30 September 2009

Every little bit helps.

How terribly, terribly sad is it that I rejoiced just a little bit ago when my plugged-up left ear suddenly cleared? That is the best thing that has happened to me this week. I've got a bit of a head cold, and last night when I used my neti pot (doesn't that woman look a little like Reese Witherspoon?), some of my sinus congestion decided to head over to my left ear, which was clogged for 24 fucking hours.

I don't feel that terrible, but my sinuses are so packed full of shit that my teeth, ears and eyes hurt. Boo!

You've not heard anything about my check situation lately, have you? I thought I'd posted on Friday that after an e-mail and two phone calls the HEAD OF PAYROLL called me back. She said that accounts payable had cut the check but not mailed it. She also said she thought everything had gone according to plan, until she got my e-mail. Thanks for fucking returning that e-mail, you fucking cunt. And for returning the call from Thursday. She said she'd overnight the check on Monday and if it wasn't here when I got home from work on Tuesday, I should call her.

After our phone conversation, she did e-mail me to ask for the documentation I'd sent her a fucking month earlier. Yeah, I'm sure she submitted it when she said she did, if she needed the documentation. My guess right now is that she never did it and expected me to just give up. You thought wrong, lady.

I'm sure you can guess where this is going. When I finally got home yesterday, there was no check. I called her. She didn't call me back today. There was no check when I got home from work today, either. I called her again and do not expect to hear back from her.

This weekend, I will pull all my documentation together and send an e-mail to HR, just so there is a record of all of this somewhere. I've spent entirely too much time stressed out about this. It's fucked me up financially for at least the rest of the year, if not longer. It's humiliating to have to beg for this fucking money. I'm embarrassed to constantly have to say I can't do things because I have no money -- going out with friends, lunch with my coworkers, buying dinner for The Boy I Currently Like. Not being able to pay my bills and using quarters to buy my groceries isn't exactly fun, either.

I just want someone to acknowledge that they fucked up big time, you know?

28 September 2009

I'd forget my own head, and other such clichés.

Last week, I forgot to put a pair of socks in my gym bag when I packed it before work. So, I had to do my pre-yoga cardio without socks. There are days I forget my contacts and days I forget my non-prescription sunglasses. All of these forgotten items make for a less-than-ideal gym experience, for sure. But I get by. I haven't forgotten anything really important in a long time.

Until today.

As I was leaving work and walking to my car, I wondered if I'd put my gym shoes into my gym bag this morning. I remembered taking my work shoes out of my bag, but couldn't remember putting my sneakers in and zipping up the shoe compartment. I'm not sure why I didn't check before I drove to the gym, but I didn't.

When I got into the locker room and set my bag down, it certainly appeared that my shoe compartment was full. I was delighted to discover my entirely-too-pink shoes right where they were supposed to be. I mean, honestly. How could I have forgotten my shoes? They're a very integral part of the whole workout routine. Except for yoga.

So, all was well. I set to rummaging about the larger compartment of the bag to fish out my socks, my pants and shirt and my sport bra. My ... sport bra. Oh, God dammit. I fucking forgot my bra.

Look, I can make do without socks. I can suffer with my glasses fogging up, getting smeary and sliding down my nose. I can drive into the sun, face all scrunched up, while developing a headache if I forget sunglasses. But I absolutely, most definitely cannot work out while wearing the bra I'm wearing right now. Shit. I can't even run across the street in that bra without holding my tits. And I don't really think I could have held on to The Girls for dear life through 45 minutes of cardio on the treadmill and elliptical machine. Sure, people might think I'm crazy, but I'd have been more concerned about falling off one of those pieces of equipment. My balance has improved immensely through yoga, but I still have to occasionally grab the hand ... rails? while I'm on the treadmill.

It was not a huge deal to have to come home. I actually considered skipping the gym earlier, as I'm coming down with a head cold. I don't feel terrible, but I thought maybe if I was home relaxing, I'd be able to get to bed at a decent hour and maybe feel a bit better tomorrow. And hey -- I was home in time to catch all of the Twins über-important game against Detroit. Except, the game has been postponed until tomorrow because of inclement weather. Sweet.

Maybe I'll come out of tonight with some homemade bread, if everything goes well. So, it won't have been a total loss.

27 September 2009

I didn't know they had a name.

Last week, I ran across a piece on Jezebel about hate crushes. A hate crush? I have TONS of hate crushes. I just had no idea there was a term for them. A lame term, to be sure, but a term nonetheless.

If I currently have a hate crush, I guess it's toward The Creepy New Guy at work. That doesn't really fit the definition, though. I just pretty much abjectly hate him. He's gross, wears too much cologne and I really, really do not like the way he looks at me. I go out of my way to not speak to him or even look at him, if at all possible.

No, my last hate crush has ebbed at this point, I think. The whole thing started because of this blog, as it turns out. There was a reader who showed up occasionally and left weird comments. I started seeing her elsewhere on the blogosphere. Then one day, I wrote about the fact that I was going to meet The Boy I Currently Like for the first time. She commented on that post and I still didn't think too much of the situation.

That all changed the following day when I checked my blog e-mail account and found out she'd e-mailed me. I'm not sure if it's possible to make this long story short, but it turned out she'd been corresponding with The Boy for quite some time and had quite significant feelings for him and here she was making me feel like some sort of virtual homewrecker because I had a "date" with him coming up in a couple of days.

Her unsolicited e-mails to me set in motion what was to become my hate crush. It went on for a long time -- well more than a year. I started reading her blog and became almost as obsessed with it as it seemed she had been with mine. I told my friends about her latest ridiculous post or comment or e-mail or whatever. The Boy and I would occasionally talk about her, as she kept contacting him with crazy schemes to try to get us to all be friends. Sometimes it seemed like she wanted to be friends with me, other times it was obvious she hated me.

As for the whole idea that what you hate about your hate crush is what you don't like about yourself, I absolutely think that's true. I do not at all like her writing style -- it's torturous and pretentious and absolutely fucking boring. I cringe to think people might feel the same about my writing. I've been worried about looking pathetic in regard to unrequited feelings I've had toward guys in the past; more stuff I could see in her writing. I don't want to ever feel or seem like I'm trying too hard to make people like me. I didn't want to be toyed with or led on the way she seemed to have been.

But there was also the fact that I was so angry at her for inserting herself into my life. I didn't want to or need to know anything about her or whatever relationship she thought she might have had with the guy I was going to meet in a few days. As if that situation isn't stressful enough on it's own. As if the early weeks and months aren't fraught with potential landmines as it is. Why was she trying to get closure from me? There was nothing I could do for her. I certainly don't want to be friends with someone who caused me so much grief for so long when the whole situation didn't directly involve me.

Thankfully, she seems to have gone away and I don't think too much about her. Should she pop back up again (and people who drive me crazy have a tendency to do that), I worry that the hate crush could be rekindled. I don't want that. I don't need that kind of stress. Maybe writing about it will make me able to just look away, if she's not really gone. I hope so.

25 September 2009

I did something nice today.

One of my coworkers has been out sick all week. First of all, she's awesome for staying home all week, save for a being in the office for a short while for some reason or another a couple of days ago. I'm mildly concerned about this whole H1N1 thing, only because I've not been using my Advair for about two months, since I can't afford to drop $150 on it what with my fiduciary difficulties. My asthma hasn't been that bad, but I can definitely tell the difference.

So, she's been being good and staying home. However, that means she's missing out on the CSA box this week. It just so happens that she lives all of a mile from me. When she e-mailed today to see if I would bring her box home with me and she'd pick it up this evening, I did her one better and just took it right to her house. I mean, it's essentially on my way home. I certainly didn't have to go out of my way or anything.

Now I'm doing even more nice stuff. I've got chocolate chip cookie dough chilling in the fridge so I can make cookies for The Boy I Currently Like. He's had a rough few weeks, plus he's getting us ribs for dinner tomorrow night. RIBS. I thought that deserved a bit more than just some bacon -- especially when he turns around and cooks the bacon for me in the morning. So that he's not overwhelmed, I'll spread some of the cookies out amongst my brother, sister and parents tomorrow. Everyone wins!

I just have to hope the dough chills sufficiently before I get too drunk. I've been known to burn myself on hot cookie sheets when I'm baking and drinking late at night.

24 September 2009

Things I was going to write about.

Assholes at the gym who think I must be their damn mother/wife/maid, because they are too lazy/disgusting to CLEAN THE DAMN MACHINE THEY SWEAT ALL OVER.

My stupid brain that forgot to tell me to put socks in my gym bag before I left this morning and then I forgot to charge my iPod while driving to the gym, so my cardio experience before yoga was fucking horrible.

Still no check reimbursing me for my overdraft fees, and now my e-mails and phone calls are being ignored. How long before I involve HR? I hate that fucking place so much.

There was probably more, but we had yoga outside tonight for what is almost certainly the very last time this year. It was delightful and I'm feeling too calm to bitch too much about anything.

Check back tomorrow, though, in case you need your dose of vitriol from me.

23 September 2009

A sensitive nose is no fun.

How my sense of smell can be so finely tuned sometimes is beyond me. I could swear that I'm congested about 75 percent of my life. And yet, I always smell the worst things.

Take tonight for example. I had to move from an elliptical machine in the back row left side of the cardio area to a treadmill on the right side in the front to get away from a guy who smelled just fucking terrible. Okay, so part of the reason I moved so far away was so I could watch the baseball game on ESPN. But still.

What I don't understand is how this guy, who must live or work in the area, could end up smelling like my dad after a day in the hog barns. Dude, I know it seems like it is defeating the purpose, but you really need to shower before coming to the gym when you smell the way you do. For Christ's sake, when my brother is working on the farm, he'll take a shower before he goes out to work. He's kind of a bad example, as he has to make sure his clothes match before he heads out to the barn or field. My brother is a freak.

22 September 2009

Finally: A legitimate reason to skip a baby shower.

It's so legitimate that even my mom thinks it's a good reason. That might be due to the fact that she's not going, either. After all, Grandma's Little Angel (aka my nephew) has a football game that day.

We're (my mom, sister and I) not going to this baby shower because we weren't invited to my cousin and his now-pregnant wife's wedding. Quite honestly, I can't remember who it was that didn't want us there. He probably didn't, but I seem to recall hearing something about her family not wanting us there. Which is odd, because I have no idea who they are. My mom and her sister do not get along, but we went to the other two boys' weddings. I didn't pay much attention when it was all going down because, hey! I don't have to go to that wedding!

Look -- it's not like I would have gone to the wedding anyway. However, why bother inviting us to the baby shower, if we were not welcome at the wedding? I can count on one hand the number of times I've talked to this girl. In fact, I'm not even sure I was ever introduced to her. It was just one of those, "Hey, who is that person?" at Christmas one year. And then she kept showing up to shit on the rare occasions my loser, douchebag, delinquent cousin showed up to family functions. I probably wouldn't know who she was if I ran into here on the street somewhere.

So, yay.

21 September 2009

Bras really are marvelous things.

I'm not even talking about the clever engineering bra designers use to create bras that will stop The Girls from bouncing all over the place while I am working out.

No, bras have many other uses, including ceremonial headgear and makeshift purses. I mean, who among us (except most -- if not all -- of you male readers) hasn't stashed some cash in her bra during a night on the town, only to wonder where it went? I can't count the number of times I've drunkenly flung off a bra only to find the $20 I thought I'd lost falling to the floor or still stuck to my tit.

Now that I have a little extra space in my sport bra, I've realized I can stash some rather large things in there. A few weeks ago, I was walking around Lake Calhoun on my way home from or to somewhere, and instead of just my house key tied to my shoe, I had my car key and key fob. That's not something that really works being tied to your shoe, and I hate holding things while I'm walking. Also, my workout pants have no pockets.

So, I thought, "Maybe it'll be fine in my bra." I mean, I keep my iPod in my bra all the time. The weird lines aren't that big of a deal, as the cord for my earbuds comes out of my shirt. But lo -- not only did it work just fine, my key and key fob seemed to just melt into my boobie. Awesome! Tonight, I wanted to go to Rainbow on my way home to pick up some groceries, because I can't get everything in one trip. Ever. But I didn't want to carry my list, cash and reusable bag. Ooooh, here's an idea: stick it in your bra.

See, the reusable bag folds up into something that fits in the palm of your hand. The list went into that and I tried it in the bra. Hot fucking damn, it worked. Yeah, it was considerably more lumpy than either the iPod or key/fob. But the lines weren't as weird. I stuck my $20 directly into the bra instead of into the bag with the list, as I like the feel of cash against my skin. Don't judge.

Okay, okay. I will admit it isn't a perfect solution. Using the self-checkout does mean no one has to touch my sweaty money, though. And I had enough forethought to extract the bag from my bra before I actually entered the store. Fishing money out of your bra is neither classy nor easy to do on the down low. So I'm being less-than-classy. However, I'm red-faced, sweaty and wearing shitty workout clothes. The classy train left the station a while ago. What can you do?

20 September 2009

A day of huge mistakes.

Okay, so I may be exaggerating a wee bit. I know, I know; it's so incredibly uncharacteristic of me. However, when examined in the context of all the decisions I've made today, these really are glaringly awful.

First, I decided to bench Eagles wide receiver DeSean Jackson in favor of New Orleans's Robert Meacham. The former got me all of three fantasy points last week and this week would be receiving passes from the back-up quarterback. Meacham, on the other hand, had somewhere in the neighborhood of 11 fantasy points and Drew Brees would be throwing to him again this week.

So, of course, Jackson ends up with 17 fantasy points and Meacham with two. Mother. Fucker. It probably won't matter, as I'm barely ahead at this point. I think, anyway. Fanball's live scoring is complete and utter shit this season. Points keep coming and going all day -- my defense's points are going from six to nothing and back every time it reloads.

My second huge mistake happened not too long after the I made my first awful decision. I stopped at Trader Joe's on the way home from the gym, as I'd not been there since Friday. Actually, when I left on Friday, I immediately regretted my decision to not buy a $3 basil plant, so I went back to get it today.

While I was there, I purchased a bag of sweet potato chips. The guy who rang me up said he couldn't buy them very often, as he'd eat the entire bag as soon as he got them home. Clearly, this is a testament to how good they are, right? Y'all, he wasn't lying. I need to hide them or something, because I can't stop eating them. God, I fucking love sweet potatoes in essentially any application. Not pie, though. Blech.

You may have noticed that I have been purchasing foodstuffs recently. Yes, that's right -- I got paid on Friday. Fucking finally. I'm hoping I can stop the bleeding and maybe by this time next month, I can start digging myself out of this hole. I've yet to receive the check reimbursing me for the overdraft fees I racked up because of all the fuck ups. Of course, I racked up probably the same amount waiting for the first damn check (it's been more than a month since I submitted my documentation and two-plus weeks since they said they'd be mailing me a check), but I just want to stop losing money at this point. Still, I'll be sending an e-mail on Monday to get a status update and I will mention the fees I've received in the meantime.

19 September 2009


I went to my nephew's second football game of the season this afternoon. I arrived just in time to see a young man and a granny get tossed from the field by one of the refs for ... being assholes, I guess? Klassy!

My sister said there had been an unsportsmanlike conduct penalty called, which was what seemed to set off the kid and the granny. She was cursing a blue streak and called the ref a "sore loser." Uh, do you understand how this works at all? A guy near us said there had been some smack-talking between the coaches earlier (this wasn't even my nephew's game ... they run horribly, horribly behind), which might have added to the antagonistic atmosphere. Later, another woman and her kids got yelled, possibly for being on the wrong side of the field. She also said something along the lines of "sore loser." Thanks for perpetuating the stereotype that women don't know shit about sports.

Look -- those refs could have been on a power trip. I don't know. Lord knows that kind of thing doesn't happen. I'd just arrived and hadn't been around to see the coaches jawing at each other or the penalty that set off the spectators. But when the ref is warning that he's going to toss you, maybe you should shut the fuck up. I'm sure your brother/grandson is so proud.

Honestly, y'all. They're children. These are fifth and sixth graders. It's not that serious. And to the guy bitching about my nephew's team doing an onside kick when they're up 28-0? It's not intentional. That really seems to be all their kicker can do. He's maybe 12 years old -- I don't think he's good enough to intentionally put that kick in the exact same spot, where that kid will fumble it every time. THEY'RE JUST NOT THAT GOOD YET.

In more positive sporting news, how 'bout them Twins? A week ago, it seemed that all was lost. But now here we are with just days left to go in the season, and they're just two games behind division leader Detroit, with four games left to play against the Tigers. It ain't over yet, y'all. I will definitely be focusing my attention on baseball early tomorrow afternoon and skipping the putrid early NFL games we get here. The Vikings and Detroit or Green Bay vs. the Bungles? No thanks.

The stupid Gophers lost today, but you can't win 'em all, right?

Now I've moved on to more feminine, domestic pursuits, however. I'm waiting for my Blondies to cool to see if my modifications to make them less awful for me have worked. I subbed half whole wheat flour, a half cup of applesauce for one stick of butter and cut out one-third cup of sugar. The batter looked good before I threw them in the oven. Now that they're out, they don't have that familiar cracked, brownie-like top, but I don't care.

Really, all that matters is that I'm not at work and I actually got paid yesterday. Fuck and yes.

17 September 2009

You just wrinkled my brain, man.

You need to watch Community.

I recently told The Boy I Currently Like I was worried that after seeing so many really awesome promos over the last couple of months, that the show just wouldn't be that good. You know how movie trailers show like, every good part and when you see the movie, those parts might not actually even be in it? I was worried that was going to happen with Community.

But like The Boy said -- Joel fucking McHale. I love him. And Chevy Chase? Come on. John Oliver? How can it not be good?

He was right, of course. It's fucking awesome and I loved it halfway through. Seems like there is always room for one more TV show on my roster, as long as its good.

16 September 2009

I am such a sucker.

It really doesn't take a whole lot to win me over. Tell me I have pretty hair, buy me a drink, and I am yours.

Or in the case of our new yoga instructor, a quick temple massage with some lavender oil during Savasana will make me forget that your class really doesn't seem to have any flow, nor is it much of a challenge.

You're a clever, clever woman. I might just stick around.

15 September 2009

It's nice to have people in the office who take initiative.

Take my coworker who often cleans out the fridge, for example. Now, I try to be good about throwing my stuff out that's gotten old. Sometimes I forget if that one particular yogurt is mine or not, so I leave it. But otherwise, I don't leave shit in there to get moldy or anything.

I ate part of my lunch and decided I was full, but that full feeling was premature, so I went back to get my dessert or maybe eat a bit more of my lunch. So, color me surprised when I opened the fridge and saw ... well, nothing really. There were a few condiments on the door, three pieces of string cheese, a yogurt and the container of tomatoes I'd brought this morning for my sandwich.

Gone were my potatoes, chicken, carrot cake (with wee tub of frosting), pudding, lettuce and half of an English muffin. That was part of my lunch from today, part of my lunch from tomorrow, my dessert and my pre-workout snack. Oh, and the pudding was to have been eaten on Friday, but I left it because it wouldn't expire for some time and the carrot cake will only be good for so long, you know? None of it was expired or moldy. For fuck's sake, I just made the chicken, potatoes and carrot cake on Sunday.

I asked him where all my food had gone, and he said, "Oh, I cleaned out all the expired stuff and moldy old food. What did you have in there?" I recited my list for him and he was all, "Well, I saw the moldy and I just kind of went nuts." Yeah, thanks dude. I spent money on that food and those containers (that I would like to recycle when they've given their all, not just toss them in the trash) and I spent all goddamn day on Sunday making that food. Thanks. And no, I don't want the cookie bars your wife made.

Given the whole payroll debacle (I still haven't been reimbursed for my overdraft fees after a month ... and more overdraft fees), I'm trying to be really good about using all my leftovers and not being wasteful. I really don't have the money to be throwing away entire meals.

Fuck, dude. God dammit.

14 September 2009

Clever girl.

Friday at work, I scheduled an interview for a project for 7:00 tonight. I was annoyed, partly because I was 90 percent certain the subject would not follow through, but also because I would seriously have to adjust my workout schedule or not work out at all.

However, I had a stroke of genius yesterday. The building -- it has a fitness center! I wouldn't have to leave work and go to the gym and back to work, likely fighting traffic both ways. I wouldn't have to work for 11 or more hours straight, nor would I have to work out late.

I just had to do cardio, and there was a decent treadmill down there and an elliptical. I hated the elliptical, but it kicked my ass. So that's good. I had the room all to myself, save for when the security guard popped in to lock up. That made me feel better. When I was changing, I was more than a little weirded out because, sure it says "women's locker rooms," but there's no guarantee that some dude wouldn't walk in while I'm changing or something. That part I didn't much care for at all.

Good thing I worked out, because then I wasn't pissed when that woman didn't answer her damn phone at 7:00 like she was supposed to do. And I knew that was going to happen. You know what? Just fucking say no. Don't make me stay really late at work and not show the fuck up. Of course, I scheduled another interview for 8:00, so I didn't get home until 9:00 Wheeeeeeeeeee.

At least I got to work out. And I can stay up and watch football tonight, go in late tomorrow and still leave early on Friday, too. Yay!

13 September 2009

Football season + cable outage clearly creates boredom.

Some people just do not give up. It's been almost two years since I last saw Booty Call Matt. I'd say it's been well more than a year since I last spoke to him. He'd show up every now and again, calling in the wee hours of the morning, as if that's totally a normal thing to do to someone you've not seen or spoken to in months or even more than a year.

I had my reasons for not telling him early on about The Boy I Currently Like. Mainly, I didn't think I owed him anything. Had he called me one fucking time at a decent hour, I would have told him it was over. But I just do not have the wherewithal to have that conversation at 3:00 a.m. on a Tuesday. Or at that time any day of the week, really.

So, when my phone rang a little bit ago, I wasn't completely shocked to see that it was Booty Call Matt. After all this time, I'm still a little shocked every time he calls, but not completely shocked.

Finally, he calls before bar close, before midnight even. I ignored the first call, as my hands were all chicken-y (I was pulling apart the chicken I spent all afternoon roasting), but since he called back immediately, I figured this was it.

It was a short conversation. He was cagey about asking to come over or something of that nature. What are you doing? What do you have planned after that? Do you want to have a beer before you go to bed? When I said no, I would not like to have a beer before bed (with you), I have a boyfriend (yes, I said it. Let's not make a big deal here. It was simply so I did not have to describe our relationship without standard terms, which might leave Booty Call Matt to think he had a shot). He came back with "Is he there?" WHAT THE FUCK DIFFERENCE DOES THAT MAKE?

Oh, but it gets better. Shortly after he hung up with "I'll talk to you later" (Yeah. Right), he sent me a text that read: "You sure you don't want a late scoring TD?" First of all, are you fucking kidding me? Could you possibly be any more lame? Second, what part of "I have a boyfriend" do you not understand? I'm not sleeping with anyone but him. Since the last time you left my apartment, I have not slept with anyone but him. I have no desire to sleep with anyone but him. He rocks my world roughly a million times more than you ever did and I am absolutely crazy about him. Please just go the fuck away already.

I want to believe this will be the end of it, but I've thought that many, many times over the last couple of years and I've been quite wrong. Still, I can hope. And I can not answer the phone. God help him if he ever shows up at my door again. I will call the fucking cops in a goddamn heartbeat.

Update! There was another text: "not even an awesome massage?" Insert eyeroll here. I was tempted to text back "UNSUBSCRIBE," but in the interests of just making him go the fuck away, already, I opted to ignore it.

12 September 2009

Dear Big Ten Network:

Please do not ever play this god-fucking-awful, Rascal Flatts (who knew there was a country version of Creed?), Big Ten football-themed song, ever again. It's terribleness is mind-boggling.

As long as I'm here, I'll add: Really, Gophers? All gold uniforms for the TCF Stadium opening game? *vomit* Ugh.

Still, though, new stadium!

Yours in Christ,

10 September 2009

Perhaps I'm too quick to cast judgment.

You might remember the link I posted a couple of days ago, to the story about the study that found nearly half of men went straight to the boobies upon meeting a woman. Actually, I didn't really cast judgment. But I have done it in the past. It's hard not to, being a woman -- one with a considerable rack, to boot. Eyes up here, and whatnot.

Oh, but there's a wrinkle. Is it wrong for me to be annoyed at men ogling my cleavage when here I am today, admiring my own rack? My bra, combined with the dress I'm wearing, have The Girls looking awfully damn good today. I can't help it, dammit. This certainly isn't the only time I've ever been transfixed by my own Dirty Pillows.

They are my Fun Bags, though. I should be able to admire them all I want. With so many women, myself included, constantly finding only flaws in our bodies, it's good for one's self-esteem to actually like a body part(s). Sure, the right kind of guy ogling your tits might be good for your self-esteem, too. However, at the end of the day, it's still rude and gross (unless you have expressed or implied permission to ogle, of course). At least try not to be so damn obvious about it, for Christ's sake.

09 September 2009

Who knew?

During yoga tonight, I was desperately craving a grilled cheese and tomato sandwich. This might not seem odd to you, but it was pretty shocking to me. You see, I do not like tomatoes.

Or so I thought.

Oh, I quite like tomato products -- salsa, ketchup, tomato sauces, soup (in fact, tomato soup is the only kind I actually like). It's raw tomatoes in sandwiches or other applications for which I really do not care.

But the tomatoes we've been getting in our CSA box have been absolutely fucking phenomenal. I've been eating all kinds of sandwiches with raw tomato, not to mention I've been making raw pasta sauces. This weekend, I think I really must make a pico de gallo.

As it turns out, eating really fresh, in-season tomatoes makes a huge difference. That's a big part of the farmer's market and CSA -- eating in season. It's amazing to me to be craving something that I have never liked. Sure, part of it is my palate has become more sophisticated as I've gotten older, so I'm more open to things I hated as a kid. You really cannot discount the freshness and quality, however. It's amazing.

My only regret was that I didn't have time to cook up some bacon and/or caramelize some onions. Looks like I've got a lot of weekend projects already.

Also, I realize that I've been yammering on and on all summer about my CSA box and how it is one of the best decisions I've ever made, but ... well, it is! We have just a little more than a month left and then I'll be pining for it all winter. God, I wish I had a big freezer or some storage space. I would be freezing and canning the fuck out of some vegetables.

08 September 2009

This just in.

Shocking news: Men love boobies and women hate sex.

The Daily Mail's headline is actually a bit misleading. In fact, the study found that just less than half of men -- 47 percent -- went to a woman's rack on first glance. It does seem, though, that the rack has the largest percentage of first glances.

As for the second story ... well, that just makes me sad on a couple of levels. I'll admit that I have a difficult time understanding how there are women -- and apparently lots of women -- who don't like sex. I just do not get it. At. All. Sex is awesome.

But let us look past the fact that I can't wrap my head around not enjoying sex. (Don't get me wrong -- bad sex isn't enjoyable. But if it sucks, I'd rather not be doin' it.) Doing it to avoid a fight or to get your man to "take out the rubbish" seems ... well, it doesn't seem right. The idea of sex with a manipulative and disinterested partner doesn't really do it for me.

On a positive note, however, the story did give me what I hope can be a new weekday, work-appropriate euphemism for sex: taking out the rubbish. I have a really tough time keeping weekday, work hours e-mails with The Boy I Currently Like PG (or PG-13, if I'm feeling especially daring) and I usually end up unleashing a stream of filthiness as soon as the work week is over. Maybe a delightful euphemism will help out in that arena.

07 September 2009

Anything you can do, I can do (mildly) better. After a lot of practice. And probably only this one time.

I reached a very important milestone this weekend. After about three months, I finally ended a night of playing Tekken beating the crap out of The Boy I Currently Like.

Okay, I might be exaggerating just a bit. I think I was up by three after 50-some odd fights. But he has had this game for what I imagine is some time and he's been playing it for much longer than I have. So, this is really an accomplishment, y'all. And to think, I owe it all to him yelling at me one night for talking too much while we were playing.

This was such a momentous occasion that The Boy noted our respective records and the date on a piece of paper. Apparently, we will be keeping track henceforth. Granted, that paper will either sit on his coffee table for all eternity or be lost within a few days to the mess of his living room. However, I've noted it for posterity on the Interwebs, so there's that.

It's good that he's not the kind of guy who freaks out about getting beat by a girl. Then again, this is pretty much the only thing at which I've beaten him. There was Wii bowling, I guess. And we tied 0-0 in Wii baseball. That's pretty much it. I've wondered if maybe he was taking it easy on me, but I don't think he's that kind of guy, either. He seems genuinely annoyed when I get in a good sequence, or come back from the brink to beat him. I have other reasons to believe this, but I really can't say anything, as it could get back to him.

Tekken 6 comes out at the end of October and I believe he has pre-ordered it. I'm very stoked about this.

He also gave me something that will almost certainly end up being a traveling gift. A few weeks ago, when the new Madden was about to come out, he found out about a special offer through SI, which is now over. For less than the actual cost of the game, he got roughly six months worth of Sports Illustrated, Madden 2010, and a DVD about Madden -- The Road to Canton: John Madden's Ride Through Football History. I bet you can't guess who got that DVD as "an early Christmas present ... or, a half-birthday present."

I am a lucky, lucky girl, y'all. And I am plotting the occasion I will use to give him the DVD back. Still unopened, of course. Unless I am drunk, bored and sadly, pathetically curious some weekend.

That was pretty much my excitement for the weekend. I managed to spend all of about an hour at KayGee and The Prison Librarian's new condo this afternoon for drinks for KayGee's birthday. Turns out, I am seriously allergic to The Prison Librarian's cat. I was feeling it after about 15 minutes. They're trying so hard to do what they can to minimize my symptoms, as we want to do Thanksgiving at their new pad this year. However, if I have to leave after an hour, that ain't gonna work. Boo. Maybe it'll get better. I'm not willing to give up yet. They have an ISLAND in their kitchen. That is one of my favorite things in the world.

Oh, and just to state it officially: Happy Birthday, KayGee!

03 September 2009

The comedy of errors continues.

Oh my God, y'all. Guess who just called. THE HEAD OF PAYROLL. Can you guess why she was calling? I bet you can't.

Give up? Okay. The problem with the paychecks ... has not been fixed. I know, I know; I'm just as shocked as you. Allegedly, they have identified (again) the problem (which may or may not be the same problem. She assured me that the problem will be fixed for the next paycheck. Riiiiiiiiiiight.

The good news is, they have canceled the live check that was going out and they're going to wire the money today. I might actually even get it this afternoon. That would be sweet. The other good news is that my coworker received a call as well. This means that it's not only me still having this problem, and that my being an awful, awful pain in the ass has resulted in them keeping us all posted on what's going on.

There is even a third bit of good news. She's cutting a check (and mailing it of course) to reimburse me for my overdrafts. That would have been nice to have on Monday when I overdrafted again because I needed the reimbursement from my previous overdrafts, but what are you gonna do?

Everything's not exactly coming up Milhouse or anything, but at least it's getting better.

02 September 2009


She actually showed up tonight. Wednesday yoga is back, y'all.

I'm not ready to pass judgment on her yet. I promised myself I'd give her a chance. She's got a fairly different style that will take some getting used to. She kept saying "exhales" and a few other things that sounded like she was speaking in the second person. I half expected (and kept repeating in my head) "It puts the lotion in the basket." Not what you want to be thinking of when trying to relax.

Either way, I'm feeling like things might be looking up. I'm very optimistic that I will get paid on Friday and that maybe I'll start getting shit back together again. The impending short Friday at work, followed by dinner and drinks on the deck with the World's Worst Wing Woman and her sister, followed by hanging out with The Boy I Currently Like on Saturday and a day off work have me really looking on the bright side.


01 September 2009

Almost at a loss for words. Almost.

Dear Older Couple at the gym:

It's truly adorable that you guys work out together, alternating turns on the equipment. Hearing snippets of your braying, undoubtedly witty banter over the music blasting from my iPod into my ears is delightful. Seeing the tender neck massage you, the husband, are giving your wife while you sit on the Ass Blaster machine truly warms the cockles of my cold, dead heart.

However, it's really goddamn rude of you to hog adjacent equipment when you're the one not currently lifting. There's no need to sit there when someone else could be using that machine. I really shouldn't have to ask if you're using it (clearly, you're not) and then ask if maybe I could have a go.

What's even worse than that, though, is you male member of the couple, sitting on the hamstring curl machine, with your ass and old balls right where my face will be hovering if I decide to ask if I could use the machine you're so clearly not actually using.

And I really, REALLY didn't need to see you scratching your old, sweaty, wrinkly balls in the exact place my face would be. That was so gross I couldn't even be bothered to make a huge show about cleaning the bench before I used it. All the cleaner/disinfectant/most-likely-just-colored-water in the world isn't going to get me to use that machine tonight.

By the way, I'm sure your wife appreciated the show, what with her face directly at crotch-level while she worked out on the machine facing you. Quite the charmer, you. She's a lucky lady.

Yours in Christ,