31 July 2009

God's Stimulus Plan.

Yes, you read that right. On my way down to Mankato today to get my hair did, I saw a new pro-life billboard outside of St. Peter. Unfortunately, I was going too fast and there were too many cars around for me to slam on my brakes to try to pull over to get a picture. It really wasn't even safe to slow down and there was just too damn much copy on the billboard to know what the fuck it was all about.

But I know it was a pro-life billboard. There were two very telling signs: the font and the ugly babies.

So, the billboard said (among many other things -- too many other things): "God's Stimulus Plan." And there was a box full of ugly babies pictured. That's right. A four-pack of ugly babies in a cardboard box. Sadly, the lid had been discarded a few feet away. It might have been better if it was on.

What on Earth could God's Stimulus Plan be? I have my theories (that I've now discussed with The Boy I Currently Like and Diana, while holding her not-in-the-least-bit ugly wee bairn). They include:

    Storing ugly babies in boxes boosts the cardboard and warehouse/storage industries and also saves parents money on food and other personal baby items.

    Less competition for attractive babies. They'll be getting commercials and winning contests like nobody's business. This will give their parents additional disposable income.

    Perhaps the ugly babies will be made to work. Or they will be eaten.

    Babies will be stored in boxes to be sold on the Black Market.

    Maybe the plan is just to make people have more babies, thereby spending money on medical care, diapers, baby food and all the other shit babies need. With another Baby Boom, in a few years, there will be a need for more pre-school teachers and then kindergarten teachers and on down the line. Think of the back-to-school and holiday dollars that will be spent! It boggles the mind.


I think I'll be heading home for another visit in a few weeks, as my aunties will be visiting. The trip will be a little longer, but I think it will be worth it to get a picture of this billboard. Maybe I'll even figure out what the fuck God's Stimulus Plan is.

30 July 2009

Something wonderful and magical has happened.

The nasty work bathroom is no more. Isn't it odd how when something goes back to the way it was, it's less noticeable than when it changed in the first place? Why is that?

It's not that I didn't notice it was gradually getting quieter and neater and less smelly. But I worried maybe it was too good to be true. I have no idea where those nasty skanks have gone, but sweet buttery Christ, I'm glad they're gone.

At the very least, they've moved off of our floor. Sometimes I see some of them out in the parking lot, so I know they're not all gone. Perhaps it was some big training program and they've all gone to where they're meant to be. While in the loo (when Dumbledore asked if he could use the loo at the beginning of HPVI, my nephew had to loudly ask his mom, "What's a loo?"), I overheard more than a couple conversations about people moving elsewhere while others were being let go.

Now I only have one disgusting bathroom in my life. Alas, I don't believe there will be changes at the gym any time soon. The way work has been going lately, it's nice to have my refuge back, where I can hear songs I'd just heard on The Current or my iPod, while wondering if the bees are going to sting me to death.

29 July 2009

On your special day.

It's my dad's birthday today. However, he is out of the country at the moment, so I cannot wish him well today. He's busy drinking beer (and buying me neat presents, I hope) with my mom in Ireland, so I'm fairly certain he's having a great birthday.

There's someone to whom I can give birthday wishes, though. Someone who might even see them!

So, Happy Birthday to long-time reader, commenter, (one-time? occasional? really, really infrequent?) contributor at IDYFT, NFL running back, lover of boobies and clever deducer of identities behind my super-secret blog nicknames, Jerious Norwood.

Cheers!

See what happens when Utah loosens their liquor laws?

You get rage-filled people in Orem Googling "i hate lolcats" and commenting anonymously on two-year-old blog posts.

FUCK ALL OF YOU STUPID ASS MOTHER FUCKERS!!! LOLCATS FUCKING RULE YOU STUPID PUNK BITCH! I WILL FUCKING RAPE YOU IF YOU SAY THAT LOLCATS SUCK ONE MORE TIME! I WILL FUCKING RAPE YOU, THEN KILL YOU, THEN HAVE SEX WITH YOUR DEAD MOTHER FUCKING BODY YOU PUNK ASS BITCH MOTHER FUCKER! FUCK YOU!

Kudos on the lack of spelling errors, but the punctuation really needs some work.

28 July 2009

I hate when the Sisterhood keeps me in the dark.

Sometime in the last few days (work completely fried my brain today -- I'm barely sure what day it is), Jezebel directed me to one of the latest pieces of poo to drop out of the anus that is Men's Health.

First things first: That list was written by a woman. And you know, I for one, think it's really charitable of Cosmo to let their shitty sex writers moonlight for other publications. Especially in this economy. Scrunchies can't be cheap, y'all.

Secondly, that list is fucking ridiculous. Some of them I don't even understand. Perhaps this is why I am the suck at flirting. Because, if I'm in the bathroom for more than the three minutes it takes to pee (who the fuck takes three minutes to pee?), it might mean I'm pooping. Or fucking with my hair. Masturbating? Calling a friend to come and save me? Climbing out the window? Puking? What does it even matter? Is that supposed to be an invitation to have bathroom sex? WHAT DOES IT MEAN?

But that insipid list is actually neither here nor there. I saw another list while reading that steaming pile of excrement. This one was also written by a "woman." The list is called "6 Secret Ways to Turn Her On." Reading, replacing the bottles on water coolers and writing lengthy e-mails are among the no-fail ways into your girl's pants. I know this delicate flower is always waiting around for some strapping hunk to replace my water bottle.

It's item number six, though, that I wish I'd known this weekend. Apparently, when The Boy snapped at me while we were playing Tekken (because I have an incredibly annoying and distracting habit of talking to/yelling at my characters, even when I'm winning, which makes it extra distracting?), I should have jumped his bones immediately. Instead, I shut the fuck up and turned all of my focus to the game. This led to me figure out a move that worked well for my character, which in turn led me to beat him in probably 15 out of 19 matches, nearly bringing our winning percentages to 50 each.

Sadly, we went to bed before I could even things up. But that led to the jumping of bones, so I guess everyone won in the end.

27 July 2009

Going out on a school night? WHAT?

At some point in the not-too-distant past, I've become an old fuddy-duddy, it would seem. I might not have really realized it, had Macho Man not broken up with his girlfriend recently.

When he told me they broke up, I knew what was coming -- the weeknight texts at like, 9:00 saying, "Party?" Or the occasional earlier asking, "Happy hour?" I've turned down two of these in less than a week. What happened to me?

A couple of years ago, when I was working at a job where I fucked around on the Interwebs for eight hours, there was no problem with going out on weeknights. I did it all the damn time. Now, though, I work a job that requires me to ... well, work. This precludes much going out on school nights. Boo. There's also my love of routine that seems to have really become a part of my life in the last couple of years, too.

I mean, how could I go out tonight when I had to go to the gym, come home to cook, wash dishes, watch the Twins, shower and blog? Seriously, though, when I got the "Party?" text, I had just finished whipping up a stir fry with a good number of my CSA haul from the past week, I hadn't showered and there were dishes to do.

Ach. This is my life, isn't it? The good news is, I'm fairly content with it.

26 July 2009

"I'm not only computer illiterate; I'm inept, too."

Tomorrow, my parents leave for Ireland. I was anticipating my mom's call today -- I'm hitting the farm Friday afternoon after I get my hair did in Mankato. She's got a pantload of instructions for me. Of course, she gave them to me in person when I was home last. Then she gave them to me again on a phone call. There were a couple of e-mails, too. And there would be a note for me on the kitchen table detailing everything she's told me already.

So, it would stand to reason that mom would need to call and go over the note with me on the phone today. I warned The Boy I Currently Like last night that she would be calling. Color me shocked that she hadn't already called 10 times by the time we got up just before 2:00. She hadn't even called once!

When she and dad finally called after I got home from The Boy's, they mentioned they were going to try to change their seats on their flight(s) tomorrow and were going to try to check-in online for at least their first flight. And they would probably need help.

My parents (like many of yours, I'm sure) are not exactly computer whizzes. For whatever reason, when they have a problem of any sort with their computer, they call me. Despite the fact that I'm not a tech guy (or girl, but I do date a Tech Guy, so maybe I learn shit through osmosis?), I can often solve their problems. Yay me, and such.

I wasn't surprised when dad called just a bit ago because he couldn't find their flight. Um, that's a bit of a problem. Dad's actually worse than mom when it comes to the Interwebs and computer-related things. She figured out long ago how to e-mail (and my siblings and I rue the day). It took her a while to get the whole address book, replying, sending to multiple recipients and forwarding down. But, yay for us, she can do all those things now. I've managed to keep her off Facebook for the time being, but I don't know how long that will last.

Dad, however, can barely type. The title of this post is a direct quote from him. I did find their flight and was trying to walk him through the check-in process. His other quotes include, "I have a long name. It takes me a while to type it." Alas, I was unable to solve his problem. I fear they are lacking some necessary information for the online check-in. I hate feeling useless. I'm used to it, though. Anyway, their travel agent will apparently take care of things for them tomorrow.

I tried.

24 July 2009

There is nothing wrong with a little self-love.

I don't mean that kind of self-love. Though, there is absolutely nothing wrong with that, either. It can really take the edge off. Or help you get to sleep.

What I'm talking about is more like pampering yourself. I didn't do some sort of funky face masque or give myself a pedicure. That seemed like entirely too much work. Besides, I just did my toenails a couple of night ago.

No, the self-love I'm getting tonight is all about booze and food. The first order of business when I got home from work tonight was drinking a beer on the deck. Okay, so technically that was the second order of business. Peeing cannot wait, y'all.

Dear sweet Jebus. I think that was the most delicious beer I have ever had the opportunity of drinking. The weather was beautiful, and I just sat and watched the cars and people go by in front of me. It felt so good.

After taking some time to lay on the couch, I got to making myself dinner. And oh, what a dinner it is. Last night, I pulled a T-bone out of the freezer. Sometimes a girl just gets a hankerin' for steak, you know? Especially this girl. Especially when she can't remember the last time she ate meat. Well there was allegedly chicken in the frozen entree I ate for lunch today. I cannot remember the last time I had a frozen entree. However, it was Kashi and it was free.

Once the drink on the deck was complete, I threw the steak in a plastic bag with a couple of smashed cloves of garlic, salt, pepper, lemon juice and extra virgin olive oil. That is my go-to marinade. It is pretty much no fail.

But what to have with my steak? There was red kale in the CSA box today. Last week there were collard greens. Perhaps some greens might be good? I watched an episode of Good Eats called "True Grits." So, of course, I decided to round out my meal with some cheesy polenta.

This was the first time I've ever eaten greens, much less cooked them. And can I tell you? YUM. Then again, what isn't good when you start with bacon? As for the polenta, I think this was my second attempt. The first time I made polenta, I specifically made it to bake it. Didn't turn out so great. Tonight, though? Delicious!

Probably I should get to the many, many dishes I have to do before I get a) too drunk or b) the Twins game gets too interesting. But I think I did pretty well for myself tonight. And I needed it. The shitty, shitty week I had is mostly a memory and there is only goodness in front of me.

23 July 2009

Was it that good? That bad?

I thought maybe the week was going to be getting better. I mean, there were only two work days left and the big things I had due, I'd turned in well before deadline. There were revisions, of course. Lots and lots and lots of revisions. But it was almost the weekend. How much worse could things get?

"A good deal worse," would be the answer to that question. Today, I was accused of plagiarism. Maybe "accused" is a bit strong. The accuser did say "plagiarized" twice. It's a long, complicated story, but I needed to write something on a fairly complex topic while only having available to me a couple of citeable sources. These sources were fairly useless, of course. So, I had to read up on the topic and then regurgitate what I'd learned in my own words.

That is what I did. In fact, I was particularly proud of the sentence the accuser read to me when she asked, if she were to go back and look at any of the sources I told her I'd read as background (because she didn't believe on the first go-round that I'd looked at more than the mostly useless sources), would she find that sentence anywhere in them? My brain was already fried, as she called five minutes before I was going to walk out the door. But her questioning left me speechless for a moment. I was so shocked initially that it kind of just rolled off my back. Only on my way out of the building did my throat start to get tight and my eyes start to sting.

At least I know for sure now that this woman hates me. No one else working on these projects -- even the person who essentially copied my first profile -- has been treated the way I have. See, the woman in charge of this project is the one who did my training when I started. There were a number of times I hinted that I thought she might not like me. She asked why I thought she'd given me something to work on or something like that. I said, "I figured it's because you hate me." I was mostly serious. She's the reason I was constantly seeking refuge in the loo to hide my tears from my coworkers; the way she treated me led my coworkers to believe I was going to quit within a month of starting.

The ridiculous thing is, if I had plagiarized, I wouldn't have spent the bulk of the past two weeks totally spinning my wheels and agonizing over these stupid fucking things.

Work is the last place in the world I want to go tomorrow. But I can't call in sick, because there is too much work to do. I can't even work from home, because our remote connection has been jacked all week.

If I get through the work day tomorrow, I'm going to get absolutely shitfaced tomorrow night.

22 July 2009

I hate it when I get ahead of myself.

This morning on the way to work I was contemplating this blog post. I often write posts in my head long before I actually sit down to type them out. Does this make me a huge nerd? Almost certainly.

When I started composing this in my head earlier today, it was going to be surprisingly positive. I was supposed to go the Sonic Youth show at First Ave last night with Sweetness. However, my tension headache had intensified from the previous night to the point where I was praying for the sweet release of death. Or at least to be able to see properly while driving to work.

Fortunately, Sweetness was able to get The Brute to go to the show with him. I felt bad for bailing at the last minute, but less bad because I didn't fuck shit up too badly. This, of course, meant I could go to yoga. I'd forgotten how much I like Jen's yoga class, since it had been quite some time since I'd been able to hit one of her morning classes. I figured working out would help the headache, despite the fact that it got worse at the gym the night before.

How delightful it was to be home early (class finished at 7:30). There wasn't much cooking to do and I only had one night of dishes. Plus, I was going to get to bed at a decent hour! Not to mention I wasn't spending any money on drinks and dinner at O'Donovan's and then more drinks at the show.

Well, the early-to-bed thing didn't work out. I stayed up to watch the Twins win on the West Coast in extra innings. Still, I woke up actually feeling good. I think the yoga and not worrying about how much money I was going to spend and how staying out late was going to totally fuck up my week made me relax enough that my headache dissipated to barely noticeable.

I was going to have a great day! A great rest of the week, even!

Whoa. Slow your roll there, Missy. For the past few weeks at work, I've had this god-awful time suck of a project hanging over my head. I have no idea what I'm doing and it is an internal project, so the countless hours I'm spending on it are totally hurting me.

But being clueless and spending hours spinning my wheels isn't the best part. I'm working with the woman who did most of my training last year. And I feel like I've been transported back to where I was last year. That is not a good place to be. Nothing I do is right, but apparently if one of my coworkers takes what I did and changes it around slightly, she does a great job! I really didn't want to spend my day fighting tears.

All is not lost, however. There are only two work days left this week. I have wine. Sarah gave me an Amish Friendship Bread starter (I'll have starters of my own in 10ish days if anyone is interested). I got to spend a couple of minutes with Ein the Corgi when I went to pick the starter up. And Saturday I get to hang out with The Boy I Currently Like. That's pretty much the only thing keeping me going at the moment.

21 July 2009

City people driving on gravel.

Some of the streets in my neighborhood have recently been seal coated. I'm not entirely sure what that entails and I can't be bothered to find out. I do know that the ultimate layer on this seal coating is gravel.

I've been cracking up watching people take off from stop signs, spinning their wheels and kicking up gravel. I even saw someone fishtail a bit coming around a corner. Clearly, these people have not driven much on gravel roads (they could also just be idiot, jerkoff drivers who drive like assholes no matter the surface, I suppose).

Don't get me wrong -- I've fishtailed a time or two after hitting a spot with a lot of gravel. We should be glad the streets aren't washboarded. But I learned how to drive on gravel roads, and I still drive them often. My parents live on a gravel road.

It seems odd to me that people can go so many years without driving on a gravel road, but it happens. And I like to see them struggle on the streets of Minneapolis. 'Cause I'm evil.

20 July 2009

I read things, comment on them and share them with you.

Well, that was awfully descriptive for a title, wasn't it?

Between tearing my hair out over trying to write an overview of an industry I know nothing about and being stood up for yet another interview, I took a little sanity break to read some Jezebel. I need all the sanity breaks I can get at the moment, as my tension headaches are back in full force -- so bad that I was nearly in tears at the gym tonight (new yoga instructor on the way, though; possibly as early as Monday!).

All that is neither here nor there. My love of tangents and parenthetical statements can never be satisfied, though (The Boy I Currently Like is fascinated by them and is always threatening to diagram my thoughts/e-mails. Yet he never follows through. TEASE!).

Anyway, I read this lovely piece about the horrible, horrible problems white people have. Maybe "white people" isn't the right term, as I'm as white as they come and I have never had problems like this. It's a First World problem; a problem of the upper middle class, maybe.

Fancy dinners and vacations have never been a part of my life. So, I guess I don't really know what it's like to have that and then have it all slip away from you. I do know, however, that The Boy and I have done nothing but have nights in at one of our apartments the entire time we've known each other. And you know what? There's not much I would rather do than drink cheap wine, watch the Twins and play video games with him. God, how awful having dinner at home and spending time with someone you like would be after jetting off to fabulous locales and eating dinner in fancy shmancy restaurants.

Seriously. I have no sympathy for these people. There are couples and families losing homes and jobs and going into bankruptcy because of this recession and you're bitching about your relationship going in the toilet because you couldn't go to some five-star restaurant for your anniversary dinner? Cry me a motherfucking river.

The other thing I "read" is much more upbeat. KayGee sent me the link because it made her think of me. This is because when we're together and drunk, yoga invariably comes up and we start showing each other poses and all of a sudden, you have Drunk Yoga.

19 July 2009

Now you're cookin'.

This was the first weekend in quite some time where I had nothing planned for Saturday and Sunday. Had The Boy I Currently Like wanted to hang out, I would have said yes, but I think I needed a Saturday to myself just like he did. Funny how something like that can feel like such a treat.

So what did I do with my weekend besides go to the gym, drink and watch the Twins? (Oh, and go to see the Gin Blossoms at the Aquatennial Block Party Friday night with KayGee and The Prison Librarian.) Mostly, I cooked and baked and preserved.

Wait. What? Preserved? Yes! I'm actually making refrigerator pickles right now. It's terribly exciting. Yes, I'm fully aware that thinking pickle-making is terribly exciting is actually quite sad. BUT I DON'T CARE. I'm making pickles, y'all, and they smell so good I want to eat them right now. However, once I get them all jarred before I hit the hay tonight, they have to sit in the refrigerator for 10 whole days before they'll be ready. Oh, sweet torture.

In addition to the pickling cucumbers, dill and fresh garlic I used in the pickles, I had other CSA stuff to use this weekend, as well. This morning, I used some summer squash in a crustless quiche (with red pepper, onion, more fresh garlic, chicken andouille and of course, cheese) that I'll eat for breakfast at work this week. It looked and smelled fantastic. I'd meant to use the last bit of green beans I didn't eat for lunch a couple of days ago, but I totally forgot them. Dammit.

Yesterday, I made whole wheat blueberry banana bread. KayGee told me a couple of weeks ago she was always adding blueberries to her banana bread, so I thought I'd try some in my recipe. I skipped tossing the blueberries in a bit of flour so they'd be better suspended in the bread, but aside from that, it's delicious. I've eaten entirely too much of it. Blueberries are a super food and I used all whole wheat flour, so I don't feel that bad. Especially since I conveniently forget the sweet, creamy butter slathered on each slice.

There was two weeks worth of CSA parsley sitting in my fridge, as well, so I thought I'd try my hand at making tabbouleh. I had to pick up mint and bulgur after the gym so I could make the tabbouleh, and let me tell you -- it's a bitch trying to find bulgur. Nothing at Trader Joe's, nothing at Lunds and of course nothing at Rainbow. I considered the Wedge and Whole Foods, but I know I'd seen it somewhere else before.

Have I extolled the virtues of Bill's Imported Foods here before? A quick search says "No." Well, I'll remedy that right now. I'm pretty sure the TWO POUNDS of bulgur I bought for $2.90 at Bill's would have run me at least twice as much at Whole Foods or the Wedge. Certainly at the former, anyway. Bill's is so freakin' great. They have olive oil on the cheap -- it's great quality and you can get like, a gallon of it if you want. Nuts, dried fruits and spices are ridiculously affordable. I should have bought my pickling spice there -- it was $1 less for probably three times as much as I paid at Penzeys. Though, I didn't need nearly as much as was in the bag and Penzeys rocks. Lunds didn't have pickling spice and Bill's didn't have dill seed (which was like, $6 at Lunds. What the fuck?). So it made sense to just get all my spices at Penzeys, as I needed peppercorns, too.

I probably should have gone to Bill's first, as they had huge amounts of mint for about half what I paid at Lunds. However, I did get a very large bunch of mint for the same price as you'd pay for mint in the little clamshell container. That shit is a ripoff. Now I can use what's left with my other CSA cucumber to make a cucumber-mint raita. Or I could use the dill and make tzatziki. Anyway, the tabbouleh is excellent. I've got at least twice as much as I could buy at Trader Joe's and it cost me much, much less. Yay!

There are beets, cauliflower, more summer squash and collard and beet greens to cook this week yet. It's really fucking tough to keep up with just half my damn box, but it's definitely a labor of love. My veggies have all been great, save the spinach and my All Red potatoes, and they actually keep for way longer than you'd think. I've tried to be good about cleaning the stuff that needs to be cleaned when I bring it home, and I think that helps.

It's kind of nice to have a Twins game to watch on a Sunday night. Feels less like a Sunday night, for one thing. Also, this week isn't looking as terrible as last week looked to me. Work will be busy and sucky, but not as busy and sucky. Plus, I'm going to see Sonic Youth Tuesday. I keep waffling back and forth about going to a show on a week night -- and a week night early in the week. But Jesus, if I wasn't going to the show, I'd be staying up late watching the Twins play Oakland. The ticket is free, for fuck's sake. Maybe I should live a little.

17 July 2009

Now that's what I call a mascot.

As seen at the Aquatennial Block Party, before the Gin Blossoms went on. Yeah, that's right -- the Gin Blossoms.

It's a pee cup and a syringe. Awesome! The Pee Cup saw me take a picture of it and then came over and touched me.


16 July 2009

It's not that cold, for Christ's sake.

Look, I know it's not where we're used to, temperature-wise, for July. But it's 8:00ish and it's still around 65 -- you don't need your fucking leather jacket. Or your big-ass boots. If it was March you'd be wearing shorts and tank tops.

And hey -- it's gonna be good sleeping weather (that's right, Mary Lucia, I said it and I mean it).

15 July 2009

Choosing the bright side.

My week hasn't been going super awesomely great. But I'm not going to bitch about my job or whatever other things are making my week not so super awesomely great. I'm going to look on the bright side. I'm going to be positive. Take that, um, whoever.

What is there on the bright side? Well, I'm glad you asked.

I've been eating really, really well this week. The coworker with whom I'm sharing the CSA box was out last week, so I got the entire box. Oh my, have the contents been delicious. I've had oven-roasted beets, oven-roasted cauliflower and broccoli, lovely romaine for salads, kick-ass green beans and more that I've not even gotten to yet. Shit. I even ate some of the strawberries. I gave most to The Boy I Currently Like, but he couldn't possibly have taken all of them. So I made balsamic strawberries last night and had them over vanilla ice cream. OH. MY. GOD. YUM.

Tonight was my last regular yoga night at the gym, but on Monday, Renee gave me passes to LA Fitness so I can go to her classes. She gave them only to me, too. Also, Macho Man seems to think LA Fitness is much cheaper than I thought it might be. He could be talking out his ass, of course, but maybe he's right. Sweet.

The time has come where I can put on and take off my dress pants and a pair of jeans without unbuttoning or unzipping them. Probably not too far away from them falling off on their own. Actually, the jeans will slide dangerously far down if I'm walking down the street. Maybe I'll go to Goodwill to look for "new" pants or jeans, but I checked Old Navy to see if they still had the dress pants I bought last year. To my surprise, they not only still have them, but they're $10 cheaper than when I bought them. In fact, I'm getting to the point where a whole bunch of clothes are getting too big.

Last, but not least, tomorrow is Thursday. The week is almost done. And I have wine.

14 July 2009

Why I love Jezebel, and the people who read this blog.

I had a fairly crap day at work, but after being stood up by my second interview target, I decided to take a break and read a bit of Jezebel. And I'm glad I did, because I saw this delightful post: "The 7 Worst Crimes Committed in Women's Bathrooms."

Obviously, I needed to blog about it. But I had to go to the gym and then get some chicken marinating, wash dishes and make balsamic strawberries when I got home. Upon checking my phone as I left the shitty SLP Bally, I saw an e-mail from Shevvi, who lurks 'round these parts, with a link to the very same Jezebel post, saying it made her think of me.

Awwwwwwwww. You guys.

The comments are much better than the post itself, because I think the post has at least one glaring omission. How is poo smeared on walls, doors and seats not on the list? What about shit somehow sprayed all over three stalls, which has happened more than once at Bally? How do you have explosive diarrhea more than once at the gym, or how do that many people have it at the same place? I don't get it.

But really, reading that post and the comments really just makes me wonder more than ever, what the fuck is wrong with people?

13 July 2009

My wish for the week.

Is that my coworker with whom I am sharing my CSA box detests beets so I can have them all. Because OH MY GOD, these are the best beets I've EVER eaten.

I like to aim low.

12 July 2009

Minneappling.

I was not going to go to the Bastille Day Block Party tonight, as I was low on cash, I had work to do for work and I had work to do around the house. It was like, 5:00 by the time I got home from The Boy I Currently Like's and showered and whatnot. Just not gonna work out this time around, you know?

However, I'm a sucker for pleas from friends, and it didn't take Macho Man much effort at all to get me to agree to go. Once I got there and we talked and I found out he and his girlfriend had broken up, I was glad I went. And I even had fun, despite the fact that I hate people and there were many of them there. Even Barbette trying to pass off something as a brat was most certainly not a brat didn't ruin my night. Look motherfuckers, I grew up on a hog farm and I have access to brats whenever I want. I know what a brat tastes like. You were serving something that tasted like spicy ring bologna. I'm on to you, jackasses.

On my walk home, I went past the Uptown, where my friends' band was playing later tonight. I looked in, just on the off chance they might already be there and wouldn't you know it, I see one of the band members wave at me. This is why I fucking love Minneapolis. I stopped in to say hi and give my regrets about missing the show.

How sad is it that I had to come home and make oatmeal for breakfast for the week and get to bed so I can work a long day tomorrow (after working on my day off Friday)? How sad is it that The Boy and I got up 10 hours ago and I'm ready for bed right now? How sad is it that I don't fucking care about any of that?

Meh. What are you gonna do?

10 July 2009

Mommy needs a drink.

Well, auntie, I guess. I'm blogging from the farm after bringing my car down to the dealership to fix my stupid ignition switch. I spent two hours shopping with my mom, sister and nephew after leaving the car and OH MY GOD these people make me insane.

And that's why I've started drinking at 1:30. Christ, I needed a beer three hours ago. There's something delightful about sitting in an armchair with a beer, "working." Okay, so I'm blogging at the moment, but I've started working anyway. I needed a break after about 20 minutes of trying to wait out the work connection. It doesn't work too well with the 'rents Interwebs.

So, tomorrow is my cousin's wedding. And oh, what a wedding it will be. It's in city park. It is apparently sport-themed. The dinner is essentially going to be a barbeque at one of the shitty bars in town -- hot dogs, burgers and brats. All that is fine. It's your day and your life and you can do whatever the fuck you want. I hate weddings, so I'm not going to want to be there whatever it is you have planned.

However, I am going totally going to bitch about the registry. It's 12 fucking pages long. TWELVE PAGES. And it includes everything from an LCD TV and Blu-ray player to toothpaste, Ziploc bags, shaving cream and Pledge. PLEDGE, for fuck's sake. You've lived together for a couple of years now. If you don't need stuff, don't put random shit on your registry. I know it's tacky to ask for money, but it seems pretty goddamn tacky to ask me to buy you Swiffer wipes and shaving cream, too.

My siblings and I have been joking about what we're going to buy them ever since our Mom printed out the registry and told us about it. I actually didn't look at it until yesterday with my own eyes. But given the state of the economy and my car repairs, payroll change and pay freeze for 2008, I'm *this* close to giving them a box of plastic bags and a can of shaving cream. Times are tough all around, bitches.

Now, I must take my leave of you, because I need another beer.

08 July 2009

I see. It's one of those weeks.

Man, if it ain't one thing, it's a-motherfuckin'-nother. Since Saturday, I've been praying my car doesn't decide it's been stolen and lock itself up again before I can get it down to the dealership on Friday. Every time I get in, I say, "Please start," and hold my breath when I turn the key. When she starts up, I say, "Thank you baby. You're a good girl."

Come on. I can't be the only person who has ever talked to (pleaded with, cajoled, scolded) her car, right? Right?

Wondering whether or not your car is going to start every time you climb into it is fairly stressful. But there is a resolution on the horizon. An expensive resolution, but a resolution nonetheless. So, I've got the other half of this pantload of money I have to spend on the horizon and I'm thinking I'll be able to squeak by on my next paycheck. I did have to bail out of girls' weekend -- squeaking by means little to no fun in the coming weeks.

Then we get an e-mail today from the corporate office. They're moving payroll to our parent company next week. This means we're going from bimonthly paychecks to biweekly paychecks.

Now, this isn't a huge deal, except for one little thing: We won't get a paycheck for three weeks. No check on the 31st. The next check is August 7. That's well after the 1st, when my rent is due. It's even after the 5th, which is the last day to get the rent paid before incurring a late fee.

But never fear, the e-mail includes the following sage advice:

It is imperative that you review your personal cash flow situation. You may need to make adjustments with your personal budgeting to accommodate the change in the pay schedule.

Hey thanks, corporate office, for fucking up my entire financial life. And for giving me an Entire Week! to review my personal cash flow situation. Even my coworkers with two family incomes are going to have to adjust shit because you set things up to come out of your account at certain times, based on when you get paid.

Mother.

Fucker.

Sometimes I feel like I just can't fucking catch a break. Thank fucking Christ I can drown my sorrows in cheap-ass Trader Joe's wine. Just the thing to take the edge off after outdoor yoga. Maybe, just maybe, I'll sleep tonight. Eventually.

06 July 2009

Channeling George Costanza.

I'm a forgetful person. You could say that I can be a little absent-minded from time to time. Probably it comes from my dad. That guy is always forgetting little things. It could also be the booze, but it's probably mostly genetic.

This absent-mindedness has become quite evident the more time I spend with The Boy I Currently Like at his house. I forget shit at his house all. the. damn. time. At first, it was just my water bottle. I'd get home and it would still be sitting on the floor, just out of sight, next to the couch or the chair. And it would be there the next time I came over. Sometimes I'd remember it on my own, sometimes he'd tell me.

It became something of a running joke between us -- he decided I was taking a cue from George Costanza, and leaving things behind so I'd have an excuse to come back to his place. I preferred to think I was more like Manny Black Books. Granted, I didn't start this until we'd known each other for a year, but that is beside the point.

It should be noted I never forgot anything at his old apartment. Or if I ever did, I certainly didn't want it back. The chances of ever finding it on a return visit were slim to none. And quite frankly, if I did find it, I would probably rather have just thrown it away than take it home.

He's benefited from some of the things I've left behind. He only had a single pillow on his bed until I forgot mine there. Okay, I benefit from that one, too. He also now has a vegetable brush, because I was forward-thinking enough to figure I might need one to clean the blue potatoes from my CSA box for breakfast a couple of weeks ago. However, I was not forward-thinking enough to actually put it back with my things to take it home with me later that day. Though, I swore that I dried it off and put it back in my bag.

Tonight, I had a mini panic attack because I thought I'd forgotten my corkscrew there yesterday. Of course, I meant to buy one this weekend for him, but it slipped my mind with all the car drama. It was kind of mean of me, but I let him worry a bit the day I came back from Portland and essentially went straight to his place. He'd bought a couple of bottles of wine for me, because he thought I might not have had time to get any, since I'd been out of town. Very sweet and very thoughtful, I know. So, of course, I had to be an asshole and ask, "Did you find your corkscrew?"

Recently, I've started leaving clothes there. I swear to you -- it is completely unintentional. Or, if it is intentional, it's buried so deep in my subconscious that I can't get to it. I think the reason is twofold. First, since I'm hanging out for like, eight or nine hours, I've started bringing at least a shirt (and clean underwear, of course) to wear the next morning. When I was showing up in the wee hours of the morning, that sort of thing wasn't necessary.

The second reason is because it is damn near impossible for me to see my black or gray t-shirt, all crumpled up somewhere in the mess of clothes strewn about is his bedroom. So really, IT'S ALL HIS FAULT. Either way, it comes home with me next time I'm there, so it's okay.

05 July 2009

Bumpits, bullshit and bump-offs.

While at the gym yesterday, I saw a commercial for Bumpits.



However, some bullshit caught my attention and made me forget all about Bumpits and the blog post I was going to write about them. My car had to be towed from the lower-level parking ramp of the gym because it wouldn't start. Wheeeeeeee! I'd gone about five months with this car before I needed to drop $600 in it. AWESOME. Truth be told, I've only put in half of it at this point. I'm waiting until the weekend to do the rest of the repairs at the dealership. I just hope I can make it that long.

Last night, however, while The Boy I Currently Like and I were watching SNL, someone's hair reminded me of some of the less-ridiculous styles in the commercial, and I remembered I wanted to blog about the awesomeness of Bumpits. Something else I saw on TV at the gym was supposed to be in the post as well, but I can't remember what it was, other than it also started with a "B."

Look, I don't really understand the horror and trauma of totally flat, pin-straight hair. Then again, I really don't understand why you'd want to create some of the hairstyles featured in that commercial -- unless you live in Texas or maybe New Jersey. The commercial on the website is better than the one I posted above. I urge you to watch it just so you can see the woman who used a mini Bumpit to create some sort of bastardized mall bangs. They are fan-fucking-tastic. Those things cannot be comfortable, can they? And wearing more than one? Who would do that?

Finally, The Bob Saget Fan Club is mourning the death of our former quarterback, Steve McNair. Remember boys and girls, stay away from crazy, no matter how hot he or she is.

03 July 2009

Oh, fuck you, ESPN.

One night at the gym this week, I saw a commercial for the upcoming MLB Home Run Derby. I didn't see the entire thing and didn't watch it very closely. It seemed like they were showing highlights from last year, when the Twins' Justin Morneau won. However, it didn't look like Justin Morneau was actually in the commercial.

This morning, I saw the commercial again. They showed the 2006 winner, Ryan Howard. They showed the 2007 winner, Vlad Guerrero. There were a few others shown, but the only one I remember was David Ortiz. And for last year? Why, they'd show Justin Morneau, because he won it, right? RIGHT?

Oh, how fucking wrong you'd be if you thought ESPN would stoop to show last year's winner. They cleverly avoided talking about the "winner" for any of the years. Instead, the copy was "Who will own the night?" This allowed them to show Josh Hamilton.

Josh Hamilton? Hey, did you guys know he used to be a junkie? And that he regrets almost all of his tattoos because he got them when he was high? Because he used to be a junkie, you know. (This has been a running joke between me and my sister for a year. We launch into it whenever we hear his name or even see some douche wearing his jersey at a Twins game ... against Boston.)

You can go straight to fucking hell, ESPN. I can't say I'm surprised or anything. It seemed as the announcers could barely contain their disgust when Morneau didn't just lie down and let Hamilton win. Yes, I know Hamilton was on fucking fire and pretty damn amazing in the early rounds. But it is not Justin's fault that Hamilton shot his wad before the finals and had nothing left when it mattered. How dare Justin even go out there for the final round. The audacity.

And if memory serves, the guy from MLB who presented Justin with his trophy fucked up Justin's name on top of it all. He's not some damn nobody, you cocksucker. HE WAS THE MVP, FOR FUCK'S SAKE. The hits just keep on coming. All y'all at ESPN can suck my right on. Assholes.

02 July 2009

Thrown for a loop.

After yoga last night, our instructor made a couple of announcements. The first was just that she'd still have class tonight and tomorrow. I kind of tuned her out, as I'd already asked last week (I'm a planner). The second, though, hit me like a punch in the gut.

She's leaving Bally in two weeks. I would never have expected such a revelation to hit me as hard as it did. I fucking cried the entire drive home from the gym. Now, I'm a bit hormonal this week and just yesterday was on the verge of tears for some reason or another during the day. Perhaps that's the reason I felt completely gutted by her announcement.

Then again, this is kind of a huge change in my life. Wednesday yoga has been THE one constant in my life for the past two years. I suppose e-mails from The Boy I Currently Like have been the other constant. But that's different. My workout routine revolves around this one yoga class. Christ, I'd say my entire life revolves around that class. That might sound sad, but it is what it is.

I don't know what I'm going to do. Should Bally manage to find a suitable replacement, little will change. However, if they don't get someone or get one of their shitty Bally-trained instructors, I might have to look elsewhere. It's not that the Bally-trained instructors are all bad. The classes are always the same, though, and there's little variation. I was never really pushed in those classes; I didn't really ever learn anything new.

Renee is moving to the brand-spanking-new L.A. Fitness. Should her schedule include weeknight classes, maybe I'll start going there. I'm going to check into what kind of a discount I could get from my insurance. Last night, I did a little thinking and budgeting and if I ended up going to a studio for yoga while keeping my gym membership, I'd be paying well over $100. I take two to three yoga classes a week and at $10 a pop, that shit adds up fast. I don't want to go down to one class a week, so why not go to a more expensive gym? Bally is a fucking dump and I often hate it, so maybe it's time to move on.

Or maybe I should stop fucking panicking and coming up with a thousand contingency plans and just see what happens. My being a planner often leads me down these paths. I can go from zero to worst case scenario over the course of a paragraph. The Boy often marvels at my thought process when he can actually see things unfold like that in my writing. *sigh* I'm a freak.

01 July 2009

Defectiveness quantified.

Via Jezebel, I came across a story that tells me just how big of a loser I really am.

The Centers for Disease Control conducted a survey that shows 17 percent of women had not married for the first time by the time they were 35. For men, it was a fourth. First of all, how sad is it that "for the first time" is a part of the discussion? Second, man, am I in one select group!

Reading stories such as this often make me ask, "What the hell is wrong with me?" And I ask that not simply because I'm one of just 17 percent of the women in this country my age who has not managed to land a husband (or who live in a state where same-sex marriage is legal. Though, I doubt that was even considered).

I also wonder what's wrong with me because I was never that little girl who dreamed of her wedding day. You hear so often about people having their dream wedding or their dream wedding dress; about women who've envisioned the entire thing before they're even engaged. Me? I've never been able to see myself in a wedding dress. The idea of a wedding strikes fear and panic in my heart. All that work, planning and expense? DO NOT WANT. I've never been able to see myself being married.

So, am I defective because I'm not married? Or am I defective because being married really isn't that important to me? Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying I don't want to get married some day. I just don't see it ever happening to me.

Besides, the whole thing is terrifying. Well, I'm terrified of the idea of divorce. If I'm not married, I don't have to go through a divorce. It's kind of the same situation I'm in with The Boy I Currently Like. On the one hand, I wouldn't mind if we finally decided to start using the boyfriend/girlfriend labels. If for no other reason than I'm totally fucking lazy and it's easier to call him that than "my friend" or "the guy I'm dating," or something equally wordy and awkward. And there's a sense of security that comes with the label. But at the same time, those labels mean something and there are connotations and expectations and then if everything goes wrong it's a big-deal break-up instead of "we stopped seeing each other."

The worst part, though, is that society has led me to feel like a defective. I've got a job I don't hate where my work is praised and appreciated. My family isn't too bad. I've got the best friends a girl could ask for -- many of whom are my age and not married, I might add. Of course, some of them aren't legally allowed to marry in Minnesota, but that's neither here nor there. I don't think any of them see themselves as defective. I certainly don't see them that way. So why should I feel like a freak?

At the end of the day, though, I know things could be much worse. I could have fallen for this bullshit. Maybe I'd just wasted more time with him. Maybe I'd have gotten married. But if I had, I'd most certainly be divorced. Bullet dodged.