My mom just sent me an email with no body, and the subject line "google goats yelling like humans, so funny".
Turns out, she was right.
Friday, February 15, 2013
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
Chort Chorts
Dear Female Volleyball Players Who Wear Their VB Shorts in Public,
Thanks a lot.
Signed,
Every other chick, ever.
Thanks a lot.
Signed,
Every other chick, ever.
Wednesday, October 3, 2012
Undecided Voters 2012
Dear Undecided Voter,
Who the fuck are you? Do you really exist?
Luv,
Schumanator
ps. Oh wait...Maybe you look like this? IDK, LMK.
(via LA Times)
Who the fuck are you? Do you really exist?
Luv,
Schumanator
ps. Oh wait...Maybe you look like this? IDK, LMK.
(via LA Times)
Monday, July 30, 2012
Heath Ledger's Joker Inspiration
This clip kind of blew my mind. Maybe it's because I'm not rootsy enough to have heard any Tom Waits? If I had, I'm sure I would have noticed the unmistakable similarity to Heath Ledger's Joker character.
Skip to 1:30 (and for Christ's sake somebody get that man an ash tray):
via: kottke.org
It's awesome. You should check it out.
Skip to 1:30 (and for Christ's sake somebody get that man an ash tray):
via: kottke.org
It's awesome. You should check it out.
Friday, June 29, 2012
Funny shit
This clip is about a year old, but God damn does it having me crying from laughing so hard.
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
And then it Explodes into this enormous collage
I saw this first video on Kottke.org last week, and just like the blogger, I've probably watched it five times already. I just can't handle the slide whistle that comes at 2:00 in. If you aren't nodding your head and snapping your fingers at that part, you're probably dead. My condolences.
It was all feeling so funky that I decided to see what else this artist had mixed together and I wasn't disappointed. One of my all time favorite TED Talks was by a woman named Jill Bolte. Bolte is a neuroanatomist brain scientist that had the terrible misfortune (but brilliant occupational opportunity) to experience a massive stroke. The way she discussed her perception of the world during the stroke struck a chord with me. Imagine my excitement when a few of her sound bites were used in the following video:
I finally stumbled across this last video. The sound bite that begins at 1:00 and repeats throughout the video has been stuck in my head for days. These beings, with soaring imaginations, eventually flung themselves and their machines...into interplanetary space.
It was all feeling so funky that I decided to see what else this artist had mixed together and I wasn't disappointed. One of my all time favorite TED Talks was by a woman named Jill Bolte. Bolte is a neuroanatomist brain scientist that had the terrible misfortune (but brilliant occupational opportunity) to experience a massive stroke. The way she discussed her perception of the world during the stroke struck a chord with me. Imagine my excitement when a few of her sound bites were used in the following video:
I finally stumbled across this last video. The sound bite that begins at 1:00 and repeats throughout the video has been stuck in my head for days. These beings, with soaring imaginations, eventually flung themselves and their machines...into interplanetary space.
Sunday, May 20, 2012
Monday, April 23, 2012
Seat Savers Beware
I convinced Jon to take me to a Friday matinee of The Hunger Games on opening weekend. We bought our tickets on Fandango a few days ahead of time, we arrived to the theater early, and we stood in line with our barrel of popcorn and two of the largest drinks ever poured.
A few girls in front of us let us know that a couple of their friends would be joining them. I should have taken this as a considerate FYI and said "Cool, no problem". But I was in line to see a movie about kids killing each other in a post-Apocalyptic sporting ring...so I was feeling a little bit feisty. To make sure their actions were on the up and up, I good naturedly grilled them on their definition of 'a couple'. Had they said more than two, I would have granted them back-cuts only. But they looked frightened, and Jon was shaking his head at me, so I let them proceed.
When we moved into the theater we got great seats - Third row up in the desirable section. We sat for a few moments and made small talk as best we could, but we were distracted by what was happening in the row in front of us. A girl and two of her friends were saving almost every seat in the row. One after the other we watched as groups of people were told by this girl that they couldn't sit in those seats. And she didn't really say it nicely either - she was sort of bitchy/matter of fact about it. Probably sensing critical eyes on her, she told her wimpy friends to continue to save the seats while she left the theater, texting all the while like an unsocialized heathen.
As the theater filled up, it seemed every single person that walked in tried to sit in the saved seats. The two kids left holding the seats weren't quite as bold as their bitchy friend, so they weren't quick enough on the draw. Several times they had to tell people to "get up", rather than just waving them off in the first place.
One person that was turned away seemed to be a little buzzed and she decided to sit in the one empty seat to my right. I was leery about engaging in chit chat with her, because you know how sometimes you do that and the person ends up being BAT SHIT CRAZY? I just wasn't in the mood.
So finally, after basically the entire town was denied by these kids, a somewhat tough guy and his girlfriend sat down. They didn't bother to ask permission. When one of the kids said to them "Uh, sorry, those seats are taken", homeboy just looked back and said matter of factly, "No."
Like, "not only am I not buying what you are selling, but I actually own you. Quiet over there."
But since they'd only just walked in the theater, they didn't know the resentment building up towards this adolescent party, so his girlfriend did what I would have done and said "I see two seats a few rows up, lets just take those". And so they did.
But when the next group was told they couldn't sit there, the people had had ENOUGH - it was a sold out show on opening day! We sat in line, our Icees had long since melted, we were full on popcorn, and we were all fucking irritated by the (only) teeny bopper in the Team Peeta T-Shirt and we still had like 20 minutes before show time. The guy directly behind us finally said "UM, Excuse me. You can't save the whole row" and like a flame in the desert on a windy day, Jon and I were like 'YEAH! It doesn't WORK that WAY!"
The ladies that ended up in the hot seats were more than willing to get up for the diva, but we, the audience, wouldn't have it - we practically threatened them to get them to stay put: "She has to learn the lesson some time", even if we have to turn a few bystanders into martyrs.
The girl started going on and on about how the seats were for her family, and that her family was in the lobby right now, and that any minute said family would be joining her. A likely story, we all thought.
We're all assuming that "her family" is going to pan out to be the entire ASB of her middle school, but when it did in fact turn out to be her mammoth of a mother and her six year old brother, shit sort of hit the fan. Big Mama wanted to know, while towering over the seats that would have been theirs "Who took 'em???" the snotty girl answered inaudibly, and then the mom said "Who told you you couldn't save them??" and the girl made a gesture to insinuate "that random group of strangers all around me". Some hostile words were then exchanged between those of us on the right side of morality and the mother/daughter duo - and when things reached a fever pitch, the daughter said something like "This is crazy!! WE saved them! They're OURs!!" She may have even stamped her foot a little bit.
This is when the buzzed lone ranger next to me pipes up and says: "TALK TO THE HAND GIRLFRIEND!" - arm across my face, palm out, straight up, you got played 90's style - talk to the hand.
The girl, without missing a beat, threw the most Hollywood sassy face in the world, flipped the bird and shouts "Oh yeah?! Well. Talk to the FINGer!" Her mother tells her to cut it off right then and there, and with one final act of defiance, the charter school's spokes-girl yells "This is BULLshit!!" and stampers off with her cell phone - readied for texting.
Defeated, the mother sat in one of the two seats they needed (not the entire row, hello) and mumbled something to her poor, embarrassed, quiet 6 year old son about "contacting the station about this injustice".
Just then the lights lowered in the theater and the opening credits began to roll. The hitherto unseen theater manager finally made an appearance to make sure that "Everything was ok", and of course, by that time, it was.
The people had spoken and seat saving would never again be the same at Tinseltown, Chico.
A few girls in front of us let us know that a couple of their friends would be joining them. I should have taken this as a considerate FYI and said "Cool, no problem". But I was in line to see a movie about kids killing each other in a post-Apocalyptic sporting ring...so I was feeling a little bit feisty. To make sure their actions were on the up and up, I good naturedly grilled them on their definition of 'a couple'. Had they said more than two, I would have granted them back-cuts only. But they looked frightened, and Jon was shaking his head at me, so I let them proceed.
When we moved into the theater we got great seats - Third row up in the desirable section. We sat for a few moments and made small talk as best we could, but we were distracted by what was happening in the row in front of us. A girl and two of her friends were saving almost every seat in the row. One after the other we watched as groups of people were told by this girl that they couldn't sit in those seats. And she didn't really say it nicely either - she was sort of bitchy/matter of fact about it. Probably sensing critical eyes on her, she told her wimpy friends to continue to save the seats while she left the theater, texting all the while like an unsocialized heathen.
As the theater filled up, it seemed every single person that walked in tried to sit in the saved seats. The two kids left holding the seats weren't quite as bold as their bitchy friend, so they weren't quick enough on the draw. Several times they had to tell people to "get up", rather than just waving them off in the first place.
One person that was turned away seemed to be a little buzzed and she decided to sit in the one empty seat to my right. I was leery about engaging in chit chat with her, because you know how sometimes you do that and the person ends up being BAT SHIT CRAZY? I just wasn't in the mood.
So finally, after basically the entire town was denied by these kids, a somewhat tough guy and his girlfriend sat down. They didn't bother to ask permission. When one of the kids said to them "Uh, sorry, those seats are taken", homeboy just looked back and said matter of factly, "No."
Like, "not only am I not buying what you are selling, but I actually own you. Quiet over there."
But since they'd only just walked in the theater, they didn't know the resentment building up towards this adolescent party, so his girlfriend did what I would have done and said "I see two seats a few rows up, lets just take those". And so they did.
But when the next group was told they couldn't sit there, the people had had ENOUGH - it was a sold out show on opening day! We sat in line, our Icees had long since melted, we were full on popcorn, and we were all fucking irritated by the (only) teeny bopper in the Team Peeta T-Shirt and we still had like 20 minutes before show time. The guy directly behind us finally said "UM, Excuse me. You can't save the whole row" and like a flame in the desert on a windy day, Jon and I were like 'YEAH! It doesn't WORK that WAY!"
The ladies that ended up in the hot seats were more than willing to get up for the diva, but we, the audience, wouldn't have it - we practically threatened them to get them to stay put: "She has to learn the lesson some time", even if we have to turn a few bystanders into martyrs.
The girl started going on and on about how the seats were for her family, and that her family was in the lobby right now, and that any minute said family would be joining her. A likely story, we all thought.
We're all assuming that "her family" is going to pan out to be the entire ASB of her middle school, but when it did in fact turn out to be her mammoth of a mother and her six year old brother, shit sort of hit the fan. Big Mama wanted to know, while towering over the seats that would have been theirs "Who took 'em???" the snotty girl answered inaudibly, and then the mom said "Who told you you couldn't save them??" and the girl made a gesture to insinuate "that random group of strangers all around me". Some hostile words were then exchanged between those of us on the right side of morality and the mother/daughter duo - and when things reached a fever pitch, the daughter said something like "This is crazy!! WE saved them! They're OURs!!" She may have even stamped her foot a little bit.
This is when the buzzed lone ranger next to me pipes up and says: "TALK TO THE HAND GIRLFRIEND!" - arm across my face, palm out, straight up, you got played 90's style - talk to the hand.
The girl, without missing a beat, threw the most Hollywood sassy face in the world, flipped the bird and shouts "Oh yeah?! Well. Talk to the FINGer!" Her mother tells her to cut it off right then and there, and with one final act of defiance, the charter school's spokes-girl yells "This is BULLshit!!" and stampers off with her cell phone - readied for texting.
Defeated, the mother sat in one of the two seats they needed (not the entire row, hello) and mumbled something to her poor, embarrassed, quiet 6 year old son about "contacting the station about this injustice".
Just then the lights lowered in the theater and the opening credits began to roll. The hitherto unseen theater manager finally made an appearance to make sure that "Everything was ok", and of course, by that time, it was.
The people had spoken and seat saving would never again be the same at Tinseltown, Chico.
Sunday, December 11, 2011
Drinking Game Idea: Hobbit Style
1. Watch the Lord of the Rings trilogy movies (after you've read them, duh).
2. Drink every time a hobbit says: You don't understand!!
3. You're welcome.
2. Drink every time a hobbit says: You don't understand!!
3. You're welcome.
Friday, September 16, 2011
YES. ITS FUNKY AND I LIKE IT
If Jagger could wander in and out of my every day in a bubble gum pink suit, I think I'd be a happy girl.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Allieschumanator and the Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad Day
I didn't want to wake up this morning - I wanted to sleep in. But I had an early conference call that I knew was coming and the little triangle of light that gets in between the curtains over the A/C unit was practically blinding me.
When I walked out of my bedroom and into the hallway/bathroom, I thought to myself "damn it smells bad over here." See, it seems like it's been getting worse and worse, and I even joked with myself that if the bad smell is coming from the toilet area, it may be a sign that we need to break down and clean the damn thing. But it doesn't seem to be coming from the toilet. More like behind the toilet. In the wall. The wall that I share with my office all day.
I didn't want to think it, but the thought just happened the way thoughts sometimes do: I think we have a decaying animal carcass on our hands. Somewhere...I'm not quite sure where yet.
Then I discovered a mistake I had made at work and I told my boss about it. She kept asking me to get on the phone to work through it, but I did not want to get on the phone. I wanted to keep my head in the sand via email. I wanted to stress and pace and cry and then pull myself up by the bootstraps to find a way to blame the problem on someone else.
I was emailing my mom anyway, so I told her about the work mistake too. Trying to sound positive I moved on from my griping to say "Our veggie garden has gone almost wild. We're going to slowly start cutting things back and taking out some of the lettuce which wants nothing more than to bolt and become bitter. (like life.)" I said. "(I kid.)"
But I was only halfway kidding.
On my way to lunch I poked myself in the eye with my keys. I tripped on our old dog, and I blamed him even though he is ancient. While I was in the car on my way to The In-N-Out Burger it seemed that all of Chico's radio stations agreed that they would only play Taio Cruz's "Dynamite" and Kid Rock's "I am the Bullgod" whilst I was in transit.
I was thinking about this when the VERY OVERLY peppy gal at the drive through window handed me my soda. A few moments passed by and she handed me my burger and told me to have a lovely day goodbye thankyouverymuch. And I actually looked at her like she was out of her mind and said "Caaaan I also please have my soda?".
She looked scared. Like maybe I was schizophrenic. She said "I um, think I just um, gave it to you". And DUBIOUS at best, I sort of scoffed and looked down at my drink holder in the car and was actually shocked to see that the soda was there.
Then there was this guy on the freeway on the way home, and I don't have a specific complaint about him, other than he was driving like a real asshole.
I thought for a minute about saying on my Facebook wall that it had been a terrible horrible no good very bad day, but then I remembered that I really hate when people write even remotely emo things on their Facebook walls. I have unfriended fools for less.
Anyways, by the evening time, as work wrapped up and I snuggled up on the couch with an old Sex and the City episode, a glass of wine and Fall feeling nail polish (Steel-Her Heart by Revlon) I started feeling better. I flipped through the latest Vogue magazine with wet hair and wet nails and a la Carrie Bradshaw, I couldn't help but wonder if days like this just happen sometimes.
When I walked out of my bedroom and into the hallway/bathroom, I thought to myself "damn it smells bad over here." See, it seems like it's been getting worse and worse, and I even joked with myself that if the bad smell is coming from the toilet area, it may be a sign that we need to break down and clean the damn thing. But it doesn't seem to be coming from the toilet. More like behind the toilet. In the wall. The wall that I share with my office all day.
I didn't want to think it, but the thought just happened the way thoughts sometimes do: I think we have a decaying animal carcass on our hands. Somewhere...I'm not quite sure where yet.
Then I discovered a mistake I had made at work and I told my boss about it. She kept asking me to get on the phone to work through it, but I did not want to get on the phone. I wanted to keep my head in the sand via email. I wanted to stress and pace and cry and then pull myself up by the bootstraps to find a way to blame the problem on someone else.
I was emailing my mom anyway, so I told her about the work mistake too. Trying to sound positive I moved on from my griping to say "Our veggie garden has gone almost wild. We're going to slowly start cutting things back and taking out some of the lettuce which wants nothing more than to bolt and become bitter. (like life.)" I said. "(I kid.)"
But I was only halfway kidding.
On my way to lunch I poked myself in the eye with my keys. I tripped on our old dog, and I blamed him even though he is ancient. While I was in the car on my way to The In-N-Out Burger it seemed that all of Chico's radio stations agreed that they would only play Taio Cruz's "Dynamite" and Kid Rock's "I am the Bullgod" whilst I was in transit.
I was thinking about this when the VERY OVERLY peppy gal at the drive through window handed me my soda. A few moments passed by and she handed me my burger and told me to have a lovely day goodbye thankyouverymuch. And I actually looked at her like she was out of her mind and said "Caaaan I also please have my soda?".
She looked scared. Like maybe I was schizophrenic. She said "I um, think I just um, gave it to you". And DUBIOUS at best, I sort of scoffed and looked down at my drink holder in the car and was actually shocked to see that the soda was there.
Then there was this guy on the freeway on the way home, and I don't have a specific complaint about him, other than he was driving like a real asshole.
I thought for a minute about saying on my Facebook wall that it had been a terrible horrible no good very bad day, but then I remembered that I really hate when people write even remotely emo things on their Facebook walls. I have unfriended fools for less.
Anyways, by the evening time, as work wrapped up and I snuggled up on the couch with an old Sex and the City episode, a glass of wine and Fall feeling nail polish (Steel-Her Heart by Revlon) I started feeling better. I flipped through the latest Vogue magazine with wet hair and wet nails and a la Carrie Bradshaw, I couldn't help but wonder if days like this just happen sometimes.
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Dear Waitress at Rileys
Dear Waitress at Riley's Bar,
Your tank top struck me as a health code violation. I need your tits served on my chicken sandwich like I need a hole in the head.
Keep it classy.
Luv,
Schumanator
Your tank top struck me as a health code violation. I need your tits served on my chicken sandwich like I need a hole in the head.
Keep it classy.
Luv,
Schumanator
Monday, July 4, 2011
This Current Life P3: Everything in Bloom
When we toured our new place, we were knee deep in cold, late Spring weather. It had rained on and off for weeks and it didn't feel like the temperature was rising at all. While the leaves were sprouting off the trees there wasn't a blossom in sight.
The new house looked a'ight. The front yard at first glance was a little bit uninspired, but then again how often to you rent The Secret Garden in college town? Also, the backyard was nice, but sort of blah. There were trees that didn't seem all that special and a big square patch that was probably once a vegetable garden. It was kind of an eye sore with mounds of weed patched dirt.
But overall, we liked the place enough to take it. Once we were settled, we set out to level the dirt patch and started planning a backyard farm. One thing that could be said about the space at that point was that it was perfectly oriented it the daytime sun.
The more time we spent in the garden the more we realized how special it was. Rose bushes, rosemary, flowering perennials and hydrangeas. We kept working. We started with a row of herbs in a long planter row that already existed. Tarragon, thyme, chives, cilantro, dill, fennel, chamomile, sage and oregano were all added and are doing well to date!
Then it was on to the future vegetable patch. We started with tomatoes - two early girls and two heirlooms. We decided to create a keyhole sort of design with a walkway that circles the middle and then meets up with the edge. We filled in the space around the grass walkway with several varieties of peppers: Serrano, bell and pepperoncinis. Then there are two rows of corn, which shot up almost as soon as it was put in the ground. To the right of that are a few strawberry plants, some basil and climbing string beans. And then there are the squash plants that are taking OVER but looking amazing. A few types of onions and then two rows of carrots and one of broccoli, the latter of which has been topped by a pesky pest that I WILL find and I WILL kill. Rounding out the garden are a few rows of lettuce that we bought as wee plants from an adorably spacey hippie gal at the farmers market. We added Rhubarb and Okra for giggles (re: the okra my mom said "ewww that stuff is like slimey snot").
By the time everything was in it's place and the drips were set up and the plants started unfurling new leaves - the garden that had already existed here EXPLODED with beauty. Cherries, nectarines, loquats. Miniature roses, gardenias, hibiscus, things I never even dreamed existed!
Sufficed to say, Liz the old Landlord poor planner (who stole our emulsifier), can suck it. Her place had nothing on this one and I can't even believe I was ever reluctant about moving. Hopefully we'll be here for a while.
The new house looked a'ight. The front yard at first glance was a little bit uninspired, but then again how often to you rent The Secret Garden in college town? Also, the backyard was nice, but sort of blah. There were trees that didn't seem all that special and a big square patch that was probably once a vegetable garden. It was kind of an eye sore with mounds of weed patched dirt.
But overall, we liked the place enough to take it. Once we were settled, we set out to level the dirt patch and started planning a backyard farm. One thing that could be said about the space at that point was that it was perfectly oriented it the daytime sun.
The more time we spent in the garden the more we realized how special it was. Rose bushes, rosemary, flowering perennials and hydrangeas. We kept working. We started with a row of herbs in a long planter row that already existed. Tarragon, thyme, chives, cilantro, dill, fennel, chamomile, sage and oregano were all added and are doing well to date!
Then it was on to the future vegetable patch. We started with tomatoes - two early girls and two heirlooms. We decided to create a keyhole sort of design with a walkway that circles the middle and then meets up with the edge. We filled in the space around the grass walkway with several varieties of peppers: Serrano, bell and pepperoncinis. Then there are two rows of corn, which shot up almost as soon as it was put in the ground. To the right of that are a few strawberry plants, some basil and climbing string beans. And then there are the squash plants that are taking OVER but looking amazing. A few types of onions and then two rows of carrots and one of broccoli, the latter of which has been topped by a pesky pest that I WILL find and I WILL kill. Rounding out the garden are a few rows of lettuce that we bought as wee plants from an adorably spacey hippie gal at the farmers market. We added Rhubarb and Okra for giggles (re: the okra my mom said "ewww that stuff is like slimey snot").
By the time everything was in it's place and the drips were set up and the plants started unfurling new leaves - the garden that had already existed here EXPLODED with beauty. Cherries, nectarines, loquats. Miniature roses, gardenias, hibiscus, things I never even dreamed existed!
Sufficed to say, Liz the old Landlord poor planner (who stole our emulsifier), can suck it. Her place had nothing on this one and I can't even believe I was ever reluctant about moving. Hopefully we'll be here for a while.
Thursday, May 12, 2011
This is sort of what it's like when I make Hamburgers
*ED - at some point Blogger deleted this post and all of the comments with it. Sorry if your comment was deleted!
Saturday, May 7, 2011
This Current Life P2 (AKA: Dear Landlord)
Dear Liz the Landlord,
Hey!
I'd like to say it's been a while since I've seen/heard from you, but alas, I think we both know that is not the case.
What you don't realize is that Mr. Rose and I lived in our last place for over 5 years and basically needed our next door neighbor to wield a semi-automatic weapon before we heard from our landlord. So you can imagine how irritating it is to have you all up in our shit.
It began when you asked to tour the house for the first time in years. You live 20 minutes away and you apparently had never asked to visit the place. I assumed you wanted to make sure we were up to snuff or whatever you country folk do. Just a reminder: The previous tenant wanted to abandon their lease in December, but you said No, I assume because you're a bad planner, and poor with logical decisions? Because either way, two months later, you wanted to come and tour the house.
I, like a total jackass spiffed the place up and tried to convince you, not only that I wanted to live here and that we would take care of it, but that this house was basically ZION. With the Northern Flickers in the trees in the back and the amazing neighbors with real live chickens and the proximity to Bidwell park. What the hell were ya thinkin' not living here??
I take comfort in the fact that you and your husband both stepped in dog doo-doo as you inspected the back yard. Sorry! But it's true! Because a few weeks later we heard from the management company that you wanted to move back in the house, and you wanted to move back in ASAP. Woe unto us that we took over someone else's lease when we moved in, so technically, the longest we could hold you out was June.
You couldn't just let us sulk in the fact that we had sorted through and moved our hoarded lives just four months earlier. No. You began scheduling all sorts of appointments and appraisals to get the place to what you want it to be. First the Tree Guy.
I guess what you'll never know, unless you Google "BAD LANDORD, CHICO, LIZ, ENDED LEASE EARLY, KILLER OF TREES" is that after you left, and after we came back from the breakfast we planned to avoid you, the tree guy was still here - and he was cool! Guess what else? He let us on to your flakey ways. Whats up with cutting down two of the three trees in the front yard? And what's up with scheduling all kinds of extensive work with the nice independent (sort of cute?) tree-scaping guy and then cancelling at the last minute due to lack of fundage? Maybe if you're broke, you should leave the trees alone and focus on cutting down other expenses. You know what I'm saying?
But who are we? We've just been paying your mortgage for the past few months.
Anyways, Funny that you scheduled all sorts of tree work for the Tree Guy on a Friday and once again, I assume you canceled, because no one showed up.
But hey! Why would that stop you from bringing in the paint guy! Perhaps there was a re-prioritization that took place? So you showed up with the paint guy one day. Knocked on our door to say "hey" as though we do not hate you with a bitter passion.
That was two weeks ago.
So when the property management place called us last week to say that you really wanted us to mow your lawn, we basically told them to tell you to go fuck yourself.
Some people might say that it is a sad day when all of the passive aggressiveness that two competitive people can collectively combine culminates in the ill maintenance of a lawn. But I beg to differ. This overgrown lawn we have attached to your home (a home which, incidentally, is wicked cold all the time. Poor insulation job in the remodel? Thought so.) Anyways, this lawn? It's basically our last stronghold. And we're going to do everything we can to ensure that the lasting legacy of this home during our time, on this tiny cul-de-sac, is one of slovenly white folks who are very nearly considering doing away with the grass as a whole and replacing with astro-turf. Does it pain me to be represented with a crappy yard? Yes, it does. Do I feel a deep satisfaction in the fact that in this one instance, there is nothing NOTHING you can do to freakin make me? HELL TO THE FUCKIN YA.
So you can imagine the elation we felt when you had the property management place call back to say that Didn't you leave a lawn mower in the garage? And if not, couldn't we just borrow one from the neighbor? Because our answer was, You are totally right. We will totally mow this lawn.
At 11:59:59pmPST on the very last night of our lease.
Thanks so much for the suggestion!
Smooches,
Schumanator
PS. 'Member that issue where our washing machine was draining every last ounce of water from each load into the garage instead of into the pipes? Still happening. Spider Problems? You got 'em sister. G'Luck!
Hey!
I'd like to say it's been a while since I've seen/heard from you, but alas, I think we both know that is not the case.
What you don't realize is that Mr. Rose and I lived in our last place for over 5 years and basically needed our next door neighbor to wield a semi-automatic weapon before we heard from our landlord. So you can imagine how irritating it is to have you all up in our shit.
It began when you asked to tour the house for the first time in years. You live 20 minutes away and you apparently had never asked to visit the place. I assumed you wanted to make sure we were up to snuff or whatever you country folk do. Just a reminder: The previous tenant wanted to abandon their lease in December, but you said No, I assume because you're a bad planner, and poor with logical decisions? Because either way, two months later, you wanted to come and tour the house.
I, like a total jackass spiffed the place up and tried to convince you, not only that I wanted to live here and that we would take care of it, but that this house was basically ZION. With the Northern Flickers in the trees in the back and the amazing neighbors with real live chickens and the proximity to Bidwell park. What the hell were ya thinkin' not living here??
I take comfort in the fact that you and your husband both stepped in dog doo-doo as you inspected the back yard. Sorry! But it's true! Because a few weeks later we heard from the management company that you wanted to move back in the house, and you wanted to move back in ASAP. Woe unto us that we took over someone else's lease when we moved in, so technically, the longest we could hold you out was June.
You couldn't just let us sulk in the fact that we had sorted through and moved our hoarded lives just four months earlier. No. You began scheduling all sorts of appointments and appraisals to get the place to what you want it to be. First the Tree Guy.
I guess what you'll never know, unless you Google "BAD LANDORD, CHICO, LIZ, ENDED LEASE EARLY, KILLER OF TREES" is that after you left, and after we came back from the breakfast we planned to avoid you, the tree guy was still here - and he was cool! Guess what else? He let us on to your flakey ways. Whats up with cutting down two of the three trees in the front yard? And what's up with scheduling all kinds of extensive work with the nice independent (sort of cute?) tree-scaping guy and then cancelling at the last minute due to lack of fundage? Maybe if you're broke, you should leave the trees alone and focus on cutting down other expenses. You know what I'm saying?
But who are we? We've just been paying your mortgage for the past few months.
Anyways, Funny that you scheduled all sorts of tree work for the Tree Guy on a Friday and once again, I assume you canceled, because no one showed up.
But hey! Why would that stop you from bringing in the paint guy! Perhaps there was a re-prioritization that took place? So you showed up with the paint guy one day. Knocked on our door to say "hey" as though we do not hate you with a bitter passion.
That was two weeks ago.
So when the property management place called us last week to say that you really wanted us to mow your lawn, we basically told them to tell you to go fuck yourself.
Some people might say that it is a sad day when all of the passive aggressiveness that two competitive people can collectively combine culminates in the ill maintenance of a lawn. But I beg to differ. This overgrown lawn we have attached to your home (a home which, incidentally, is wicked cold all the time. Poor insulation job in the remodel? Thought so.) Anyways, this lawn? It's basically our last stronghold. And we're going to do everything we can to ensure that the lasting legacy of this home during our time, on this tiny cul-de-sac, is one of slovenly white folks who are very nearly considering doing away with the grass as a whole and replacing with astro-turf. Does it pain me to be represented with a crappy yard? Yes, it does. Do I feel a deep satisfaction in the fact that in this one instance, there is nothing NOTHING you can do to freakin make me? HELL TO THE FUCKIN YA.
So you can imagine the elation we felt when you had the property management place call back to say that Didn't you leave a lawn mower in the garage? And if not, couldn't we just borrow one from the neighbor? Because our answer was, You are totally right. We will totally mow this lawn.
At 11:59:59pmPST on the very last night of our lease.
Thanks so much for the suggestion!
Smooches,
Schumanator
PS. 'Member that issue where our washing machine was draining every last ounce of water from each load into the garage instead of into the pipes? Still happening. Spider Problems? You got 'em sister. G'Luck!
Monday, May 2, 2011
This Current Life PI
Oh Hi People,
I wanted to take this moment to sum up the past few months. A few people (mom's and mom's in laws mostly) have asked me recently "Are you not updating the blog anymore? What's up?"
The truth is, I've never abandoned you Dear Blog. Yes, there have been spells that resemble a black hole of writing inspiration - but you're always on my mind, Precious. Like a new love vacuum, all of my fun and funny ideas manifest into this nebulous fog of this might be neat for the blog.
We moved (Back) to Chico, Ca at the very end of December, 2010. I say "back" because this sleepy little orchard town is where Jon and I met nearly 9 years ago. I loved this town when I first moved here. Having grown up in various suburbs of San Diego in my youth, Chico resembled a town with limits. It was only so large - you could do only so much...and Yet, there was a lot to do. First off, It's a huge cycling community. It happens to be Cycling Month here in town! I mention this, obviously, with intentions - I just purchased the flossiest of bicycles. Her name is Bianca, but I'm not ready to introduce her publicly yet. Talk to me when my ass isn't ready to walk off the job in protest.
There are also several amazing farmer's markets here each week. Every Saturday there is one that makes San Francisco's Stonestown Gallery mall's farmer's market run home to weep like an underdeveloped teen. And then when the weather warms up to 70 degrees in Spring, we have the weekly Thursday night town market in addition to the Saturday one - and they last through the Fall, until the weather is uncooperative. The downtown streets are closed to traffic and food trucks from every popular restaurant in town provide to-go options for the fair-ish vibe. I LOVE THIS TOWN.
It's so funny the way you view a place given your current place in life. When I moved here in late Summer of 2002, I really would not have looked twice at those who were clearly beyond college age. Those who might even be married, pursuing a masters or beyond. Young, but with family and working. I also didn't think about staying here, or even coming back after I left.
Chico is the amalgamation of a good College community. The sweetness of small town charm meshed with the magic that is the graduates of the local college who have the guts to say "I want to continue to pay low rent and a cheaper cost of living if it means driving a bit over an hour to a nearby airport." Most of the people we've met that fit within our age group are cut from the same cloth. How can you argue against space and safety and progressiveness and affordability? Answer is, if you can find a way, it is inarguable.
Our leaving San Francisco was bittersweet. It was 97% sweet and 3% bitter. The bitterness comes from a fear of change. What it took to tell a steady job in the midst of the recession that I was moving, and could I potentially keep my job? What it means to self motivate on the DAILY and in most cases BEYOND the norm, because when I'm sitting in front of the TV in the evening, the office is sitting there within eye shot, reminding me of the things I might have gotten done. I also miss my office buddies who I could joke with and gripe with and ultimately realize I have it pretty good with.
On the positive side Yo, I be workin in my bathrobe half the time.
But fools be calling me at home at 5:45 AM because on the East Coast, that is well beyond reasonable business hours and Hey! I work from home.
You might not know this, but the Pacific Coast timers are sort of the red-headed step-children of the business world. (No, you don't NEED to get up at 6am PST, but if you get up at 9am, an urgent email from 9amEST doesn't get answered until noon. THINK ABOUT IT and maybe just spoon your laptop all night).
I also honestly did not realize how many times k9s need to pee/poop/puke throughout the course of a day/week/month.
Now that I've caught you up on the day to day vibe of working for the man from home, let me tell you a little about leaving San Francisco.
It was for probably 6 months that Jon and I discussed changing up a life we had only moderately liked in Daly City, CA. We moved to San Francisco in the Summer of 2005 and lived there for five and a half years. Our address was San Francisco, but we lived in the outer realm of San Francisco - where the weather blew and nothing fun, entertainment, food or otherwise occurred.
It's really hard to say what kept us in a place that brought us no joy at all. But I suppose that in fairness, at the time we moved in we weren't looking for joy - we felt we had enough to go around.
When we finally started talking about moving away from San Francisco, we had been walking around the nearby Lake Merced for several months. It took several years for us to realize that like it or not, we needed to be exercising in some form or another. The nearby Lake Merced was perfect. It was a bit more than .5 miles from our house and neared 5 miles around the entire lake (that actually had once been one lake, but is now three small lakes). Taking this walk on an almost daily basis brought us closer together and introduced the topic of Change. Jon really wanted to finish up the college courses he hadn't finished and I was anxious at the idea that I had settled in Daly City: a God Damn sleeper of a fucking foggy town that Voldemort himself actually hung out in between Albania and Spinner's End.
You see, at the time we moved in to our place in San Francisco in 2005, we had moved in next door to a mad man, but it was not for YEARS later, only until we were on the cusp of departing the ant-farm apartment complex village that we realized how volatile our neighbor was.
I guess it is most easily summed up by saying the following: we rented a two story town home. Our only neighbors directly next door were actually two single bedroom units. One upstairs from us, and one downstairs from us. Right off the bat, we should have realized that for each lease cycle (one year), we had a new tenant in the downstairs unit.
It turns out, that the nut case IT guy next door and upstairs was actually literally losing his shit and had been for some time. With a steady pounding on his apartment floor, he ensured that his downstairs neighbor's ceiling eventually cracked and OUR framed pictures and mirrors shook like they were in an earthquake. Our old dog would pace from worry. This went on almost daily. It wasn't until after it became a legal issue that we realized that this neighbor had called other neighbor's synagogues to say that the passive neighbor was in fact evil and shouldn't be allowed in the temple. He set off paint bombs on the neighbor's porch and would provoke until the point that police came. At that point he'd turn off all of his lights, or answer the door and explain in eloquent detail why it was HE in fact that was being harassed.
Finally, after 4 other neighbors in 5 years, a young neighbor moved downstairs below this person, and she moved in alone. Occasionally you come across a person that is just not willing to take some shit YOU KNOW? And this chick was one of them. She made regular complaints about the neighbor upstairs to our landlord, she engaged the crazy guy AND his brainwashed wife (oh yes, she looked like THAT dungeons and dragons girl) in discussions about their behavior, and ultimately she was the one that brought enough attention to the situation that it was actually addressed.
It was one of those nights in our place when I had heard a bit of commotion, but mostly got up to grab a Coke. I flipped open the kitchen blinds to check what the deal was (since it wasn't highly unusual to see an ambulance out front of our place for craziness or the elderly etc). What I saw outside my window was a group of at least 7 police officers with their guns drawn at my upstairs neighbor.
What ensued was a crazy dramatic sort of stand off that included the neighbor's wife coming home, inadvertently letting the cops into her house, and then a following 30 minutes of hard core shit talking to the po-pos. It turned out that our crazy male neighbor had pulled a massive shotgun out and pointed it at our downstairs neighbor and her friend in anger. I one time saw this neighbor come home from the gun range toting a very satisfied paper target and it disturbed me greatly. We saw the shotgun the neighbor pulled, and tried to take a sneaky photo from our upstairs bathroom but it didn't turn out.
It took this event to get our housing complex management's attention, despite all of the complaints from former tenants. Mind you, at the time we moved in, they were (or so they claimed) the second largest housing complex in the United States.
In the end, we felt really blessed that we were already planning our exit. I can't believe that we had lived next door to a young IT person who it turned out, was harboring a few firearms. A person we had slowly become at odds with, and who was slowly losing his grip on reality.
Mental illness is a real thing and I don't think this person can be entirely blamed for the hardships and issues he has recently come across. From what we've pieced together, he lost his job at some point in the post 9/11 economy. He had a known mental health issue and at a certain point became unable to support his own medicine - this triggered a rapid decline in his social behavior in the community. I think this is sad and I don't mean to make light of his situation directly.
However, the whole situation did teach us a lesson in being truly happy in the moment.
Now, we are living in an awesome small town college community. We are two blocks away from an entrance to the 3rd largest municipal park in California. We hit up that dual weekly farmer's markets, I ride my bike in that park, and we celebrate our amazing neighbors who bring us fresh eggs from their free range chickens.
What a difference a year makes.
I wanted to take this moment to sum up the past few months. A few people (mom's and mom's in laws mostly) have asked me recently "Are you not updating the blog anymore? What's up?"
The truth is, I've never abandoned you Dear Blog. Yes, there have been spells that resemble a black hole of writing inspiration - but you're always on my mind, Precious. Like a new love vacuum, all of my fun and funny ideas manifest into this nebulous fog of this might be neat for the blog.
We moved (Back) to Chico, Ca at the very end of December, 2010. I say "back" because this sleepy little orchard town is where Jon and I met nearly 9 years ago. I loved this town when I first moved here. Having grown up in various suburbs of San Diego in my youth, Chico resembled a town with limits. It was only so large - you could do only so much...and Yet, there was a lot to do. First off, It's a huge cycling community. It happens to be Cycling Month here in town! I mention this, obviously, with intentions - I just purchased the flossiest of bicycles. Her name is Bianca, but I'm not ready to introduce her publicly yet. Talk to me when my ass isn't ready to walk off the job in protest.
There are also several amazing farmer's markets here each week. Every Saturday there is one that makes San Francisco's Stonestown Gallery mall's farmer's market run home to weep like an underdeveloped teen. And then when the weather warms up to 70 degrees in Spring, we have the weekly Thursday night town market in addition to the Saturday one - and they last through the Fall, until the weather is uncooperative. The downtown streets are closed to traffic and food trucks from every popular restaurant in town provide to-go options for the fair-ish vibe. I LOVE THIS TOWN.
It's so funny the way you view a place given your current place in life. When I moved here in late Summer of 2002, I really would not have looked twice at those who were clearly beyond college age. Those who might even be married, pursuing a masters or beyond. Young, but with family and working. I also didn't think about staying here, or even coming back after I left.
Chico is the amalgamation of a good College community. The sweetness of small town charm meshed with the magic that is the graduates of the local college who have the guts to say "I want to continue to pay low rent and a cheaper cost of living if it means driving a bit over an hour to a nearby airport." Most of the people we've met that fit within our age group are cut from the same cloth. How can you argue against space and safety and progressiveness and affordability? Answer is, if you can find a way, it is inarguable.
Our leaving San Francisco was bittersweet. It was 97% sweet and 3% bitter. The bitterness comes from a fear of change. What it took to tell a steady job in the midst of the recession that I was moving, and could I potentially keep my job? What it means to self motivate on the DAILY and in most cases BEYOND the norm, because when I'm sitting in front of the TV in the evening, the office is sitting there within eye shot, reminding me of the things I might have gotten done. I also miss my office buddies who I could joke with and gripe with and ultimately realize I have it pretty good with.
On the positive side Yo, I be workin in my bathrobe half the time.
But fools be calling me at home at 5:45 AM because on the East Coast, that is well beyond reasonable business hours and Hey! I work from home.
You might not know this, but the Pacific Coast timers are sort of the red-headed step-children of the business world. (No, you don't NEED to get up at 6am PST, but if you get up at 9am, an urgent email from 9amEST doesn't get answered until noon. THINK ABOUT IT and maybe just spoon your laptop all night).
I also honestly did not realize how many times k9s need to pee/poop/puke throughout the course of a day/week/month.
Now that I've caught you up on the day to day vibe of working for the man from home, let me tell you a little about leaving San Francisco.
It was for probably 6 months that Jon and I discussed changing up a life we had only moderately liked in Daly City, CA. We moved to San Francisco in the Summer of 2005 and lived there for five and a half years. Our address was San Francisco, but we lived in the outer realm of San Francisco - where the weather blew and nothing fun, entertainment, food or otherwise occurred.
It's really hard to say what kept us in a place that brought us no joy at all. But I suppose that in fairness, at the time we moved in we weren't looking for joy - we felt we had enough to go around.
When we finally started talking about moving away from San Francisco, we had been walking around the nearby Lake Merced for several months. It took several years for us to realize that like it or not, we needed to be exercising in some form or another. The nearby Lake Merced was perfect. It was a bit more than .5 miles from our house and neared 5 miles around the entire lake (that actually had once been one lake, but is now three small lakes). Taking this walk on an almost daily basis brought us closer together and introduced the topic of Change. Jon really wanted to finish up the college courses he hadn't finished and I was anxious at the idea that I had settled in Daly City: a God Damn sleeper of a fucking foggy town that Voldemort himself actually hung out in between Albania and Spinner's End.
You see, at the time we moved in to our place in San Francisco in 2005, we had moved in next door to a mad man, but it was not for YEARS later, only until we were on the cusp of departing the ant-farm apartment complex village that we realized how volatile our neighbor was.
I guess it is most easily summed up by saying the following: we rented a two story town home. Our only neighbors directly next door were actually two single bedroom units. One upstairs from us, and one downstairs from us. Right off the bat, we should have realized that for each lease cycle (one year), we had a new tenant in the downstairs unit.
It turns out, that the nut case IT guy next door and upstairs was actually literally losing his shit and had been for some time. With a steady pounding on his apartment floor, he ensured that his downstairs neighbor's ceiling eventually cracked and OUR framed pictures and mirrors shook like they were in an earthquake. Our old dog would pace from worry. This went on almost daily. It wasn't until after it became a legal issue that we realized that this neighbor had called other neighbor's synagogues to say that the passive neighbor was in fact evil and shouldn't be allowed in the temple. He set off paint bombs on the neighbor's porch and would provoke until the point that police came. At that point he'd turn off all of his lights, or answer the door and explain in eloquent detail why it was HE in fact that was being harassed.
Finally, after 4 other neighbors in 5 years, a young neighbor moved downstairs below this person, and she moved in alone. Occasionally you come across a person that is just not willing to take some shit YOU KNOW? And this chick was one of them. She made regular complaints about the neighbor upstairs to our landlord, she engaged the crazy guy AND his brainwashed wife (oh yes, she looked like THAT dungeons and dragons girl) in discussions about their behavior, and ultimately she was the one that brought enough attention to the situation that it was actually addressed.
It was one of those nights in our place when I had heard a bit of commotion, but mostly got up to grab a Coke. I flipped open the kitchen blinds to check what the deal was (since it wasn't highly unusual to see an ambulance out front of our place for craziness or the elderly etc). What I saw outside my window was a group of at least 7 police officers with their guns drawn at my upstairs neighbor.
What ensued was a crazy dramatic sort of stand off that included the neighbor's wife coming home, inadvertently letting the cops into her house, and then a following 30 minutes of hard core shit talking to the po-pos. It turned out that our crazy male neighbor had pulled a massive shotgun out and pointed it at our downstairs neighbor and her friend in anger. I one time saw this neighbor come home from the gun range toting a very satisfied paper target and it disturbed me greatly. We saw the shotgun the neighbor pulled, and tried to take a sneaky photo from our upstairs bathroom but it didn't turn out.
It took this event to get our housing complex management's attention, despite all of the complaints from former tenants. Mind you, at the time we moved in, they were (or so they claimed) the second largest housing complex in the United States.
In the end, we felt really blessed that we were already planning our exit. I can't believe that we had lived next door to a young IT person who it turned out, was harboring a few firearms. A person we had slowly become at odds with, and who was slowly losing his grip on reality.
Mental illness is a real thing and I don't think this person can be entirely blamed for the hardships and issues he has recently come across. From what we've pieced together, he lost his job at some point in the post 9/11 economy. He had a known mental health issue and at a certain point became unable to support his own medicine - this triggered a rapid decline in his social behavior in the community. I think this is sad and I don't mean to make light of his situation directly.
However, the whole situation did teach us a lesson in being truly happy in the moment.
Now, we are living in an awesome small town college community. We are two blocks away from an entrance to the 3rd largest municipal park in California. We hit up that dual weekly farmer's markets, I ride my bike in that park, and we celebrate our amazing neighbors who bring us fresh eggs from their free range chickens.
What a difference a year makes.
Ah, User Generation
I just needed to share with you that I was one of the lucky few who happened upon the Osama Bin Laden Wikipedia page while it still said that he had died of a QUOTE massive erection.
Get your shit together Wikipedia.
Get your shit together Wikipedia.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Friday, March 25, 2011
Wintery Weekend
We spent a weekend at Donner Lake and it snowed like 7,000 Christmases combined. It was beautiful and fun and a good close to what has felt like a never ending Winter.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Four Corpulent Porpoises
I know this poem thing, this limerick, this I-don't-know-what. It's a funny sort of old expression and it has been officially defined by Wikipedia as an Announcer's Test, but I only know it as "that thing Grandma taught me"
You'll note in the Wikipedia article that this ditty is often passed down by word of mouth. I can't help but notice that the way I remember it is different than any way I can find online quickly. But isn't that the fun part of word-off-mouth?? It's like the rainy day game TELEPHONE. "The Cheese is on the table" translates to "Theres A FREEZE on the CABLE???" (wtf???)
Anyhow, here goes:
One Duck
Two Hens
Three Cackling Geese
Four Corpulent Porpoises
Five Faulty Foggy Flutes
Six pairs of Don Alverzo's Tweezers
Seven thousand Macedonian Warriors in Full Battle Array
Eight Brass Monkeys from the Ancient Sacred Crypts of Egypt
Nine Apathetic Sympathetic Diabetic Old Men on Roller Skates with a Marked Propensity for Procrastination and Sloth
Ten Lyrical Spherical Diabolical Denizens of the Deep who Hall Stall Around the Corner of Quo of the Quay of the Quivery, all at the Same Time.
I could never remember eight or ten, (although as a family we seem to remember something about brass monkeys and ancient Egypt) Those two here are from the internets.
Ever heard it? Variations?
You'll note in the Wikipedia article that this ditty is often passed down by word of mouth. I can't help but notice that the way I remember it is different than any way I can find online quickly. But isn't that the fun part of word-off-mouth?? It's like the rainy day game TELEPHONE. "The Cheese is on the table" translates to "Theres A FREEZE on the CABLE???" (wtf???)
Anyhow, here goes:
One Duck
Two Hens
Three Cackling Geese
Four Corpulent Porpoises
Five Faulty Foggy Flutes
Six pairs of Don Alverzo's Tweezers
Seven thousand Macedonian Warriors in Full Battle Array
Eight Brass Monkeys from the Ancient Sacred Crypts of Egypt
Nine Apathetic Sympathetic Diabetic Old Men on Roller Skates with a Marked Propensity for Procrastination and Sloth
Ten Lyrical Spherical Diabolical Denizens of the Deep who Hall Stall Around the Corner of Quo of the Quay of the Quivery, all at the Same Time.
I could never remember eight or ten, (although as a family we seem to remember something about brass monkeys and ancient Egypt) Those two here are from the internets.
Ever heard it? Variations?
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