30 June 2010

Trying to find a way to see this in a positive light.

In my post yesterday, I mentioned several men in my life who appreciated my interest in sports. I left a couple of guys out. I had intended to mention the Cheating Asshole Ex, because I spent endless hours watching and talking about sports with him and his roommates. We bet on sports all the time and he would often ask my opinion about his fantasy football line-up. Apparently, I just spaced on that contribution, possibly because I do not hold him in a good place in my memory.

The other guy I could have mentioned, but deliberately chose not to, was Booty Call Matt. We watched a lot of football and baseball, though I don't remember us watching too much basketball. We talked a lot about fantasy football. But, you know, he was Booty Call Matt, for Christ's sake.

I should mention that it's been about nine months since I heard from him. After two years of not seeing each other (because I've been seeing The Boy I Currently Like), he was still trying to see me in September/October of last year. Telling him I was seeing someone had zero effect on him. I finally told him that I wanted him to stop. I wasn't interested because I had what I wanted.

So of course, he called last night. He has a new phone number, so I answered after rejecting the call initially. It was nearly midnight and the wrong numbers I get seem to be really persistent. I thought nipping it in the bud was a good idea. When I answered and he said, "What's up?" I responded, "Who is this?" Even though I totally recognized his voice. He didn't say anything and I said "Hello?" When he didn't respond, I hung up. Man, I gave you a chance.

He called back a half hour later and I didn't bother answering. At least he didn't call like 20 to 30 times after that. Maybe people can change! I guess he needed to check to see if I was still with The Boy or if my resolve had weakened. I hope it was a one-time deal, but I doubt it. Honestly, it's been almost THREE YEARS since I last saw him and he is still trying to sleep with me. I don't really get it. The only explanation is: I got it like that. Fuck and yes.

29 June 2010

Newsflash: Some women enjoy sports for sports sake.

There was a really great post on Jezebel today about female sports fans and the shit we sometimes have to put up with because we're women.

I guess I'm lucky because I've not had to deal with that shit too much in my life. But I can't say douchebags haven't tried to test me to find out whether I'm a "real" sports fan or not. For example, the guy I somehow got talking to when I was watching Minnesota-Mankato State hockey a few years ago. Something came up about the Timberwolves and I busted out some statistic and the guy was all impressed.

Not so impressed that he let it stand at that, however. He went on to quiz me and I went on to be totally fucking offended by his questions. He asked me who managed the Twins before current manager Ron Gardenhire. He asked me who coached the Gopher football team before Glen Mason. He asked me who coached the Gopher basketball team before Dan Monson, and when I very nearly lost my shit about that one, he asked who coached the team before Clem Haskins. I actually got the coach of the Wolves before Flip Saunders wrong, but that was because I'd forgotten about Sidney Lowe's brief tenure. I think. The thing was, he didn't even know I was wrong. Ass.

Apologies to non-Minnesotans and non-sports fans for that little bit. Believe me when I tell you: these questions were fucking insulting.

The worst part was, however, the guy eventually told me "If I was single, I'd be all over you right now," after this whole sports discussion. Of course, that plays into "liking sports to get a man" meme. UGH.

Fortunately, I've had a few men in my life who appreciated my love of sports. My best friend's dad, who was our high school wrestling coach was the first. He got us involved in a shitload of wrestling stuff. The football and basketball coaches appreciated my efforts as a statistician, which helped me learn even more about those sports. The ex-OC picked up on my sports interest really quickly and because of him, I've been playing fantasy football (and winning) for several years.

And of course, there is The Boy I Currently Like. He (seems to, anyway) respect and even value my opinions about sports. We spend hours watching and talking about sports. I can't tell you how awesome it is to have someone to watch all of my favorite sports with, much less have someone with whom I can talk about them. Even when we're not watching stuff together, we're watching them at the same time and I can e-mail him about something I saw on the Twins game and he'll know what I'm talking about. That's so awesome after the spate of guys I dated who were not at all into sports. How I found those fuckers is beyond me.

28 June 2010

This new iPod just keeps getting better and better.

Yesterday at the gym, I noticed my iPod was starting to click when I was on the elliptical machine. I thought maybe it was my earbuds, as it kept doing it when I was walking to the Uptown Market. *sigh* I've had them for a while, but I was hoping they'd last longer. At least they lasted longer than the six days the Apple earbuds lasted.

On the elliptical at the gym before yoga tonight, it got worse. Not only was there clicking, but the music started sounding funny. It was slowing down and sounding a bit tinny and maybe skipping just a tiny bit. I tried adjusting my earbud cord, but that didn't help. Finally, I pulled the iPod out of my sport bra and put it on the machine. Everything was fine. When I stuck it back in my sport bra to walk around, cleaning off my machine and going to the locker room to get my stuff for yoga, it started up again.

I. Was. Pissed. Fortunately, yoga calmed me down and I came home to The Google with a clear head. I'd already reset the damn thing, and then I found this thread. It seems that perhaps the pedometer causes the problem somehow. That blows, because, while I had no idea it existed before I stumbled upon it while scrolling through menus, I've been using it a lot.

What I've read of the thread so far is that sometimes not using the pedometer will take care of the problem, but other times it won't. People are talking about being on their fourth or fifth iPod, because Apple can't fix the problem. I read something saying it's software, not design. However, that was a post from six weeks ago, so clearly they haven't addressed it yet.

Ugh. I do not have fucking time to make an appointment at the Genius bar to get the damn thing serviced. I do not want to have to get multiple new iPods. I just want the damn thing to work, and I want to be able to use the features I want to use.

Seriously, Apple, I'm fucking done with you when I need a new MP3 player. GAH.

27 June 2010

Finally, my very own farmer's market!

Last year, when the Uptown Market was only held on like, four weekends, I never made it. This year, though -- it's every Sunday. I'm bound to be able to get to a handful before it's over. Unfortunately, it's over early; two weeks earlier than my CSA ends.

The important thing here is that this farmer's market is three blocks from my house (at least, one end of it is), AND I don't have to get up at the ass crack of dawn to go. It runs from 11-5, which is AWESOME.

After I went to the gym this morning, I walked over to the farmer's market because I wanted some collard greens to augment the three leaves I got in my CSA box this week. Last year, the coworker with whom I split my box always gave me the collard greens, kale and chard. What the hell am I supposed to do with three freakin' collard greens?

I didn't see any collard greens, so I got kale. One bunch for $2. Once I got it home and cleaned it, I realized it was a lot bigger than it had looked originally. I also bought some Chinese spinach (I needed something to add to my basil for pesto) for $1, an enormous bunch of dill for $1, like two quarts of sugar snap peas for $2 and a loaf of bread for $5. I probably didn't need the bread, but fuck me, it's good.

Honestly, I'm not sure what I was thinking when I bought all that damn dill. But I love it, and it was a freakin' dollar, so I won't feel too terribly bad if I don't get it all used. And I won't get it all used. Either way, everything I bought looked great. I'm very pleased with all of it.

There were possibly more other vendors than there were farmers selling their produce. There were t-shirts, handbags, jewelry, stationery and other food-related things that weren't produce. I'll definitely check that stuff out another day. I was starving, which isn't such a good idea when food shopping. However, at least I wasn't at the grocery store buying shit.

So, you should totally check it out if you get a chance. Obviously, you're not going to have a huge selection, but if you live in the area, it's much easier than trying to get to one of the bigger farmer's markets.

One bad thing, though: a clown. So unnecessary.

24 June 2010

Thoughts from the NBA draft.

Nice work, David Stern, calling out the "unruly fans" at the Garden.

Derrick Favors's shirt is shiny as shit.

Three picks in and I've not seen an outlandish suit yet.

The Nets fans have vuvuzelas. Sweet! Not enough, though.

Wolves on the clock ... are we getting Wes Johnson? Yes, we are. AND! He is the best dressed man there by fucking far. To this point, anyway. Yellow shirt with a white collar, red and blue tie, very fitted, double-breasted jacket. WITH PLAID PANTS. If for no other reason than his outfit, I'm thrilled with this pick. He's dapper as fuck.

Seriously, Wesley Johnson's outfit is so fucking sweet. His contrasting pocket square is the icing on the cake.

Sweet farmer's tan (farmer's sunburn?) Sacramento Kings fans.

I wish John Calipari would shut his smug, cheating face.

Momentarily checked in on the Strib's live draft chat. Very poor decision-making on my part.

Wonders if it really is all that different that Greg Monroe's uncle played football at BYU, given that Monroe was just drafted by Detroit. How is that even marginally relevant, Stu Scott?

I love Jeff van Gundy.

Hey! It's Flip Saunders! Hi, Flip! (I actually said that out loud. And waved.)

What's the point of having the clock if your interviews are will just keep on going after time runs out? Man, screw you ESPN. The Clippers got like, 30 extra seconds.

Sweet hipster glasses Al-Farouq Aminu (Clippers draft pick, from Wake Forest). Holy shit. With his Clippers cap on, he looks like Mars Blackmon. I take back my derision (which you maybe couldn't discern by simply reading words on a screen). This was an AWESOME decision.

Hey, Utah took the first white kid! Had the Jazz taken Greg Monroe, Stu's nugget about his uncle playing at BYU might have made a little sense.

USA USA USA chants before the Raptors pick? Unruly fans, indeed.

Holy shit. It's 13 picks in before I hear God mentioned? Now that is awesome.

"Do you think John Wall is the most impact player right now taken. So far?" Um, what, Stu Scott?

Luke Babbitt?

Hey! It's the first Crazy European to come in from the stands! (Some French dude) And there go the fans chanting USA USA USA again. I'm chalking it up to World Cup fever. Sadly, the random European draft pick in the stands is not as hilarious as it used to be. He's the first international player taken at 18. That's pretty shocking.

Thanks for reminding us of how much the Wolves like to trade their picks, Stu. It's not like I've not been watching the draft for ... well, a very long time.

Oooooh, C Webb in a commercial. He is still as fine as ever.

If the number of commercials you see for a movie is any indication of how much said movie sucks, "Knight and Day" must be the worst. fucking. movie. ever. You also might get that idea if you actually watched one of the commercials. STOP TRYING TO RUIN THIS MUSE SONG FOR ME.

Trever Booker? Hey! A Wolves fan in the crowd! And Booker is the first senior taken in this draft -- the latest ever. Jesus H. Christ, his picture makes him look like he's 45. And Trevor Booker has been traded.

Loves the drunk Maryland fan celebrating Greivis Vasquez being drafted. Also glad to hear that Jeff van Gundy loves it when players come out of the stands when they're drafted.

Okay, I'm done with this. With all I've done tonight (veggies cleaned, some veggies oven roasted, strawberries cleaned and made into a balsamic strawberry syrup, chicken breast baked, dishes washed, trash taken out and potatoes cooking), I'm amazed I managed to see as much of the draft as I have. And it's lovely to see the van Gundy brothers chatting now.

UPDATE: To the person who Googled "What are the fans chanting at the NBA draft," I believe you're looking for "Sexy Silver." They loves them some Adam Silver. How that guy can keep a straight face is beyond me.

22 June 2010

Dear Apple: Please go to Hell.

I was loathe to get a new iPod a few weeks ago, because I'd only had it for four years, and do you know how expensive that fucking thing was? But the battery wouldn't hold a charge and I cannot workout without music. My hands were tied.

My new iPod has some neat features. The FM radio and ability to shuffle within a playlist are my favorites. I also use the pedometer. Why, I'm not entirely sure. But I do.

However, getting music on the fucking thing is a huge pain in my ass. The set-up is different (I try to update my iTunes as little as possible), and I'm sure the problem is mostly on my end, but it just doesn't seem all that intuitive. It also takes for-fucking-ever.

My problems with loading music led to me having NO GYM PLAYLIST AT THE GYM TONIGHT. And I really needed to work out. I was on the verge of pummeling the fuck out of everyone I saw. Somehow, I managed to get a fairly good mix on shuffle, but it was lacking.

Now I'm spending what seems like HOURS to get the correct music on this fucking thing. I do not have that kind of time, Apple. You can take your fucking iPod, with the headphones that lasted SIX DAYS and shove it up your ass, along with all your stupid iTunes updates and lame-ass "Genius" feature. Dumbest. Genius. Ever. When this iPod wears out (much, much sooner rather than later, I'm sure!), I'm getting an MP3 player from someone else. Screw you! (I realize that doesn't necessarily solve the iTunes problem, but let me have my moment, please.)

Dear Apple: Please go to Hell.

I was loathe to get a new iPod a few weeks ago, because I'd only had it for four years, and do you know how expensive that fucking thing was? But the battery wouldn't hold a charge and I cannot workout without music. My hands were tied.

My new iPod has some neat features. The FM radio and ability to shuffle within a playlist are my favorites. I also use the pedometer. Why, I'm not entirely sure. But I do.

However, getting music on the fucking thing is a huge pain in my ass. The set-up is different (I try to update my iTunes as little as possible), and I'm sure the problem is mostly on my end, but it just doesn't seem all that intuitive. It also takes for-fucking-ever.

My problems with loading music led to me having NO GYM PLAYLIST AT THE GYM TONIGHT. And I really needed to work out. I was on the verge of pummeling the fuck out of everyone I saw. Somehow, I managed to get a fairly good mix on shuffle, but it was lacking.

Now I'm spending what seems like HOURS to get the correct music on this fucking thing. I do not have that kind of time, Apple. You can take your fucking iPod, with the headphones that lasted SIX DAYS and shove it up your ass, along with all your stupid iTunes updates and lame-ass "Genius" feature. Dumbest. Genius. Ever. When this iPod wears out (much, much sooner rather than later, I'm sure!), I'm getting an MP3 player from someone else. Screw you! (I realize that doesn't necessarily solve the iTunes problem, but let me have my moment, please.)

21 June 2010

Can't win for losing.

Quite some time ago, I started to use reusable shopping bags. I actually started with reusing paper bags at Trader Joe's. But then I amassed several reusable shopping bags and gradually got into the habit of putting them in my purse or in my car. It's gotten to the point where it is very rare that I don't have a reusable bag on me.

So, after all this time, I'm running into a problem. I was using my stash of plastic shopping bags as lunch bags and bathroom trash bags. However, I've suddenly run out of them. I reuse my paper bags for recycling. They are in perilously low supply, as well.

What do I do now? I can't recycle if I don't put my recyclables in paper bags. As for the plastic bags, I can buy a reusable lunch bag. But what about for my bathroom trash? I could buy wee trash bags. That would make me feel like an asshole. My other option would be to switch to paper bags. But, um, there's that problem with the paper bags I already mentioned.

For the time being, I've relieved the 'rents of several paper bags. I don't recycle as much as I should because I don't have space to store bags for paper, glass, cans and plastic in my apartment for two weeks. I should really try to just throw them all in one bag and then separate on recycling day, but let's be honest -- I'm not going to do that. I can try, though.

Still, that would require MORE paper bags, and I've pointed out the problem with that scenario a handful of times now. So, what the fuck am I supposed to do? I want to be MORE smug about how much I love Mother Earth, dammit.

20 June 2010

Time to go back to work already?

I swear, this weekend just started. How is almost over? I demand a review of some sort.

Had to get up early and leave The Boy I Currently Like asleep and comfy in his bed, so I could head down to the farm for Father's Day. He tried valiantly to get us to bed early, but, well, it was still well past 3:00, I think. Bless his little night owl heart.

Because I had to rely on my phone alarm I drunkenly set to get me up in time to get to my sister's so I didn't get yelled at, of course, I slept like shit. Well, after 7:30, I barely slept. Turns out The Boy set his alarm and it went off in plenty of time and I was at my sister's house like, seven minutes early. EARLY!

We did have a lovely Father's Day -- delicious lunch, time out on the patio (complete with SERIOUS DOG PETTING TIME) and picking up sticks around the yard. That last one wasn't so much fun, but it was nice to get a little activity after that fried chicken lunch.

My sister, brother and soon-to-be sister-in-law also went over more plans for my parents' 40th wedding anniversary party. Have I mentioned that? We're throwing a party for the 'rents' big wedding anniversary in a couple of weeks. Our RSVP deadline passed on Friday, so we finally got around to figuring out how much of everything we'll need. Something telling about our family -- we're more concerned about having enough booze than enough food.

So, yeah, fun weekend. Long work week coming up. I'm working diligently on the CSA box from this week. My coworker with whom I split the box was out sick, so I got the entire thing. I spent more than an hour washing greens Friday night and just finished up making a big ol' stir fry with my broccoli, Asian greens, green garlic and scallions (green and purple). Plus some red bell pepper, carrots and chicken breast. I found a new sauce that is quite tasty.

Pawned off my kohlrabi on my mom, gave two blue potatoes to The Boy and two to the 'rents. I'll be having greens in my scrambled eggs hopefully every day this week and I'll also be eating a shitload of salads. I read an interesting tip about greens that never occurred to me -- cooking them down ahead of time to save on storage space. I might end up doing that with my spinach and the rest of my Asian greens. There's also pesto to be made. Oh, I fucking love being involved with a CSA.

My face is disgusting and my body is grossing me the fuck out, but all in all, I think I can get through this week. I have work to do, a gym schedule to keep, possibly working from home Wednesday morning (to watch USA USA USA vs. Algeria) and then PRIDE! and the Fry-a-Thon! I think the awesomeness of drinking and eating with about 90 percent of my favorite people coming up this weekend, I will be able to get through the week.

17 June 2010

Because I am always pissed about something.

In today's installment of Illiterates or assholes: you be the judge: the smokers in my building. My office is in Bloomington (a second-ring [I think] suburb of Minneapolis). When the city instituted its smoking ban, it added a wrinkle -- smoking is prohibited within 25 feet or so of building entrances. So, you can't just pop right out the door and smoke, you have to go a little ways from the entrance.

There are signs outside all the doors saying "no smoking," "smoking prohibited in this area" and several designated smoking areas around the campus, provided by the building management. I mean, there are chairs and shit in these areas. It's almost like Bill McNeil's smoking area, minus the massage chair.

So, of course, every day I come to the office I have to walk through the regular Gauntlet of Smokers, but then there's also a group standing directly in front of the sign that says "NO SMOKING; SMOKING PROHIBITED IN THIS AREA." Would you be shocked to learn that this all started around the same time the bathroom went to shit (no pun intended)?

The breaking of the smoking rules stopped right around the same time the bathrooms went back to their clean loveliness. And when the bathrooms went to hell again, hey! there are people smoking in the no smoking area. I wonder what kind of work they do, exactly, because based on the outfits I see a lot of the women wearing it's a brothel/strip club/dance club. Who the fuck wears shit like that to work?

We send e-mails to the building management about the smoking and the nasty bathrooms all the time, but nothing ever happens. I wonder who covers enforcement of the smoking ordinance. Perhaps we should give them a call.

I always hesitate to bitch about smokers. So many of my favorite people are smokers. The Boy I Currently Like is a smoker, for Christ's sake. However, all of the smokers in my life are kind and considerate smokers. As long as I've known her, KayGee will wave her smoke away, even when there is no danger of it coming near me. Lately, I've been the only non-smoker hanging out with my various groups of friends (or groups of The Boy's friends). I feel fortunate they let the asthmatic dweeb hang out with the cool kids. So, to reiterate: not all smokers are illiterate/assholes. Many of them are very lovely people. It's the bathroom-fucking-up assholes who work in my building who are illiterate/asshole smokers.

No segue whatsoever here. There is a girls' weekend coming up next month for which I will require a bathing suit. I've not worn one in so long (how have I not gone swimming in ages?), I'm not sure if I even have one any more. So, I decided to buy a new one. It arrived yesterday and I tried it on and it was awesome!

Until I got it up to my boobs. The shelf bra seems to be non-existent. The top is padded with cups. The padded cups start mid-tit on me. Oh, and the straps? Just more than 1/4-inch thick. But hey -- they're adjustable. I was so ready to love this thing. It's retro and awesome. The ruching helps to hide my many, many imperfections. But the bust is fucking bullshit. Why would the designer do that? Obviously, you're going to need a thicker strap in the larger sizes. And why would you assume my jugs are that small if I need a larger size?

I don't know what I'm going to do. Where does a lady with a prodigious rack go to get a semi-supportive bathing suit? I know I'm not going to get something with the support of my regular bra, but anything would be better than this shit. I hate shopping and I hate clothes because my body is so fucked up that it's ridiculously hard to find things that fit all over. I'm *this* close to giving up an wearing a caftan. Or pajamas. I don't really care.

There was something else I was pissed about today, but I can't remember what it is. So I guess that's enough bitching for now. Goddamn Celtics better win tonight. Fuck Kobe and fuck the Lakers. And in not-at-all-bitching news, I'm tied for first in the World Cup pick 'em. I don't understand it at all, but I'm momentarily delighting in kicking The Boy's ass.

15 June 2010

No wall damage, huh?

Well, what the fuck do you call this, then, 3M?


I'd say the smashed clock that was hanging on this picture strip is also damaged. And yet, the 3M Picture Hangers page on the 3M website clearly says "No Surface Damage."

Granted, there are already holes in my wall put there by someone from the management company looking for a leak from upstairs. However, I think a small nail hole would have been better than having a giant piece of wall ripped off because your stupid picture hanger didn't work.

Thanks a lot, 3M. I'll surely be dropping you an e-mail. Too bad I can't include the (shitty) picture I took. Stupid forms. Why can't I send a regular e-mail?

13 June 2010

Soccer Jebus will be mine!

No he won't. But at least for today, I am in the lead in The Boy I Currently Like's World Cup pick 'em challenge. Somehow, I'm the only person to have predicted two correct scores. I have no idea what they even are.

I tried to come up with some ridiculous picking tactic. You know, like that dude's wife who picks based solely on mascot and wins the work football pool, or the older lady in your office who knows nothing about college basketball and makes her picks based on uniform color and wins the office NCAA pool. However, I couldn't bring myself to do it that way. I considered picking based on hotness, but after being disappointed by the sheer lack of hotness on the Australia squad today, I'm glad I scrapped that plan.

Either way, I'm glad I didn't blow off the contest. I nearly did, but The Boy seems to be making an effort to include me in all of his World Cup-mania, so I'm more than happy to get involved as much as I can. It's not like I hate soccer or anything. I even have a basic understanding the sport, thanks to having to learn the rules to any number of sports in phy ed.

So, yay me. If only for today. And yay USA USA USA for drawing with England.

10 June 2010

I don't think this weekend will suck as much as last weekend.

If for no other reason, I simply will not have time to mope and I'm going to have to interact with people -- a lot of people, as it turns out.

The funk into which I descended a week ago hung around much longer than I anticipated it would. I was still crying and mood-swingy today, for Christ's sake. That's a bit much. Work added to my stress, so I guess that's maybe why it seemed to hang around so long. So much for my theory that I have been on a much more even keel emotionally, since I got my IUD.

Because I managed to get my shit taken care of at work today, I'm going to take tomorrow afternoon off. Yay! Also, it's CSA day. I'm so fucking stoked that it's finally time for my weekly half box of local, organic vegetables. I'll basically be getting salad fixin's and potatoes tomorrow -- blue potatoes and something called German butterball potatoes. I managed to get The Boy I Currently Like totally stoked about the potatoes, simply by mentioning them. He's a good Irish lad, so he loves him some potatoes. I'm a nice Irish lass who also loves potatoes and likes to share, so we should be having some for breakfast Sunday morning. If I bring them over, he should make them for breakfast, right?

It's good that things worked out so I could take a half day tomorrow. I'll need to get my errands run and be downtown for happy hour at Masa by 4:00. That was kind of a surprise invitation from a dear friend I don't get to see enough of. And I missed her birthday party last weekend, because of the funk/moping, so it'll be extra good to see her. The only other person to have responded thus far is another dear friend I don't get to see nearly enough of. I would be thrilled if it ended up being just the three of us, quite frankly.

After Masa, I have to head straight to The Local to buy my Basilica Block Party pass and have dinner/drinks with KayGee, The Prison Librarian, S&M and KayGee's sister and brother-in-law. Then we'll all head to First Ave to see The New Pornographers.

Holy shit. That's a long day of drinking I've set up for myself.

And I can't sleep too late on Saturday, because I'm heading to The Boy's place much earlier than usual to watch USA USA USA vs. England in the World Cup. I will apparently be meeting another friend of his I've not met, plus possibly his wife. At least Fat Mike the Gangsta will be there, too, and I know him. That will devolve into a night of watching the Twins, playing Tekken, watching Firefly and staying up too late, as I always do with The Boy.

08 June 2010

Illiterate or asshole? You be the judge.

There are signs all over LA Fitness reminding gym users there is a limit of 20 minutes on all cardio equipment when people are waiting. They're not just located near the cardio equipment, either. It's been ingrained into my head. I notice because it's different from every other gym I've gone to, where the limit was 30 minutes. Actually, Bally apparently changed their limit from 30 to 20 at some point.

So, imagine my shock when I'm at the gym tonight and not a single treadmill is open, yet, as I walked past, probably half showed the runner/walker had been there for 20-plus minutes. Is it just a couple of poor souls who can't read, while the rest are stupid jerkwads? Or is it just a couple of assholes and an astounding number of people who can't read? I don't know.

The worst part was, there were people actually waiting in line to use the treadmills as they opened up. That, of course, didn't stop a pregnant woman from jumping the line in front of a girl who had been waiting patiently. Look lady, you can have my seat on the bus or cut in line in front of me for the bathroom. That's fine. But there's no etiquette that tells me you have priority to equipment at the gym simply because you're knocked up.

I hate it when so many people are either oblivious or intentionally deciding that they are more important, or that their time is more valuable than anyone else's time is. Fuck you and the horse you rode in on, asshats.

On the other hand, I'm increasingly heartened to know that my new gym is not perfect. There's some (strange, sad) comfort in that. Perhaps because I don't know what to do with myself if I'm not at least a little bit miserable from time to time. Either way, since I've yet to see any shit or blood anywhere, it's still miles ahead of Bally.

07 June 2010

After three years, the hate is still going strong.

I'm honestly not sure whether I'm happy or sad that three years after I wrote it, my "I hate lolcats" post is still being found via Google search from all corners of the globe. Someone even left a comment as recently as hour ago. The link to that post is still the first result that pops up when you Google "I hate lolcats."

I suppose it's cool that something I wrote three years ago is still relevant. It's also sad that the lolcat phenomenon hasn't waned much at all. There is even a site devoted to loldogs now. I'll admit to not hating the dog versions The Boy I Currently Like often sends me. Granted, I try to only see the dogs/puppies and cringe if I accidentally read the text. Though, looking at a few on the main page I see *gasp* complete sentences and proper spelling? Yay dogs!

Christ. I wrote that post before I even met The Boy. I wrote it a year before I started this job. My life has changed a fair amount since I wrote that post, but I still hate lolcats like nobody's business. I try to keep Internet-speak out of my vocabulary at all costs. As it turns out, I wasn't even aware of two of the five most overused expressions on the Internet (according to Jezebel). But there isn't much I can do to stop the spread of it.

Lolcats themselves don't seem to be nearly as ubiquitous as they were when I wrote that post, but they were kind of the new thing then. That hasn't stopped the awful lolcat-speak, which is kind of an amalgam of everything I hate about poor grammar, spelling and punctuation, from infiltrating all corners of the Internet and real life. So, maybe things are worse. Maybe I'm just getting older and crankier (no doubt about that). Goddamn kids with your lolcats and um, whatever else you kids have these days. Get off my lawn, and so on.

03 June 2010

No means no, dammit.

How many times do I have to tell how many different people that I don't want my stupid free training session that comes with my new(ish) gym membership? They keep calling. I've told them at the desk in St. Louis Park I'm not interested. When the last guy said, "Okay, fair enough." I thought that was it. And, I really appreciated that he just let it go.

I believe I've gotten a call since then, but again, I can ignore those pretty easily. However, I could not ignore the dude who came up while I was on the upright row machine today. Okay, I'll admit I'm at fault for not being fast enough on my feet to think to lie and say "yes," when he asked if I'd had my free training session. But he could have just let it drop when I said no the first time. Or the second. Or the third. Do I need a fucking reason to say no?

Finally, I got him to leave me the fuck alone, but the damage was done. Yes, clearly I need help because, well, look at me. I can understand why anyone would keep pushing the issue. My fat ass obviously has no idea what I'm doing at the gym, or, I wouldn't be so goddamn fat, right?

This probably couldn't have happened at a worse time. I've been having some really serious body image issues lately. I'm not entirely sure why. The knee and back injuries that put a crimp in my working out for a while that led to me gaining weight probably had a lot to do with it. However, even though my knees aren't totally better, I'm working out at full strength and I can see the weight coming back off, so why am I feeling so fucking awful about myself?

I don't know. Maybe it's hormonal. Maybe I'm just tired. I don't know, but I know I feel even worse about myself for having to leave the gym and not finish my workout because I couldn't stop fucking crying. Thanks, Random Trainer Dude. I was already feeling bad about myself, then you made me feel worse, which made me cry, which meant I couldn't stay at the gym, which made me feel even worse about myself. You win!

But what does working out matter when no matter how much I weigh, I'm still going to be ugly? Working out isn't going to help my awful skin, nor will it make my hair look great. It won't change my weird body shape. Nor will it make me nicer or more fun or smarter or whatever. I don't think about it very often, but Jesus, what is the fucking point?

I suppose it's good that The Boy I Currently Like has his college reunion this weekend (a concept with which I am entirely unfamiliar) and I have nothing to do. I won't have to subject anyone to my self-hate. Just me and lots and lots of booze.

02 June 2010

Frighteningly proactive.

There was a piece of mail from my bank waiting for me when I got home from work today. It looked like something trying to sell me something -- insurance, mortgage, IRA rollover, whatever. It wasn't a statement, as those come in different envelopes. As do overdraft notices. I was considering just tossing it, but it felt like there was a card in it. But my new debit card isn't due to come for another 18 months, and that definitely comes in a different envelope.

So, I opened it and there was a new debit card inside. Now, I'm of the mind that my bank is constantly looking for ways to fuck me and my fellow bankers over. Lord knows they seem to do it every chance they get.

Color me shocked when I read the letter and it appears the bank was actually trying to protect me (and themselves, of course. Always themselves). Turns out a third party processor had a security breach/data compromise and TCF decided to send out new cards to everyone affected. Well, I'll be goddamned. I'm glad I opened the envelope. My card was set to expire in three weeks (maybe a bit too far out if there is compromised account information floating around) one way or another.

I think the only thing that comes off my debit card is my gym membership. I've already changed that. AND! Now if Bally tries to keep charging me (my 30-day cancellation notice should be effective by Monday. But they are notorious for charging after you've left the gym. ASSHOLES), they won't be able to, because that account is deactivated. EAT IT, BALLY.

01 June 2010

This is what happens when you let people vote.

No, I'm not talking about any number of elections in the last decade, though I very well could be. Voting always makes me think of an episode of the West Wing where Josh went on a rant about how, for as great as our democratic republic is, it's still flawed, because any random Schmo can vote.

The MLB All-Star Game certainly is not the presidential election. However, the morons certainly get out the vote in both. My main bone of contention here is the fact that Justin Morneau is trailing the Yankees' Mark Teixeira, by 83,00 votes, last I heard. That's less than last week, when he was behind by 140,000 votes.

But he's still behind. The guy leading the AL in batting average at .377 is behind a guy hitting .221. Morneau is seventh in the AL in homers and eighth in RBI. Teixeira is hitting .221. Nick fucking Punto: Momentum Killer, is hitting .221, for fuck's sake (as of 9:28 p.m. Central on June 1, 2010).

This is what happens when the fans are allowed to vote. Except, most of the time, they vote for perennial all-stars in droves. I have a hard time with anyone who might have voted for Mark Teixeira calling themselves a baseball fan. A raging homer might be closer. Honestly, I'm wondering how they managed to log on to the Internets to be able to vote in the first place. Because clearly, these people are lacking in reasoning ability. Possibly also in reading ability and comprehension. (Please note: I'm not calling all Yankee fans illiterate morons. I know a few who are wonderful people who can read and think critically. They also think this voting is currently bullshit.)

I'm only one person, but I'm going to max out my 25 votes for Justincredible. Perhaps I can get 50 if they go by IP address. I urge you, Twins fans, baseball fans, people with time on your hands, vote for Morneau. This wrong must be made right.

Because seriously? This is bullshit.