31 January 2009

A nice day for a drive in your new car.

Holy lovely day, Batman. It's 44 degrees right now! I was able to drive around with the windows down a bit in my new car.

Yep, that's right! I have a new car. I'm not sure the name "Barbie" is going to stick, though. For whatever reason, I feel like calling her "Lady Penelope." I'm sure I'll settle on something one of these days.

Regardless of her name, I like her. The rental I drove for a week didn't feel right at all. I just wasn't comfortable in it. But my Malibu feels like a perfect fit. It's a good car.

Once I got back to Minneapolis, I installed my Dashboard Driver Yoda. That was one of my Christmas presents from The Boy I Currently Like. I went for a drive to get quarters and supplies so I can start making food for tomorrow, but despite the bumps I drove over, he didn't say anything. I'm sure that'll change once I hit some of the shittier streets in town.

Hopefully, this marks the end of my car drama for a while. I could use a bit of a break from the stress, you know?

30 January 2009

You get a pass today, Bathroom Jesus Lady.

But only because I am a whore for compliments. It's kinda sad, actually, but I will give a big tip or buy something extra or dole out the baked goods, favors or extra-enthusiastic blow jobs when I get (seemingly?) random compliments.

The woman who continues to use her phone in the loo and always tells the person she's calling to "have a blessed day in the Lord," told me twice this morning that I had beautiful hair. She's a clever one. I mean, it does look good today, but still ...

I can't stay mad at her. Even after yesterday, when she wiped up some water or picked something up off the floor (though, given her heaving breathing while just standing today, I'm doubting this was the case) to "help out the cleaning lady, even though I didn't do it." Bitch, I don't do that shit either, yet I clean it up. Okay, maybe I can stay mad at her.

God, that poor cleaning lady. Monday there was a wrapper from a female catheter on the floor of the stalls. Then later, someone was apparently having their break in the bathroom and spilled popcorn around the trash and a huge amount right outside the door all over the hall floor. There's also a big stain in front of the door that appeared this week. How terribly delightful.

A couple of days ago, I wiped up some water around the sink while the cleaning lady was in there. I guess she saw me and said, "Oh, thank you!" It was that really surprised, gushing "thank you," I give when someone waits extra long to hold a door for me or something of that nature. Of course, I said, "No. Thank you." It makes me sad that she'd sound so thankful just because I wiped up some water. Then again, knowing what she deals with day in and day out, she was probably surprised I didn't just toss it on the floor because, hey! Cleaning lady is here. Let her pick that shit up. God, I hate those bitches.

29 January 2009

Oddly good.

A few months ago, I was taking a break from work and perusing Allrecipes.com, when I came across a recipe that intrigued and terrified me: Corn Dog Muffins.

I sent the link to The Boy I Currently Like saying, "I cannot decide. Is this the best idea ever, or the worst?" I was unsure to start, but began warming to the idea shortly. He was on board immediately, but then looked at the pictures and became a bit wary. After some discussion, though, we decided that we simply had to try them.

The start of football, him moving and who knows what else made me forget about it until just recently. But he was to come over tonight and I thought of it and so we decided that's what we were having for dinner. Over the course of the week, I was getting a little worried about eating them. They were still a little scary. Yet, I made them. I said we could run to Luce and get pizza (to have with our mashed potatoes) if they were terrible. I didn't use the boxed corn muffin mix. Fuck that shit. I made my own.

We sat down to eat. I was letting mine cool, but The Boy took a bite right away. I watching him chewing and there it was -- the thumbs up. Really? Not only were they edible, he said they were good. I had to try mine. Holy shit. They are good. Like, really good. Corn dogs are fucking awesome, but these are even more awesome in their own way.

It totally feels white trashy, or maybe like kid food, but I don't fucking care. I didn't even care that we're eating this cheap, simple thing while watching Top Chef. They are goddamn fucking tasty. And bonus -- they're cheap and easy.

The corn dog muffins were the crowning glory of a delightful evening. So our Thursday night NBC shows weren't on. We had a lovely time just hanging out and watching the Gophers win. Or I did, anyway. The Boy was humouring me. He's sweet like that sometimes. Man, after the fucking week I had, I needed a nice night. At least the nightmare is almost over. I should have a car within 48 hours. Then Sunday is le Superbowl, though apparently all my friends suck and no one is coming over to watch the game. Oh well. That's a lot of money I don't have to spend now to host a party.

28 January 2009

The homoeroticism is just a bonus.

I had to figure that eventually I would disagree with something posted a Jezebel. It finally happened today with this post: College wrestling looks kinda gay.

I've been a wrestling fan since I was a wee lass. My dad and all my uncles wrestled. My hometown was a big wrestling town. I was a wrestling cheerleader for a year and then moved on to be a wrestling statistician. I worked at little kids' wrestling meets and even at high school wrestling tournaments. My best friend's dad was the head wrestling coach. I went to the state tournament every year (which is where I met and hung out with Paul Wellstone's son Mark right after Paul Wellstone took office and totally showed how much of a fucking dork I was by gushing about how fucking awesome his dad was). I've been to the state tournament since I graduated high school. More than once. I watch college wrestling now any time I can.

The whole "it's so gay" thing is so old. But if you're a wrestling fan, it comes with the territory. The Boy was flipping through channels on Saturday afternoon and I kept seeing that wrestling was on, so I asked if he could please just go to the info screen to see who was wrestling. He went so far as to turn the channel so I could actually watch a bit of it, but not without teasing me about the homoeroticism that permeates the sport.

Man, have you listened to the announcers in basketball talking about getting good penetration? What about football? Shit, Dick Enberg seems to be contractually obligated to make at least one homoerotic call per game. Let's not forget all the ass-slapping in pretty much every male sport.

All I'm saying is, it's not just wrestling that's homoerotic. It's actually a really tough sport. Besides, UFC looks WAY more gay than wrestling. Have you watched that shit?

27 January 2009

Broken record.

I have nothing to say that isn't about my car drama. And that has got to be totally fucking boring at this point. I know I'm ready to be done with it.

I apologize for my suckitude.

26 January 2009

Totally.

My car is a total loss.

Thank you ever so fucking much for hitting me, jerkface dickwad asshole with the suspended license. Lord knows that this is exactly what I need in my life right now. Because I have tons of money to put toward a new (to me) car and even more time to spend looking for one.

God fucking dammit.

EXPANDED POST!

Today has just sucked ass. Work was super busy and most of our remotes were in, so there was extra shit going on. A bunch of us went out to lunch (my hair still smells of Indian food) and we had a big meeting and then had our holiday party this evening. Trying to make and return phone calls about a shitty, shitty subject just added to my totally feeling out-of-sorts.

I can't fucking believe this has happened to me again. It was about 10 years ago when my last car was totaled. An 83-year-old woman who didn't know what to do at a flashing red stoplight decided the best course of action was to follow the car in front of her through. The huge SUV in the inside lane saw her in time to stop, but with the huge SUV in the inside lane, I didn't even see her until she was hitting the fuck out of my car.

She admitted fault right away. Told the cops she was at fault. I was fucking pissed. Of course, the cop shoved me into the backseat of the cop car with her to help her fill out the police report. Man, fuck you and fuck her. The Beretta was fixed up with $500 of my insurance money and I drove it for a year. My heat stopped working in mid-December. It was getting tough to start the car. The fam went to Zihuatanejo for a week and the Cheating Asshole Ex-Boyfriend was supposed to stop by and try to start her up a few times while I was gone, but of course he didn't. I had plans to go home the day after we returned to Minneapolis to go looking for a new car. And then my car didn't start at all when I came back. My dad ended up picking out the Achieva for me that weekend.

I wasn't terribly stoked about her, because I had nothing to do with picking her out. But over the years I grew to love her. Even the whole transmission episode of this summer (that was fucking money well spent. A simple FUCK cannot convey the frustrated anger I want to impart here) didn't make me love her less. And now I'm forced to unceremoniously bid her adieu. I have to clean all my shit out so she can be towed away on Wednesday.

Looking for a new car will be tough, since I have to return the rental on Thursday. I won't have all of my money until this weekend. God, I just don't want to fucking deal with this shit.

There is a bright side (?), though. My friends are terribly supportive and times like this bring out the best in them. Also, at least I'm not getting canned (*crosses fingers*) like I was at this time last year.

23 January 2009

Perhaps I'll hold off a bit on bashing Progressive.

They've given me a rental, but no one will look at my car until Monday. I'm starting to worry that my car will be totaled and I'll have to get a new one and I cannot afford car payments. Why spend all weekend worrying about something that might not happen? Why the fuck not? It's what I do.

Things do tend to look worse in the light of day, no?



I feel like such a fucking asshole for whining about this. There are people with much bigger problems out there. Yet, here I am, bitching and complaining. Why? Um, I already told you -- I'm an asshole.

At least I won't have to skip the gym this weekend or get around on the bus in the butt-ass cold. And I can get to work on Monday. Oh, our awesome new president ended the global gag rule today, too. Sweet!

22 January 2009

And I thought I was having an awesome week before!

I had all of an hour between coming home from work and leaving for the gym tonight. The Gophers played at 6:00, so I figured if I left at 6:00 for the gym, I wouldn't be tempted to watch and I could get home right about the time the game was finishing and then I could watch it while fast forwarding through all the timeouts and halftime, as I'd recorded the game on my trusty DVR. Plus, even though it's still early in the New Year, the gym is dead as hell on Thursdays and the crowds have seemed pretty thin this week as it is.

My plan, she was brilliant. I was home for about five minutes -- getting ready to change into my gym clothes -- when I heard a loud noise outside. I thought to myself, "That sounds like it could have been an accident. But there are so many loud trucks on this road, it was probably just a truck going over a bump."

I went to put in my contacts and change my clothes. I was in my bedroom, half-naked, when someone pounded on the door. "Fuck that. It's probably NARAL collecting because it's the anniversary of Roe v. Wade or some shit (though, the last time they were here, it was nice out and I was drinking on the deck and I totally gave the girl $10, 'cause I was buzzed and happy). Plus, I'm trying to get this damn bra fastened."

But once I was dressed, I decided to peek through the blinds to see if whoever pounded on my door was still around. That's when I saw a minivan all pushed up into the back of my car.

Fuck.

FUCK.

FUCK.

My powers of denial are so fucking awesome, I am in denial even when I don't consciously know that I should be in denial. Do you think that's a skill I could somehow turn into cash? Me neither.

So, I put on jeans (over my workout pants), a jacket and my boots (without socks ... big mistake) and go out to see WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED. I'm not entirely sure, even after asking the guy a couple of times. My stretch of Lyndale is quasi-two-laned, but even in the best of conditions that second lane is a stretch. With the horribly, horribly, awfully shitty job the City of Minneapolis has done with plowing, that second lane is an absolute no-go. The story this guy told me made me think someone was trying to go in this mythical second lane and was either going to force him into oncoming traffic or over to the side of the road. Which doesn't exactly make sense, but I have problems with spatial reasoning.

There was a ton of room on the side of the road behind my car. However, due to the horrible, horrible, awful, shitty fucking job the City of Minneapolis has done with plowing, this guy slid right into the back of my car. FUCK.

He'd called the cops and his insurance company. I called mine while we were waiting for the cops. They drove by a couple of times, but didn't stop. So I called again. The dispatcher said they were looking for us. THEY DROVE BY TWICE. HOW CAN THEY NOT SEE US? A couple of minutes later they did find us. And man, they were spectacularly unhelpful at first (I have your badge numbers!). "Have you exchanged information? That's all you have to do." He wasn't even going to get out of the car. Uh, my insurance wants a police report, ass.

I'm thinking the guy who hit me is regretting calling the po-po. He ended up getting a ticket for having a suspended license. Oops. Yeah, I'm sure you took care of it. Neither I, nor the cops, have ever heard that one before. My faith in your insurance is totally solid after hearing all that.

My rear bumper is gone. It was mostly off, but the guy who came to pick The Car Destroyer and his daughter? girlfriend? wife? up pulled it off completely. That was nice of him. My muffler is hanging pretty low, but it's still attached. My trunk is pushed in a bit. It seems to be driveable. I reversed it and parked properly again, which is kind of a feat in and of itself, since there's always a danger of getting stuck due to all the fucking snow and shitty plowing.

This week was craptastic already. I've been vacillating between sad and crabby. I'm kinda broke (a flex plan is awesome, but when I have to wait three weeks to get my $400 back, it's not all that fucking great). No one has noticed my new glasses. I'm ugly as sin. But goodness, that wasn't enough. No! Let's add frustration and bullshit on top of all that. I'm trying to decide if I should work from home or take the bus. I guess that will all depend on what happens when I call State Farm when I get up tomorrow. Oh, and it's going to be totally fucking cold again, too! Seriously. How does it just keep getting better and better?

Oh, the Gophers are losing, too. Thank God I didn't go to the gym because I wasn't sure driving without a bumper and smashed driver's-side taillights was a good idea. I get to watch this shit.

At least I'm getting drunk.

"We don't need your stinking bathroom etiquette."

That's the message I got yesterday when some woman tore down one of the last two bathroom etiquette tips signs from the stalls. And I'm going to have to beg to differ here, lady.

Things were okay for the first couple of days after the signs were posted, even given the grumbling about where one can and cannot use her phone and the one sign that was moved to the front of the stall door, and upon which someone had scrawled in red pen, "This one is broken."

However, it seemed as if that penultimate sign was holding together the fabric of bathroom decency. By early afternoon, there were used paper towels on the floor around the three trash bins, an enormous wad of toilet paper on the floor of one of the stalls that may or may not have been partially used, AND! someone had pulled one of the metal feminine hygiene disposal units off the wall of the stall and it was on the floor. There was, of course, a tampon wrapper on the floor next to it, because as I'm sure you're already aware, once you don't have to move a lid or a door, it's so much more difficult for you to actually dispose of your tampon wrapper properly.

I wanted to scream, y'all. I wanted to write "WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU DISGUSTING TWATS?" in lipstick on the mirror. I just don't fucking understand it at all. It makes me want to cry. It also makes me want to fight some bitches.

I hate people so fucking much.

The only thing keeping me from losing it today (after all, I can't go to the bathroom to cry anymore) is my rediscovery of sorts, of Gomez. Now, it's not like I'd forgotten about them or anything. But it had been quite a while since I sat down and listened to an album until I put How We Operate back on my iPod over the weekend. God, I fucking love them so much. I'm pretty sure I'll get through the day if I put "See The World" and "How We Operate" on repeat.

(Check back tonight for a tasty Gomez treat.) And here it is! Yes, it's late. Sorry. Gomez, How We Operate.

21 January 2009

The office has been infiltrated.

By the Girl Scouts. Or a Girl Scout parent, I guess. Dammit!

My workplace has been safe from those devious children for so long, I can't even recall the last time I had a chance to buy Girl Scout cookies. Oh, I'd occasionally see a table outside Rainbow. And there were the devilishly clever temptresses who would set up their table in Calhoun Square and stay well past happy hour time to lure you, buzzed and happy, into their sweet, delicious trap.

Being the horrible person that I am, I would sometimes say, "Oh no, you evil little temptresses -- you won't get me to buy your delicious cookies." Generally, it was because I spent all my money on drinking, but they don't need to know that part.

I don't think I'll get out of this without ordering a box of Thin Mints, though. Ordering one box, though ... well, that seems kind of lame. I'd better make it two. I see they have dulce de leche cookies now? Nice try, sisters. I'm not buying anything new without a sample.

The best part about this, though, is that it gives me an occasion to share one of my all-time favorite episodes from 2 Stupid Dogs, "Cookies, Ookies, Blookies."

20 January 2009

Like an orgasm for my feet.

Believe it or not, this is the first place I've ever lived that had hardwood floors. I always fantasized about getting an apartment with hardwood floors every time I moved -- an apartment in a duplex or something like that. So, I was fairly ecstatic when I found this place, which was pretty much all I ever wanted. Well, it's a fourplex instead of a duplex. But that's a small matter.

Now that I'm thinking about it, I'm kind of amazed I never really miss having carpet. Getting used to hardwood floors versus carpet? Doesn't really seem to have been an issue. I never really even think about it, actually. The only time I ever notice it is when I'm walking barefoot on a particularly lovely carpet. My sister's upstairs carpet is fantastic, for example.

Late last week I broke down and bought a new bathroom rug -- the one that goes around the bottom of the toilet. My old one was falling apart. I thought maybe I could just get the rug and not have to replace the lid cover. How silly of me. If I'd done it the last time I saw the same color rug as I had, it would have been fine. But Target no longer carries that shade. Jerks.

Because I'm sometimes super lazy, it took me until yesterday to get the new stuff in place. Oh my God, y'all -- that rug! It's divine. It's so fucking luxurious. I stood on it for at least five minutes last night. It's almost as if it's massaging my feet. I felt so good and so relaxed. This morning I had to do it again. FREAK! Or not. I love it when something simple makes me so fucking happy. And it cost all of $12.99.

Sadly, I know it won't last. In fact, I'll enjoy the hell out of that rug too much, too soon and it'll be matted down and sorry-feeling well before it's time. Maybe I should stock up on replacements now ...

19 January 2009

January fucking sucks.

No football for two weeks. Then no football for months. It's cold (not as cold as a few days ago, not as cold as it will be in a few days), gray, dirty, slushy and messy. The gym is still crowded. I'm broke. My stoner commish has yet to give me my fantasy football winnings. There's probably other stuff, too ... hormones, employment reviews, no W2s or other tax documents in the mail yet, random downtime at work, followed by too much work and work I really don't want to do.

There are things to look forward to, though. I'm broke, but I have kick-ass new glasses and I'll be getting all the money I spent back in a couple of weeks. I also have some new makeup to show for being broke. While there is no football, there is plenty of basketball. The last football hurrah in two weeks is occasion for a party, followed by a day off to recover from a hangover. I get to see the Classy Broads on Saturday and maybe have sushi on Friday. Not only do I have a job, but I could possibly get a raise and a bonus. And we have a holiday party next week. That just does not compute. The Boy I Currently Like has his bed and will be getting a very nice comforter this week and "we" will get to enjoy it. He's been saying "us" and "we" a lot lately. I consider that a good thing.

Best of all -- January is more than half over. We'll have a new president tomorrow, too. So, we've got that going for us.

18 January 2009

Laaaaaaaaaaame.

I realized this morning, while digging my gym bag out from under a pile of clothes I've used for layering in the cold, that The Boy I Currently Like left his sweatshirt here the other night.

Every time I walk by the chair, or whenever I think about it, really, I smell it. Because it is full of his stinky boy smell, which I totally adore.

It's so silly and it is so fucking lame, but God help me, I don't fucking care. I'd be wearing that fucking thing if it wasn't so warm in here. At least I'm not going to sleep with it, right? I mean, I could be far more lame. Right? RIGHT?

Meh. What are you gonna do?

17 January 2009

Men don't make passes at women who wear glasses.

That's what they say, anyway. Fortunately, I know a boy who really likes women who wear glasses.

I bought new glasses today and I fucking love them so much. They're Prada. Prada! Glasses are the only truly designer things I'll ever have. I'm okay with that. I'd show you a picture, but of course, the model I bought isn't pictured on the Lenscrafters website. Or anywhere else I can find. And as much personal shit as I post here, I rarely post pictures of myself, so ...

My eye exam went well. So well, in fact, that my vision has actually improved. Just in one eye. And my eyes are fucking terrible. I mean, I can't even see the giant "E" at the top of the fucking eye chart without glasses or contacts. I know it's an "E," but since I can't actually see it, I'd be cheating if I said I really could see it, right?

But this whole vision improving thing is evidence that the years are catching up with me. I remember when my mom's eyesight started improving. She wasn't much that much older than I am now when that happened. At least, I don't think she was.

Fuck. I'm getting old.

This makes me a little sad, but at the same time I have excellent new glasses. So I really can't be all that sad. Right?

KayGee and The Prison Librarian met me at the Mall of America to help me pick out my new specs. Thank the sweet Baby Jebus, because yesterday after my exam, I couldn't find a single goddamn pair I liked. Once I had help, it took no time at all. Though, this did mean spending time at the Mall of America yesterday and today. Like, three hours today. And there was a cheerleading thing going on in the rotunda.

Good Christ, I wanted to hurt myself. Only a very tiny wine tasting helped me make it through. Wine helps everything, dammit.

15 January 2009

Ski-U-Mah, motherfuckers!

What a fucking comeback by the Golden Gophers against the Badgers. In overtime, no less!

I'm a bit troubled by the fact that The Boy I Currently Like seems to be bad luck. They were losing before he left. Then all of a sudden, they come storming back to tie the game and send it to OT. They're up by eight in overtime and he calls to make sure I'm watching the game and then Wisconsin cuts the lead in half and then to two points.

Guess there will be no watching Gopher games together until he proves he's not a jinx.

Bathroom etiquette tips won't stop the stupid.

Or the assholes. Or apparently those with poor enough fashion sense to wear white socks with black dress shoes. Is that part of the fucking uniform?

It's terribly sad that building management had post bathroom etiquette tips on the inside door of each stall. These women need to be told that paper towels go in the trash? They need to be told not to throw used tampon applicators on the floor? They need to be told the bathroom is not a phone booth? I was a little delighted by the slightly sarcastic note at the bottom of the list that said to Google "bathroom etiquette" should readers need more tips, because you'd be amazed at what you can learn! Man, that ain't going to help these women.

Apparently reading must not be a strong suit, since a member of the white-socks-with-black-dress-shoes brigade was in the last stall calling a bank or some such. I hope the party on the other end heard my flush. It's the least I can do, you know? I can also hope she drops her phone in the toilet. After she's used it. Careful fishing it out -- you don't want to touch the poo.

14 January 2009

Nasty work bathroom is the new gym?

I'm getting the feeling the work loo might start being the kind of fodder for blog posts that the gym currently is. The nastiness, the questionable clothing choices, the random bizarreness ...

Case in point: Today, I'm washing my hands while a woman is telling someone on the phone (once again, I lament my inability to have explosive diarrhea on command) to "have a blessed day in the Lord." I'm hearing her say that as I observe the short-white-socks-in-black-dress-flats look the woman with the huge, braless tits down to her fucking waist is rocking. It was like looking a the real-life Ms. Chokesondick.

This is at least the third set of white socks in dress shoes I've seen since these people moved in. AWESOME. No ruffled socks in hot pink pumps yet, but a girl can dream, right?

13 January 2009

Women are fucking distusting.

It is with great pain and sadness that I've realized I need to resurrect the "nasty work bathroom" tag. Gone are the days of the bathroom being a sanctuary -- a quiet place where I can hear the angry bees in the vents and listen to toilet radio. I guess it's good that I'm no longer heading to the bathroom in tears several times a day. But due to my tiny bladder and the amount of water I drink in a day, I'm in there a lot and I see much more than I could ever want to see.

Since January 5, conditions in the work loo have deteriorated greatly. It seems that a bank call center has come to our floor in the building. I guess they were there before and left and have now come back. Everyone keeps saying it is one bank, but their badges say they are a different bank, and I was unaware of a merger between these two particular banks. So I'm a bit confused.

That's neither here nor there, really. It's bad enough that I have to deal with disgusting conditions in the bathroom at the gym. Now I have to pee in foul conditions all day at work, too? I was so upset, frustrated and depressed about it today that I nearly started crying at the gym (I also have PMS, so ...)

In the past seven days at work, I have experienced the following in the bathroom:

    A used tampon applicator on the floor. Apparently, this was accompanied by blood somewhere in the stall, as a woman walked into it and said, "Is that blood?"

    All in one visit: piss on the seat in one stall, the next is out of toilet paper, in the third the floor is wet and the toilet in the fourth stall isn't flushing.

    Blood smeared on the wall of a stall.

    The stench of either unwashed ass or cigarette smoke.

    Paper towels on the floor, around the basket and just left on the vanity.

    Unflushed toilets full of shit.


Add that to the bloody toilet paper on the floor at the gym last week and I'm just at a loss. WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU? You do realize that you aren't the only one using the bathroom, right? Do you do this shit at home? Just throw your used tampon applicator on the floor for someone else to clean up?

Quite frankly, I wouldn't be surprised if I walked in to either the gym bathroom or the bathroom at work one day and found that someone had taken a shit in the middle of the floor.

Now, this is from the bottom of my heart: I hate you nasty fucking cunts so fucking much. This is where I'd normally wish a virulent yeast infection or drug-resistant STD on the party pissing me off, but I share a bathroom with these women and I'd like my lady parts to remain disease-free.

12 January 2009

Maybe I'm not a horrible person, after all.

Despite the fact that it snowed all fucking day, my commute home wasn't bad and I had no reason to skip the gym. My back was pretty tight after sleeping weird on The Boy's new bed, so I really needed to go to yoga.

When I was changing into my gym shoes, putting my hair up and whatnot before heading up to do cardio, I noticed an iPod sitting on the bench across from me. There wasn't anyone around and no one came over in the few minutes I was there to pick it up.

So I go up and spend a little time on the elliptical machine and I came back down to get my yoga mat. The iPod is still there. You're not going to forget your iPod while up in the gym working out, right? And who would spend a half hour in the shower at the gym? Someone forgot that shit.

I grabbed it up and took it to the front desk. Quite frankly, I was shocked it was still there after I finished cardio. I couldn't leave it to chance. If I lost my iPod (and I have, very briefly, a few times), I would go fucking nuts. I'm not sure I would want to live. A bit melodramatic? Yes. But probably not that far from the truth.

Stealing it didn't even occur to me. Maybe I do have a heart, after all.

11 January 2009

No more doin' it on the floor.

The Boy I Currently Like finally got his bed yesterday. Well, he had the bed frame when he moved in, but the mattress had to wait. He pretty much started over, furniture-wise and you just can't buy everything all at once, you know?

It's all terribly exciting. And perhaps this excitement was part of the reason I could not fucking get to sleep for what seemed like hours. Though I highly doubt it was even a full hour.

Oh, who am I kidding? I'm just terrible at sleeping. You would think that after several months of the shitty futon, followed by a good three months of sleeping on the floor, that I would just melt into that bed. But no. The bed was in a different place in the bedroom than the sleeping bag had been. And we were up off the floor. And I was sleeping on the outside, because I get up to pee and get a drink of water a million times. Meanwhile, he barely even moves until I start working on waking him up. Why the side of the bed I slept on would matter is beyond me. This was the first time I ever slept on this damn bed. Shit, it was the first time he slept on it.

It's not like I sleep over there all the time -- we're talking something I do once a week or so. But Jesus H. Christ, I am a crazy creature of habit when it comes to sleeping (and most things, to be honest). Once we switched sides on the futon and once on the floor and I barely slept either time. WHY AM I SUCH A FREAK?

Eventually, I did drift off and I slept like a fucking rock for a while. I'm sure it won't be very long before I'm used to the new arrangements. The fact that I can sleep at his place at all is amazing -- and I was able to do it from day one. That is so very unlike me. That makes me very happy. The first time I stayed over at the Cheating Asshole Ex's place, I didn't sleep at all. It really never got much better than that, and that's pretty much the story of me sleeping with anyone -- male or female, platonic or otherwise. Until now.

Not only did I get to sleep in a bed, I also got scrambled eggs with cheese for breakfast. Man, I feel like a fucking princess. (And yes, it really is that easy to make me happy.)

09 January 2009

Whores on Facebook friending family.

I came across a few items on Jezebel this week that were worth noting. In fact, I'd planned on covering something similar to one of these topics myself.

After Christmas, my cousin's wife sent me a Facebook friend recommendation. For one of my aunts. She'd already done the same with another aunt and I was ignoring it. Then another cousin sent me a friend request. Once I accepted, he recommended the same aunt, who just happened to be his mom. Noooo!

I can't believe the question needed to be asked at all, but Jezebel asked it, "Should you be Facebook friends with your mother?" I was even more surprised at the number of Jezzies who said they were, in fact, Facebook friends with their moms and other assorted family members. More power to them, I suppose, but that's a big DO NOT WANT for me, sisters.

My mom sent me an e-mail a few months ago, asking what she should do, as the previously-mentioned cousin's wife and one of my uncles had sent her friend requests. I told her she should just delete those e-mails. Thankfully, she did.

There are just some areas of my life that my family needn't be a part of, you know? It's bad enough that my brother and several cousins are my friends. Not to mention all of the people from high school. This is why I don't have a link to my blog on my Facebook page. It's also why I don't have any sort of relationship status. Christ, there was a shit storm when I went from being listed as "single" to just removing my relationship status at all. If I want my brother to know I'm dating someone, I'll tell him. He doesn't need to find out on Facebook. Lord knows my nosy family doesn't need to know that shit, either.

Speaking of my dating status, Jezebel also directed me toward this douche, who apparently thinks I'm a whore. Unless, of course, I have to meet all of those requirements to be a whore. Is it a checklist? Is there a scale? Is it like a Cosmo quiz, where if you answer mostly As, you're a whore, but if you answer mostly Bs, you're pure as the driven snow?

Apparently, because I have broad shoulders, love to curse, have masturbated to porn and have had more than the median (or average, let's be a honest here) number of sex partners, I'm a dirty fucking slut/cheating whore. Look, most of us have had slutty phases. I can't say I'm ashamed of it (them?) or I regret it (them?), but I'm very much past any slutty phase and I'm certainly not cheating on anyone. I don't know about y'all, but it's tough to consider cheating when you've been on the receiving end of it.

What I'm trying to say is this: Roissy can eat a fucking dick. You don't know me, motherfucker.

Last, but not least, I leave you with this one sans commentary.

08 January 2009

What a bitch.

The bitch in question is me. Last night at the gym, I was in the locker room changing into my sneakers and whatnot before heading up to do pre-yoga cardio and was chatting with a girl who is in my yoga class.

We were doing the usual small talk -- "How was your holiday?" and whatnot. Then we moved on to the gym and how terribly crowded it is. I said, "Well, we just have to stick it out a little while and it'll get better." She said, "I know. All these New Year's resolution people will give up in three weeks." Okay, I think she's being a bit optimistic with that estimate. But whatever. What's awesome is that we had this conversation in the locker room within earshot of some of these New Year's Resolutioners.

Bitchy? Probably. Do I care? Fuck no. It is true, after all.

As it turns out, my mild shit-talking about The Resolutioners was not done. While we were waiting for the class before us to finish, a guy from my yoga class came over and started talking to me. We had essentially the same conversation. Again, in front of people I didn't recognize and assumed to be resolutioners. He was the one who actually mentioned them by name, though. It's probably extra bitchy that I lead the conversation in that direction and get the other person to say the bad stuff about The Resolutioners. It's probably for the best, though. Because if I said it, there might be cursing or something.

Once I got home, I was thinking about that second conversation. I've been taking this class with a few of these people for a couple of years now and this guy has never really talked to me before last night. It struck me after I got home that he was talking to this guy who I am pretty sure likes me or whatever immediately before he walked right up and started chatting with me. You don't think the dude that likes me was asking about me or something, do you?

Christ, that makes me sound like such a narcissistic bitch. I'm not positive the guy likes me, but over the years I've caught him checking me out roughly a bajillion times. Only over the last several months has he started smiling at me when we meet somewhere. I think that might be because he finally caught me without a scowl on my face. Then even more recently he started greeting me or saying goodbye or even making little comments. I may be totally dumb and oblivious 90 percent of the time when it comes to knowing if someone is flirting with me or hitting on me, but I kinda think I realize how all that adds up.

Even if I wasn't seeing someone, I wouldn't go out with this guy. Obviously, he's got a decent body, since he's at the fucking gym all the damn time. And he's decent-looking. But good Lord, his voice is annoying. Seriously. Like, to the point that I was horrified the first time I heard it. Thank the Baby Jebus for headphones.

Besides the fact that I'm already seeing someone and he's got a horrible voice, there's the whole having-the-gym-as-a-social-life-substitute thing that I fear and can't stand. What if you date someone from the gym and it turns out bad? I don't want to have to switch gyms or change my schedule so we're not there at the same time. Even worse -- what if it turns out well and you're always working out together and hanging all over each other? GROSS. There are a few of those at my gym. And with the New Year, there are many more couples trying to get in shape. I don't know why that bugs me so much, but it does. So I'm a bad person. Sorry.

I suppose I'm falling into that gym-as-social-life trap a little, whether I like it or not. I made friends with a girl in my yoga class last year. She moved, though, so I was back to being the crabby loner. Except there's the girl I was talking to last night. Now this other guy knows my name and he's been known to introduce class members to each other. This is all probably kind of inevitable. This is a place I spend a couple of hours most days of the week. I've been taking this particular yoga class with these same people for two years, for Christ's sake.

GAH. I'm in danger of becoming a member of a gym clique. Help me!

07 January 2009

Winning streak.

The Timberwolves' winning streak has reached four games. That is four games IN A ROW, y'all. This is the first time that's happened in two years. They've won six of eight.

Tonight's game was a blowout and the scrubs (even Mad Dog scored!) got plenty of PT. This lead Hanne and Pete to talk about Hosea Crittenden, a Golden Gopher fan favorite back in the days when I had season tickets.

I'm heading into the shower now, chanting "Play Hosea!"

06 January 2009

Heeeeeeeeeeeeeee Haw!

You almost certainly weren't reading when I first wrote about this. Back when I first started this blog, almost three years ago, I was preparing to participate in my hometown production of Hee Haw.

That's right. Hee fucking Haw. You're going to have to read the old post to get the back story, suckers. Okay, short version -- the Jaycee Women used to put on a production of Hee Haw when I was a kid. They brought it back to raise money for my hometown's sesquicentennial three years ago. There was talk of doing it every couple of years, but two years passed and I didn't hear anything.

Today during afternoon trivia, a Hee Haw-related question came up. I almost said something about my dirty little secret. But I thought better of it. They didn't need to know. And then oddly enough, about 45 minutes ago, my phone rang. The area code was my hometown, but I didn't recognize the number. It was probably a wrong number, right? Wrong! There goes the message gong.

Hee Haw is on. They want me to sing again. In less than three months! Once again, it'll conflict with Final Four weekend. Yet, I still can't say no. The good thing is, they're letting me have some say in the song I sing.

In the first Hee Haw incarnation, I sang Pink Cadillac. I have been singing that fucking song since I was a senior in high school. People know me for that song in my hometown. It's fucking insane. It's morphed over the years I've been singing it and it sounds totally different with a live band backing me. Anyway, I'm fucking tired of that song.

So what am I going to sing? The woman who called me said they had come across a song called "Born to Be Blue" on YouTube. Couldn't remember who sang it, couldn't sing a lick of it so I knew what it was, but they wrote it down under my name. After a quick YouTube search, I found The Judds' version of it. I loves me some Judds. The only problem with it is that it sounds a lot like "Pink Cadillac." Or, at least the version of it that I've been singing for years. Still, I love The fucking Judds and I could totally do that song.

But I get to suggest stuff, too. I immediately mentioned Neko Case. *sigh* I am totally going to lobby for "Deep Red Bells" and "John Saw That Number." What else? Maybe Juice Newton? I know at some point I sang "Queen of Hearts" for something. I've done "Angel of the Morning" more than a few times, but that is just too slow. (God, I remember that album cover and video from when I was a kid. That's right. Album cover. My dad totally still has the record.) And of course, with the rack I have, how could I not throw out "Jolene?" HOLY SHIT. That clip is from Hee Haw! Fun fact: I was almost named Jolene after that song. Gee thanks, mom. You almost named me after a home-wrecking hussy.

Aw, man. I can't believe that a) I agreed to do this again and b) I'm a little stoked about it. As grueling as it was (I'm not used to doing three shows in four days, for fuck's sake), it was also a blast. Friends of mine from here came down to watch me. It'll be a pain in the ass to go home to rehearse with the band, but I'm definitely going to have to do it if I'm singing a new song.

Oh, fun.

05 January 2009

Well, it's official: I'm going to Hell.

Twins owner Carl Pohlad died today at the ripe old age of 93. I realize this is very sad for his family and assorted loved ones. I'm even feeling some sort of emotion about it. (That could be the wine?)

However. I can't help but be a bit hopeful that maybe his sons will allow the Twins management to open the purse strings a little to keep good players around now that dear old dad isn't around to tell them they must be miserly.

I am a horrible fucking person. Look at that tag, for fuck's sake.

It's (not) official.

After rejecting Norm Coleman's appeal to include more than 650 rejected (but contested) absentee ballots, the State Canvassing Board certified Al Franken as the winner of Minnesota's senate race, two months after the election.

Fucking awesome, yes? Stuart Smalley is my senator!

Slow your roll there, cupcake. The certification is conditional for seven days. The Coleman camp has those seven days to challenge the recount results. And challenge they will.

This quote from Fritz Knaak, Coleman's attorney, just fucking kills me:

“Given our campaign’s unwavering commitment to ensuring that the vote of no Minnesotan is disenfranchised, today’s ruling by the Minnesota Supreme Court is both disappointing and disheartening,” Knaak said in a statement.

He also said: “Today’s ruling, which effectively disregards the votes of hundreds of Minnesotans, ensures that an election contest is now inevitable. The Coleman campaign has consistently and continually fought to have every validly cast vote counted, and for the integrity of Minnesota’s election system, we will not stop now.”


Man, fuck you. Coleman certainly didn't give two shits about disenfranchising any voters when he called for Franken to concede immediately after the election. He said Franken shouldn't burden the taxpayers with a recount and related nonsense. Never mind that Franken wasn't asking for anything; the election results were so close as to trigger an automatic recount under state law.

So, I guess Norm only cares about disenfranchised voters when he's not winning. Well, that's a fucking shocker.

I hate the idea of Minnesota being down a senator, which we are, as Coleman's term expired on Saturday and his offices have been locked up. But I certainly don't want Franken's campaign doing anything that could appear presumptuous and later complicate an already complicated issue.

If I didn't think Norm Coleman wasn't slimy and evil, and that he cared about getting on with the business of representing the people of Minnesota more than he cared about himself and his own career and potential political gains, I might hold out hope that he'd accept this certification gracefully and be glad he had the opportunity to represent us. But I believe Norm Coleman is slimy and evil and really only cares about himself, so I fear this legal battle is going to get ugly.

This certification of the election results is another in a mounting series of small victories, but it's not over yet. I can only hope against hope that it will be over soon.

04 January 2009

Letting go.

I can hold a grudge like nobody's business. I have held them for years; for so long I can't even remember what I was pissed about in the first place. However, the older I get, the more I realize that holding a grudge is so much fucking work. Of course, there are some grudges that are worth holding. And I do hold on to those. There are some mistakes you just don't want to repeat, you know?

So this is why I'm letting go of some shit that has been bothering me for months. Or, you know, so many months it's actually more than a year or so. Depending on the thing the grudge I've been holding, of course. Why spend all that energy on being angry at people who have done me wrong in some fashion? My life is pretty good. I am reasonably happy with my job, my family is alright, my friends are wonderful and The Boy I Currently Like is ever so fucking delightful.

If I can let it go, I should. So, we're square.

03 January 2009

Holy shit! Back-to-back!

Not only did the Timberwolves win back-to-back games tonight and last night, but I actually got to watch both games. Okay, so I was watching football and flipping to the Wolves game for a while tonight. But I watched the last several minutes and mostly ignored football.

I know that motherfucking awful collapse against Dallas earlier this week was the epitome of suck, but I'm feeling a wee bit better about this team. Besides, you had to know they were going to lose that game against the Mavs. I came home from the gym and it was halftime or so and they were up by 20 or 22. I said to myself, "Well, this won't last." By the time I got out of the shower, they were down by two.

They seem to know just how little they can do to keep me watching. I must admit I got sucked in by Stephon Marbury last night, talking with Hanne and Pete. I was all, "Why the hell is he here?" Oh, um, because his cousin plays for the Wolves? Speaking of Starbury, it's ever so interesting to hear his name being bandied about as a possible addition to the Celtics. You didn't like playing second banana to KG when you were here, but since you've not played at all this year, you'll have no problem playing fourth banana, at best now, huh? The prospect of a ring will make you reconsider many things, no?

For a Genius, you're not very smart.

When Apple first came out with Genius for iTunes, I didn't bother downloading it. I wasn't updating my iTunes ever, as it was generally a pain in the ass and I didn't want most of what they were offering. However, with the new computer, I downloaded the newest version of iTunes (dammit), so I kind of had to have it. The Prison Librarian seemed to like it, so I thought I'd give it a shot.

I am not impressed.

It works kind of like Pandora -- you pick a song and it builds a playlist around that song. Unlike Pandora, however, you can't really tweak it. Or if you can, I haven't figured out how to do that. All I've done is delete songs and refresh, which puts shit back on that I'd deleted. Um, NO. With Pandora, you can rate songs or suggest songs or tell them not to play this certain song for a while or just flat-out say, "Hell 2 da naw!" to a song. And I did that a lot with Pandora. I also had to say "don't play this song for a month" very often. I mean, you have this enormous music database and I'm hearing songs twice in an eight-hour period and several times over the course of a week? FAIL.

Genius seems to play only songs in the same genre. I tried Elbow's "The Bones of You," and the resulting playlist is 80 percent Brit pop. Oh, and Kings of Leon, who are fucking huge in the UK. Start one with a little "Rehab" from Amy Winehouse? Nothing but R&B.

There seem to be plenty of songs they don't have in their database. Nothing comes up with Brendan Canning's "Hit the Wall." Same with Tilly & the Wall's "Blood Flowers." And I've updated a couple of times. I can get Gomez's "How We Operate" to generate a playlist, but if I choose "Meet Me in the City?" No fucking dice, sister.

It works okay for something like Broken Social Scene, what with their Stars, Apostle of Hustle, Feist, Amy Millan, Emily Haines and other connections. Well, it would work great if Brendan Canning came up. I mean, the album title says, "Broken Social Scene Presents ..." for fuck's sake. And I like a lot of Canadian bands, so I guess it's good that Arcade Fire and The Stills make it onto the Broken Social Scene playlist.

I suppose it's fine if you're totally lazy, but I don't want one single genre or all similar artists in a playlist. I am almost always looking for a very odd mix when I make a playlist. And I know what I'm doing. People tend to like my mixes. Macho Man is insanely jealous of my playlist-making abilities. So fuck off, Apple. You don't know me!

02 January 2009

Free booze!

Well, I don't think it's actually free. I can only imagine I bought it and then proceeded to forget about it. Unless, of course, the booze fairy came ... If that is the case, it's about damn time.

Whatever the reason, I came across an entire extra bottle of Jameson while finally putting the rest of my party shit away. Yes, I'm sometimes terribly about putting shit away. Stop judging me, asshole.

Because I am a crazy person, I was momentarily distressed by this abundance of whiskey. Macho Man was here not that long ago and had a drink before we went up to the Herk to watch the Bears beat the Packers. Since he finished the bottle, I thought I was out. I bought a new bottle earlier this week to make sure I had plenty for the New Year's Eve party. Then Mrs. Dirk brought a bottle and left the remainder here and OH MY GOD. I HAVE TOO MUCH JAMESON.

Then I came to my senses and remembered that a) I love Jameson and b) liquor doesn't go bad. The random beers that make up just about a case, the partial bottle of Captain Morgan to complement the nearly full bottle of Captain Morgan I have and will never drink ... Perhaps those aren't as much of a cause for celebration. However, they do make for a very good reason to have another party. So I guess they are a cause for celebration.

No, I am not going to the Vikings game.

Stop asking me. The next person who asks will get punched in the junk. I'm not kidding. I don't give a shit if the game isn't on TV.

We are broken up. It's been more than two years. I can't say I've fully moved on, because I still don't have a new favorite team. But there is no getting back together with me and the Queens. I'm actively cheering against them. I can't say I hate them ... well, okay, maybe I could.

I'm still leaning toward teams on which I have or had fantasy players. Teams for which I have a weird soft spot (that year in North Carolina made me the tiniest bit fond of the Panthers, I guess) are game, too. This year, I'm all about the resurgent Falcons and Dolphins in the playoffs. I do loves me an underdog.

One of these days a team will catch my eye and love will blossom again. In the meantime, I'll keep enjoying foosball for foosball's sake.