I am going to start exercising any day now. I can feel it. Everyday I think about taking a walk around the lake by our house, its about a 4.5 mile walk- which to me sounds like a lot but when I walk there it doesn't feel like a lot, and that is key to any workout routine I might begin. So today I really, really struggled with the question: To walk or not to walk?
I decided that the only way I would ever be able to sort this mystery out is if I had a Magic 8 Ball. Of course I didn't have one but it only took a second for me to remember my other boyfriend. The internet. Oh, the sweet sweet internet!
This is the first site that came up and it was just what I needed. I submitted my question:
Should I take a walk around the lake today?
It said: No Way!
And I was like Fuckin-A, Maybe tomorrow.
And then I started submitting all kinds of questions because life is a lot easier when someone makes decisions for you:
Will I age well? Ask again later (hm, not the best sign)
Will I find "the meaning of life"? Definitely (Rock and Roll!)
Will my kids be assholes? Definitely
Will child birth be the worst fucking thing ever? Outlook not so good (YIKES)
Will I at least have time to be drugged up before? Yes (Thank Christ)
Do I kick all other question askers asses? Absolutely!
Do the engineers of this website get to see the questions that are submitted: Definitely
Have you seen my blog: Schumanator.Blogspot.Com? Ask again later (I assume they are going to check it out)
Did you realize that that last question was shameless self-promotion? Definitely.
So I mean, the evidence is here, I don't think there is a single human being on the planet that keeps it as real as the Magic 8 Ball. Every answer I got made perfect sense.
And then I pushed my luck, which is oh-so typical:
Am I going to fucking die on the way to Europe? YES
Do you realize you keep it way too real? No Way!
You cheeky motherfucker lets take this outside? Maybe
What are you, Yellow? Ask again later
Fine, But I think we BOTH know who won this round? Maybe
Don't give me that shit, are you going to step up or not? My sources say no
In summation: I told that "Magic" 8 Ball what's what.
Schumanator is way smarter than you, huh? Definitely.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
MY SHOWER SUCKS
It has been six years since I lived somewhere that had a decent shower. Yes, six years- that is back at my mom's house before I moved away to college. In the dorms of course it was not ideal to put on shower shoes and head into the community bathroom with all of the other strangers to use the tiny, dark inadequate shower.
When I moved out of the dorms I had my very own bathroom, and it was a pretty decent bathroom. Good size, lots of storage, good water pressure, but WITHOUT FAIL each and every time I would take a shower I would have exactly two minutes before the water turned frigid and I felt like I was in some sort of army boot camp training session.
Junior year in Chico my roommates and I moved again and I was happy to try out a new shower. But true to Chico form, the house we moved to was old, and sort of jimmy rigged to be livable. It was very nice, but the bathroom did not have a toilet in it- the toilet was in a separate room at the back of the house. Not necessarily an outhouse- although at one point in history it probably was! That all wouldn't be so bad except I personally lived in the converted garage- it was comfortable (except for in the winter when I would wake up and see my breath while I was laying in bed because it was so cold.) Sleeping in the converted garage meant that I had to walk from my room, outside, then inside into the shower. Not so shabby until the rainy season when earth worms sprung up like a mother fucker and I would drag them into my carpeted converted garage.
No seriously. It was gross.
Now, ah yes, now- Our place is pretty nice here in San Francisco. Save for the bathroom that is. As if getting up to my alarm every morning against my will is not torturous enough, I have to step into a shower that has ABSOLUTELY NO WATER PRESSURE.
NONE. AT. ALL.
Oh, and I know what you're thinking- you're like, dude, Schumanator, call maintenance. Oh but I did. I did friend and the man literally looked at me dumbfounded and could not see or even understand what the problem was.
I said SIR, the problem is that I could fill my bathtub up with the SINK faster than the tub faucet. The shower stream? It is not a solid, cleansing burst of water, but rather a lazy and insultingly gentle flow.
He could do nothing, he said.
So I killed him.
There was a song by that band Goldfinger back in the day called "My Girlfriend's Shower" and some of the lyrics went:
And its got nooo press-ure.
It makes me feel like
The showers going pee.
And EVERY SINGLE morning, when I get up begrudgingly for work and brave the insolence of my shower those words go through my head over and over and over and over...
When I moved out of the dorms I had my very own bathroom, and it was a pretty decent bathroom. Good size, lots of storage, good water pressure, but WITHOUT FAIL each and every time I would take a shower I would have exactly two minutes before the water turned frigid and I felt like I was in some sort of army boot camp training session.
Junior year in Chico my roommates and I moved again and I was happy to try out a new shower. But true to Chico form, the house we moved to was old, and sort of jimmy rigged to be livable. It was very nice, but the bathroom did not have a toilet in it- the toilet was in a separate room at the back of the house. Not necessarily an outhouse- although at one point in history it probably was! That all wouldn't be so bad except I personally lived in the converted garage- it was comfortable (except for in the winter when I would wake up and see my breath while I was laying in bed because it was so cold.) Sleeping in the converted garage meant that I had to walk from my room, outside, then inside into the shower. Not so shabby until the rainy season when earth worms sprung up like a mother fucker and I would drag them into my carpeted converted garage.
No seriously. It was gross.
Now, ah yes, now- Our place is pretty nice here in San Francisco. Save for the bathroom that is. As if getting up to my alarm every morning against my will is not torturous enough, I have to step into a shower that has ABSOLUTELY NO WATER PRESSURE.
NONE. AT. ALL.
Oh, and I know what you're thinking- you're like, dude, Schumanator, call maintenance. Oh but I did. I did friend and the man literally looked at me dumbfounded and could not see or even understand what the problem was.
I said SIR, the problem is that I could fill my bathtub up with the SINK faster than the tub faucet. The shower stream? It is not a solid, cleansing burst of water, but rather a lazy and insultingly gentle flow.
He could do nothing, he said.
So I killed him.
There was a song by that band Goldfinger back in the day called "My Girlfriend's Shower" and some of the lyrics went:
And its got nooo press-ure.
It makes me feel like
The showers going pee.
And EVERY SINGLE morning, when I get up begrudgingly for work and brave the insolence of my shower those words go through my head over and over and over and over...
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Everything I know About Eggs with Two Yolks
More than anything else, people who happen upon my website by Keyword are searching for something to do with a celebrity. (Which I don't even talk about that much, unless what I am talking about is FACT- and if it is true and said celebrity comes out several days later and admits she has a problem then all is forgiven). If readers don't get here by googling "Gandolfini" odds are they are wondering what the hell is up with their double yolk egg!! Exactly how normal is it to find a yolk with two eggs? What are the odds? Is it good luck? Some of the searches include:
Odds of finding twin yolks
Odds of two yolks in one egg
Cultures who consider double egg yolk good luck
Odds of two yolk egg
Schumanator+two yolks (My personal favorite)
Two yolks in one egg + good luck
What are the odds of an egg having two yolks
Young hen lay egg with no yolk
So, since the internet is clearly lacking in double yolk egg information websites I thought I would do my internet-ery service and provide the information that I have, which is more than I had when I found BOTH of my double yolk eggs in my lunch salad.
I read somewhere online that the odds of an egg having two yolks are 1 in 1,000. Which doesn't exactly make eating one more special. Its sort of like winning the reverse lottery.
Pat says, "When young hens begin to lay eggs they are small and called "pullet eggs". As the hens grow, their eggs from their first laying season often have more than one yolk (or nucleus) as they are most fertile when they are young. As they get older, they lay eggs with only one yolk and gradually, they no longer lay one egg a day. There is nothing wrong with multiple yolks: if fertilized, they would lead to twins, etc."
Nothing wrong except it forces you to think about how at one time those eggs you were eating were destined to be CHICKENS- and one is okay- one, we are used to, society allows us to overlook the fact that we are aborting chickens, but when there are two....IIIII don't know, it starts to get kind of....icky.
Odds of finding twin yolks
Odds of two yolks in one egg
Cultures who consider double egg yolk good luck
Odds of two yolk egg
Schumanator+two yolks (My personal favorite)
Two yolks in one egg + good luck
What are the odds of an egg having two yolks
Young hen lay egg with no yolk
So, since the internet is clearly lacking in double yolk egg information websites I thought I would do my internet-ery service and provide the information that I have, which is more than I had when I found BOTH of my double yolk eggs in my lunch salad.
I read somewhere online that the odds of an egg having two yolks are 1 in 1,000. Which doesn't exactly make eating one more special. Its sort of like winning the reverse lottery.
Pat says, "When young hens begin to lay eggs they are small and called "pullet eggs". As the hens grow, their eggs from their first laying season often have more than one yolk (or nucleus) as they are most fertile when they are young. As they get older, they lay eggs with only one yolk and gradually, they no longer lay one egg a day. There is nothing wrong with multiple yolks: if fertilized, they would lead to twins, etc."
Nothing wrong except it forces you to think about how at one time those eggs you were eating were destined to be CHICKENS- and one is okay- one, we are used to, society allows us to overlook the fact that we are aborting chickens, but when there are two....IIIII don't know, it starts to get kind of....icky.
Monday, July 28, 2008
Bloggers You Are Not
Really? 78% of my readers say, flat out, NO- they will never start a blog? These are the results of my last poll. My dear, loyal, bountiful fan base has overwhelming voted that they will never start a blog. I was sitting next to Jon when he cast his vote and it was a solid NO straight away with no hesitation. He just doesn't have a lot of time: "I have a whole lot of nerdy hobbies."
Well let me just say to the 22% of you that said you might: Bully for you! You're a go getter that knows what you want in life and are determined to get it. You realize that it is not about how many people read your blog (although lots read mine) but it is about expression. You do not feel pressure to update daily but rather when the spirit moves you. Congratulations, You're a Winner!
I think I know who I should ask though...Cause you know she would give an unequivocal yes...Is that Bessy freakin' Bad Ass. She would TOTALLY blog it up.
Well let me just say to the 22% of you that said you might: Bully for you! You're a go getter that knows what you want in life and are determined to get it. You realize that it is not about how many people read your blog (although lots read mine) but it is about expression. You do not feel pressure to update daily but rather when the spirit moves you. Congratulations, You're a Winner!
I think I know who I should ask though...Cause you know she would give an unequivocal yes...Is that Bessy freakin' Bad Ass. She would TOTALLY blog it up.
Saturday, July 26, 2008
My Cilantro Runneth Over
When Summer started I decided it was warm and sunny enough to try my luck at some potted plants out front. To my great surprise my plants are doing really well-
When I planted these I added some cilantro in the big pot along with some flowers and other greenery and it got huge! We had so much, and it smelled SO good that I made a little cilantro bouquet in anticipation of concocting a salsa the next day.
While I was cutting the white onion the fumes were so intensely unbearable that I actually had to rinse my eyes out. After I rinsed them however, I rubbed them with my fingers which did nothing other than JAM the painful onion fume further into my pores and eye balls.
I started stumbling around- reaching for the nearest piece of furniture- wondering if this was a way that one might go blind. OH THE AGONY! Eventually the pain subsided but only after I put on my sunglasses and finished the chopping.
I have a sort of unspoken competition with my neighbor who tries to liven up her front porch with flowers too. I have to say that I have won with flying colors. So when I spent like a hundred bucks in plants today to spruce up the other side of our front porch, it felt more like a victory lap than a financial burden. I didn't want to go as far as to gloat and take a new picture of my "garden" while it was still light outside. But I did ask Jon to take a picture of the neighbor's plants through our mailbox slot. To my great surprise...He did it.
(I think it's clear)
** Updated to add. We took a walk later on in the evening. And nobody was looking....and, well...I gloat.
When I planted these I added some cilantro in the big pot along with some flowers and other greenery and it got huge! We had so much, and it smelled SO good that I made a little cilantro bouquet in anticipation of concocting a salsa the next day.
While I was cutting the white onion the fumes were so intensely unbearable that I actually had to rinse my eyes out. After I rinsed them however, I rubbed them with my fingers which did nothing other than JAM the painful onion fume further into my pores and eye balls.
I started stumbling around- reaching for the nearest piece of furniture- wondering if this was a way that one might go blind. OH THE AGONY! Eventually the pain subsided but only after I put on my sunglasses and finished the chopping.
I have a sort of unspoken competition with my neighbor who tries to liven up her front porch with flowers too. I have to say that I have won with flying colors. So when I spent like a hundred bucks in plants today to spruce up the other side of our front porch, it felt more like a victory lap than a financial burden. I didn't want to go as far as to gloat and take a new picture of my "garden" while it was still light outside. But I did ask Jon to take a picture of the neighbor's plants through our mailbox slot. To my great surprise...He did it.
(I think it's clear)** Updated to add. We took a walk later on in the evening. And nobody was looking....and, well...I gloat.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Bessy Bad Ass
My grandmother Bess is one of a kind. I have never met anyone quite like her and I doubt that I ever will. She is clever, wickedly funny at times, and regardless of how old she is, she somehow always has her finger on the pulse of society.
Now, don't get me wrong, she is not at home watching MTV and thinking about how awesome it is that the bob haircut is back. But she is more internet savvy than most adults- regardless of age. She has a whole computer setup in her apartment and she has even gone as far as to set her homepage to CNN. As if being able to navigate a whole new technical world was not sweet enough for one of America's Finest Senior Citizens, she sends out emails like a grandfather clock tells time- Every hour on the hour I have a new forwarded message in my inbox and these are not news snippets. These are chain letters, jokes, clever and sometimes moving essays- you get the idea, all from my dear grandmother- whose email address is Bessy Bad Ass.
One time, when I was in elementary school Bessy Bad Ass had to take me to soccer practice. It was a ride just like any other until she realized that we had gotten off at the wrong exit. Most people would have continued in the wrong direction until the first opportunity to turn around, but those people are not bad asses. No, my grandma just decided to veer left and DRIVE HER TOYOTA CRESSIDA DOWN THE ICE-PLANT EMBANKMENT in order to rejoin the FREEWAY. And let me just say that it was not a tiny little bump with some greenery, it was a hill that was fully populated in thick iceplant. It was totally shocking, but at the same time I was a kid- I figured, Shit, she's an adult- she knows what she's doing.
But apparently that nice police officer that happened to be on that very same freeway didn't think so. Gramma got pulled over and the policeman was totally beside himself. He was talking to her like a concerned parent that had just watched their kid walk in the middle of the road. Bessy Bad Ass just played dumb- she said, "Well Officer, I'm not from around here" (As though driving down an embankment was legal where she came from). And get this- He didn't even give her a ticket!! He said, and I quote: "I'm going to go ahead and let you off with a triple warning."
When I got home I told my mom all about it and she just laughed and laughed when I said the words "triple warning". I was like, What dude? He said that. She goes, "There's no such thing! Thats like a double dog dare!"
Now, don't get me wrong, she is not at home watching MTV and thinking about how awesome it is that the bob haircut is back. But she is more internet savvy than most adults- regardless of age. She has a whole computer setup in her apartment and she has even gone as far as to set her homepage to CNN. As if being able to navigate a whole new technical world was not sweet enough for one of America's Finest Senior Citizens, she sends out emails like a grandfather clock tells time- Every hour on the hour I have a new forwarded message in my inbox and these are not news snippets. These are chain letters, jokes, clever and sometimes moving essays- you get the idea, all from my dear grandmother- whose email address is Bessy Bad Ass.
One time, when I was in elementary school Bessy Bad Ass had to take me to soccer practice. It was a ride just like any other until she realized that we had gotten off at the wrong exit. Most people would have continued in the wrong direction until the first opportunity to turn around, but those people are not bad asses. No, my grandma just decided to veer left and DRIVE HER TOYOTA CRESSIDA DOWN THE ICE-PLANT EMBANKMENT in order to rejoin the FREEWAY. And let me just say that it was not a tiny little bump with some greenery, it was a hill that was fully populated in thick iceplant. It was totally shocking, but at the same time I was a kid- I figured, Shit, she's an adult- she knows what she's doing.
But apparently that nice police officer that happened to be on that very same freeway didn't think so. Gramma got pulled over and the policeman was totally beside himself. He was talking to her like a concerned parent that had just watched their kid walk in the middle of the road. Bessy Bad Ass just played dumb- she said, "Well Officer, I'm not from around here" (As though driving down an embankment was legal where she came from). And get this- He didn't even give her a ticket!! He said, and I quote: "I'm going to go ahead and let you off with a triple warning."
When I got home I told my mom all about it and she just laughed and laughed when I said the words "triple warning". I was like, What dude? He said that. She goes, "There's no such thing! Thats like a double dog dare!"
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
My Generation
I work for a company that does online promotions. That being said we are obviously online and moreover on computers all the time. Non-stop even, like many other cubicle dwellers. And friend, do you know what I just love? I love when someone at work that is 50 years old or older comes over to my cube to talk about something. We look to my computer for reference and this person says: "Oh, you know you can just roll the ball on the mouse and it will zoom faster."
Seems like a strange thing to love, but I I love this situation because what this person doesn't realize is that my generation has been surrounded by computers for so long that we are practically half computers ourselves. I was born in 1984: They gave us laptops in the womb. I learned how to use a qwerty keyboard before I drew my first breath. I copy and pasted my birth certificate into a word doc...just for a back up.
I think about this a lot. In the time that I was in elementary school- Kindergarten to 5th grade- the world totally changed because of computers. Early on in school teachers would ask the class, 'Who has access to a computer?' By the end of elementary school the thinking was more like 'If you don't have a computer, Find one.' The computer lab was like a teet from which to draw our electronic nutrients and we paid weekly visits.
The Oregon Trail taught us more about ourselves and about life than all of middle school combined. Dysentery? Floods? Oxen dying? Bad weather? Shooting animals? Drowning? Luckily it wasn't the Donner Party game...I don't think we were old enough for those kinds of decisions.
Monday, July 21, 2008
Things that are currently rocking my fucking socks off (and other assorted goodness)
1. Internet high five for the longest blog entry title so far! (Slap)
2. Today I bought an awesome new backpack for our upcoming trip! Are we backpacking? No, But Jon tells me its just easier to carry your stuff around like this, and frankly I've always wanted one! (Mom says: I thought you were supposed to be saving)
3. Here is a photo of that awesome backpack that I bought today that was in fact, already figured into the budget. ('Nother high five...(Slap!)):
4. One day like maybe 8 months ago, maybe longer -who knows anymore- We got some legal looking thing that, bottom line, as far as we were concerned meant that somewhere, many many moons down the line, we might be able to get a piece of a settlement in a lawsuit against our apartment complex. They offered something called "bonus bucks" when we moved in, which basically was like a monthly $300 credit for a year or something. But After that year the rent went up and apparently something about this was illegal. We filled out the paperwork thinking, Yes, it would definitely be sweet to get a bunch of money randomly one day, but pretty much forgot all about it. And hand to heaven we got a couple of letters in the mail today saying that there is a handsome European bonus headed our way.
INTERNET HIGH FIVE, IF YOU PLEASE! SSLLLLLAAAAPPP.
5. Also, one time when I was maybe a sophomore in high school I obliged a telephone surveyor with a few minutes of my time. She assured me that I would receive a small cash reward, "enough for a donut and a coffee" in the mail and I was like "Ya, Whateva Lady". Then 8 weeks down the line I got like Thirteen Bucks CASH in the mail! (Elyse, I know this recently happened to you, sit tight sister- the money is coming!)
6. Our neighbors recently added two dogs to their family and now with 4 animals total (they have 2 cats) they have officially taken the title of Doolittle Household on our block. An honor we don't mind passing on. Anyhoo, they bought their tiny dog a huge dog bed and they just didn't have room for it. So they asked if we wanted it. And I was like "Hecks Ya we want that!"
7. There is a 'reality' show called "From G's to Gents" on MTV and a guy from my high school that always exhibited interesting fashion decisions and a unique sense of self decided to participate. I almost cannot handle this it is so hilarious.
2. Today I bought an awesome new backpack for our upcoming trip! Are we backpacking? No, But Jon tells me its just easier to carry your stuff around like this, and frankly I've always wanted one! (Mom says: I thought you were supposed to be saving)
3. Here is a photo of that awesome backpack that I bought today that was in fact, already figured into the budget. ('Nother high five...(Slap!)):
4. One day like maybe 8 months ago, maybe longer -who knows anymore- We got some legal looking thing that, bottom line, as far as we were concerned meant that somewhere, many many moons down the line, we might be able to get a piece of a settlement in a lawsuit against our apartment complex. They offered something called "bonus bucks" when we moved in, which basically was like a monthly $300 credit for a year or something. But After that year the rent went up and apparently something about this was illegal. We filled out the paperwork thinking, Yes, it would definitely be sweet to get a bunch of money randomly one day, but pretty much forgot all about it. And hand to heaven we got a couple of letters in the mail today saying that there is a handsome European bonus headed our way.
INTERNET HIGH FIVE, IF YOU PLEASE! SSLLLLLAAAAPPP.
5. Also, one time when I was maybe a sophomore in high school I obliged a telephone surveyor with a few minutes of my time. She assured me that I would receive a small cash reward, "enough for a donut and a coffee" in the mail and I was like "Ya, Whateva Lady". Then 8 weeks down the line I got like Thirteen Bucks CASH in the mail! (Elyse, I know this recently happened to you, sit tight sister- the money is coming!)
6. Our neighbors recently added two dogs to their family and now with 4 animals total (they have 2 cats) they have officially taken the title of Doolittle Household on our block. An honor we don't mind passing on. Anyhoo, they bought their tiny dog a huge dog bed and they just didn't have room for it. So they asked if we wanted it. And I was like "Hecks Ya we want that!"
7. There is a 'reality' show called "From G's to Gents" on MTV and a guy from my high school that always exhibited interesting fashion decisions and a unique sense of self decided to participate. I almost cannot handle this it is so hilarious.
The World as we Know it has Ended
Halfway through my drive to work today I had reached my personal threshold in terms of tolerating the morning talk shows. I turned on the Beatles White Album, Disc One which has been in my car for 6 months now (literally). I clicked on the seek button to go back to the beginning of song number 13, Rocky Raccoon (which I am like so loving these days) and the cd player said....Err.
As in, "Err, did you want me to play your cd? 'Cause, err, I don't think I will"
Now I am not a fan of guns in general, but if I were to have a gun it would be a pearl handled revolver. And if I had said pearl handle revolver I would have aimed it straight at my cd player this morning and shot it for its insolence.
As in, "Err, did you want me to play your cd? 'Cause, err, I don't think I will"
Now I am not a fan of guns in general, but if I were to have a gun it would be a pearl handled revolver. And if I had said pearl handle revolver I would have aimed it straight at my cd player this morning and shot it for its insolence.
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Lazy Weekend
It only takes about three days for our house to descend into total chaos so I spent some time cleaning today to avoid that. I even convinced Jon to clear off the table that had slowly started to build up with touch-screen flotsam and jetsam.
But within thirty minutes I had taken it over with my own stuff...
Since I don't have much to report I'll leave you with a photo of the other prints that I bought at the Renegade Craft Fair~
Just over a month until Europe! Note to self: Start elaborate and in-your-face style countdown calendar on blog.
But within thirty minutes I had taken it over with my own stuff...
Since I don't have much to report I'll leave you with a photo of the other prints that I bought at the Renegade Craft Fair~
Just over a month until Europe! Note to self: Start elaborate and in-your-face style countdown calendar on blog.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Tipping. Not Just a City in China.
I used to think that the word TIP meant "To Insure Promptness". An old roommate told me that and lord knows how many people I told, but that is not where the word came from. The word originates from the 16th century verb tip which means 'to give unexpectedly'.
These days its hard to give unexpected tips because there are so many instances in the United States that tipping has become the social norm. You know, some places in Asia consider a tip an insult but never the less when my hairdresser butchers my hair again I still give her a little extra something. Not because I feel like she just rocked my world or anything but because both she and I know that a tip is what is expected. We've set a precedent see, so there's nothing we can do.
Also, when we went to this restaurant I went into the ladies room and when I got out of the stall (Just number one, don't worry) there was a sort of dodgey looking sink that didn't really fit in. Through an open doorway was a marble counter top, fresh flowers, gold finishing kind of wash room. Without thinking about it, and ignoring the old woman that was trying to coax me into this bathroom paradise I went straight to the dodgey sink, I'm guessing because it looked way more like my own bathroom at home. The old woman actually gave me a bad look like I had done something wrong and that was when I realized that she was working for tips. FOR WHAT I ASK YOU? To hand me a paper towel? I totally appreciate it but I'm fairly certain I can handle that seemingly insurmountable task on my own. I will stick with my peasant's sink, thank you very much.
Don't get me wrong of course, I am not opposed to tipping people for a great job, in fact I happen to consider myself a generous tipper. Come to think of it...I'm pretty sure that in America....Bloggers accept tips.
Its customary.
These days its hard to give unexpected tips because there are so many instances in the United States that tipping has become the social norm. You know, some places in Asia consider a tip an insult but never the less when my hairdresser butchers my hair again I still give her a little extra something. Not because I feel like she just rocked my world or anything but because both she and I know that a tip is what is expected. We've set a precedent see, so there's nothing we can do.
Also, when we went to this restaurant I went into the ladies room and when I got out of the stall (Just number one, don't worry) there was a sort of dodgey looking sink that didn't really fit in. Through an open doorway was a marble counter top, fresh flowers, gold finishing kind of wash room. Without thinking about it, and ignoring the old woman that was trying to coax me into this bathroom paradise I went straight to the dodgey sink, I'm guessing because it looked way more like my own bathroom at home. The old woman actually gave me a bad look like I had done something wrong and that was when I realized that she was working for tips. FOR WHAT I ASK YOU? To hand me a paper towel? I totally appreciate it but I'm fairly certain I can handle that seemingly insurmountable task on my own. I will stick with my peasant's sink, thank you very much.
Don't get me wrong of course, I am not opposed to tipping people for a great job, in fact I happen to consider myself a generous tipper. Come to think of it...I'm pretty sure that in America....Bloggers accept tips.
Its customary.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Part Deux
So, Be sure to check out the blog below- I had no intention of posting two today, but I came across the most HILARIOUS YouTube video I think I have ever seen. If you don't have sound at work, watch it at home, you will not believe the fall this model takes but the funniest part is how hard the news casters are laughing.
1943 Guide to Hiring Women
Friends, the time as come. We finally have an official total on our tie breaking poll. Should I talk about our obligation to tip even when tipping does not seem appropriate? or should I talk about the real-life actual guide from 1943 to hiring women? The people have spoken and they have said loud and clear: WE WANT TO HEAR ABOUT HOW WOMEN WERE SHIT ON FOR A GREAT PART OF HISTORY.
And you shall have it my dears.
The truth is that both of these ideas were recommended by women that I love. While one of them may very well have sent an email blast out to have their friends vote, there was nothing in the official rules that stated that such activity was not allowed and frankly the Bloganator had more votes than ever, so I am not complaining. Therefore, I leave you with a few key points to keep in mind when hiring women, courtesy of the July 1943 issue Transportation Magazine.
1. Pick young married women. They usually have more of a sense of responsibility than their unmarried sisters, they're less likely to be flirtatious, they need the work or they wouldn't be doing it, they still have the pep and interest to work hard and to deal with the public efficiently.
Older married women are tired of the bullshit and less likely to give a fuck about the public.
2. When you have to use older women, try to get ones who have worked outside the home at some time in their lives. Older women who have never contacted the public have a hard time adapting themselves and are inclined to be cantankerous and fussy. It's always well to impress upon older women the importance of friendliness and courtesy.
If you must hire one of these cantankerous and fussy she-devils, be sure to never look her in the eye.
3. General experience indicates that "husky" girls - those who are just a little on the heavy side - are more even tempered and efficient than their underweight sisters.
Note: If they are more than "a little" on the heavy side or perhaps lack the ability to put on weight, they are just downright counter productive and should not be taken seriously.
4. Retain a physician to give each woman you hire a special physical examination - one covering female conditions. This step not only protects the property against the possibilities of lawsuit, but reveals whether the employee-to-be has any female weaknesses which would make her mentally or physically unfit for the job.
Also ask said physician if there is something wrong with your prostate because you are clearly a big pain in the ass.
5. Stress at the outset the importance of time. the fact that a minute or two lost here and there makes serious inroads on schedules. Until this point is gotten across, service is likely to be slowed up.
Oh my god! You mean, like, I can't, like, just...sit here? But, like...You didn't say that, when you, like...hired me? Meanie!
6. Give the female employee a definite day-long schedule of duties so that they'll keep busy without bothering the management for instructions every few minutes. Numerous properties say that women make excellent workers when they have their jobs cut out for them, but that they lack initiative in finding work themselves.
This is true. We women need big strong men like you to come and tell us like...what...we should....be doing? If we feel like we don't have a purpose we will start braiding each other's hair and playing patty cake and flirting with the married men.
7. Whenever possible, let the inside employee change from one job to another at some time during the day. Women are inclined to be less nervous and happier with change.
Honestly, I don't even understand what this is saying exactly and why it is female specific so I'm going to spare you the profane and sarcastic response.
8. Give every girl an adequate number of rest periods during the day. You have to make some allowances for feminine psychology. A girl has more confidence and is more efficient if she can keep her hair tidied, apply fresh lipstick and wash her hands several times a day.
Otherwise we just feel icky.
9. Be tactful when issuing instructions or in making criticisms. Women are often sensitive; they can't shrug off harsh words the way men do. Never ridicule a woman - it breaks her spirit and cuts off her efficiency.
"It breaks her spirit" sounds like something you would say about a horse.
10. Be reasonably considerate about using strong language around women. Even though a girl's husband or father may swear vociferously, she'll grow to dislike a place of business where she hears too much of this.
And then she'll put a fucking HEX on the place. Because all women are witches.
(Quote from mom: "I can't believe all these people read your blog and yet you are still so VULGAR"...I shan't be censored mother, I've told you.)
11. Get enough size variety in operator's uniforms so that each girl can have a proper fit. This point can't be stressed too much in keeping women happy.
Really, this is all it takes. As long as our uniforms fit we seriously don't notice anything else. NOTHING. This cannot be stressed enough.
Tomorrow's Blog: Tipping. Not Just a City in China. (Because frankly I was going to write about them both anyway)
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Sit Ons
I think that the opposite of being laid off must be to be sat on. And since it is opposite day I am inclined to say that a handful of people at my work did not get sat on today.
Yes its true. (No longer opposite day). I got in to work this morning and only 4 people had arrived. It was only a few minutes before I realized that two of those four people had just been laid off, they were upset, totally surprised and cleaning out their desks. At first I thought that maybe it was something that they had done, perhaps they were having a secret affair, or maybe they weren't performing up to company standards. Then someone told me that a bunch of our sales people were laid off as well, and even the president of the company, and also the last person hired that just didn't have a chance to prove herself.
Obviously this is not ideal, I really do like my job a lot. In fact, my whole last entry- you know, about killing time at work. That was all bullshit. I have ZERO time to waste at work, seriously. Work work work. That's all I do.
We all got emails from the COO assuring us that if we were still there, our jobs were safe and that we could meet her in the conference room with any questions. A lot of people did, a few asked questions but people mostly listened. Everyone left feeling pretty unsure, but in the end we were glad to have our jobs another day.
Stay tuned on that one.
Yes its true. (No longer opposite day). I got in to work this morning and only 4 people had arrived. It was only a few minutes before I realized that two of those four people had just been laid off, they were upset, totally surprised and cleaning out their desks. At first I thought that maybe it was something that they had done, perhaps they were having a secret affair, or maybe they weren't performing up to company standards. Then someone told me that a bunch of our sales people were laid off as well, and even the president of the company, and also the last person hired that just didn't have a chance to prove herself.
Obviously this is not ideal, I really do like my job a lot. In fact, my whole last entry- you know, about killing time at work. That was all bullshit. I have ZERO time to waste at work, seriously. Work work work. That's all I do.
We all got emails from the COO assuring us that if we were still there, our jobs were safe and that we could meet her in the conference room with any questions. A lot of people did, a few asked questions but people mostly listened. Everyone left feeling pretty unsure, but in the end we were glad to have our jobs another day.
Stay tuned on that one.
Monday, July 14, 2008
Murdering Time
The nice part about having a cubicle and computer of my own for the 8 hours that I am at work is the agency I have to do whatever the fuck I want. Seriously, Never have I been more up to date on the latest scientific research, or the state of the stock market or even the cause of algal blooms. I have wikipedia'd the most random and amazing things while trudging through idle minutes. Ever heard of the Narwhal? Fascinating creature. Ever wondered about Edgar Cayce and his special abilities? Have you pondered why the Netherlands represent ORANGE like nobody's business? Or how about the sun dog light phenomenon, or even the personal history of Spike Lee? If so, lets talk...I have answers for you.
Killing time at work is a bit of an art form, is it not? Especially when your desk sits on the outer edges of the cubicle complex like mine does. Just behind me is the community printer and supply room and just to the left of that is the door. If you are coming in and out of the room, need copies, or would like to stock up on those awesome colorful pens we get, you have to stand behind my cubicle. Which probably rules for you because you get to look at my fine ass the whole time, but its not so fun for me. Do I want to have to exit out of the column about Amy Winehouse beating up her bodyguard every time you walk by? No. But am I obligated to? Sort of, yes. Equally as frustrating, I know you do not need anything from the supply room. You were just there yesterday and the day before that and the day before that. (Why can't you just kill time at your desk like the rest of us?) But I understand that there is only so much that one can do at a desk in terms of killing time.
Therefore, some of my other activities include:
1. Going to the bathroom- no one can ever call you out on that, its a safe solid bet.
2. Grabbing a beverage. So what if I've had 6 Dr Peppers today, they're on the house and it allows me to:
3. Throw said beverage container away. Yes- I do have a recycle bin at my desk but then I would not be able to take the 30 second walk I so long for.
4. Sanitizing my work area. SO not my style, but desperate times call for desperate measures.
5. Making unnecessary to-do lists with the awesome company pens.
So, like...What do you do to kill time at work? If I get some good ones I'll post a "best of" list. (TIP: Try not to say anything that will get you fired. Lots of readers out there, you never know...)
Killing time at work is a bit of an art form, is it not? Especially when your desk sits on the outer edges of the cubicle complex like mine does. Just behind me is the community printer and supply room and just to the left of that is the door. If you are coming in and out of the room, need copies, or would like to stock up on those awesome colorful pens we get, you have to stand behind my cubicle. Which probably rules for you because you get to look at my fine ass the whole time, but its not so fun for me. Do I want to have to exit out of the column about Amy Winehouse beating up her bodyguard every time you walk by? No. But am I obligated to? Sort of, yes. Equally as frustrating, I know you do not need anything from the supply room. You were just there yesterday and the day before that and the day before that. (Why can't you just kill time at your desk like the rest of us?) But I understand that there is only so much that one can do at a desk in terms of killing time.
Therefore, some of my other activities include:
1. Going to the bathroom- no one can ever call you out on that, its a safe solid bet.
2. Grabbing a beverage. So what if I've had 6 Dr Peppers today, they're on the house and it allows me to:
3. Throw said beverage container away. Yes- I do have a recycle bin at my desk but then I would not be able to take the 30 second walk I so long for.
4. Sanitizing my work area. SO not my style, but desperate times call for desperate measures.
5. Making unnecessary to-do lists with the awesome company pens.
So, like...What do you do to kill time at work? If I get some good ones I'll post a "best of" list. (TIP: Try not to say anything that will get you fired. Lots of readers out there, you never know...)
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Keepin' Up Shop
I was over at the Fort Mason Center, which overlooks the Golden Gate Bridge and Alcatraz this weekend- I went to the Renegade Craft Fair with Jon's sister Joanna, her friend and their kids Liam and Marin (Who are both adorable, by the by) and I had a quick second to take a few photos before I met up with them.
I saw so much cute stuff at each and every booth at the fair that I seriously could have gone nuts and bought a whole new, handmade life. I decided that I would not feel guilty as long as I bought things for our house. Not clothes or jewelry, but stuff to hang up or enjoy together. So I bought a few prints that I LOVE and later in the day bought a few cheap frames (Aaron Brothers is having a buy one-get one for a penny sale!) and some thick water color paper to make borders out of...
I bought a couple other smaller prints that I love equally as much that hang just to the right of the bookshelf.
What with all of the crafty goodness and the new found fabulousness, I felt like a big cleaning and rearranging was in order. Luckily, when Jon built this bookshelf, we measured it to fit this particular nook, just in case we ever wanted to move it to this spot. I'm trying to find some new fun thing to put on the top of it...We've had these drums up forever, and we're thinking, wait for it....A lantern collection? (My mom just said, Jesus Christ). I don't know, I think it would be fun if some of them could light up.
We got this table from Ikea not too long ago, its actually oak, rather than the particle board you usually get with Ikea furniture and we can expand it to fit like 16 people (still not enough, but whatever). And Jon, of course built this mirror as well. We have a few cool plates and whatnot that we want to hang up in this room but I haven't found the hooks we need to do it yet.
So I'm starting to like totally heart the downstairs of our place. (upstairs needs a miracle.)
Friday, July 11, 2008
Get OFF of Me
I like to dance just as much as the next guy. Really I do. In my mind's eye I am the best dancer in the world. I can imagine myself doing the jitterbug, the waltz, the roger rabbit, and the Virginia reel. I have even been known to say that I would like the first dance at my wedding as husband and wife to be the Thriller dance.
But its my generation that ruins this for me. My generation that must be told to cover their nipples and other areas that are not meant to be exposed while dancing unless your partner is a pole. My generation that forces hardworking teachers to chaperon school dances to their horror: Gone are the days of the "I need to be able to fit a ruler between you two kids" mania. Now teachers merely hand out condoms and hope for the best.
You think I'm joking.
The chances of being impregnated on the dance floor are higher than ever.
In researching this entry I even found a forum that had been started by a confused and embarrassed young man that said he was GRINDING (yes, isn't that lovely, grinding) a co-ed and she kept pressing her body into his and when he pulled her a little more tightly towards him she looked horrified and avoided him the rest of the night.
Yes ladies, backing your ass up into a guy's crotch to the point that he feels violated just SCREAMS "get away from me psycho."
So in general I avoid dance floors like the plague but now you know: If you ever catch me on one dont even think about getting closer than 12 inches from me. and if your hand finds its way to my ass I will chop it off faster than you can say misdemeanor.
and do not. I repeat, do not. "freak" me.
and do not grind on me either. that is disgusting.
But its my generation that ruins this for me. My generation that must be told to cover their nipples and other areas that are not meant to be exposed while dancing unless your partner is a pole. My generation that forces hardworking teachers to chaperon school dances to their horror: Gone are the days of the "I need to be able to fit a ruler between you two kids" mania. Now teachers merely hand out condoms and hope for the best.
You think I'm joking.
The chances of being impregnated on the dance floor are higher than ever.
In researching this entry I even found a forum that had been started by a confused and embarrassed young man that said he was GRINDING (yes, isn't that lovely, grinding) a co-ed and she kept pressing her body into his and when he pulled her a little more tightly towards him she looked horrified and avoided him the rest of the night.
Yes ladies, backing your ass up into a guy's crotch to the point that he feels violated just SCREAMS "get away from me psycho."
So in general I avoid dance floors like the plague but now you know: If you ever catch me on one dont even think about getting closer than 12 inches from me. and if your hand finds its way to my ass I will chop it off faster than you can say misdemeanor.
and do not. I repeat, do not. "freak" me.
and do not grind on me either. that is disgusting.
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Adding to my Resume
Mmmkay, I don't mean to be a stickler but I totally found a typo in my copy of Harry Potter and The Chamber of Secrets, Chapter 16: The Chamber of Secrets, Page 283..
"Professorr McGonagall restored it with a wave of her own wand, and turned, frowning, to Seamus."
Pretty sure both England AND the United States spell PROFESSOR with one "R" at the end.
(Another new entry below...how's that for service?)
Motherland.
I called Jon yesterday around my lunch break, as I usually do, just to check in and see what was up- you know, make sure the animals were still alive, that the house hadn't flooded and that nothing had accidentally caught fire.
(Just kidding Darling, you KILL it!) After a moment on the phone he caught me off guard with one simple sentence:
I have a surprise for you.
Um. so like........WHAT IS IT?! I said.
He refused to tell me.
Is it a THING? an OBJECT? Or like, is it a plan? Did your company get more funding? What is it?
You'll see, he said. So we hung up the phone and I went back to my desk.
A few minutes later he was online and we were chatting...
Schumanator: So, like. Its not a thing?
Jon: Dude, I'm not going to tell you until we are ON the tennis courts about to play tennis.
Schumanator: Why not?
Jon: Cuz Man.
Schumanator: Well, don't make a big deal if its not a big deal. I won't be able to handle that. Did you go nuts and hook me up with a crazy car stereo system?
Jon: No Schuman, I did not pimp your fucking ride.
Schumanator: Is it like, an idea?
Jon: More like a state of mind. Like, "Live Free Die Hard."
Schumanator: Is it tennis related?
Jon: Okay, I have to go now dude.
When I got home I had almost tuckered myself out wondering what the surprise was. I could tell that he was excited to tell me whatever it was, so he said he'd tell me when we got in the car on the way to the tennis courts.
and...
We're going to Europe! Hooray! Yes I am very excited. A great many thanks to Abuelita Suave who apparently had more frequent flier miles than Santa Claus and very generously donated some (a lot) to the cause. I will meet Jon and his brother after they go to a conference in Ireland and we will probably either start in the Netherlands and end up in Spain or vice-versa. It is obviously going to fucking rule and Friend, I can smell your jealousy from here. and I love it.
(Just kidding Darling, you KILL it!) After a moment on the phone he caught me off guard with one simple sentence:
I have a surprise for you.
Um. so like........WHAT IS IT?! I said.
He refused to tell me.
Is it a THING? an OBJECT? Or like, is it a plan? Did your company get more funding? What is it?
You'll see, he said. So we hung up the phone and I went back to my desk.
A few minutes later he was online and we were chatting...
Schumanator: So, like. Its not a thing?
Jon: Dude, I'm not going to tell you until we are ON the tennis courts about to play tennis.
Schumanator: Why not?
Jon: Cuz Man.
Schumanator: Well, don't make a big deal if its not a big deal. I won't be able to handle that. Did you go nuts and hook me up with a crazy car stereo system?
Jon: No Schuman, I did not pimp your fucking ride.
Schumanator: Is it like, an idea?
Jon: More like a state of mind. Like, "Live Free Die Hard."
Schumanator: Is it tennis related?
Jon: Okay, I have to go now dude.
When I got home I had almost tuckered myself out wondering what the surprise was. I could tell that he was excited to tell me whatever it was, so he said he'd tell me when we got in the car on the way to the tennis courts.
and...
We're going to Europe! Hooray! Yes I am very excited. A great many thanks to Abuelita Suave who apparently had more frequent flier miles than Santa Claus and very generously donated some (a lot) to the cause. I will meet Jon and his brother after they go to a conference in Ireland and we will probably either start in the Netherlands and end up in Spain or vice-versa. It is obviously going to fucking rule and Friend, I can smell your jealousy from here. and I love it.
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
Recurring Weirdo
Is it weird to blog about your dreams? Because I have a few that come up every now and then in my repertoire, if you will. I never feel stressed or scared by them, they are always kind of fun...Like that one time you went camping and took some magic mushrooms (Don't act like you don't know who you are...) The only one that gives me the slightest bit of unease is number one:
1. I forgot that I had to re-take that college math class and I cannot graduate until I do. This dream is teamed up with a very distinct "oh shit" feeling. Very cliché, I know, but I really did fail math a few times so this dream isn't really a big stretch.
2. Jon and I are in our massive apartment complex. The world, as we know it, has ended. There is a gigantic T-Rex (a la Jurassic Park) that is terrorizing our neighborhood but that only comes out at night. For some reason we are always out right before dusk, but we are always on a mission.
3. I am running from something and its like I hit my power-booster-warp-speed button and I just take off like a fucking cheetah.
4. Water is a huge theme (I'm a Pisces, discuss the relevance amongst yourselves) and after reading back the following sublist I daresay that theme parks are prominent as well-
a. It is Halloween, I am dressed up as Shamu the killer whale and then Lo and Behold, I am splashing around in the ocean and leaping out of the water. I thought I made a fabulous Orca but dreaming that you're a whale isn't ideal.
b. I am at a water park. There are large water slides criss-crossing high above me. I am in an infinitely long line. This has got to be related to the time that I almost drowned in a wave pool at a water park. Sort of Beetlejuice...you know- the "long wait"... but like way more fun.
c. My river rafting team and I are rounding the corner on a deep and slow moving river. There is a huge waterfall coming up and yet the whole thing felt very Splash Mountain.
d. I am snorkeling in the ocean and the plant and animal life below me is so colorful and so amazing that it almost feels like I am snorkeling in Walt Disney's submarine adventure. (Probably to do with my former aspirations to be an underwater archaeologist, a job which would kick all other jobs' asses.)
No need to strain yourself friend, let me tell you what all of this means:
Essentially, In my dreams I am a fish. A really really fast and futuristic fish. A fast and futuristic, adventurous fish that, despite all of its good qualities, never managed to master fractions.
1. I forgot that I had to re-take that college math class and I cannot graduate until I do. This dream is teamed up with a very distinct "oh shit" feeling. Very cliché, I know, but I really did fail math a few times so this dream isn't really a big stretch.
2. Jon and I are in our massive apartment complex. The world, as we know it, has ended. There is a gigantic T-Rex (a la Jurassic Park) that is terrorizing our neighborhood but that only comes out at night. For some reason we are always out right before dusk, but we are always on a mission.
3. I am running from something and its like I hit my power-booster-warp-speed button and I just take off like a fucking cheetah.
4. Water is a huge theme (I'm a Pisces, discuss the relevance amongst yourselves) and after reading back the following sublist I daresay that theme parks are prominent as well-
a. It is Halloween, I am dressed up as Shamu the killer whale and then Lo and Behold, I am splashing around in the ocean and leaping out of the water. I thought I made a fabulous Orca but dreaming that you're a whale isn't ideal.
b. I am at a water park. There are large water slides criss-crossing high above me. I am in an infinitely long line. This has got to be related to the time that I almost drowned in a wave pool at a water park. Sort of Beetlejuice...you know- the "long wait"... but like way more fun.
c. My river rafting team and I are rounding the corner on a deep and slow moving river. There is a huge waterfall coming up and yet the whole thing felt very Splash Mountain.
d. I am snorkeling in the ocean and the plant and animal life below me is so colorful and so amazing that it almost feels like I am snorkeling in Walt Disney's submarine adventure. (Probably to do with my former aspirations to be an underwater archaeologist, a job which would kick all other jobs' asses.)
No need to strain yourself friend, let me tell you what all of this means:
Essentially, In my dreams I am a fish. A really really fast and futuristic fish. A fast and futuristic, adventurous fish that, despite all of its good qualities, never managed to master fractions.
Monday, July 7, 2008
To Market, To Market
Every Saturday there is a farmer's market in our complex. Believe it or not Jon and I do in fact enjoy eating vegetables every now and then and the farmer's market is the best place to get them. We usually load up on zucchini and summer squash, green beans and tomatoes. Last week I bought a whole heap of strawberries and blackberries and made jam. I had never done it before and because I know myself well enough to know that I rarely follow directions correctly I was sure to look the instructions up and down- get myself all prepared to start and then take it just one step at a time.
It wasn't until I was on the last few steps of the blackberry jam that I realized I was looking at the wrong directions and that the chart that I was supposed to use to measure out the fruit to sugar ratio was in fact on the other side.
Fear not friend, too much sugar never made anything taste worse and the strawberry batch came out splendidly.
This last Saturday I picked up some flowers as well. LOTS of flowers- They were just so cheap that I did not trouble myself with the thought of where I might put the flowery forest I was set to acquire.
What really kills me about buying flowers every week is the vendor. Lovely man, really, he is. But I KNOW he doesn't speak English. I know this because one time when I was there his daughter did the translating. I know he does not speak English and yet each and every Saturday when I patron his tent I approach him with some question. I want nothing more than to ask him my question in Spanish, but in the end I am forced to conclude that his English must be better than my broken Spanish.
Even if I could muster a semi-confident, Cuanto? or, How much? I'm afraid he would come back with even more Spanish that would inevitably expose me and my lack of comprehension.
As it stands now I think we are both leaving the situation feeling inadequate.
It wasn't until I was on the last few steps of the blackberry jam that I realized I was looking at the wrong directions and that the chart that I was supposed to use to measure out the fruit to sugar ratio was in fact on the other side.
Fear not friend, too much sugar never made anything taste worse and the strawberry batch came out splendidly.
This last Saturday I picked up some flowers as well. LOTS of flowers- They were just so cheap that I did not trouble myself with the thought of where I might put the flowery forest I was set to acquire.
What really kills me about buying flowers every week is the vendor. Lovely man, really, he is. But I KNOW he doesn't speak English. I know this because one time when I was there his daughter did the translating. I know he does not speak English and yet each and every Saturday when I patron his tent I approach him with some question. I want nothing more than to ask him my question in Spanish, but in the end I am forced to conclude that his English must be better than my broken Spanish.
Even if I could muster a semi-confident, Cuanto? or, How much? I'm afraid he would come back with even more Spanish that would inevitably expose me and my lack of comprehension.
As it stands now I think we are both leaving the situation feeling inadequate.
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
I Have a Harry Potter Scar
It's true I do, just over my right eye. I can't like see Lord Voldemort's thoughts or feel his pain, but I do feel a little bit queasy if I press on it.
When I was four years old I was riding my brother's Big Wheel around the top of our driveway. I was wavin' at the fellas, eyeballing myself in the mirrors, feeling like an all around Rockstar and I guess I got carried away. The house we lived in had one of those extra long driveways and whats more is it was steep. I slowly took off down the driveway, I remember seeing the white rocks that lined either side of it start to move by more and more quickly. By the time my mom, who was gardening bless her heart, saw me fly by like a bat out of hell, holding tightly to the handles, eyes glassing over from the wind it was too late. I rolled straight across the street and hit the curb on the other side. At this point I flew off the Big Wheel head first and landed with my head on a dried up heap of cement that someone had discarded on the empty lot. It came to a point and I hit it right above my right eye.
The next thing that I remember is my mom carrying me up the driveway- totally upset. (I was like shit mom, play it cool). She took me inside the house, sat me on the kitchen counter and held a wash cloth on my head.
Cut to 5 minutes later and my brother who was 6 years old and I were in the car on the way to the doctor. I think it was nearing rush hour and my mom thought the back roads would be faster but they were also incredibly curvy and as we wound around making our way through the hills my brother started feeling sick.
Well I don't know if you can "start" to feel sick as a 6 year old, I think you just...Get sick.
And boy did he. All I know is that he was so car sick that my bleeding head injury had to take a backseat for a hot second. I think he threw up on the side of the road for awhile, but at some point we had to get going. If he was to get sick he'd have to do it in the big blanket that was in the trunk. We were almost there.
(Right now my mom is thinking: Jesus Christ, you make me look the worst mom ever)
I remember that getting stitches generally sucked. I remember throwing a big ass fucking fit because a bunch of big men in white coats were stabbing at my very recent head trauma site. They threw some very calming white paper thing on my head- I swear to god they gassed me FOR STITCHES, at 4 years old (is there a lawsuit there?)
Later on, apparently when I came to, we were in the waiting room getting ready to go. My mom was sitting in her chair and she suddenly fainted.
No shit.
She fainted. A nurse asked if she was alright and she brought her some water in a white "I heart Nurses" mug.
All in all, I would say that this was one of the shittiest days as a collective family growing up. And I think that my mom and brother would concur.
So yeah, I have a scar above my right eye. And actually that eyelid seems to rest juuuust slightly lower than the left and when I very seriously brought this up to my mom, she said:
Oh, Maybe we should sue.
(She was being sarcastic)
When I was four years old I was riding my brother's Big Wheel around the top of our driveway. I was wavin' at the fellas, eyeballing myself in the mirrors, feeling like an all around Rockstar and I guess I got carried away. The house we lived in had one of those extra long driveways and whats more is it was steep. I slowly took off down the driveway, I remember seeing the white rocks that lined either side of it start to move by more and more quickly. By the time my mom, who was gardening bless her heart, saw me fly by like a bat out of hell, holding tightly to the handles, eyes glassing over from the wind it was too late. I rolled straight across the street and hit the curb on the other side. At this point I flew off the Big Wheel head first and landed with my head on a dried up heap of cement that someone had discarded on the empty lot. It came to a point and I hit it right above my right eye.
The next thing that I remember is my mom carrying me up the driveway- totally upset. (I was like shit mom, play it cool). She took me inside the house, sat me on the kitchen counter and held a wash cloth on my head.
Cut to 5 minutes later and my brother who was 6 years old and I were in the car on the way to the doctor. I think it was nearing rush hour and my mom thought the back roads would be faster but they were also incredibly curvy and as we wound around making our way through the hills my brother started feeling sick.
Well I don't know if you can "start" to feel sick as a 6 year old, I think you just...Get sick.
And boy did he. All I know is that he was so car sick that my bleeding head injury had to take a backseat for a hot second. I think he threw up on the side of the road for awhile, but at some point we had to get going. If he was to get sick he'd have to do it in the big blanket that was in the trunk. We were almost there.
(Right now my mom is thinking: Jesus Christ, you make me look the worst mom ever)
I remember that getting stitches generally sucked. I remember throwing a big ass fucking fit because a bunch of big men in white coats were stabbing at my very recent head trauma site. They threw some very calming white paper thing on my head- I swear to god they gassed me FOR STITCHES, at 4 years old (is there a lawsuit there?)
Later on, apparently when I came to, we were in the waiting room getting ready to go. My mom was sitting in her chair and she suddenly fainted.
No shit.
She fainted. A nurse asked if she was alright and she brought her some water in a white "I heart Nurses" mug.
All in all, I would say that this was one of the shittiest days as a collective family growing up. And I think that my mom and brother would concur.
So yeah, I have a scar above my right eye. And actually that eyelid seems to rest juuuust slightly lower than the left and when I very seriously brought this up to my mom, she said:
Oh, Maybe we should sue.
(She was being sarcastic)
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
A blog on blogging
So I'm at a crossroads here. I had a whole entry typed out that was, in fact, hilarious. I told my mom earlier today that I really REALLY really wanted to blog about this topic...and she sent me a one sentence email saying: DO NOT DO THAT.
Now that wasn't going to stop me, but I talked to Jon about it too and he pretty much thought the same. (seriously, its not like I was going to be talking about baby killing or something) He added that if someone says "don't blog about that"...you probably shouldn't blog about it. I really have never been very good at following directions. So I wrote almost the entire entry and then, I had doubts. Would my mother kill me? Will I lose one of my 8 readers?
You see people, with great blogging comes great responsibility. I can't simply cast away my family and friends' feelings in the name of my website statistics (except for some of you, you know who you are). For example, my brother, who never reads my site- who probably doesn't know that I have a blog- I could write something really funny about him. But that wouldn't be fair.
Funny.
But not fair.
So speaking of the Bloganator- One of the best keywords yet:
"Me and my friends saw platypus movie Keanu"
How awesome is that?
Now that wasn't going to stop me, but I talked to Jon about it too and he pretty much thought the same. (seriously, its not like I was going to be talking about baby killing or something) He added that if someone says "don't blog about that"...you probably shouldn't blog about it. I really have never been very good at following directions. So I wrote almost the entire entry and then, I had doubts. Would my mother kill me? Will I lose one of my 8 readers?
You see people, with great blogging comes great responsibility. I can't simply cast away my family and friends' feelings in the name of my website statistics (except for some of you, you know who you are). For example, my brother, who never reads my site- who probably doesn't know that I have a blog- I could write something really funny about him. But that wouldn't be fair.
Funny.
But not fair.
So speaking of the Bloganator- One of the best keywords yet:
"Me and my friends saw platypus movie Keanu"
How awesome is that?
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