Wednesday, October 31, 2007

EVERYONE WE KNOW is just giving out candy?

Happy Halloween to all. My blog title today is courtesy of Jerry Seinfeld, from his stand-up routine. Hilarious.

Everyone and their mother is probably blogging about Halloween today, but it’s my blog, and I do what I want.

I’m looking forward to handing out candy this evening to all the kiddies. I sound like a total creep, but I’ve never handed out candy to kids before, and it will be fun to see all their costumes. I grew up in Ohio in a rural area, and we never had any kids coming to our house to collect candy. My sister and I would always have to go “in to town” to go trick-or-treating.

I remember in Elementary school we were all supposed to dress up for Halloween during the school day. We would then parade around town in our costumes in the middle of the day for all the townsfolk to admire us. Grades 1-6; cheesy costumes, elaborate costumes, and costumes that the parents obviously threw together that morning so their kid would not feel like a loser. All marching down the streets of Woodville, Ohio. It was kind of weird, now that I think about it. Traipsing around town once for trick-or-treating is enough. I mean, we didn’t even get any candy for that stupid Halloween march. The only people who actually cared about the school’s daytime Halloween procession were the parents of the kids who lived on the three-block radius that we walked.

My sister and I always had pretty cool costumes. Ask my sister about her “Debil” costume. There is an embarrassing home video (I won’t go into too much detail) of my sister and I playing in our Halloween costumes when we were about 5 and 6 years old. I had on a magnificent pink cape. I was probably a princess or something, I don’t even remember. And Sistah had on her “Debil” costume, which eventually became too hot. She promptly discarded it. Apparently she did not like to wear undergarments under her costumes. My loving parents got this all on video. Thank goodness we were done trick-or-treating. I can just imagine her standing on someone’s front porch, making some comment about being “too hot” and dropping trou.

Tuesday, October 30, 2007

Most expensive cat ever

The more you find out about the world, the more opportunities there are to laugh at it.
–Bill Nye

Thank you, science guy.

I’m not much of a quote sharer, but I received this quote on my Quote of the Day section on my Google homepage. I like Bill Nye, and I like laughing, so naturally I really liked this quote. And speaking of laughing at the world…

Have you heard of the Allerca Lifestyle Pets? This company has come up with a way to breed cats that will not trigger the allergies of people who are allergic to cats. When I first heard about this a few years ago, I though “That’s absolutely ridiculous.” I totally love cats, but who would pay $5,950 (starting price) for a cat they have to wait 15 months to get.

As much as I hate to say this, if I had the money, I totally would buy one.

Go ahead, laugh. Yes, its absurd and ridiculous, and I DEFINITELY can’t afford it, but I’ve wanted a pet for so long. I can’t get a dog because I wouldn’t be home enough to properly walk it and take care of it. A cat would be perfect…except for the boyf. Thanks StuD, for being allergic to cats.

So just a heads up for Christmas, anyone who cares, I’ll take one Allerca cat, please.

Monday, October 29, 2007

Talking to the sky at work

So I have a pretty nasty cough. I’m talking dry hacking, lung wheezing, and disgustingly annoying cough. My co-workers love me right now.

I sit in a cube in the middle of a pretty open space at work. While us folks at Dunder-Mifflin (office reference, new code name for my place of employment) have a bit of privacy from the high walls of our cubes, you can still hear pretty much ANYTHING anyone is saying at any time. So a hacking cough is pretty hard to suppress.

Throughout the day, after each of my embarrassing coughing fits, someone from across the freaking office will yell out “Go home!” or “That sounds terrible!” or “Is that contagious?!”. It has been hard to distinguish who exactly is yelling these things, because there are about 15 of us on this floor. What I usually end up doing is looking up at the ceiling and yelling “I’m sorry!” or “Yeah, I know!” or “I went to the doctor this morning!”. Isn’t common decency, or even technology, supposed to prevent this kind of communication? I mean, I’m obviously sick. It won’t hurt you to walk a few feet to my cube make your comment, rather than yell it across the office. Heck, the trip might even be worth it. I often keep candy and fun things to play with at my desk. If walking a few feet is too hard, then you can shoot me an email. I’ll take anything to prevent myself from talking to the sky at work.

Sunday, October 28, 2007

Folding chairs with leg rests make Saturday better

There’s nothing like seeing an old friend and calling her by the wrong name. No, no, let me rephrase that. There’s nothing like loudly introducing your co-worker to an old friend, calling her by the wrong name, laughing hysterically, and then blanking for three minutes while trying to recover. Are you kidding me? There is no recovery from that, especially when you’ve been drinking for six hours. Tailgates are always a mess. I stumbled away in shame.

Who thought of tailgating, anyways? What alcoholic decided to wake up at 7am Saturday morning for a 3pm game, and said, “Well, the game starts in eight hours, I better start drinking.” A genius, that’s who. Tailgating is possibly one of my favorite activities. It’s a perfectly logical excuse to drink in the middle of the day in the middle of a big parking lot. Get yourself a grill and a folding chair and you’re set.

Saturday morning started off pretty well. I was chilling in the parking lot in my awesome folding chair (with fancy attachable leg rest) staking out my tailgating spaces. It was my job to hold several spaces for my co-workers, who happened to be a couple hours late. Assholes. It was pretty early, so the parking lot was only a quarter full. Here I am, blond chick, sitting all by herself in an empty parking lot in a folding chair next to a grill and a table full of food. I’m so badass I can’t even stand it.

The parking lot started to fill up, my friends eventually arrived, and the tailgate properly commenced. Twelve hours later I had missed the game (I never bothered to get a ticket, anyway) and I was regretting all those burnt hot dogs I had consumed. Somehow I made it through another tailgate without embarrassing myself too badly (sorry A-Wo if you’re reading this) and with all my possessions and integrity intact.

Friday, October 26, 2007

Hey Mr. Wilson!

Before I get into Mr. Wilson, I will give you a little information on my place of residence. I live in an affluent area just south of DC, lets call it "Alexandria". Ha, I really do live there. Anyways, I stumbled across this lovely little town home on craigslist. Two girls were looking for a third roommate, and there I was, ready-made awesomeness ready to move in. My roommates, Care and Suze, are pretty sweet (if you want better code names let me know). Suze works her ass off, but really she has the best job ever because they send her around Europe. Care loves wine and cheese (who doesn't?!) and we always enjoy some together while watching the most recent ridiculous reality TV show. Our neighborhood is quite nice and charming, and we have a wide variety of neighbors of all shapes, sizes, and colors. You know, artsy folk, young couples, a few kids...and then there is Mr. Wilson. He hates us.

So let me tell you about Mr. Wilson who lives across the street. We've always called him that, but who knows what kind of wretched name he really has. He always sits on his front porch with his dog, a drooling mess of a Golden Retriever. I don't think he works, but makes it his job to sit on his front porch all day and night with his dog, keeping watch on our 'hood. I've seen him go inside his house maybe once since I moved in, which was 6 months ago. One evening Care and I saw him with a pillow and blanket, bundled up on his porch with his dog. I swear he slept on that porch that night.

Anyways, Mr. Wilson and I got off to a bad start the day I moved in. I had used a POD to move my things, and was going to leave it in my parking space for a week so I could have time to unload everything. Mr. Wilson was perched on his porch the morning the POD and I showed up. I smiled and said "Hi!" and he promptly informed me "You know you can't keep that thing here in this neighborhood." Thanks for the warm welcome, Wilson.

Not wanting to piss my new neighbor and my community off, I asked the POD driver if I could just unload everything real quick and then he could just take the POD back right away. He seemed really annoyed, because that meant he would have to help me move everything, but grudgingly agreed. I ran to my car to get the key to unload the industrial sized lock on the POD. Classic move, I had locked my keys in my car. So basically I'm stuck with a pissed off Wilson, a pissed off POD driver, and a big POD container which could not be opened sitting in front of my townhouse. What a dream.

Long story shortened a bit; the POD driver was apparently skilled at breaking into cars. We busted in to my car, retrieved my keys, and managed to move out a bedroom and a half of belongings within an hour. All under the watchful eye of Mr. Wilson.

Thursday, October 25, 2007

So Sue Me

Yeah, I did it...I started a blog. Vom, right? It all started during my lunch "hour" at work, scouring the internet for cookbook ideas (a whole different story). I stumbled across a blog out of Tuscon. I absolutely fell in love with it. Basically three young girls post a blog weekly, discussing their young, broke, and fabulous life. I wanted in on the action.

Before starting this, I generally thought blogs were lame. I mean, who cares what you have to say? However, I think I'm funny as hell. Also, people tend to enjoy my random stories and anecdotes, not to mention my hilarious boyf, which from now on will be referred to as "StuD" (he's going to love that).

So to start us off, let me entertain you with a brief story. I'm in training at my current place of employment, we'll call it "Printing Co." (I'll think of a better name eventually). This training involves spending time in each department for a week and learning all that I can. This past week I spent some time in our shipping and delivery department. This includes going out in one of our delivery trucks to deliver products. So, Monday morning, first day in the department, I'm sent out with driver "Bill". As we walk out to the truck to go on our run of the day, Bill comments to me "You don't have a problem with mice, do you?"


He then goes on to explain that there has been a mouse living in the cab of his truck. Apparently this mouse is "the size of a tablespoon" and was just seen the other day "scurrying along the bottom of the cab." What the eff? Now I'm crapping my pants as I clamber into the truck wearing sandals. For the whole 4 hour trip, I sat there trying to keep my feet raised 6 inches off the floor while looking natural and trying to have a conversation with Bill. No mouse sighting...thank god.

But who the hell has a mouse living in the cab of their truck? Come on, Bill, tidy up for chrissake.