfortunately for us in Minneapolis, it's $2.99. Oh, the horror! Three dollars for a bottle of wine? And it's not Boone's Farm. Oh. Wait.

Quite frankly, given Minnesota's ridiculous Lutheranized liquor laws, I was worried about there even being a liquor store. But I know there are ways around it. Shoot, pretty much every grocery store in Mankato has an attached liquor store. And the Byerlys in the metro have the same. It's not as convenient as being able to pick up your wine and beer in the same room, but in the same building isn't too bad.

Lucky for me, Trader Joe's is right on my way to Target and the gym. How can I not go, when I drive past it several times a week? That's absolutely convenient.

I had to run to Target after my walk around the lake tonight to get some allergy meds. As I drove past Trader Joe's, I saw real, honest-to-goodness parking spots. How could I not stop? Well, there was not a single reason for me not to stop. So I did.

There's not a lot of parking there. Inside, it was crazy; so many people and we're all new to it. So, there was a lot of lollygagging in the aisles and many, many logjams. Lots of empty space on the shelves. That's to be expected, though, I suppose. And since grocery shopping isn't exactly my most beloved activity, well, I'm not really sure why I even went into the grocery store part. Probably because I was hungry.

Even though there was a lot of empty shelf space, I managed to grab a few things. I got a loaf of Italian bread (now in the freezer because there are no preservatives and I decided to not make grilled cheese for dinner), a jar of organic tomato-basil marinara sauce, grilled vegetable and black bean burritos (two, frozen) and wasabi peas. The wasabi peas are de-freakin'-licious. I think they are better than Target's. And $2 cheaper, too. However, I need to check the amount in each bag to see if it's really cheaper or just a smaller amount.

And of course, I couldn't neglect the liquor store. It was lovely and cool in there. I imagine a wine cellar would feel the same. Sadly, there was much empty shelf space. And no actual liquor -- just beer (a very small amount) and wine. There was a large display of Purple Moon Shiraz (ooooh, I love shiraz!) for a whopping $3.99. The wine prices ranged from $35.99 (the most expensive I saw, but I didn't look all that closely) to the wonderful Two Buck Chuck at $2.99.

I picked up two of the Two Buck Chuck shiraz. There was a merlot and a sauvingnon blanc. And possibly another, but I couldn't see what it was. As I sip my last glass from the first bottle of my Two Buck Chuck, I'm a) a little drunk and b) very, very pleasantly surprised with the quality of the wine. I'm absolutely not a wine snob. I drink what I like. I like Yellow Tail, which is pretty freakin' cheap. As long as it tastes good to me, what the fuck do I care?

So, I should really get my ass back there and buy a case of Two Buck Chuck. You really can't go wrong if you're not a wine snob.

21 May 2006


Why is this so hard?

You know, I'm a pretty good cook when I actually get around to doing something in the kitchen.

Are my eyes so oxygen-deprived that they're sucking in too much?

Maybe I should have worn my contacts today.

Sundays suck, but Sundays with 12-hour "Law and Order" marathons aren't too shabby.

Sundays with a potentially short week ahead aren't bad, either.

I should take Friday off and have a four-day weekend.

Why can't my slipcover just stay in place?

I have a headache.

Cliques on messageboards are weird.

Ugh. I have to spend so much money in the next few weeks.

I can't wait to go for a walk around the lake after work tomorrow night.

Only five more days.

18 May 2006

iTunes is stalking me.

Last night I was talking about seeing The Pixies not all that long ago, and how I'd never really been a fan. However, I was converted when I left the arena.

Then, this morning while I was getting ready, I heard no fewer than three Pixies songs from the playist I had chosen. I've been listening to this particular playlist for a few days now. I created it back on Super Bowl Sunday, I think. I can't have more than four or five Pixies songs on the entire playlist, and the whole thing is on random.

Get out of my brain, iTunes!

A different kind of crazy bus stop lady.

Listening to my iPod on the bus ride to work is awesome, don't get me wrong. Sometimes, however, I miss out on potentially hilarious rantings from various fellow bus riders. And that's a bit disappointing.

Most of the folks that seem a bit off that I encounter in my bus riding adventures seem to talk to themselves more than anything. Today, however, as I waited at the bus stop on Hennepin and 5th, there was a cantankerous older woman who seemed to be searching for someone, anyone, to talk to.

She looked at me, but saw the headphones and turned into the shelter where there was a woman waiting. Incidently, there must be construction or something on Nicollet, because there are Nicollet buses on Hennepin every day. It's been going on since last week. The clusterfuck of buses is a sight to behold. Not a pretty sight, mind you, but a sight all the same.

Back to Crabby Lady. I actually turned my music off for a bit to see if I could hear her, but to no avail. She had her back to me. Whatever she was saying was cracking the girl up in the shelter with her. All I could hear was the tone of her voice. From that it sounded like she could be ranting about "those goddamn kids." And how they wouldn't stay off her lawn or something.

She also had a comb in her back pocket. What day isn't complete without an '80s flashback, I ask you?

17 May 2006

Monday Morning Quarterbacking

Okay, so it's Wednesday night, but the general idea remains the same. I shouldn't have made that phone call on Sunday. It wasn't worth the amount of time I've spent dwelling on the subject since I made the call.

The good thing is that in the intervening days, I've realized that I have to wash my hands of the whole shebang. It is a very good thing that I'm busy because I do not need to see him before he goes. It'll only make me crazy.


Anyway, I'm ready for him to leave the country. I'm ready to be over him and move on with my life.

14 May 2006

Taking life lessons from TV.

I feel like a bad episode of The Simpsons. I stayed in last night and caught up on some TV. This is for several reasons, the main one being that I just didn't feel like being around anyone.

One of the shows I watched was "My Name Is Earl." It was the season finale. The episode recounts how Earl got to be where he was with his list. At the end, he was fixing Joy's wall, when it wasn't his fault that the wall had a gaping hole in it. He said that sometimes it's better to just suck it up and do something like that, even when it's not your fault. There's no point in holding on to the anger, as it only makes you feel worse.

What kind of a life lesson could I possibly take from this, you ask? It just so happens that on Friday night at Happy Hour, I was talking with Carrie about Whatshisfuckingface and how I sometimes feel like I want so badly to make him know what he's done to me and I just want to say my peace. However, at the same time, I just want the situation to go away because I know there will be no making him see my point of view. Then there are the times that I just wonder whether I should suck it up and try to be okay with this more for his sake than anything.

I guess I took Earl's nugget of wisdom and applied it to my own situation with Whatshisfuckingface. Being angry at him hasn't made me feel good at all. I can deal with being hurt and sad, and I have been dealing with those things, in fact. I've felt like I want to hold a grudge, but what good is that going to do? It will only make me dwell on the situation for much longer than I should.

So I made the decision to just wipe the slate clean as well as I could. Not that I did a good job or anything. I left him a voicemail saying something to the effect of, "If you want to call me, that's fine. I'm not going to pretend that I'm okay with how you've treated me, but I know that being angry about it isn't going to do me any good." He actually called me back. Again, I felt like he was putting more of the blame on me than what I actually deserved. But I didn't say anything. What's the point? I don't really think there is one, as it turns out. I still don't know where we are, but I told him I wanted to be okay when he leaves and me not being angry is a good place for that to start.

And now, the Twins are about to take on the White Sox for the third of four games in this series. The worst they can do is split, but let's hope they win tonight for all the mommies out there.

11 May 2006

Break-up therapy.

What to do when your pretty much ex-boyfriend calls because you haven't contacted him for more than 10 days? What to do when you spend the afternoon bawling because you may not ever speak to him again, no matter how good a thing that may be? How do you make yourself feel better when you're hurt and angry?

If you're me (and you should probably thank Jeebus that you're not), you hit the liquor store after picking up some essentials at the grocery store. You embark on a new program called Bugles and Summit Extra Pale Ale therapy. And you start to feel better. A phone call from a cute boy who is not Whatshisfuckingface offering to take you out for tequila poppers next week might help as well.


I've been assaulted by a variety of nasty smells and sights today. When I was walking into the building this morning, there was a god-awful stench in the space between the outer doors and inner doors. There was a man walking out as I was walking in and he was carrying some plastic bags. I suppose the foul odor could have come from the bags, but he was carrying them as if they were filled with normal, everyday things instead of Satan's poo. It smelled rotten, but worse. It seemed to be mostly contained in the area between the inner and outer doors, thank goodness. I'm hoping it's gone by the time I leave today.

Our office doesn't smell like roses, either. So many dudes in one small space has to be the reason. It just gets ... stale and mildly funky in here most days. I have to open my window even when there's quite a chill in the air, like today.

Now for the nasty sights. After composing myself, post-cry (Whatshisfuckingface decided he needed to call and bother me today), I went to the bathroom. There are four regular stalls and one handicap stall in the first-floor women's bathroom here. I usually take stall four and avoid the handicap stall unless I'm changing clothes or something. I followed a woman in who took stall three. I went to stall four, as usual, only to see something nasty on the toilet seat. It wasn't pee. It could have been poo. Whatever it was, I wasn't cleaning it off. Stall two was my next choice. But, what have we here? More crap on the toilet seat. Could have been blood, could have been backsplash from someone puking in the toilet. Who knows? I certainly don't, and again, I'm not going to bother trying to clean it up. I'll just try stall one. Lo and behold, there's hair on the seat. At least that I can blow off or wipe off easily.

People are grossing me out today. I hate them so.

10 May 2006

I did NOT need new glasses.

To the guy working at Dinkytown Optical when I came in to see if my glasses were breaking or if it was just a loose screw: You told me there was no hope and that I needed new glasses. Lucky me, I didn't have any money or time. And I didn't really believe you, either. The gentleman at Vision World in Calhoun Square had no trouble bending things back into shape. Yay! However, I've been itching to get some new specs. Vision World had some really funky frames for $89.95. Maybe when I get my next flex check back I can go.

On my way from the bus stop to Bruegger's for a bagel (sourdough, plain. I'll be putting my own peanut butter and banana on) this morning, some dude in an older Honda Civic or Accord hollered at me. At least I think it was at me because there was no one else on the street. He may have been particularly overjoyed about something else, but that doesn't usually elicit an "Aaahhhhoooooooooow!" It made me smile, and that's all that matters, right?

Monday, while I was waiting at the bus stop at 5th and Hennepin, I was approached by an aspiring rapper. He gave me his CD (which I have yet to listen to) and told me he was kind of attracted to me. He was taking some dude to an AA meeting. He had that weird, one long pinky fingernail thing I sometimes see with black men. What is this phenomenon? I don't see it often enough to ask anyone. I'm not sure who I'd ask anyway.

Regardless, I'm doing fairly well the past few days after the text-messaging episode with Whatshisfuckingface on Friday. Out of sight (or voicemail, text, whatever), out of mind. I can hope that he'll not contact me, but I feel it coming. I'll try to ignore him the best I can. He'll be gone soon and it'll be all over then.

05 May 2006

Just when you thought it was safe

Wouldn't it just be awesome if I spent most of the morning and early afternoon on the verge of tears (or well over the verge of tears) all thanks to Whatshisfuckingface and then around 2:00 I got a text message from him?

No, it wouldn't be awesome. It would suck. Actually, I can say with 100 percent certainty that it does, in fact, suck. You can't return a phone call from Monday, but you can send me a completely random text message four days later like everything is peachy keen? And all this after I say to a couple of people, "That's it. I really think I'm done with him."

How positively wonderful.

Also, fuck you.

04 May 2006

How could he have been good at his job?

While I was getting ready for bed last night or getting ready for work this morning, I started thinking about Whatshisfuckingface and how he's handling our situation. Or, rather, not handling it. First of all, I'm mildly concerned that I can't remember exactly when these thoughts came to me. I know I was in the bathroom in front of the sink and mirror, though. It was probably this morning. Secondly, it bothers me that I'm still spending so much time going over all of this in my mind. I guess it just takes time to get over someone, even when you know it's for the best. Sadly, I think this won't really end until he leaves. For some reason, I think knowing he's gone will help me a great deal.

I was thinking about Whatshisfuckingface and how I called him on Monday to talk about whether we would see each other before he left. It is now Thursday and I haven't heard a word from him. Now, I know full well this is an unpleasant situation. It isn't easy to know you're hurting someone; to know you're breaking her heart. And it isn't easy to face her, or really even to talk to her when you know she is angry at you. However, if you have any sort of balls at all, you know it's the right thing to do and that you should talk to her.

Now, while I was thinking about this, a conversation I had with Whatshisfuckingface popped into my head. It was early in the relationship. I believe he was in Dallas conducting a training. He was telling me about this book that was the basis of the training. The book dealt with having difficult conversations. I distinctly remember him asking me if I thought I could do that kind of thing. And I told him that while I wouldn't look to have a difficult conversation with someone, if I knew it had to be done, I could suck it up and do it. It seemed to me he asked this question kind of pointedly. And I admit I'm nonconfrontational and really passive-aggressive. But with Whatshisfuckingface, I've really tried very hard to communicate and be very open. It's a new thing for me, and it's not easy.

As I think more about this, I am more sure it was this morning that I had this ... revelation, I guess. It occurred to me that as a leadership consultant, Whatshisfuckingface had to train people to have these difficult, painful conversations for the good of their organization. He also worked directly with organizations and had to have difficult conversations with them about their leadership or direction or whatever the hell it was he was doing with them.

So, why is it that he can't have difficult conversations in his personal life? He obviously knows how to do it. He has the tools. Is it a case of "Those who can, do. Those who can't, teach."? Is it hard for him because he has a stake in the situation or relationship? Is it because he's not getting paid?

Quite frankly, I'm baffled. And I'll never get an answer, because he can't return a fucking phone call.

03 May 2006

Name has been changed to protect the asshole.

My dear friend Malina gave me an idea a couple of days ago. Instead of calling my ex by his name, she called him Whatshisfuckingface. Could be because she didn't really remember his name. Could be because he's turning in to quite the jerk. Probably a little from Column A and a little from Column B.

Regardless, I find it kind of catchy. And, it makes me feel better, in a nasty, vindictive sort of way. So, I went back and changed his given name in my blog entries to "Whatshisfuckingface."


01 May 2006

Drama on the bus.

Finally I have a bus story involving the Minneapolis Transit Police. Wait, why does that sound like I've been waiting for this to happen?

I was reading and listening to Snow Patrol's new album (which comes out a week from tomorrow, thank you very much), so I wasn't aware of this guy creating a disturbance right away. A guy in a wheelchair had just gotten on, so I thought that's why we were still sitting at the stop. However, I then heard over the tunes some guy loudly slurring, "That's fuckin' bullshit, man."

I never quite figured out what the problem was. I know the card reader in the farebox wasn't working. It didn't read my pass, nor was it giving transfers. So, perhaps the guy was pissed off that he couldn't get a transfer. I may have heard him say something about whatever he had in his hand he couldn't use on the light rail. I didn't bother to take my headphones off or even turn the music down.

At the same time this drunk guy is carrying on, the driver has the doors of the bus open. I thought maybe it had something to do with the guy, but it seemed that there was something wrong. What my problem was, I'm not sure, but I was freaking out. We're running late. There's a drunk guy causing a disturbance. The card reader doesn't work and now the doors won't shut. And I was on the verge of tears as it was. As all of these things mounted, I started feeling like I might throw up. No idea where that came from. That would have been awesome. Or not.

Drunk guy was still on the bus when I got off at Hennepin and 5th. For some reason, there were tons of cop cars around. It just so happened that there was a Transit Police car sitting a few car lengths from the bus stop. They had drunky get off. I saw him get frisked and put into the car. All's well that ends well, I guess. There was a woman on the bus who kept saying, "Hey, the bus driver's talking to you," and generally antagonizing the guy. I'm not really sure what one should do in that kind of a situation, but I'm pretty sure doing something to antagonize a drunk guy who is verbally abusing the bus driver isn't on the list of good ideas.

I got home at my normal time. We went past a march that was gong from the Basilica to maybe the Hennepin County Government Center for the Day Without Immigrants. Lots of Latino faces, quite a few white faces as well. I was impressed with their numbers.