So, I should tell you that the weather in Paris is, uh, scaring me. Highs are going to be in the 40's when we are there. I hate being cold. What the hell were we thinking?
We should have just cut out the middlemen and gone on a dogsled expedition through the arctic tundra.
I am still excited, though. Eskimo chic is a good look for me. Although, I am thinking that all of my cute shoes are not going to fly. Everything I have is sparkly and open-toed, made out of suede, or has 4 inch heels. I did however, manage to score some Doc-Martinesque (actually 9 West) waffle-stomper combat boots. Good lord, those are going to take up a lot of room in the 'ol suitcase....
I know I have not been posting- I am trying to ensure that The Man does not starve while I am gone, and am packing and stocking up on sweaters and knitting up a storm, and have I done any holday shopping yet? NO.
Because....NOBODY HAS GIVEN ME THE DAMN LISTS!!! WTF, people?
I leave at the crack of dawn on Friday morning, leopard luggage and horrible passport photo in hand. Can you tell I am excited?! And that I have no attention span?
Wednesday, November 30, 2005
Monday, November 28, 2005
stream of consciousness
Me: How's San Mateo?
Her: Well, the driving sucks. These people seem to have the mentality that NOBODY is getting into the same lane as their car.
Me: If you were in a convertible going 90 miles an hour with the top down, they'd get out of your way. Seriously- I've tried it.
Her: Maybe that's it. They take one look at my mini-SUV and think, "Screw you lady! I'm not letting you in- you don't even have a roof-rack!"
Me: You know, not having a roof-rack automatically makes you a Communist.
Her: That's right- I'm a pinko communist non-roof-rack-having affront to society.
Me: A shining example of everything that is wrong with America today. You are going to SUV Hell if you don't buy a roof-rack.
(We crack up)
Me: What were we talking about? I can't remember.
Her: Are you going to Breakfast Club on Thursday? You know, we leave for Paris at 4 AM.
Me: I am going. Wild horses couldn't stop me.
Her: I am going to pass...even though Judd Nelson was my naughty boyfriend.
Me: Was? He is still naughty, dammit- albeit in a much more Republican way.
Her: Republicans can still be naughty!
Me: Did I say he wasn't naughty?! NO!
Her: Why are we arguing?
Me: Beats the hell out of me.
_________
The conincidence is staggering- Today is actually Judd Nelson's birthday. Happy birthday Judd! I had a huge crush on you when I was about 12- until my sister pointed out the habitual flaring of your gigantic nostrils.
Her: Well, the driving sucks. These people seem to have the mentality that NOBODY is getting into the same lane as their car.
Me: If you were in a convertible going 90 miles an hour with the top down, they'd get out of your way. Seriously- I've tried it.
Her: Maybe that's it. They take one look at my mini-SUV and think, "Screw you lady! I'm not letting you in- you don't even have a roof-rack!"
Me: You know, not having a roof-rack automatically makes you a Communist.
Her: That's right- I'm a pinko communist non-roof-rack-having affront to society.
Me: A shining example of everything that is wrong with America today. You are going to SUV Hell if you don't buy a roof-rack.
(We crack up)
Me: What were we talking about? I can't remember.
Her: Are you going to Breakfast Club on Thursday? You know, we leave for Paris at 4 AM.
Me: I am going. Wild horses couldn't stop me.
Her: I am going to pass...even though Judd Nelson was my naughty boyfriend.
Me: Was? He is still naughty, dammit- albeit in a much more Republican way.
Her: Republicans can still be naughty!
Me: Did I say he wasn't naughty?! NO!
Her: Why are we arguing?
Me: Beats the hell out of me.
_________
The conincidence is staggering- Today is actually Judd Nelson's birthday. Happy birthday Judd! I had a huge crush on you when I was about 12- until my sister pointed out the habitual flaring of your gigantic nostrils.
Sunday, November 27, 2005
No more TURKEY!
Good lord, people. What is the deal with the turkey?
I know I am not alone here. I am all about the side dishes, I could give a rat's hiney about the stupid turkey.
I know. Blasphemy! But now I no longer have to suffer in silence.
OK, so Thanksgiving was great, although there was a minor incident involving the unbaked, and therefore liquid, pumpkin pie filling (Fuck you Whirlpool and your back-ordered oven parts!)and me screeching around a corner in my (previously unbesmirched by squash products) beloved car.
We all know what happened next, right? Because you know, this is me, and evidently, I didn't put the lid on tightly enough.
I actually drove to my parent's, where I broke the news and my brother hosed out the car. (Bless him.) The I actually drove back home and made MORE pumpkin pie filling, and the pie was pronounced "perfect" by those who consumed it.
I also managed to create a new family hit- this recipe for the sweet potatoes is THE BOMB. Granted, it has roasted garlic, parmesan, rosemary, and enough butter to kill a small goat, so I hardly see how it could go over badly.
And now that I have mentioned the killing of livestock, I am going to take a break. Buddy and I are going out to lunch- we shall discuss the upcoming France trip! Of course, it will rain and snow the whole time we are there, but it's French rain and French snow, which will make it OK, even though it will still make my American hair as frizzy as hell. More later.
I know I am not alone here. I am all about the side dishes, I could give a rat's hiney about the stupid turkey.
I know. Blasphemy! But now I no longer have to suffer in silence.
OK, so Thanksgiving was great, although there was a minor incident involving the unbaked, and therefore liquid, pumpkin pie filling (Fuck you Whirlpool and your back-ordered oven parts!)and me screeching around a corner in my (previously unbesmirched by squash products) beloved car.
We all know what happened next, right? Because you know, this is me, and evidently, I didn't put the lid on tightly enough.
I actually drove to my parent's, where I broke the news and my brother hosed out the car. (Bless him.) The I actually drove back home and made MORE pumpkin pie filling, and the pie was pronounced "perfect" by those who consumed it.
I also managed to create a new family hit- this recipe for the sweet potatoes is THE BOMB. Granted, it has roasted garlic, parmesan, rosemary, and enough butter to kill a small goat, so I hardly see how it could go over badly.
And now that I have mentioned the killing of livestock, I am going to take a break. Buddy and I are going out to lunch- we shall discuss the upcoming France trip! Of course, it will rain and snow the whole time we are there, but it's French rain and French snow, which will make it OK, even though it will still make my American hair as frizzy as hell. More later.
Deep thoughts by ...well, me.
If the thought that springs into your head is:
"Damn it's hot in here! Hotter than Satan's panties!"
You're probably a little loopy.
You're probably a little loopier if the next thought is:
"Well- scratch that. Satan probably goes commando."
"Damn it's hot in here! Hotter than Satan's panties!"
You're probably a little loopy.
You're probably a little loopier if the next thought is:
"Well- scratch that. Satan probably goes commando."
Wednesday, November 23, 2005
"Mah colors are Blush and Bashful."
Dear Lord, have mercy on me.
I am making Grandma's sacred recipe for pumpkin pie. This, by itself, may require divine intervention.
However, the issue that I covered in this post was definitely tragic foreshadowing. And no, not the MIL thang (I still haven't apologized- Thanksgiving with the in-laws isn't happening. Boo Frickin HOO!)
As of this evening, my future sister-in-law has officially asked me to be a bridesmaid in the wedding. So I ate a Hershey bar (the result of blind panic) to set off the Thanksgiving Rebellion, and as of Friday, I am going to become one of those boring people who watches what they eat and goes to the gym more than once every six months.
Tomorrow, I'll eat a slice of my birthday cake and the stuffing and the Armenian food and the whole shebang, but on Friday it's- well, pardon the pun, but the phrase "cold turkey" comes to mind.
I know. I feel like I'm selling out, too. But I am really tired of taking photographs and finding new and creative ways to disguise my double chin, not to mention not even wanting to deal with the full-length shots.
So- I have until the end of September to lose...50 lbs. That would put me at a place where I feel much more comfortable, and while I still will likely be the biggest girl in the lineup, I will at least not equal two of anyone. And bless her heart, the future bride wants the dresses to be either sapphire blue or a deep red, with an A-line skirt, so it will at least be flattering. (Note- after looking at bridesmaid dresses online, it looks like they all have jewel names for colors this year. So it would be "sapphire" or "ruby" bridesmaid dresses. I don't know why I felt the need to share, but there you go.)
I can do this- I've done it before, I can do it again. Now, off to make pumpkin pie and mashed potatoes. The irony is killing me.
I am making Grandma's sacred recipe for pumpkin pie. This, by itself, may require divine intervention.
However, the issue that I covered in this post was definitely tragic foreshadowing. And no, not the MIL thang (I still haven't apologized- Thanksgiving with the in-laws isn't happening. Boo Frickin HOO!)
As of this evening, my future sister-in-law has officially asked me to be a bridesmaid in the wedding. So I ate a Hershey bar (the result of blind panic) to set off the Thanksgiving Rebellion, and as of Friday, I am going to become one of those boring people who watches what they eat and goes to the gym more than once every six months.
Tomorrow, I'll eat a slice of my birthday cake and the stuffing and the Armenian food and the whole shebang, but on Friday it's- well, pardon the pun, but the phrase "cold turkey" comes to mind.
I know. I feel like I'm selling out, too. But I am really tired of taking photographs and finding new and creative ways to disguise my double chin, not to mention not even wanting to deal with the full-length shots.
So- I have until the end of September to lose...50 lbs. That would put me at a place where I feel much more comfortable, and while I still will likely be the biggest girl in the lineup, I will at least not equal two of anyone. And bless her heart, the future bride wants the dresses to be either sapphire blue or a deep red, with an A-line skirt, so it will at least be flattering. (Note- after looking at bridesmaid dresses online, it looks like they all have jewel names for colors this year. So it would be "sapphire" or "ruby" bridesmaid dresses. I don't know why I felt the need to share, but there you go.)
I can do this- I've done it before, I can do it again. Now, off to make pumpkin pie and mashed potatoes. The irony is killing me.
Frito Toecheese-er-son (AKA Shouty McGee), Hacky McPhlegm, and The Giggler
Ok- so last night, The Man and I decide to go see Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (Yes, again! I love it THAT much!) before we go out to dinner.
We were actually going to see Walk the Line, but the timing didn't work out well for us.
So we go into the theatre, which is pretty full for 6PM on a school night, and find a decent place with nobody sitting directly ahead of us, or behind us. I remember looking apprehensively at the families nearby with the three and five year olds, but they seemed to be handling everything well.
At some point during the previews, the three most annoying people in Fresno (if not the entire world) sat directly behind us. Because we are Those People, evidently.
Hacky McPhlegm: COUGH*COUGH*COUGH*hack*WHEEZE*
OK. The guy is directly behind me, he sounds like he has serious bronchitis and/or pneumonia, and he is not covering his mouth in any way. Do not ask me how I know this. Yeah. EW.
The Giggler: Honey, are you OK?
Hacky: *COUGH*rattle*WHEEZE*hack*hack*
At this point, The Man looks over at me, and I give him a pained smile. Ok, it's a pact- we are freebasing the AirBorne as soon as we get home. The trailer for Happy Feet comes on.
Shouty McGee/Frito: Dude, Fuckin' PENGUINS, Man!
The Giggler: *giggle*giggle*whisper*whisper*
Hacky: Cough*COUGH*cough*snarfle*COUGH*
At this point, the glares from the surrounding audience, most with small children in their custody, were definitely detectable. This is also where I realize that there is some stank ass odor in our general vicinity. I look at The Man again, and he indicates the large pair of UNSHOD feet protruding though the seats next to his head.
So yeah, we moved up three rows. And really really enjoyed the rest of the movie. And then we came home and took really hot showers, and I washed my hair. Twice.
We were actually going to see Walk the Line, but the timing didn't work out well for us.
So we go into the theatre, which is pretty full for 6PM on a school night, and find a decent place with nobody sitting directly ahead of us, or behind us. I remember looking apprehensively at the families nearby with the three and five year olds, but they seemed to be handling everything well.
At some point during the previews, the three most annoying people in Fresno (if not the entire world) sat directly behind us. Because we are Those People, evidently.
Hacky McPhlegm: COUGH*COUGH*COUGH*hack*WHEEZE*
OK. The guy is directly behind me, he sounds like he has serious bronchitis and/or pneumonia, and he is not covering his mouth in any way. Do not ask me how I know this. Yeah. EW.
The Giggler: Honey, are you OK?
Hacky: *COUGH*rattle*WHEEZE*hack*hack*
At this point, The Man looks over at me, and I give him a pained smile. Ok, it's a pact- we are freebasing the AirBorne as soon as we get home. The trailer for Happy Feet comes on.
Shouty McGee/Frito: Dude, Fuckin' PENGUINS, Man!
The Giggler: *giggle*giggle*whisper*whisper*
Hacky: Cough*COUGH*cough*snarfle*COUGH*
At this point, the glares from the surrounding audience, most with small children in their custody, were definitely detectable. This is also where I realize that there is some stank ass odor in our general vicinity. I look at The Man again, and he indicates the large pair of UNSHOD feet protruding though the seats next to his head.
So yeah, we moved up three rows. And really really enjoyed the rest of the movie. And then we came home and took really hot showers, and I washed my hair. Twice.
Tuesday, November 22, 2005
It's official!
I'm 21! (again)
I was dealing with a two-day migraine last night, and was sort of dreading feeling like crap again today, so I convinced the long-suffering Man to take me to Starbucks as a last resort.
The Man: Can't we just make coffee here?
Me: Can you make a Grande Nonfat Peppermint Latte?
The Man: Ok- hold on. I think I have something that will make you feel better.
I stay put, waiting for the sexual innuendo. Instead, The Man comes in with a ridiculously huge box from Bombay Co.
Me: EeeEEEeeeeeeeeEEEeeeeeeeeeee!
I love this thing. It's like the dollhouse I never had as a kid- but for all my jewelry. The Man gave me a home for all my sparklies- and they all moved in last night. Even the fake stuff(which means, about 99% of the jewelry I own) seems to be very comfy in there. Crap- I've got a ton of earrings!
We are now going to Claim Jumpers for lunch.
Yes, I feel very, very lucky- keep in mind that he's making up for missing my last birthday, and the one before, he was leaving for Q'atar in two days, so it was pretty subdued. I freely admit that I am milking this one for all it's worth!
Update #1-
I actually got a new item for the jewelry chest from my splendiferous pal, Desi- thanks lady!:
Update #2-
Shortly after returning from Claim Jumpers (soup & salad, mmMMMmmmmmmm) these showed up:
Yes, I am getting spoiled. The man is actually physically restraining me from doing laundry, which is surreal.
Stay tuned for periodic b-day updates (at least, until I get too drunk to type.)
I was dealing with a two-day migraine last night, and was sort of dreading feeling like crap again today, so I convinced the long-suffering Man to take me to Starbucks as a last resort.
The Man: Can't we just make coffee here?
Me: Can you make a Grande Nonfat Peppermint Latte?
The Man: Ok- hold on. I think I have something that will make you feel better.
I stay put, waiting for the sexual innuendo. Instead, The Man comes in with a ridiculously huge box from Bombay Co.
Me: EeeEEEeeeeeeeeEEEeeeeeeeeeee!
I love this thing. It's like the dollhouse I never had as a kid- but for all my jewelry. The Man gave me a home for all my sparklies- and they all moved in last night. Even the fake stuff(which means, about 99% of the jewelry I own) seems to be very comfy in there. Crap- I've got a ton of earrings!
We are now going to Claim Jumpers for lunch.
Yes, I feel very, very lucky- keep in mind that he's making up for missing my last birthday, and the one before, he was leaving for Q'atar in two days, so it was pretty subdued. I freely admit that I am milking this one for all it's worth!
Update #1-
I actually got a new item for the jewelry chest from my splendiferous pal, Desi- thanks lady!:
Update #2-
Shortly after returning from Claim Jumpers (soup & salad, mmMMMmmmmmmm) these showed up:
Yes, I am getting spoiled. The man is actually physically restraining me from doing laundry, which is surreal.
Stay tuned for periodic b-day updates (at least, until I get too drunk to type.)
Monday, November 21, 2005
The Sorting Hat says...
The sorting hat says that I belong in Gryffindor!
Said Gryffindor, "We'll teach all those with brave deeds to their name."
Students of Gryffindor are typically brave, daring, and chivalrous.
Famous members include Harry, Ron, Hermione, Albus Dumbledore (head of Hogwarts), and Minerva McGonagall (head of Gryffindor).
Take the most scientific Harry Potter
Quiz ever created.
Sunday, November 20, 2005
Give a Hoot..Don't Pollute
What the feep is the deal with Hooters?
Maybe I have covered this before, maybe I haven't.
I dislike Hooters, not so much because OK. Hooters is skanky, (It just IS!) but because of the whole stupid double entendre with the owl. Those of you who know me have probably heard this before. But it makes me want to go out and start a rival restaurant called "Peckers". Our mascot will be a woodpecker with a three-foot long beak, and the servers will all be attractive, male, and wearing really tight pants to show off the goods.
Anyway. The Indian restaurant that Buddy and I go to (Masala- really really good, and if you live in Fresno, I strongly suggest that you go and have some chicken tikka masala) is unfortunately located a few doors down from the local Hooters. On more than one occasion, we've passed women outside the Hooters (I assume they are wait staff) who are evidently hula-hooping in their underwear. Okay. Yeah- it's all about the owls!
So. Buddy and I leave Masala, and aside from the general dregs of maledom who are lurking around the general vicinity, there's a bunch of random middle-aged guys who are congregated, with chairs, and are sitting in the middle of the parking lot- right outside the Hooters.
This is a crowded, busy lot, with lots of traffic. My friend's car is parked right behind these guys. We start to back out, and we come pretty close to them evidently, because one of them suddenly jumps up and pounds repeatedly, really hard, on the back window of my friend's car and screams a bunch of abusive language at us.
Naturally this scares the bejeezus out of both of us, and since, quite frankly, these morons could be hanging out in the Hooters with the hot wings and the double D's, it pisses us both off. So my buddy throws some profanity back out the window and we drive off.
In the meantime, I whip out my cell phone and dial information to get ahold of Hooters. I figure that they should know that they have some potentially drunk idiots who are sitting in the middle of the lot out front for no apparrent reason.
After speaking with a very confused-sounding girl named Naomi, the guys out front were the manager of Hooters and a patron of the restaurant who had fallen (inside the restaurant?!) and were out waiting in the parking lot for an ambulance.
Since there is plenty of outdoor seating and a large patio area with benches where they could wait...I guess it just seemed like a good idea to sit in the middle of the parking lot. Because if the guy wasn't hurt and going to sue the restaurant anyway, why not challenge fate and wait for a passing car to put him out of his misery?
Frankly, I just don't get it. But then, it's Hooters- it doesn't have to make sense.
Maybe I have covered this before, maybe I haven't.
I dislike Hooters, not so much because OK. Hooters is skanky, (It just IS!) but because of the whole stupid double entendre with the owl. Those of you who know me have probably heard this before. But it makes me want to go out and start a rival restaurant called "Peckers". Our mascot will be a woodpecker with a three-foot long beak, and the servers will all be attractive, male, and wearing really tight pants to show off the goods.
Anyway. The Indian restaurant that Buddy and I go to (Masala- really really good, and if you live in Fresno, I strongly suggest that you go and have some chicken tikka masala) is unfortunately located a few doors down from the local Hooters. On more than one occasion, we've passed women outside the Hooters (I assume they are wait staff) who are evidently hula-hooping in their underwear. Okay. Yeah- it's all about the owls!
So. Buddy and I leave Masala, and aside from the general dregs of maledom who are lurking around the general vicinity, there's a bunch of random middle-aged guys who are congregated, with chairs, and are sitting in the middle of the parking lot- right outside the Hooters.
This is a crowded, busy lot, with lots of traffic. My friend's car is parked right behind these guys. We start to back out, and we come pretty close to them evidently, because one of them suddenly jumps up and pounds repeatedly, really hard, on the back window of my friend's car and screams a bunch of abusive language at us.
Naturally this scares the bejeezus out of both of us, and since, quite frankly, these morons could be hanging out in the Hooters with the hot wings and the double D's, it pisses us both off. So my buddy throws some profanity back out the window and we drive off.
In the meantime, I whip out my cell phone and dial information to get ahold of Hooters. I figure that they should know that they have some potentially drunk idiots who are sitting in the middle of the lot out front for no apparrent reason.
After speaking with a very confused-sounding girl named Naomi, the guys out front were the manager of Hooters and a patron of the restaurant who had fallen (inside the restaurant?!) and were out waiting in the parking lot for an ambulance.
Since there is plenty of outdoor seating and a large patio area with benches where they could wait...I guess it just seemed like a good idea to sit in the middle of the parking lot. Because if the guy wasn't hurt and going to sue the restaurant anyway, why not challenge fate and wait for a passing car to put him out of his misery?
Frankly, I just don't get it. But then, it's Hooters- it doesn't have to make sense.
Impending doom...
Random 18 year Old Chick on Train: Um....how old are you?
Me: Uh....thirty. I turn 31 in a week or so.
R18YOCOT: Woah. I thought you were like, 23 or something.
Me: Um....thanks? I think.
OK, this may have been because I was wearing a brown stretch hoodie with "Baby" spelled out in rhinestones in the region of my right boob. (My sister and I spent the weekend trying to come up with names for the other boob.) Hey, I only wear it as a manifestation of my ironic nature- plus, I like it 'cause it's sparkly.
Several days later...
Random 22 Year Old Chick In Cafe: Um...don't take this the wrong way- but how old are you?
Me: I'm thirty. I turn 31 next Tuesday.
R22YOCIC: God- I thought you were like, 24.
Me: Nope. Definitely 30.
The mind boggles. I wasn't even wearing the "baby" hoodie that time. I guess it's good to know that zits are good for something!
But yes, I will soon be turning thirty-one, which is somehow slightly more traumatic than the big three-oh. People keep telling me that "Thirty is the new Twenty." Uh-huh.
So, if we accept the statement that 30=20, we would have to agree that
30 + 1 = 21.
Yeah! I turn 21 next Tuesday! Maybe this time around I'll be sober enough to appreciate it.
So- who's buyin'? ;)
Me: Uh....thirty. I turn 31 in a week or so.
R18YOCOT: Woah. I thought you were like, 23 or something.
Me: Um....thanks? I think.
OK, this may have been because I was wearing a brown stretch hoodie with "Baby" spelled out in rhinestones in the region of my right boob. (My sister and I spent the weekend trying to come up with names for the other boob.) Hey, I only wear it as a manifestation of my ironic nature- plus, I like it 'cause it's sparkly.
Several days later...
Random 22 Year Old Chick In Cafe: Um...don't take this the wrong way- but how old are you?
Me: I'm thirty. I turn 31 next Tuesday.
R22YOCIC: God- I thought you were like, 24.
Me: Nope. Definitely 30.
The mind boggles. I wasn't even wearing the "baby" hoodie that time. I guess it's good to know that zits are good for something!
But yes, I will soon be turning thirty-one, which is somehow slightly more traumatic than the big three-oh. People keep telling me that "Thirty is the new Twenty." Uh-huh.
So, if we accept the statement that 30=20, we would have to agree that
30 + 1 = 21.
Yeah! I turn 21 next Tuesday! Maybe this time around I'll be sober enough to appreciate it.
So- who's buyin'? ;)
Saturday, November 19, 2005
hehe
Him: *watching preview to Chronicles of Narnia*
Mrs. McCreedy: "...There will be no running, no noise, and no touching of the historical artifacts.."
Me: "And no snorting of the cocaine!"
Him : *GLARE*
Me: "Hahahahahaaaaaaaaaaaa....."
Yes. It's official. I am lame, but I crack myself up.
Mrs. McCreedy: "...There will be no running, no noise, and no touching of the historical artifacts.."
Me: "And no snorting of the cocaine!"
Him : *GLARE*
Me: "Hahahahahaaaaaaaaaaaa....."
Yes. It's official. I am lame, but I crack myself up.
Ugh.
This really, really, REALLY bothers me.
My husband argues that it's the same as McDonald's being able to refuse to sell you a hamburger if you don't have your shoes on. I completely disagree- the ability to be a slob in public isn't necessarily considered a civil right, while the wherewithal to fill your prescriptions most definitely is.
Target pharmacist: "Oh- you were raped last night? And you had to go to the doctor and submit to the indignity of getting screened for chlamydia and all the other biggies- although you'll have to wait a few weeks for the AIDS test. You got this prescription for plan B? Well, that sucks. Are you sure you didn't deserve it? Because I am afraid that my special relationship with the Lord entitles me to decide whether or not you can take the pill which prevents you from ovulating and therefore potentially getting stuck with a child that you didn't want to have."
16 year old: "I can't have a kid. I was just excited that I went out with the captain of the football team. He seemed so nice, until he slipped a roofie in my drink. I can't even remember what happened! I was going to college! This isn't supposed to happen!"
Target pharmacist: "Did I mention that Jesus loves you? I hope that makes it better- remember that when the kid wakes you up at 2 in the morning when you are working double-shifts at McDonald's and have a final exam the next day."
This is standard practice now at Target, WalMart, Walgreens, and RiteAid. For something that is available OVER the COUNTER in Canada. I feel sick.
My husband argues that it's the same as McDonald's being able to refuse to sell you a hamburger if you don't have your shoes on. I completely disagree- the ability to be a slob in public isn't necessarily considered a civil right, while the wherewithal to fill your prescriptions most definitely is.
Target pharmacist: "Oh- you were raped last night? And you had to go to the doctor and submit to the indignity of getting screened for chlamydia and all the other biggies- although you'll have to wait a few weeks for the AIDS test. You got this prescription for plan B? Well, that sucks. Are you sure you didn't deserve it? Because I am afraid that my special relationship with the Lord entitles me to decide whether or not you can take the pill which prevents you from ovulating and therefore potentially getting stuck with a child that you didn't want to have."
16 year old: "I can't have a kid. I was just excited that I went out with the captain of the football team. He seemed so nice, until he slipped a roofie in my drink. I can't even remember what happened! I was going to college! This isn't supposed to happen!"
Target pharmacist: "Did I mention that Jesus loves you? I hope that makes it better- remember that when the kid wakes you up at 2 in the morning when you are working double-shifts at McDonald's and have a final exam the next day."
This is standard practice now at Target, WalMart, Walgreens, and RiteAid. For something that is available OVER the COUNTER in Canada. I feel sick.
Wednesday, November 16, 2005
Dude. Seriously. No, DUDE! SERIOUSLY!!
OK. If you want good Italian food, go to Bella Pasta.
One of the waiters there is my new SBF (Secret Boyfriend) and if you go there, he will ensure that you eat the unhealthiest things on the menu.
Seriously.
I went there, and I was leaning towards the gnocchi with the marinara sauce, (I swear) he made me get the alfredo sauce instead. With CREAM, people. I only ate half, and sacked the rest up for later...and he came back and clucked at me disapprovingly.
And then hubby and I decided to split a piece of tiramisu, and he brought out two anyway, saying, "It's pretty light..." and only charged us for one.
Oh, and he's tall and darkhaired with big blue eyes.
/end of fairytale
(But amazingly, all true!)
One of the waiters there is my new SBF (Secret Boyfriend) and if you go there, he will ensure that you eat the unhealthiest things on the menu.
Seriously.
I went there, and I was leaning towards the gnocchi with the marinara sauce, (I swear) he made me get the alfredo sauce instead. With CREAM, people. I only ate half, and sacked the rest up for later...and he came back and clucked at me disapprovingly.
And then hubby and I decided to split a piece of tiramisu, and he brought out two anyway, saying, "It's pretty light..." and only charged us for one.
Oh, and he's tall and darkhaired with big blue eyes.
/end of fairytale
(But amazingly, all true!)
Monday, November 14, 2005
Pain and suffering on the Amtrak
San Francisco was wonderful. The sis and I had fun, did much chatting and shopping and the drinking of the dirty martinis.
However, the train back to Fresno, full of the whiny little old ladies and drunken uncouth Raiders fans, is not something you should attempt with a hangover.
Suprisingly, (and thankfully) nobody was killed. Not the kid behind me who kept kicking my seat. Not the stringy little old ladies who were making rude comments about everyone else in their vicinity (except me, I have to admit. For some scary reason, I seemed to meet with their deranged approval.) Not even the 500 lb. guy in the Jerry Rice jersey with GO RAIDERS painted across his face, who kept asking me questions about the scarf I was painting and staring at me creepily in the reflection of the train window.
I think this reflects admirable restraint on my part.
However, the train back to Fresno, full of the whiny little old ladies and drunken uncouth Raiders fans, is not something you should attempt with a hangover.
Suprisingly, (and thankfully) nobody was killed. Not the kid behind me who kept kicking my seat. Not the stringy little old ladies who were making rude comments about everyone else in their vicinity (except me, I have to admit. For some scary reason, I seemed to meet with their deranged approval.) Not even the 500 lb. guy in the Jerry Rice jersey with GO RAIDERS painted across his face, who kept asking me questions about the scarf I was painting and staring at me creepily in the reflection of the train window.
I think this reflects admirable restraint on my part.
Thursday, November 10, 2005
Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.
I really, really, really hate automated phone response systems.
I'm not sure which ones are the worst- the automated response ones, where they use voice recognition technology (which doesn't work) or the ones where you eventually get directed to actual people who still don't seem to comprehend what's going on.
Have you guys guessed yet that I am still not getting my oven?
I called for the bajillionth time yesterday, and they told me it was finally in, after we ordered it in September. I spent today emptying out the kitchen in the vicinity of the old stove, and planned my whole day around the delivery of this long-awaited appliance.
Then the delivery/installer guy calls me (around the time we were supposed to get the stove) and says, "Uh...it's not there. I went to pick it up, and they said your stove is on indefinite back-order."
I called Sears- the phone number that was listed on my receipt. The phone rang and rang and rang and RANG. I was beginning to suspect that my phone call was also on indefinite backorder. Finally-
"Sears, Televisions."
"Hi, I need to speak with somebody in your Oven/Range Department."
"Ok, Hold on."
Ring...ring ring ring ring......
"Sears, Televisions."
"I just talked to you- I need to speak with someone about my oven."
"Oh- they must be backed up. Let me get someone."
"Chains of Love" comes on. I hear that song in its entirety, and then most of "ManEater."
Then...Ring ring ring...
"Sears, Major appliances."
"Hi I'm-"
"I'm sorry, can you hold?" Click. Then "Maniac" came on, which seemed vaguely appropriate. I listened to most of this before I was mysteriously cut off.
I called back, and savagely jabbed the "0" until I got the (poor, unfortunate, INNOCENT) operator.
"Sears, this is Jason. How may I direct your call?"
"I don't know. I've been transferred all over the place, put on infinite hold, and hung up on. I am just trying to figure out WHEN they are going to deliver my oven. You tell me."
"I'm getting you a manager. I'll stay with you 'tel I get someone- Just a moment, please."
God bless you, Jason! Ring ring ring ring....
"Hi, this is Chris."
"Hi Chris. I'm having some issues with a backordered oven."
"Ok. I need your name and salescheck number."
"My name is Jenna, J-E-N-
CLICK. Ring ring ring....
"Thanks for holding. We are now transferring you to the Sears Home office. Please be patient."
"Home office, this is-"
In case you were wondering, this is where I lost it.
"I was JUST talking to someone about my OVEN and I got randomly transferred in mid sentence- no offense but I DON'T WANT TO TALK TO YOU!!!!!!"
"Ah- OK- this must be him right here." Click.
"Hello?"
"Hi, this is Chris. I'm sorry, the line just went dead."
"You transferred me to the Home Office!" (I know you pressed the button, fucker!)
"I'm sorry. How can I help you?"
"Ok. Chris. What department do you work in?"
We established that Chris is in fact a manager. I shared with him the saga of my oven. I gave him the info on my receipt. He said he'd call me right back.
"Ok- and your name is Chris, right?" (HA! So you know I'm writing it down!)
Chris did call back. Chris did not have good news. The parts to make the stove we need are backordered from an overseas source. They can't make the stove if they don't have the parts. Even I have to admit this.
I can get another (more expensive, he emphasized) stove for the same price. Sounds good, but the problem here is that the stove will not fit into our counter. Instead of the standard 30" stove, ours is 28 1/2. Goddamn those scam artists at Whirlpool. So we'd have to cut the counter and do some excavating. (And in the interim. I have measured, and we don't even have the room to do that. The INCH AND A HALF just ain't there. *&%$!!!!!!!!)
Or, we can wait another month. December 3rd. So I am effectively totally screwed for Thanksgiving, and of course, that date is during my trip to France. Maybe that's actually a good thing. I don't know if I want to be there when this is going down. I asked Chris if he was SURE and he said, vaguely- "The manufacturer feels really good about December 3rd."
Somehow, I am totally not convinced, but I really don't have much choice in the matter. I made Chris promise me that he would call them, and that I would get updates. I'm not holding my breath.
GrrrrrRRRRrrRRRRrRRRRRrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr! I am so damn frustrated. Screw this, I am going shopping.
I'm not sure which ones are the worst- the automated response ones, where they use voice recognition technology (which doesn't work) or the ones where you eventually get directed to actual people who still don't seem to comprehend what's going on.
Have you guys guessed yet that I am still not getting my oven?
I called for the bajillionth time yesterday, and they told me it was finally in, after we ordered it in September. I spent today emptying out the kitchen in the vicinity of the old stove, and planned my whole day around the delivery of this long-awaited appliance.
Then the delivery/installer guy calls me (around the time we were supposed to get the stove) and says, "Uh...it's not there. I went to pick it up, and they said your stove is on indefinite back-order."
I called Sears- the phone number that was listed on my receipt. The phone rang and rang and rang and RANG. I was beginning to suspect that my phone call was also on indefinite backorder. Finally-
"Sears, Televisions."
"Hi, I need to speak with somebody in your Oven/Range Department."
"Ok, Hold on."
Ring...ring ring ring ring......
"Sears, Televisions."
"I just talked to you- I need to speak with someone about my oven."
"Oh- they must be backed up. Let me get someone."
"Chains of Love" comes on. I hear that song in its entirety, and then most of "ManEater."
Then...Ring ring ring...
"Sears, Major appliances."
"Hi I'm-"
"I'm sorry, can you hold?" Click. Then "Maniac" came on, which seemed vaguely appropriate. I listened to most of this before I was mysteriously cut off.
I called back, and savagely jabbed the "0" until I got the (poor, unfortunate, INNOCENT) operator.
"Sears, this is Jason. How may I direct your call?"
"I don't know. I've been transferred all over the place, put on infinite hold, and hung up on. I am just trying to figure out WHEN they are going to deliver my oven. You tell me."
"I'm getting you a manager. I'll stay with you 'tel I get someone- Just a moment, please."
God bless you, Jason! Ring ring ring ring....
"Hi, this is Chris."
"Hi Chris. I'm having some issues with a backordered oven."
"Ok. I need your name and salescheck number."
"My name is Jenna, J-E-N-
CLICK. Ring ring ring....
"Thanks for holding. We are now transferring you to the Sears Home office. Please be patient."
"Home office, this is-"
In case you were wondering, this is where I lost it.
"I was JUST talking to someone about my OVEN and I got randomly transferred in mid sentence- no offense but I DON'T WANT TO TALK TO YOU!!!!!!"
"Ah- OK- this must be him right here." Click.
"Hello?"
"Hi, this is Chris. I'm sorry, the line just went dead."
"You transferred me to the Home Office!" (I know you pressed the button, fucker!)
"I'm sorry. How can I help you?"
"Ok. Chris. What department do you work in?"
We established that Chris is in fact a manager. I shared with him the saga of my oven. I gave him the info on my receipt. He said he'd call me right back.
"Ok- and your name is Chris, right?" (HA! So you know I'm writing it down!)
Chris did call back. Chris did not have good news. The parts to make the stove we need are backordered from an overseas source. They can't make the stove if they don't have the parts. Even I have to admit this.
I can get another (more expensive, he emphasized) stove for the same price. Sounds good, but the problem here is that the stove will not fit into our counter. Instead of the standard 30" stove, ours is 28 1/2. Goddamn those scam artists at Whirlpool. So we'd have to cut the counter and do some excavating. (And in the interim. I have measured, and we don't even have the room to do that. The INCH AND A HALF just ain't there. *&%$!!!!!!!!)
Or, we can wait another month. December 3rd. So I am effectively totally screwed for Thanksgiving, and of course, that date is during my trip to France. Maybe that's actually a good thing. I don't know if I want to be there when this is going down. I asked Chris if he was SURE and he said, vaguely- "The manufacturer feels really good about December 3rd."
Somehow, I am totally not convinced, but I really don't have much choice in the matter. I made Chris promise me that he would call them, and that I would get updates. I'm not holding my breath.
GrrrrrRRRRrrRRRRrRRRRRrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr! I am so damn frustrated. Screw this, I am going shopping.
Wednesday, November 09, 2005
Squeeee!
20 days until Paris...
A week until the new Harry Potter movie opens in theatres....
Two days 'til I leave for San Francisco...
And tomorrow, I get my new oven.
Woo! My cup runneth ovah!
A week until the new Harry Potter movie opens in theatres....
Two days 'til I leave for San Francisco...
And tomorrow, I get my new oven.
Woo! My cup runneth ovah!
There can be only one....but we have two.
Help us decide!
We're having a Christmas Card Photo Dilemma. (Come on- it's almost like those "Choose your Own Adventure books!)
Do you like Picture #1:
Or Picture #2: (Now with extra CHEESE! Who knew The Man actually had teeth?)
Of course, you know that this is just my sneaky way of getting you all to leave comments...Muuahahahaaaaaa!
We're having a Christmas Card Photo Dilemma. (Come on- it's almost like those "Choose your Own Adventure books!)
Do you like Picture #1:
Or Picture #2: (Now with extra CHEESE! Who knew The Man actually had teeth?)
Of course, you know that this is just my sneaky way of getting you all to leave comments...Muuahahahaaaaaa!
Tuesday, November 08, 2005
Photo Phobia
So, umm...I hate having my picture taken. Hate it. Haaaaaate it. I usually only photograph allright when I am somewhat intoxicated. Evidently "Drunk-Ass Bimbo" is a good look for me.
But The Man and I went in and got haircuts today, and he must have slipped the stylist a fifty or something, because all of a sudden, instead of the pretty, sleek blowout I usually get, my stylist whipped out the diffuser and just went to town.
A DIFFUSER, people. Like Alyssa Milano used circa "Who's The Boss."
Anyway, if you've never seen one, it looks kinda like you're blow-drying your hair with a megaphone.
While it did take some self-styling afterwards, the guy somehow re-created my high school hairstyle, and at least I don't look too much like a poodle. Woo!
So it's a few hours later. We came back from a yummy dinner at Claim Jumpers, and I am just sitting there on the couch, in my lounging sweatshirt thingie, and we've just finished watching "Girl With a Pearl Earring" (which we really enjoyed, by the way.)
Evidently, the curly hair has made The Man insane, because he started gazing at me and saying things about my "mischevious little nose" and then busted out the digital camera.
AAAAaAAAaaAaaaaaaa!
I froze. I sulked. I made faces. I threw pillows at him. I finally begged him to PLEASE allow me to cover up the chin zits, at least.
Anyway, I finally relaxed enough to take pictures where I don't look stunned, pissed off, or laminated.
Wish me luck- I have a sneaking suspicion that the Christmas photos are happening tomorrow.
If you want to see the rest of the photo session, they are HERE. You can tell that I finally loosened up and started to have fun. Yeeeehaw!
But The Man and I went in and got haircuts today, and he must have slipped the stylist a fifty or something, because all of a sudden, instead of the pretty, sleek blowout I usually get, my stylist whipped out the diffuser and just went to town.
A DIFFUSER, people. Like Alyssa Milano used circa "Who's The Boss."
Anyway, if you've never seen one, it looks kinda like you're blow-drying your hair with a megaphone.
While it did take some self-styling afterwards, the guy somehow re-created my high school hairstyle, and at least I don't look too much like a poodle. Woo!
So it's a few hours later. We came back from a yummy dinner at Claim Jumpers, and I am just sitting there on the couch, in my lounging sweatshirt thingie, and we've just finished watching "Girl With a Pearl Earring" (which we really enjoyed, by the way.)
Evidently, the curly hair has made The Man insane, because he started gazing at me and saying things about my "mischevious little nose" and then busted out the digital camera.
AAAAaAAAaaAaaaaaaa!
I froze. I sulked. I made faces. I threw pillows at him. I finally begged him to PLEASE allow me to cover up the chin zits, at least.
Anyway, I finally relaxed enough to take pictures where I don't look stunned, pissed off, or laminated.
Wish me luck- I have a sneaking suspicion that the Christmas photos are happening tomorrow.
If you want to see the rest of the photo session, they are HERE. You can tell that I finally loosened up and started to have fun. Yeeeehaw!
Cruelty to animals
Yes, we got a little crazy with the digital camera. I am NOT strangling him, I swear- please don't report us to PETA.
The photo of him not standing still is HERE.
The photo of him not standing still is HERE.
Monday, November 07, 2005
Grrrrr
Dear Netflix,
You suck. You triple dog suck.
I feel that we are nearing the end of our relationship. Let's face it, it was a marriage of convenience, and it's just not convenient anymore.
At first, I was enamored with you. I got overnight service, dammit. I told everyone how happy I was with you. However, lately, you've become more and more distant. You're beginning to ignore me, and the longer I stay with you, the more blatant it becomes. Is this some passive-aggressive way of getting me to break up with you?
I sent back three movies last Wednesday, you didn't even notify that they are rec'd until first thing this morning... that's FIVE days. Do you think I'm stupid? You could have called, at least. I dislike having my emotions toyed with in this cavalier manner.
Then, you notify me (at the last possible second, in the late late afternoon) that you have sent out two DVD's for delivery tomorrow.
WTF, people?! Where the hell is the third one?! What kind of voodoo dolls do I have to buy??!!
OK, most women would probably be happy with two. However, I am definitely not most women, and I cannot believe that it is this hard to uh, mail something. Hello?!!!!
Fuckers. Did I mention that you suck?
Sincerely,
Jenna
You suck. You triple dog suck.
I feel that we are nearing the end of our relationship. Let's face it, it was a marriage of convenience, and it's just not convenient anymore.
At first, I was enamored with you. I got overnight service, dammit. I told everyone how happy I was with you. However, lately, you've become more and more distant. You're beginning to ignore me, and the longer I stay with you, the more blatant it becomes. Is this some passive-aggressive way of getting me to break up with you?
I sent back three movies last Wednesday, you didn't even notify that they are rec'd until first thing this morning... that's FIVE days. Do you think I'm stupid? You could have called, at least. I dislike having my emotions toyed with in this cavalier manner.
Then, you notify me (at the last possible second, in the late late afternoon) that you have sent out two DVD's for delivery tomorrow.
WTF, people?! Where the hell is the third one?! What kind of voodoo dolls do I have to buy??!!
OK, most women would probably be happy with two. However, I am definitely not most women, and I cannot believe that it is this hard to uh, mail something. Hello?!!!!
Fuckers. Did I mention that you suck?
Sincerely,
Jenna
Overheard chez moi/ Mood swings
Cat: Meow...meeeeoooooowwwwww, meeeooooowwwww
Bird: Meow. Meoweoweoweoweow...MEOW!
Me: Do you hear that cat? He's mocking you for being a whiny bitch.
Me: hehehehe
Bird: Hehehehehe...whee!
Me: Dammit, I will not be mocked by poultry.
Bird: Silly Silly bird! La la la la laaaaaaaaaa la...Goodbye!
This weekend: I was pleasantly surprised by Neighbor and Ferret, who came on ovah to take me out on a whirlwind Red Robin/Wheatgrass juice adventure. We also had drinkies of the alcoholic variety, and much fun was had by all.
Yesterday, went to see the parents, and my sister, who was here for a spur-of-the-moment visit. Considering that I am going to go visit her this Friday (San Francisco! Yeah!) , and then we're going to see each other for Thanksgiving...
We always have a good time together, though- I am glad I get to see her a lot.
I have a ton of errarnds to run today- one of which makes me want to rip out all my hair, because of course, the first Christmas presents (mentioned a few days ago) contains shirts that are ALL too short in the SLEEVES. 36"-37" sleeves, people. I suppose that's what I get for marrying a mutant.
Oh, and we're almost out of toilet paper. And Tofutti Cuties. Seriously, that's like a national emergency.
My stove comes tomorrow! Woohooo!
I also have a dentist appointment, but I am trying not to think about that right now.
Buddy wants me to go with her to yoga tonight. I have never taken a yoga class. Somehow, I think that yoga and wheatgrass all in the same week might be overdoing it. Plus, I don't know if I can get behind an activity that doesn't require shoes.
Bird: Meow. Meoweoweoweoweow...MEOW!
Me: Do you hear that cat? He's mocking you for being a whiny bitch.
Me: hehehehe
Bird: Hehehehehe...whee!
Me: Dammit, I will not be mocked by poultry.
Bird: Silly Silly bird! La la la la laaaaaaaaaa la...Goodbye!
This weekend: I was pleasantly surprised by Neighbor and Ferret, who came on ovah to take me out on a whirlwind Red Robin/Wheatgrass juice adventure. We also had drinkies of the alcoholic variety, and much fun was had by all.
Yesterday, went to see the parents, and my sister, who was here for a spur-of-the-moment visit. Considering that I am going to go visit her this Friday (San Francisco! Yeah!) , and then we're going to see each other for Thanksgiving...
We always have a good time together, though- I am glad I get to see her a lot.
I have a ton of errarnds to run today- one of which makes me want to rip out all my hair, because of course, the first Christmas presents (mentioned a few days ago) contains shirts that are ALL too short in the SLEEVES. 36"-37" sleeves, people. I suppose that's what I get for marrying a mutant.
Oh, and we're almost out of toilet paper. And Tofutti Cuties. Seriously, that's like a national emergency.
My stove comes tomorrow! Woohooo!
I also have a dentist appointment, but I am trying not to think about that right now.
Buddy wants me to go with her to yoga tonight. I have never taken a yoga class. Somehow, I think that yoga and wheatgrass all in the same week might be overdoing it. Plus, I don't know if I can get behind an activity that doesn't require shoes.
Friday, November 04, 2005
My eyeballs hurt.
So yeah, the guy is guilty. I think we deliberated for less than 12 minutes, voted unanimously, and spent the rest of the time discussing how one of the attorneys looked sort of like like a younger, much taller, Randy Travis.
Another random observation- I am breaking out like crazy. I turn THIRTY ONE in a few weeks, people. WTF?! Stop the insanity!! (Zit fairy, please chill out.)
Another random observation- I am breaking out like crazy. I turn THIRTY ONE in a few weeks, people. WTF?! Stop the insanity!! (Zit fairy, please chill out.)
Thursday, November 03, 2005
Speaking of squirrel fornication...
Anyone been to Courthouse Park lately? (How's that for a segueway?)
Watch those squirrels. Seriously, those bitches are fearless. They will carjack you and remove your kidneys and sell them on the black market for hickory smoked almonds and crack cocaine. While humping your leg. Hey, I'm just sayin'.
I had jury duty today. My first ever summons. BOOOOOO!
Evidently, I appear to be a. easily influenced, b. a productive member of society, and c. a sentient being (well, sort of). Because you're looking at the immortal words of she who is now known as "Juror Number One."
Say it with me now: "CRAP!" I KNEW I should have worn the bone in my nose and the "I Heart Satan" T-shirt!
I can't talk about the case, (which is just as well, because I know you're all reading this at work and you'd be snoring within mere seconds and wake up drooling with the Q from your keyboard implanted in your forehead). The saving grace is that it's only a two day trial. I am the youngest person on the jury by at least a decade or so, and it's definitely some serious culture shock.
A few notable moments: I almost fell asleep during the closing arguements today. Oh and then I started watching the judge and inwardly amusing myself with his facial expressions. They are indescribable. No I mean it, but I may try to detail them tomorrow just for the hell of it.
Eh- I also went and blew some $$$ on my first Christmas gift of the season. I actually better wrap and hide before the man comes home, since it's for him.
Oh, and the guy I asked for his male input in the store said to tell Alan that his Christmas gift is "approved by a Marine Drill Instructor." That's right- it don't get much more butch than that, kids. Unless he was like, a green beret/mule skinner or something. Do they still make those? (Uh- did they ever make those?)
In the interest of shameless self-flattery, he also complimented me on my great taste in gifts and my fashionable shoes (Knee-high square toed black leather boots with three inch heels, baby! I mean, who wouldn't love those?)
Ok. Well, Angela calls them my "drag queen boots." But I think that the drag queen factor just magnifies their infinite fabulosity. Besides, they are not platform (well not much), and they totally lack sequins. So there. You're just jealous, ho!
Watch those squirrels. Seriously, those bitches are fearless. They will carjack you and remove your kidneys and sell them on the black market for hickory smoked almonds and crack cocaine. While humping your leg. Hey, I'm just sayin'.
I had jury duty today. My first ever summons. BOOOOOO!
Evidently, I appear to be a. easily influenced, b. a productive member of society, and c. a sentient being (well, sort of). Because you're looking at the immortal words of she who is now known as "Juror Number One."
Say it with me now: "CRAP!" I KNEW I should have worn the bone in my nose and the "I Heart Satan" T-shirt!
I can't talk about the case, (which is just as well, because I know you're all reading this at work and you'd be snoring within mere seconds and wake up drooling with the Q from your keyboard implanted in your forehead). The saving grace is that it's only a two day trial. I am the youngest person on the jury by at least a decade or so, and it's definitely some serious culture shock.
A few notable moments: I almost fell asleep during the closing arguements today. Oh and then I started watching the judge and inwardly amusing myself with his facial expressions. They are indescribable. No I mean it, but I may try to detail them tomorrow just for the hell of it.
Eh- I also went and blew some $$$ on my first Christmas gift of the season. I actually better wrap and hide before the man comes home, since it's for him.
Oh, and the guy I asked for his male input in the store said to tell Alan that his Christmas gift is "approved by a Marine Drill Instructor." That's right- it don't get much more butch than that, kids. Unless he was like, a green beret/mule skinner or something. Do they still make those? (Uh- did they ever make those?)
In the interest of shameless self-flattery, he also complimented me on my great taste in gifts and my fashionable shoes (Knee-high square toed black leather boots with three inch heels, baby! I mean, who wouldn't love those?)
Ok. Well, Angela calls them my "drag queen boots." But I think that the drag queen factor just magnifies their infinite fabulosity. Besides, they are not platform (well not much), and they totally lack sequins. So there. You're just jealous, ho!
Wednesday, November 02, 2005
Welcome to the suck.
So, I am upset- mostly about stuff that I have no control over. But anyway...allow me to share some of this crap with you.
My husband informs me that we are uninvited to his family holidays, because his mother feels that I slighted her in some imaginary way three years ago. Evidently we had just been assuming that we were invited to family functions for the last couple of years, since every one else in the family would just let us know.
They had this conversation when I was in Disneyland, and she apparently stated that while she agreed both of us were at fault, she wanted an apology from me, and since that was unlikely to happen, we were cordially dis-invited from all holidays from now until the end of time.
The bone of contention? When Alan was leaving to go overseas three days after Thanksgiving, three years ago, I had a chat with her about the upcoming holiday.
Jenna: "I'd like to spend time with both families- we traditionally celebrate my birthday on Thanksgiving, and everyone wants to see Alan before he goes."
MIL: "Well, if that's the case, why don't you just spend the whole day there, and we just won't see him!"
Jenna: "Uh- well, I was thinking, Alan said you'd be having a dinner for Thanksgiving, and my family usually has a lunch. You guys only live 10 minutes away from each other. We thought we'd go to my family's until the early afternoon, and then spend the rest of the day with you."
In my memory, she agreed to this readily. I asked Alan if he remembers it this way, and yes, he agrees that my version is what he heard at the time, and that I am not going crazy.
Her version? That I lied to her. Somehow she latched onto "spend the rest of the day with you" and turned that into, "Oh yes, well then, we will spend the entire day with your family, and not see Jenna's family at all, because we agree with your asessment that they are baby-eating Satanists who fornicate with squirrels."
OK, so I would apologize just to shut her up. The problem? I am not making up anything to apologize for. I am not going to tell a lie to sanctify her insane notion of the truth. There is just a limit to the craziness, y'all. I have tried repeatedly to make this woman happy, and have been rebuffed and insulted at every turn.
I even invited my father in law to a clandestine lunch when my husband was overseas to discuss "The Thanksgiving Incident" and any means I might take to reduce the fallout. He admitted that it had been totally blown out of proportion, and then added sheepishly that he likes me and was glad I was part of the family, and then swore me to secrecy that the meeting had ever taken place.
I have just come to the conclusion (after much angst and upset howling of "what the hell am I supposed to do?!" to my husband, who just shrugs helplessly) that I intimidate her, and she doesn't want me around, because my presence reminds her of things that happened before I was born or thought of.
The gist of that sordid story is that evidently her in-laws (who were, by all accounts, a lot like my parents) didn't want her as a part of the family and treated her like crap.
She talks about how horrible they were to her all the time. The fact that she's treating me just as badly had evidently escaped her notice completely. And may also be the reason that when she met my parents, she was so defensive that she immediately verbally attacked my father.
Yet, I still feel bad that we don't get along. I love my husband, his family is important to him, and hell, I love them too. I don't know- should I just lie, and make her happy?
The worst part? Alan says that one of her techniques is to come up to you, magnanimously and out of the blue, and say, "I forgive you". For something that she has imagined in her CRAZY BRAIN.
I swear to god, that better not happen to me. I just might lose all control and punch her in the face. That'd be a Christmas to remember!
In other news- I went on the treadmill today and yesterday, and aside from a minor skirmish with some renegade potato chips, I am doing well. AND...I am working on the book. Seriously.
AND- I have decided how we are going to finish our courtyard, AND what colors we are painting the rooms in our house.
And...there's a hideous chance that I am going to be a bridesmaid in September. Or would I be a bridesmatron? (ICK.)In any case, I would probably be in a line-up with a bunch of 23 year-old physically perfect sorority girls AND my darling little sister. In strapless dresses. Oh, and be obliged to walk down the aisle with a frat boy who just might be half my age and have hair like an electrocuted hedgehog. So, on one level I am flattered and thrilled, and on another, deeper darker more nefarious level, I fear that the sheer terror of this nightmarish juxtaposition may cause me to vomit uncontrollably at intervals until then. (The horrible thought I just had? Involuntary bulemia might actually be a plus.)True, I could say no- but that's just dumb and selfish, not to mention chicken.
Oh, AND?! (This is the best part, although if you've read this far, I feel for you) When she (my brother's sweet fiancee) asked my mom if she thought my sister and I would like to be bridesmaids, Mom thoughtfully gave me an out. What out did she give me, ladies and gentlemen? "Well, Jen's thinking about starting a family....so that might be a complication."
Do I need to say that the pressure is officially ON?! Oh god, I am going to be a humongous, knocked up, frat-boy fraternizing, satin-clad beachball. In elbow length gloves and matching Dyeables. Eat your heart out, John Waters. (And no, I'm not pregnant, I just have an evil imagination- in case you haven't figured that out by now.)
I'm sorry. I may need to find a deserted closet and have a good cry.
My husband informs me that we are uninvited to his family holidays, because his mother feels that I slighted her in some imaginary way three years ago. Evidently we had just been assuming that we were invited to family functions for the last couple of years, since every one else in the family would just let us know.
They had this conversation when I was in Disneyland, and she apparently stated that while she agreed both of us were at fault, she wanted an apology from me, and since that was unlikely to happen, we were cordially dis-invited from all holidays from now until the end of time.
The bone of contention? When Alan was leaving to go overseas three days after Thanksgiving, three years ago, I had a chat with her about the upcoming holiday.
Jenna: "I'd like to spend time with both families- we traditionally celebrate my birthday on Thanksgiving, and everyone wants to see Alan before he goes."
MIL: "Well, if that's the case, why don't you just spend the whole day there, and we just won't see him!"
Jenna: "Uh- well, I was thinking, Alan said you'd be having a dinner for Thanksgiving, and my family usually has a lunch. You guys only live 10 minutes away from each other. We thought we'd go to my family's until the early afternoon, and then spend the rest of the day with you."
In my memory, she agreed to this readily. I asked Alan if he remembers it this way, and yes, he agrees that my version is what he heard at the time, and that I am not going crazy.
Her version? That I lied to her. Somehow she latched onto "spend the rest of the day with you" and turned that into, "Oh yes, well then, we will spend the entire day with your family, and not see Jenna's family at all, because we agree with your asessment that they are baby-eating Satanists who fornicate with squirrels."
OK, so I would apologize just to shut her up. The problem? I am not making up anything to apologize for. I am not going to tell a lie to sanctify her insane notion of the truth. There is just a limit to the craziness, y'all. I have tried repeatedly to make this woman happy, and have been rebuffed and insulted at every turn.
I even invited my father in law to a clandestine lunch when my husband was overseas to discuss "The Thanksgiving Incident" and any means I might take to reduce the fallout. He admitted that it had been totally blown out of proportion, and then added sheepishly that he likes me and was glad I was part of the family, and then swore me to secrecy that the meeting had ever taken place.
I have just come to the conclusion (after much angst and upset howling of "what the hell am I supposed to do?!" to my husband, who just shrugs helplessly) that I intimidate her, and she doesn't want me around, because my presence reminds her of things that happened before I was born or thought of.
The gist of that sordid story is that evidently her in-laws (who were, by all accounts, a lot like my parents) didn't want her as a part of the family and treated her like crap.
She talks about how horrible they were to her all the time. The fact that she's treating me just as badly had evidently escaped her notice completely. And may also be the reason that when she met my parents, she was so defensive that she immediately verbally attacked my father.
Yet, I still feel bad that we don't get along. I love my husband, his family is important to him, and hell, I love them too. I don't know- should I just lie, and make her happy?
The worst part? Alan says that one of her techniques is to come up to you, magnanimously and out of the blue, and say, "I forgive you". For something that she has imagined in her CRAZY BRAIN.
I swear to god, that better not happen to me. I just might lose all control and punch her in the face. That'd be a Christmas to remember!
In other news- I went on the treadmill today and yesterday, and aside from a minor skirmish with some renegade potato chips, I am doing well. AND...I am working on the book. Seriously.
AND- I have decided how we are going to finish our courtyard, AND what colors we are painting the rooms in our house.
And...there's a hideous chance that I am going to be a bridesmaid in September. Or would I be a bridesmatron? (ICK.)In any case, I would probably be in a line-up with a bunch of 23 year-old physically perfect sorority girls AND my darling little sister. In strapless dresses. Oh, and be obliged to walk down the aisle with a frat boy who just might be half my age and have hair like an electrocuted hedgehog. So, on one level I am flattered and thrilled, and on another, deeper darker more nefarious level, I fear that the sheer terror of this nightmarish juxtaposition may cause me to vomit uncontrollably at intervals until then. (The horrible thought I just had? Involuntary bulemia might actually be a plus.)True, I could say no- but that's just dumb and selfish, not to mention chicken.
Oh, AND?! (This is the best part, although if you've read this far, I feel for you) When she (my brother's sweet fiancee) asked my mom if she thought my sister and I would like to be bridesmaids, Mom thoughtfully gave me an out. What out did she give me, ladies and gentlemen? "Well, Jen's thinking about starting a family....so that might be a complication."
Do I need to say that the pressure is officially ON?! Oh god, I am going to be a humongous, knocked up, frat-boy fraternizing, satin-clad beachball. In elbow length gloves and matching Dyeables. Eat your heart out, John Waters. (And no, I'm not pregnant, I just have an evil imagination- in case you haven't figured that out by now.)
I'm sorry. I may need to find a deserted closet and have a good cry.
Tuesday, November 01, 2005
It's all about the 'ween...
Last night was most definitely fun- Cinderella and Batman were definitely the most popular costumes of the night, although my favorites were the pint-size Dracula and the incredibly shy little girl who was dressed in a leopard outfit.
We ran out of candy at 8:30 PM. Much fun was had by all.
In other news, spent the last weekend in Disneyland- which was, well, still Disneyland. On Saturday night, we went to go see Bauhaus, which was AMAZING.
I saw Peter Murphy more than 10 years ago when he came to Fresno, and it was good, but this was wonderful. I am glad we went to see them live. For a bunch of old guys, they kept it together and rocked pretty damn hard.
OK, I am being paged- more later.
We ran out of candy at 8:30 PM. Much fun was had by all.
In other news, spent the last weekend in Disneyland- which was, well, still Disneyland. On Saturday night, we went to go see Bauhaus, which was AMAZING.
I saw Peter Murphy more than 10 years ago when he came to Fresno, and it was good, but this was wonderful. I am glad we went to see them live. For a bunch of old guys, they kept it together and rocked pretty damn hard.
OK, I am being paged- more later.
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