What if it really WORKED?!?!

Even in this age of modern technology, cloning living beings, and plastic add-on body parts, there are lots of things that we buy based on obviously false advertising. We spend money on them because they promise us results, but we don't really expect them to work! But what if they did....?

1. What if tattooing someone's name on your arm meant that they really, really would never leave you? Can you imagine the horrors that Brad and Angelina would face, having to wake up to Billy Bob peeing in the kitchen sink every morning?

2. What if do-it-yourself hair highlighting kits really worked? Salons all over the nation would be going out of business, and the flight attendant job market would be flooded with unemployed hair colorists. Unhappily married housewives would suddenly have all that extra money, which they used to spend on salons, so they'd all leave their crappy husbands (unless of course they were stupid enough to get his name tattoed on their arm) and fly to exotic places. During the flight, they'd be served tiny glasses of merlot by their former hair colorists, and they could catch up on old times over a nice bag of salted peanuts.

3. What if "Hard As Nails" nail polish really was as hard as nails? Women's hands would then have to be registered as weapons with the local police department. Men who tended to treat women like shit would have to check on the first date to see if the girl had long fingernails or not. With long nails filed to a point, painted with "Hard As Nails", a woman could skewer a guy's gonads like a kebab with just a flick of the wrist. Heck, I bet the rape statistics would go down in a hurry. It would put the hardware stores out of business, though, since square-tipped fingernails could also double as screwdrivers, crow bars, etc....

4. What if the comedy movie of the summer really was "the funniest movie you'll ever see"? Can you imagine living the rest of your life knowing that you will never laugh as hard at any other movie as you did at that one? Would you just buy that movie on DVD and watch it over and over again, knowing it was pointless to go on watching other silly, pathetic attempts at movie humor? Would you see people like Billy Crystal and Vince Vaughn working at Taco Smell because really, there was no future for them in film after that movie was made?

5. What if Febreze really did destroy all the odors in your home? You'd walk in the door after work and your wife would be cooking.... something... for dinner. Could be pot roast, or she could be dipping your sweaty jockstrap in hot water and calling it soup. You can't be sure, because there are no odors whatsoever coming from the kitchen. On the good side, you could save on water bills by not flushing the toilet until the end of the day - heck, why not? You can't smell it. But you'd be screwed when you left the bread in the toaster and left the room to answer the phone... you wouldn't smell the bread burning, and the kitchen curtains catching fire, and melting the paint off the ceiling. You'd be lucky if you saw the smoke in time to run screaming from your house to beg the neighbors to call the fire department. Except your neighbor can't hear you, because she's upstairs highlighting her hair...

6. What if drinking a certain kind of beer or liquor really did make one completely irresistible to the opposite sex? The whole world would get drunk and screw, the population would explode out of control, and there would be a baby boom of unprecedented proportion, and those that made it out of their booze-sodden wombs alive would grow up illiterate because all the teachers would be so busy drinking and screwing that the schools would close down. Thank goodness drinking any alcoholic beverage, no matter the brand name, only makes you look drunk! It has been known to make other people look better, however...

7. What if the latest nightclub party advertised on the radio really was going to "go down in history as one of the greatest parties EVER"??? Oh, my god... can you imagine the faces on the children of America as they realize there is yet another history class added to the curriculum? "History of Great Nightclub Parties 101".

8. What if Pedia Sure really was the only nutrition that kids needed to grow up healthy? Why, then, what would be the point of discipline, and instilling good nutrition, and teaching table manners - gods forbid that kids should have to do anything that they don't LIKE! If they don't LIKE the food you provide for them, then just feed them this sugar filled swill that has a couple of manmade vitamins thrown in, and voila! Your parental responsibilities have just been whittled down to nearly nothing! Put the little brats in front of the TV all day so you don't have to deal with them, and let them suck on Pedia Sure until they're old enough to drive themselves to the fast food place to buy junk with the food stamps they get from the government because, well, they don't LIKE to work!

9. What if anti-wrinkle, anti-aging nighttime facial potions really did work? Can you imagine standing in front of a full length mirror at age 80? You'd see your smooth, nineteen year-old face, and your titties sagging past the elastic waistband on your Depends. Oh, yeah... niiiiice.

10. What if we really did want to see the programming on all the channels we pay for on cable or dish TV? Or if we used the stairmaster machine we mail ordered for something more than a towel rack? What good would it do anyone if paper towels were so strong you really could suspend your complete set of bone china from them when they were wet? What if eating prepackaged foods that had "Healthy" or "Smart" in the brand name would really make us healthy or smart (or even skinny)?

What if we were just happy with the way we are, and didn't buy products that promised us shit that we know they can't deliver?

Cold showers and other stuff

I'm sure that some of you tuned in expecting some sort of titillating, sexually frustrating experience which required a cold shower. This picture is the best I can do on that front...

Actually, I just really enjoy cold showers in the summer. I guess it started when I was 16 and working in PA at a summer camp, teaching kids to ride horseback. When you work with horses, you don't take care of you until you've taken care of them. The kids come down and ride all day, and then they scamper off to get ready for dinner. But you have to put away the tack, brush the horses down and put fly spray around their eyes and ears and tails, and make sure they're fed and watered before you let them out into the field for the night.

This means that by the time you get to the showers, all the hot water is gone and you get what's left.... cold, cold water. The showers I enjoy now are probably better described as "pleasantly cool". The showers I took during that summer at camp were so cold that I had to scream at the top of my lungs just to distract myself while I put my head under the water. Luckily all the kids were already filing into the dining hall, so I don't think my screeching bothered anyone.

Today I discovered something about birds. We'd been hearing this sound in the evening and early morning that sounded remarkably like a lunatic laughing. At first I figured it was just the neighbors, but today as I was "cutting in" one of the rental apartment bedrooms (painting around the windows and doors and corners to prep for the roller to come later), I heard that weird cackling sound again, but it was right outside the window. I ducked my head so I could see, and there on the telephone wire sat a big fat red-breasted robin! I never knew they made a noise like that. A few minutes later, he changed his song and made a sweet, low chirping sound. Then he went back to the maniacal laughter again. A robin! Who knew.

I called in sick today and spent the entire day working in the rental apartment. The plumber came and fixed all our leakage woes, including some drainage problems in the upstairs apartment. The bill came to $750. I paid cash and he knocked it down to $580. Woo hoo.

The carpet guy showed up about five minutes after the plumber got there. He was doing an estimate for Home Depot carpet installation, so he just ran around with a tape measure and then skedaddled out of there. They are supposed to call me with the estimate. Don't know when, but I have their number and I will hunt them down if I have to.

Meanwhile, I scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed in the kitchen, trying to return all the white things to their original color. Cleaned the oven. Lined some drawers and shelves with Martha Stewart ivy print adhesive paper. Then I started "cutting in". At first I was gingerly dabbing the paint just so into the corners and creases. By the end of two hours, I was slapping and slinging that primer like there was no tomorrow. I got it all over my hands and shins (wearing shorts), and even a dot on my contact lens, which won't come off. (?!?)

The most fun I had today was discovering that the strange discoloring on the windowsills and walls of one room was.... snot. Yes. Boogers. Big green slimy snots that someone had wiped on the walls and windowsills of the bedroom. I was so completely skeeved that I cannot describe it to you accurately. I wanted to play jai alai with the head of the person who had done that to my walls. What fucking animals did I have living there? Oh. My. GOD.

T came home and we scooted out to grab a bite, and then we came home and got right to painting again. I finished cutting in the second bedroom, and he insisted that I come back to our house, get showered up, and relax a little, since I'd been working over there all day by myself. I feel slightly guilty about this, since T was on his feet all day at work, and now he's working over there, with his feet all sore from the plantar fasciitis that has been making it difficult for him to walk sometimes. I'm going to make him a batch of iced tea.

What doesn't kill you...

... makes you stronger, or so they say. Kind of like this scroungy blond "do" on Angie. It's ugly enough to kill your hairdresser over, but she managed to pucker up and make it back to hair colors (and movie roles) that actually work for her. Way to go, Angie!

T and I started in on the big project of getting the apartment clean and ready to rent last night. I attacked the scum, rust, and hair-filled bathroom, and he started prepping the rooms to get painted. I think I was actually amazed that the stuff came clean - somewhere in my head I was afraid that none of the gunge would actually come off, that it had permanently settled in and was unbeatable. Thanks to a product called "Kaboom", I found that almost everything came clean. A couple of areas needed the power of Soft Scrub with Bleach - but I was thrilled when the bathroom was sparkling clean once more. I also discovered that the bathroom fixtures don't need to be replaced - they were just so dirty that I thought they did, at first.

I moved on into the kitchen then. I sprayed the oven full of E-Z Off, and closed it up - that's a job I have to tackle today, with scouring pads and paper towels. I did clean the whole outside of the stove, and it looks new. Same with the refrigerator - scrubbed it inside and out, and it looks 100% better. Did the kitchen sink and countertops, and the windowsills.

While prepping for paint, T discovered that there is actually a pretty nice wood floor in the livingroom, under the crappy carpeting. We discussed the possibility of just having the wood floor refinished instead of recarpeting, but decided that since it's still going to be a rental, we'd carpet it to protect the wood floor until such time as we can actually live in the house ourselves. Better to let them ruin a cheap carpet than a nice wood floor!

So, I called in sick to work today - which really isn't a lie, since I've had stomach problems almost every day since the tenant fiasco... the plumber and the carpet guy are both scheduled to arrive today, and I am going to spend the time in between scrubbing the kitchen cabinets and putting down shelf liner and etc. Am gonna have to make another trip to K-Mart to get more stuff (a shower curtain rod, etc.) that we didn't know we needed until last night's close inspection.

So, it has begun. Now that we've started, and made some headway, I feel much better about things. Also, knowing that the kitchen and bathroom are clean over there makes me able to sleep at night. Sounds crazy, but even over here in my nice clean little cottage, just knowing what disgusting ooze was over in the front house made me feel like I wanted to take a shower.

Quod me nutrit me destruit. (Latin for: What nourishes me also destroys me) That has nothing to do with this post, but Angelina has this tattooed on her stomach, and I always feel a Latin quote adds something valuable to any story.

EeeYikes

It was the best of weekends, it was the worst of weekends:

The Best:

T and I got the yards and gardens ship-shape - the lawn is mowed to perfection, the roses are blooming, and the hedges are trimmed. We even got a long hoped-for project done - we cleaned out the "messy corner" of the yard at the back corner of the house, and put up a fence section that makes the back yard inaccessible to dogs/strangers/etc. It looks SO much better than it did! And now if we want to actually put a deck or patio back there, we have the room to do it. Yay!

In other good news, my dad came over for a belated Father's Day celebration yesterday, and the weather was beautiful, cool and sunny and breezy, and we ate al fresco in our newly clean and neat patio area. T made frozen melon balls (YUMMY) in these fun party glasses that we bought, with sparkly swizzle sticks, which he decorated with melon balls, slices of orange, and cherries, with a little umbrella to boot! They were almost too pretty to drink. Almost.... ha! We had a great time, and we drove down to the marina and enjoyed the breeze off the water for a little while before he headed back home.

The Bad:

Our tenants left - and proudly declared that the apartment was "clean, swept and mopped". I told them that, as per the lease, we had five days after they left to inspect, etc. and I got their new address so that the security could be mailed.

T and I said we were not going to go over there and look, because we were getting the house and dinner ready for Dad's visit, but we just couldn't stand it- we went over to see just how clean and nice they'd left the apartment. Words do not begin to describe the horror.

I heard water running when we went in. I went into the bathroom - the tub faucet is running. From the stains around the drain (which are not just stains, but three dimensional modern art) I can see why our cesspool has been filling up for the past three weeks and overflowing into our yard. They never bothered to mention that the tub faucet was not shutting off.

The toilet - I can't even really tell you how disgusting. The front of the sink vanity looks like every time someone brushed their teeth, instead of spitting it into the sink, they spit it all over the front of the vanity. You can barely see the wood.

The refrigerator has things growing on the inside of it. There's leftover food still in the freezer, sitting in a pile of green goo. The kitchen floor couldn't have been swept and mopped, because there is loose dirt and pushpins and other detritus all over it. The kitchen sink looks like they used it for a toilet when they couldn't stand to go in the bathroom any more.

I've got this place advertised as "clean and charming". Holy shit. I can't even bring prospective tenants in to look at the place until a major amount of money (that I do not have) is spent redoing EVERYTHING. This is going to set us back majorly.

I've got my digital camera battery charging as I type this. At lunch today, I'm coming home and taking pictures of that fucking mess they left. The pictures will be printed out and included in the letter I send them, (it's going to be more like a bill, actually) explaining why they are not getting their freaking security back. They OWE me money, more like!

To top it all off, they left some of their shit in the basement, they left fifteen or twenty bags of garbage (stinking, rotting food) piled up around the garbage can, which the animals tore into. T and I nearly threw up while cleaning that mess up. They also left all their shit furniture out in front of the house, at the curb. I doubt they cleared this with the village - I'm going to have to do some PR and hopefully we will not get a summons or a fine from the village because of it.

To say that I am stressed out right now is probably a real understatement. Instead of wringing my hands and running around like a chicken with its head cut off, though, I am making lists. What needs to get done first, etc.

Wish us luck.

Maybe I shouldn't have done that...

It's Friday, the weather is gorgeous, and I'm too damn lazy to write anything of consequence today... so here's a list of stupid things I've done lately.

1. Turned on the sprinkler in front of the front house when I got home from work, since the yard looked like hay. Neglected to turn off the sprinkler until THIS MORNING. I'll be lucky if the house doesn't fall into the quagmire.

2. Cooked Pad Thai last night, in the new wok that T got me - left the wok sitting with soapy water in it, instead of washing it IMMEDIATELY as per the wok instructional booklet.

3. Invited my dad over for a belated Father's Day dinner, since he spent father's day with his wife's dad. Neglected to invite my dad's wife, because she's pretty much a wet blanket and we have more fun without her - plus, she never invites me over to their house. T made me feel guilty about not inviting her, so I called my dad and said of course she was invited, I didn't mean to overlook that part (ahem)... and now she might be coming too. Rats.

4. This wasn't a stupid thing I did, but it was a stupid thing I saw yesterday. I was driving home for lunch, waiting in the turn lane for a chance to make a left onto my street. Dude comes riding a bicycle down the sidewalk, and without even looking up (he was staring straight down at the street between the handlebars) he swerves right across the intersection full of whizzing cars! Miraculously, he makes it across the first lane without getting waffled, rides right in front of the nose of my truck. There are cars whizzing past me on the right, and sure enough one of them blows the horn, stands on the brakes, skids right toward him... luckily the guy just hit the back wheel of his bike and knocked him off, right in front of a constable's car. The constable had been waiting to pull out of the 7-11 parking lot. The guy got up immediately and waved as if to say "I'm OK, leave me alone already." He looked drunk. Scared the shit out of me - it happened so fast, and there was nothing I could do about it even though I could see what was going to happen. Thank goodness the guy didn't get hurt - I would have missed Days of Our Lives! I can't believe people are so inconsiderate as to get themselves hit by cars while I'm on my way to lunch. Sheesh.

5. Erased a phone number off the note board in the kitchen, which was the number of T's mom's hospital room. Luckily, it was an old number from the first time she was in the hospital, but I didn't know that until later.

6. Put bleach in the water while washing one washcloth of the only really nice bathroom set I have. Now that one washcloth looks like a miscolored rag - the set is ruined.

I know this entry completely sucks, so you don't have to mention it. Oh, there's one more stupid thing I did: I spent all morning futzing around on my blog and now it's almost 8:15am, my hair is wet, I have no makeup on, am not dressed for work, and I have to leave here in.... half an hour. I still have to properly wash that wok and feed the inside and outside kitties. What the hell am I doing?

Girls only want guys with skills

I just want to start by saying that, like you, I would never, ever have picked up this movie off the shelf if I came across it in a video store. I would probably not have picked it up if I found it lying in the street at the foot of my driveway.

However, T and I have a few demented friends who find comfort in bringing their personal entertainment choices to our house and leaving them here for indeterminate amounts of time. We still have a huge book on tape somewhere in our storage room that we've never listened to, but if it makes them feel better to know that their treasures are safe with us, then so be it.

One of our friends happens to have generally horrific taste in movies. He's completely stuck in the 80's - still thinks "Animal House" is one of the best movies everrrrrrr. Yikes. But we like him, so we humor him, and we watch every movie he brings over, no matter how bone-grindingly painful it is. Usually we drink before we watch his movies, which helps some. Once in a while he hits the jackpot and brings a great movie.

"Napoleon Dynamite" is one of those. I'm not going to sit here and tell you what the movie is about. You just wouldn't get it. Suffice it to say that if the late 70's/early 80's were any part of your junior high or high school experience, then you will howl at this movie.

Warning: The appreciation factor starts out at a low roar. Then you think, "Jeez, so and so really oughta see this." So you watch it with a friend... and it's funnier than the first time you saw it. Then the two of you think of three other guys who would get a kick out of it, so you watch it again with those guys.... and it's fucking hysterical. Pretty soon you're going around quoting lines from the movie to people you don't even know, and the look on their faces is enough to send you into gales of laughter.

Hell, I even find myself thinking from scenes from that movie while I'm driving, while I'm at work, and I'm giggling to myself. People already think I'm nuts, so it's not ruining my rep or anything.

That's it, I'm not gonna twist your arm. If you miss out on this one, you guys are complete retards. And I'll kick your ass, because, as you already know, I'm training to be a cage fighter.

I work better when I'm naked...

Well, apparently that' s true. Got to work at the normal time this morning, even managed to get myself appropriately attired in a nice, summery dress, with matching accessories and everything. Made the coffee, got some music going, and settled in for another supremely boring day of the same old same old.

What's this? The server is down - can't get on the 'net. Our computer guy called over to say that one of the admin ladies neglected to pay our bill, so they turned off our internet service. Not to worry, service should be restored within the hour.

Everyone in my office relaxed a bit, started chatting to each other, playing solitaire, planning to go out and get some breakfast, etc. It was rather friendly in there. Then Computer Guy calls back and says well, it looks like it may be one to four hours until service is back up. Woo-hoo! The music gets turned up a little louder, and people start telling jokes, and basically farting around.

About twenty minutes later, Computer Guy strolls in and says that service will not be restored until sometime in the next 24 hours, and that the boss would like those whose functions revolve solely around the internet (me, in other words) to go home and work from there.

So I happily gathered up my things and drove the whole three minutes back to my house with a smile on my face. Perky Vegan Chick and I had just been discussing the whole concept of "Telecommuting" yesterday (with longing in our voices), and here was my very first chance to try it out firsthand! EXCELLENT.

I got home, stripped down to my unmentionables, got myself a cool drink and a hot, homemade bowl of parmesan cheese popcorn, and settled myself at my computer to get some work done. It was a priority to actually get a good chunk of real work done today, because I know that if I just screwed around all day, I'd never ever get the opportunity to present telecommuting as a viable option to the boss.

Honestly, I just adored sitting with the fan on, my feet propped up, my own bathroom and my own kitchen within easy reach, and my kitties playing around my chair. And I really did get more and better work done, because I wasn't interrupted every five seconds by people asking me stupid questions, or by the phone ringing, or by anything! I actually held on to thoughts all the way through, until they had been completed, and then moved on to the next project! I only reached a few snags with a couple of websites that I didn't have the access info to - but most of them I remembered, and got the job done. If I was to be allowed to telecommute on a regular basis, of course I'd get my notebooks and passwords from work and have everything at my disposal here at my home office.

It was honestly just what the doctor ordered... the redcoats are riding hard this week, and I just wasn't feeling up to spending the whole day in that office today. I actually considered calling in for a mental health day today, but I'm glad I got in there, because I got the change of scenery I needed AND got paid, too! Always a good thing.

Now I just have to figure out how to get the boss to realize what a great idea this is...

Joke Of The Day

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Miss Beatrice, the church organist, was in her eighties and had never been married. She was admired for her sweetness and kindness to all. One afternoon the pastor came to call on her and she showed him into her quaint sitting room. She invited him to have a seat while she prepared tea. As he sat admiring her antique pump organ, the young minister noticed a cut-glass bowl sitting on top of it.

The bowl was filled with water. In the water floated, of all things, a condom! When she returned with tea and scones, they began to chat. The pastor tried to stifle his curiosity about the bowl of water and its strange floater, but soon it got the better of him and he could no longer resist.

"Miss Beatrice", he said. "I wonder if you would tell me about this?" pointing to the bowl. "Oh, yes" she replied, "isn't it wonderful? I was walking through the park a few months ago and I found this little package on the ground. The directions said to place it on the organ, keep it wet and that it would prevent the spread of disease. Do you know, I haven't had the flu all winter."

Happy Summer Solstice!

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Today is the longest day of the year, sunlight wise. From this point on, the days will get shorter and shorter again until we are back in the throes of winter.

As the wheel of the year turns again, I wonder about some of the things that are happening in the world today...

When, if ever, will there be peace in the Middle East, or in Ireland?

Who controls the paparazzi?

Will they ever find that girl who disappeared in Aruba?

What happened to the "piano man" found in England, wandering the beaches, not knowing who he was?

Was Michael Jackson really innocent?

Is it right to send money to help people overseas when we have hungry and homeless in our own country? Or is it the same, since we are all one family on earth?

As I recall my childhood, I notice the sameness of everything... there are always questions like these, only the names change.

What to do?

* * * * *

I am in a weird place. I am trying to figure out how to be myself, an adult, living my own adult life, and how I am supposed to remain a good daughter to my mother.

Lately, my mom has been hounding me to visit/move down to NC, where she lives. I hadn't talked to her in almost a week, and decided to call her this afternoon.

She sounded depressed, and said she had been feeling very melancholy lately. She wants to travel, go places, and her husband just wants to stay home. They have 40 acres, and a huge garden, two cats and two dogs. And now her husband wants to get guinea hens. Once you start getting those kinds of animals, you can never leave home because they need daily care. You can get people to cat sit or dog sit, but nobody is going to come to your house and take care of your guinea hens. It just isn't done.

So here I am, in NY, dealing with a shitload of my own problems, and I feel bad for my mom. It's like she's lonely, even though she's married. She wants someone to go to Ireland with her, but I can't go, and so she said she just might go by herself.

For some reason that seems different than when I went to Scotland on my own (twice). For me, it was an adventure, and I wanted to go alone. It wasn't like I tried to get someone to go with me and couldn't, so I settled for going alone.

I'd like to tell her how this makes me feel, but then I risk treading into the area of, "I told you not to marry him until you got to know him better." (Which I did say, by the way, to her great displeasure, and which she completely ignored...)

She married a man 13 years her junior - which would lead you to think that perhaps he would be the one wanting to run all over the place while she begged for a little quiet time. But no, he just wants to drive his tractor, mow the meadows, feed the guinea hens. He doesn't give a hoot about Paris, or Ireland, or seeing a Broadway show. My mom has basically signed up for life with Bubba. I wonder if she's second guessing her choices now.

In any case, it makes me feel crappy. I don't want my mom to be unhappy, or lonely, and I wish there was some way I could be the friend she needs - someone to go traveling with, someone to get her out of there for a while.

The thing is, I am married now, and I love my life with T. If I was single, things would be different. But they're not. T can't travel right now, and I have already gone to Ireland without him once. I don't want to do it again.

I just feel torn, like I should be able to be two people, and be there for everyone. I just can't do it.

Calling All Positive Energies!

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T's mom is in intensive care because of breathing problems. Last month one of her lungs collapsed, and the complications have developed pretty steadily since then.

Please, if you would, take a minute and send out some good thoughts, positive energy, or prayers.

Thanks!

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Success and... that other thing

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So yesterday, T calls me at work and tells me to come and meet him as soon as I get out, and he'll take me to go get the copy of "W" magazine that I've been hankering for, and hounding the shit out of Borders Bookstore for (they still haven't got it).

The people at Borders were always loathe to discuss magazines and when they might be coming in - at least when I talked to them. I get the impression that they wish the whole magazine section of the store would just drop off into a black hole and never be seen again, so they could concentrate on real books. T has a honeyed tongue (in many ways - *evil grin*) and was able to get one of them to disclose the juicy tidbit that they actually get their mags well after the newsstands get theirs. In other words, if for some reason they never did get this magazine, it would already be out of print and gone from the newsstands, which would suck royally.

Living in Suffolk County and thus pretty far removed from NYC, we don't actually have newsstands (just bookstores that have no idea when their magazines get delivered). The nearest one we could think of was the one in the local airport. When I called over there, asking for the newsstand phone number, the helpful answer I got was, "I have no idea."

When T called and asked, he not only got the phone number to the newsstand, but got the employees to get a copy of the magazine brought from the store behind the security area to the store that's outside by the front door, so that T could buy it from them. If you knew how amazing this really is (on so many levels), you'd be... amazed.

So, thanks to T's persistence, and his dedication to helping me find all things Angie, I now have a copy of the weirdest photo spread I've ever seen. It's cool, but in a depressing 1960's kind of way. It's basically a 60-page pictorial, about a married couple with kids and the way they're each falling apart inside. Dying of ennui.

The last picture in the spread shows Angie leaning against the garage wall with her eyes closed while Brad backs the car out of the garage with a glass of whiskey in his hand... I guess we are to assume that the couple breaks up, or maybe that he's going to wrap the car around a telephone pole, or something equally disturbing.

I think my favorite picture in the bunch was the one where Brad is asleep on the bed, wearing nothing but a pair of dress slacks, with his hands tucked into the waistband like Al Bundy, and Angie is leaning over him and pulling a pistol out from under his pillow. It's not clear if she intends to use it on him or herself - but that's the tension behind each picture in the spread... you have to make the story up for yourself as you go along. Each picture could mean a lot of different things, depending on your point of reference.

So after the magazine reconnaissance mission, we went to the gym. Worked our asses off. Came home hungry. I've been on an Indian cuisine kick lately, trying all kinds of new recipes and loving them. Last night I made my favorite Indian dish for the first time... Chicken Tikka Masala. It came out really yummy, however we ended up eating at almost 11pm, and that was stupid on my part because my acid reflux kept me up all night. Dummy me.

While I was making the sauce on top of the stove, the chicken pieces were under the broiler. You have to brush them with melted butter each time you turn them. I had one of my little mixing bowls, and the special heat-resistant basting brush we bought, on the back of the stove, where I usually put things when I want to keep them warm. I guess it got a little warmer there than I had realized. Actually, when the broiler is on, all the hot air from the oven comes out a vent that is right there by the back of the stove top.

OOOOOOOOOPS!


* * *

Arcadia

Sometimes I go along simply. I don't think about every little thing that happens - it's just part of life. To quote Bonny Castle, Angie's character in "Original Sin"... "I just bought a hat. But I don't go around saying 'I just bought a hat, I just bought a hat'. What's done is done."

There are other times, though, when the smallest thing seems to have other meanings, like pieces of a puzzle clicking into place. Lately it's been one of those times.

Last night T and I went to a cozy little old-style movie theater to see "Cinderella Man". We had just had a yummy Mexican dinner, and were a little early for the show. We sat for a few moments in the chairs provided, and then decided to meander over to the small arcade across the lobby. There were a couple of lame "pick up the stuffed animal with the impossibly weak pincers" games, and there was one pretty decent shoot-em-up video game. We picked that one.

There were two red plastic pistols holstered on the front of it, and you had to put money in twice and select each player individually in order for two people to play at once. A little confusing, but I got through it okay.

Once the game started, there were all of these mutant zombies that would pop out at you from around corners, and from manhole covers, drop from the sky, etc. Peppered amongst the undead were "good guys" - women, little kids, men in suits (??). They attempted to get a storyline going by having these good characters tell you things like, "It's okay, Gary, I'll live... you must go on and save the others!" The whole point was to shoot the zombies and try to avoid shooting the good guys, who were often first seen standing in front of the zombies. Idiots.

T and I were positioned in front of the video game, our pistols double-hand gripped, our arms locked, and we were blasting away with our considerably impressive combined shooting skills. Every few seconds or so, we'd point the pistols away from the screen and pull the trigger. In video-land, this is the equivalent of reloading your weapon.

We were having so much fun. And suddenly I got that feeling again, that "this is a piece of the puzzle" feeling. Like a part of my brain stepped away from me and was watching us from a few paces back. Making commentary, making connections.

As nutty as this might sound, playing that video game was like a microcosm of our life - T and I together, watching out for each other, taking out the zombies as they came at us. Family troubles - POW, POW! Financial difficulties - BANG, WHIZ, Ooh, he got me a little on that one... Job-related woes - CRACK! WHIZZZZZ! Uh-oh, here comes money troubles again - PIZZANGGGG! Got 'im this time.

We're having fun doing it, and that's fine. But we take it seriously at the same time. Any zombie, no matter how small, needs to be dealt with, and we're doing it together. One at a time. We've got each other's backs.

When we left the arcade to go see the movie, I could feel the solidarity between us, polished and shining and warm as the handles on those red plastic pistols.

I'm Nacho Mama

It was a weird day for grocery shopping.

Saw a near fist fight in the parking lot between two guys, one of whom was shouting, "You NEVER go through a stop sign, especially in a Kullen parking lot!!" (It was a Waldbaum's parking lot, but I didn't like to mention it since they were getting on with the fight just swimmingly without that tidbit of information.) The funniest thing about this encounter was the old Asian gentleman who had wandered over to get a better view of the fight. He was standing about two feet behind the arguing pair, craning his neck to listen. I wondered if maybe he was secretly a black belt ninja who was ready to jump in and kick someone's ass if the two guys didn't part ways amicably. The ruckus died down, and he toddled off toward the hanging plants - only he knows what might have happened there.

Discovered that the grocery store does not carry green chili peppers, in any shape, form, or size. The nice but vapid grocery stock-boy was trying to explain to me that they were wrapped individually now... and I tried to explain to him that those were bell peppers, not green chili peppers. I think the only chili peppers he could have related to were the Red Hot Chili Peppers, who have absolutely nothing to do with produce.

Later, I was standing in the magazine aisle, fruitlessly searching for a copy of the new "W" mag - already called Borders, they don't have it yet either, so I don't know why I thought freakin' Waldbaum's would - and suddenly something grabbed me around the thigh. The fact that I had not seen another human being anywhere near me alarmed me, but not as much as the next thing that happened, which was a loud sound. "MOMMY!"

I looked down, and there was this cute little boy with an action figure in one hand, and a red plastic ball in the other, and he was using the toys like pincers to grab onto my leg. His dad was a few paces behind - a short, annoying guy who yelled at his kids the whole time they were in the store. He said, "THAT's not Mommy!" And the little kid and I looked at each other for a second. I said, "Hey there!" It was like we were both surprised and a little dismayed at the situation, but realized that neither one of us was really the jerk here, so he toddled off after his dad without crying, which was cool.

I did sneak a peek at his actual mom before I left the store, just so I knew whether or not to be insulted at the comparison. She was shorter than I, but very slim. I smiled all the way to my truck.

Mr. and Mrs. Smith

So - even though I didn't originally plan to, T and I went to see it on opening night! I knew I was going to love it, of course, since Angie is the queen of the screen in it. I was hoping that the plot wouldn't suck so that T would enjoy it, too.

As it turns out, the movie was much better than I expected it to be. The whole thing was tongue in cheek, and some really funny stuff. Probably the funniest thing about it was how much it reminded T and I of our relationship - the way we verbally spar, etc. It was kind of like a photographic negative of us... whereas we will use a boring trip to the grocery store to negotiate a huge conversation about something really deep or bizarre, John and Jane Smith would be discussing the color of their home furnishings in the middle of a gunfight with the enemy.

I completely dug this flick, and would suggest it to anyone who likes to laugh, likes watching everything blow up, likes chicks with knives, or likes small furry animals.

Well, okay, there may not actually be any small furry animals in this film, but almost everyone likes them. I think everyone should see this movie - so if I can sucker the animal lovers in, so much the better for my agenda - see?

Wait, wait - there was one scene where Mr. Smith dives into some bushes and then a cat screams, so technically there is a cat, or at least the voice of a cat, in this movie! AHA! There, told you so! Cat lovers will really, really like this movie. I'm fairly sure he didn't actually land on the cat. No... no, I don't think he did. I think maybe he just scared him a little. I'm sure that was it.

I left the VCR running, taping "Dateline" on NBC because Angie was going to be interviewed by Anne Curry... I was all excited to see the interview when I got home. Well, the fuck knuckles at NBC decided to put the interview on LAST, and my tape ran out before they got to the interview! Assholes. Now I've got lovely taped segments of stupid teenagers beating the shit out of each other, and some frippin' brainless bible banging hag who sent a bunch of money to those email scam artists who claim to be starving in Africa.... AAAAAAAAAAAARGH! These people are too stupid to have so much air time devoted to them, and they used up my tape that was intended for the Angelina Jolie interview! I hate them all. I wish they would put the teens who want to beat the shit out of people in the same cell with the assholes who are scamming people's money, and let'em have at it. Now THAT I wouldn't mind seeing on TV.

Luckily, you can order tapes from NBC so I will hopefully get the Angie interview after all. Oh, I know, I know, it's online and you can see the video... but we have cheap-ass dial-up, which makes the interview go something like this... "EEp....gelina....new movie, which....arp......Anne Curry sits down with An.....lets you know just how she feels about.....urp.....yeah, I really wanted.....son is the joy in her......makes me really mad when.....". I wanted to tear my hair out by the roots rather than sit and try to piece together the whole interview in my head.

I'm going to have to make it up to myself by camping out at Border's bookstore until the July issue of W magazine gets delivered there. Fark.

Christmas in June and the Mag Hunter Blues

One of the drawbacks of living in a very small cottage built in the 1920's has also turned out to be one of the good points: Lack of storage space.

At first take, this might just seem like an inconvenience - but no, gentle reader, it is an opportunity to rediscover that which you already have, as if you had never seen it. Let me 'splain... ah, there is no time... let me sum up. (Can anyone - except Bear! - tell me what movie that line is from?)

My closet is so small that if I stick my elbows out, I touch both walls. What does this mean, besides a "no square-dancing in the closet" rule? It means I can only cram the current season's clothing in there, and the rest of my clothes are banished to a large and lovely cedar chest, which is not a piece of living room furniture, but plays one on TV. Near my TV, actually.

My winter clothes have hit an all-time low, partially due to my lack of fundage for shopping, and partially due to the laundromat losing some of my key winter work pants. The other day, as the sweat took the makeup off my face as fast as I applied it, I decided it was Time To Switch The Clothing. To the delight of my cats, who love to get involved in any household project, I took all the doodads off the chest: the radio, the cd box, the glass oil lamp, the small set of bagpipes, the monk's mok-tak, the ferris-wheel picture holder, the chess set, the lamp, the brass Buddha, our wedding picture, the basket o' pens, and finally the folded hand-woven blanket that serves as a "tablecloth" to keep all the previous items from scratching the surface of my lovely chest. (Heh heh, I just said "my lovely chest"...)

Then I opened the chest, and a vision met my eyes... all my summer clothes, which I had nearly forgotten about! Summer dresses, long and light and lovely... light-colored pants, cool shirts... a veritable buffet of mixable, matchable, wearable-to-workable clothing...I was so excited! It was like Christmas in June.

I've got a lot of ironing cut out for me, though. I wash all my clothes before putting them away in the chest, but months of sitting all cooped up in there makes them lonely, so they invite wrinkles in... they're fun loving, partying kinda wrinkles, and they don't mind a small space. But now summer's here, they gotta go. Don't be sad, they'll soon make friends with the winter clothes I just put away!

My long-loved and long-worn summer shoes, woven leather flats, are (alas) no longer with me, so I am on a hunt for some pretty, comfy, low- or no-heeled shoes to go with my summer dresses. Looked at K-Mart's selection last night, which sucked ass royally... I have to find a Payless... think there's one in town.

I'm very excited - today is the release of "Mr. and Mrs. Smith", starring Angelina Jolie and what's-his-name... you know, the blond guy with the flared nostrils. I reckon we'll go see it at a Sunday matinee. Also coming out today is a new issue of "W" magazine, featuring Angie and - oh, yeah, Brad something-or-other - on the cover, with a special 50 page photo spread, where they're dressed up as a 1960's married couple. Bizarre. Can't wait!

I love Borders bookstore more than I probably should, but one thing really irks me about that place.

You can go to Borders and ask them when a book is going to be on the shelves, and they can tell you. If they're out of a book, they can tell you exactly when they will be getting another shipment. Or, they will take your name and your order and get a specific book that you want, if they don't carry it. They will also let you pre-buy books that are not actually out for sale yet, so your copy is reserved.

Those are all the reasons I love Borders. BUT... wanna try that with a magazine? No go. You can't get those people to tell you when a magazine puts out its new issues, or when they will get another delivery of magazines, nor can you pay for a magazine that you want that will be coming out soon and have them reserve a copy for you.... it totally, completely sucks. Magazines are a very fleeting commodity - they don't stay on the shelves for months the way books do, and if it's a popular issue, timing is everything. One day too late, and you're stuck trying to order back issues. Also, some magazines put their July issues out at the end of May... some mags put their June issues out, oddly enough, in June. Every mag is different, so there's no set way to know when you should be hitting the store to get your anticipated issue. To us fan/collectors, that's a big deal.

I understand why the guys at 7-11 don't know what the hell is on their magazine rack. They're too busy selling Lotto tickets and Slurpees to worry about it. But a full-service, big-name store like Borders should really get their act together where magazines are concerned. It can't be that difficult (and even if it is, just remember... the customer is always right!) Just incorporate the mags into the computer system. Count 'em in when they're delivered, the computer will take them out of inventory when they sell. Come on, people!!

And that's all I have to say about THAT.

Bumps in the road

I have not been blogging for the past few... what, days, weeks? I can't remember right now. I'm typing this on our old computer, because T is having fun with his new hobby - doing "blogshare trading" - on our faster, newer one. I save it to disk, then just upload it all at once. This computer is slow and old, but it beats not blogging at all. Besides, it ensures that I won't lose my entire entry if one of those infamous and myriad blogger.com "let's fix everything up again" campaigns happens right in the middle of my post.

I could say that I have been struck with a bout of amnesia and was found by a fishing trawler, floating face down in the ocean... I could say I've been too busy traveling the world, bringing food to the hungry, or out building homes for the homeless. Ah, but you won't settle for anything but the truth, I'm sure, so the truth you shall have. I've been depressed. Not my usual "whining about what I'd like to have that I don't have" kind of depressed, I mean the other kind. A bunch of shit has been happening, and it's the kind that I have no control over (that sounded unsettlingly like diarrhea, which is NOT what I meant) which makes me.... depressed.

I knew I was depressed this morning, just by opening my eyes and looking around me. The house looked like "who shit and ran?". The kitchen sink was full of dirty dishes. The laundry had not been taken to the laundromat. The bird feeder in the yard swung empty in the breeze. At least I think it was the bird feeder... I could hardly see it above the nodding seed heads on the tips of the unmown grass.

Even the cats were depressed. This morning, I couldn't find my black cat. I looked and looked, and when I finally did find him, he was drooping despondently atop the furnace in the storage room. The furnace hasn't been running for months, and is not putting out any heat, so I can only surmise that the cat is depressed and hiding in the closet to get away from it all. I sorta wished there was room for me up there.

But there wasn't, so I did the dishes, vacuumed the floors, and took out the stinking garbage. And I don't mean that in the vein of "whee don't need no steenking badges".... I mean the garbage STUNK. Why did I do all this at 8:30 in the morning, when I had to be at work at 9:00, you ask? Well, I had a lunch appointment with the real estate agent.

No, no, don't panic - we're not losing the house. Yet. It's just that now that our upstairs tenant has been unable to pay the rent for a month (and is not likely to be able to pay the rent next month either), it was of course perfect timing for the downstairs tenants to show up at the door on Sunday to inform us that they're moving to Florida on July 1. Oh, isn't that just grand! I don't suppose they had been PLANNING THIS FUCKING MOVE FOR MONTHS NOW, or anything. Since they waited until the 5th to notify us, we now have less than 30 days to scramble around and try to find decent, PAYING tenants.

The only good part about this is that they signed a lease agreement that said they forfeit their security deposit if they do not let us know at least 30 days in advance, specifically by the first of the month. So on both counts they welched. I suppose another good point is that when the new tenants sign, they will be charged a higher rent, to help cover the recent $400 increase on our mortgage.

There are other dire financial straits to be forded as well, but since they involve T specifically, I do not feel comfortable airing them here. Suffice it to say that had his previous marriage been avoided completely (say, for example, he decided to go firewalking barefoot instead of donning the monkey suit and saying "I do", or if he had blessedly eaten bad sushi the night before, and was therefore only able to puke his guts out on the bride-to-be instead of saying those two fateful words, or maybe if he had known that the vulture he was going to marry was a manipulative, conniving bitch extraordinaire who, even before the vows were uttered, was planning to do her goddamn level best to ruin his entire life), we would not be having the financial difficulties that we are facing now.

But, there it is. It's just shit that has to be dealt with. Challenges to be faced. I like to think that if life hands you some tough shit, then the gods must sort of favor you in some odd, left-handed-compliment kind of way. Like they think you're tougher than the people who have it easy. Like they want to see what you're really made of. Like maybe in this life you fight and struggle for every single victory, and next time around you get the golden ring. Or not. Maybe just getting through each challenge is its own reward.

Personally, I think a good reward would be getting to beat Paris Hilton senseless with a wiffle-ball bat. Why a wiffle-ball bat? Because it would take a really, really long time. But since I'm not one of the deified, I don't get to choose. And I guess it wouldn't really be a fair proposition, since she's senseless to start with. Let's just recant that and instead I'll settle for tying Shitney Spears to a chair and eating fresh, hot Krispy Kreme doughnuts in front of her, just inches out of her reach. Yeah, I think that'd do it.

There's this pair of flannel plaid pajama pants that I have worn and loved for a long time. The only thing is, each time I washed them, they would get shorter. They started out with the hems touching the floor, and they steadily crept up my ankles until they looked like high-water pants. (You have to have gone to high school in the 1980's to really appreciate that phrase.) Today, I'd had enough. Besides, it was sweltering out, and I had no shorts to wear. So I cut'em up, snip-snippety snip. I went out in the yard, and began watering, pruning, weeding, etc.

T had been mowing the front yard, and he was pushing the mower back to our yard to start bushwhacking the wildebeest out of the overgrowth. He stopped for a second, and yelled, "Did you cut those pants?" I looked back and yelled, "Nah, I told you - they keep getting shorter every time they get washed!" He got hung up for just a second, and then tipped back his head and howled. I love it when I can make him laugh like that. It made it worth the battle against crow-sized mosquitoes trying to get at my lily white gams. (You have to have gone to high school in the 1950's to really appreciate that phrase.)

So now the fun begins... I have to put new batteries in my.... (I know what you're thinking, you dirty-minded little beasts)... pager. (Hell, the other thing is high powered, it plugs in!!) To make sure I get all the pages from the real estate people, making appointments to show the apartment. Of course, it will be interesting showing the apartment, complete with the disaster that the current tenants call interior decorating. Today, on Martha Stewart: "Decorating with leftover food!"

Egads, I also have to start re-editing my lease agreement. I have to add that only one window air conditioner per bedroom is allowed, and that the windows of said bedroom ACTUALLY HAVE TO BE BLOODY WELL CLOSED while the air conditioner is in operation. (I can't believe I actually have to spell this out for people, but the only reason I'm saying it is because experience has forced it upon me.) Needless to say, we pay the utilities. I also have to add that if any stupidity exhibited by the tenant (oh, say, like FLUSHING HUNDREDS OF BABY WIPES DOWN THE GODFORSAKEN TOILET) results in monetary outlay by me in order to fix the damage, then the tenant is responsible to pay that bill. I also have to enforce the "no one but the people who sign this lease are to live here" rule. I thought when the husband's brother moved in "for a few months" that they were just helping him out while he found another apartment. Like a sucker, I just let it go. Turns out, he was there to help them get ready to move out of my apartment, but they didn't have the courtesy to let me know their plans, so I have almost no time to get new tenants lined up...

So, there you have it. Why I haven't exactly been in the "get up early and blog cheerfully" mode lately. Hell, it's all I can do to drag myself out of bed in the morning - another symptom of depression. I'm also avoiding phone calls to my mother. Just one round of her helpful advice ("Just move down here where everything is WONderful! I've already picked out the perfect house for you!") would no doubt have me climbing the walls.

Okay, I just can't leave this entry on a sour note. I have to lighten it up just a little. I celebrated Angelina Jolie's birthday on Saturday by watching "Original Sin" and "Lara Croft: Tomb Raider" (my two faves) back to back. T was cool enough to watch the first one with me (he really does love me), and then he went on the computer while I settled in for round two. Sunday night, I watched (and taped, of course) her interview with James Lipton on "Inside the Actors' Studio". What a great interview! I just love that girl. Whoops, she's 30 - she beez a WOMAN now!

My Hair

For those of you who asked to see it... here it is.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU,
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU,
HAPPY BIRTHDAY DEAR ANGIE ...
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU!!!!!!!!

Happy Birthday, you queen of the rock'n'roll girls, you beloved of the camera lens, you lippy mutha, you righteous warrior of hope, you pilot of change, you shatterer of illusions (and hearts), you seductress, you mother of the unprotected, you changer of the world, you kick-ass goddess. Happy Birthday!

***

So, I promised to participate in a "meme" - what the fark does that even mean? - about books, having been tagged by Kathy, whose blog is one of my faves. Here goes:

Total number of books I've owned: 4,613 (approximately)

Last book I bought: "Odd Thomas" by Dean Koontz. (For my husband)

Last book I read: "Lord John Grey and the Private Matter" by Diana Gabaldon

Five (plus one) books that mean a lot to me:

1. "The Bridges of Madison County" by Robert James Waller
2. The "Outlander" series by Diana Gabaldon
3. "The Secret Life of Bees " by Sue Monk Kidd
4. "The Last Unicorn" by Peter S. Beagle
5. "The Prince of Tides" by Pat Conroy
6. "The Mists of Avalon" by Marion Zimmer Bradley

I'm going to add one category of my own -

Some of my favorite authors:

1. William Shakespeare
2. Rainer Maria Rilke - poetry
3. J.K. Rowling - the "Harry Potter" books
4. Charles De Lint - wrote "Forests of the Heart", "Moonlight and Vines"
5. Stephen King


I think I'll end this little ditty with a poem by Rilke:

Again and again, however we know the landscape of love
and the little churchyard there, with its sorrowing names,
and the frighteningly silent abyss into which the others
fall: again and again the two of us walk out together
under the ancient trees, lie down again and again
among the flowers, face to face with the sky.

It's Friday (again)

***

I don't know if it's my age or the way things just happen to be going lately, but it seems that time is just flying by. It's Friday already. I mean, that's great - payday and all, but it seems like yesterday was last Friday. Time is just ripping past.

One of the weird things about that is I'm starting to realize that some of the things I always thought I would do in my life, or dreamed of doing, may never happen. I may never go to Germany and meet my relatives. I may never go to New Zealand and roam around. I may never get to fly in a fighter jet. Or have a piano.

This may sound whiney and complaining, but it's not intended to be. What I mean is, when I was younger, I just assumed that everything I wanted would come to me, in time. I had all the time in the world. The future was just this vast, endless terrain that would bring me all my dreams as I crossed it. I would pick them up, one by one, as I cruised through.

Now I'm starting to get a different sense of time. Life seems a lot shorter now, and when I think of all the things that would have to happen in order to realize some of my dreams, and I compare it to the way my life is, the financial realities I'm dealing with, and the likelihood of winning the lottery, I am getting a different perspective. Some things will just have to be let go of.

I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror this morning, as I was using a compact mirror to catch my reflection in the vanity mirror, checking the back of my hair - I hadn't put any makeup on yet, and I caught myself almost in profile. I didn't recognize the person I saw. I didn't remember having all those flaws... in my mind, I still look the way I did in college. That's not the reality, though. To keep myself from screaming and flinging myself back in bed and calling in sick, I quickly turned around and put my makeup on.

I have a couple of friends that I accuse of being "stuck in the 80's"... they are trying to hold on to the same lifestyle they lived in college, keeping the frathouse/bachelor pad thing going and playing guitar in a cover band, acting like they are going to stay young and hip forever.... except their idea of hip went out of fashion eighteen years ago. I'm realizing that while I don't live my life that way, some part of my brain is just like that. Stuck in the year when I looked the best, had all the possibilities in the world in front of me, and oblivious to all the things that might go wrong.

I love my life, and I am glad I made the choices I did - this is not a rant about being dissatisfied with what I have... it's just a realization that the way I looked at the future when I was young is no longer valid. I am growing up.

Black No. 1

Well, I don't know if it was my lust for change, or the fact that there was a "2 for $5" sale on black hair coloring, but yesterday I did it. I colored my waist-length reddish-brown hair. It's now a dark curtain. Pitch black. Really, really black. I'm getting the urge to wear my cobweb shirt today, and where the hell did I put that black eyeliner? Nothing better than bringing a little October into June, I always say.

"She's got a date at midnight, with Nosferatu.... Ah, baby, Lily Munster ain't got nothin' on you..." "Her perfume smells like burning leaves.... and every day is Halloween..." (lyrics from one of my favorite songs, "Black No. 1" by my all time favorite band, Type O Negative)

Work pretty much sucks now that I have to stick to only work related websites. T gave me some floppy disks to bring to work so I can at least write, blog, whatever, while I'm there and take it home with me. If I can't do anything creative while I'm working, it drives me insane.

Got a call from someone who saw my resume on monster, thought it was a real job, called him back - only to find out it was that same putz from the Big Financial Institution, trying to get people to "help him build teams and eventually have their own business".... yeah. Right. Why not just tell people it's draw vs. commission - but they don't. They suck you into an "interview" (read "cattle call"), they tell you they want to "meet with you" (read "stick you in a room full of other people while they broadcast a lot of blather meant to confuse you into signing up for their pyramid plan"). They have a "question and answer session" at the end (read "time where you ask questions which are skillfully swept aside with assurances that you will make lots and lots of money") and all of their representatives are extremely well dressed and friendly. Pah. I need cold, hard cash, people. I told the gentleman who called me that I'd already been to one of their little get togethers, and decided it just wasn't for me, thanks anywho.

Oh, well. It's back to the gym tonight. T and I haven't been since last Wednesday - we got caught up in the holiday spirit and now we're gonna pay! I'm looking forward to it. Feel the burn, and all that. I'll wear black because that way when I sweat, I won't get purple hair dye stains on my clothes. I used to dye my hair when I was "on the road" as a flight attendant. The hotel people probably hated me - I left all their nice shiny white towels looking like they were tie-dyed by Marilyn Manson.... hee hee! Those pillowcases were pretty screwed, too.