goo mooning!
Update: Since you asked... Mr. Q did great on his exam. Yesterday was just one of several steps he has to take towards reaching a professional and personal goal. The best part of yesterday to me was just having him home. And how do I repay him? I go to class and don't get home 'til 10.30. One more way he rocks and I'm not worthy. Wait, this update isn't about me! Bonjour! Hope everyone is having a swell day! Mine is fine so far but I am nervous for Mr. Q since he is sitting for an important exam today. I know he'll do well but I am sending my best vibes his way today anyway. Last night was the first night in over 4 years that we spent apart. He didn't want or need to drive 2+ hours to the test this morning so he stayed near there. I was really sad to be apart but I am glad that he didn't have to fight traffic and drive so far this morning.
Anyway, I don't want to dwell on that, I just hope everyone sends a positive vibe his way!
The weekend didn't turn out like I planned, no Peter Sellers movies, but it was relaxing. The most relaxing one in a long time. Except for Saturday night when I went to pick up Chinese food and it took over 30 minutes for me to get my order. I am not paranoid, but I swear Asian people hate me. Everytime I go get Asian food of any kind, I am either ignored, forgotten, or poisoned! Last month, we went to get sushi at a neighborhood sushi place. When we walk in, I get stink eye from the ladies. Then I order my sushi WITHOUT AVOCADO because I am allergic. The server repeats, no avocado. She tells the chef no avocado. I get my sushi and since it's a handroll I can't see inside of it. I take a big old bite, mmm, another bite, mmm, I mean ick, and then unwrap the roll. Of course, the roll is slathered in avocado. If I ingest one molecule of avocado, it sends me into fits of extreme abdominal cramps, followed by explosive diarrhea and sometimes, as a bonus, I get hives. The server is summoned to the table and we show her the roll. She says adamantly that there is no avocado. We practically rub it on her face but she still won't admit that there is avocado. Yada, yada, yada. Long story short, she never admits that they screwed up, never takes responsibility and never even offers to make me another roll. In fact, she repeatedly comes to our table after we said go away, gets really close to my face and says "There was no avocado on the part you ate! I know. I would never make a mistake". Oh my god, what is with you woman? I am not making this up. I wish I could eat avocado - I love avocado but it makes me sick. Anyway, we pay the bill and Mr. Q says we won't go back even for miso soup. So now we call it Psycho Psushi. Bummer, too, since it's the closest sushi place we've got. Anyway, why do Asian people hate me?!
The Chinese food was terrific even though it took a long time for take out.
We rented Garden State but then Forrest Gump was on TV so I still haven't seen Garden State. Who can resist Forrest Gump? Last night, I was on my own and so I did homework and watched the Oscars. Yawn. I think Clint Eastwood is such a stud! What a classy guy. Hillary looked marvelous. Morgan Freeman was a class act, as always. I might actually go see Million Dollar Baby now, even though I don't like the subject matter that much.
Snuggletime
All I want to do this weekend is snuggle on the couch with Mr.Q and watch Peter Sellers movies. All weekend long. What about you?
Pi-licious, the very confused kitty
The wrong idea
I think my cat has the wrong idea about the dump truck. Maybe he's trying to tell us something about the litterbox!
Actually, he was trying to escape from the vacuum cleaner which sends him into fits of PTSD for some reason.
This is Pi. He showed up on our doorstep a year ago and, though we tried to find his owners, he's been ours ever since. He's an enormous and wild animal! He acts like a kitten but is apparently an old cat with a very old soul (yes, cats have souls). He's a lot like us.
We didn't name him for a very long time because we never thought we'd keep him. Ultimately, the name was shortened from kitty-pie, sweetie-pie, pumpkin-pie, pie-licious, et cetera, and the fact that I loved the book Life of Pi. I always think of him as being like Richard Parker, the tiger who disappeared into civilization without a trace. He is such a good cat; we called him "cat in a can" he came fixed, potty-trained and de-clawed. We would never get a cat de-clawed but he came that way so I am not going to complain that our furniture and stereo speakers are still intact.
Here's the TMI part: As for being fixed - I have never known a cat that liked to hump people. We also sometimes call him Sir Humpsalot. He goes crazy humping people and we don't know why. He seems confused about kneading, purring and pro-creating as he always starts purring and kneading but quickly starts a-humping. Freud would have something interesting to say about that.
I figured it was time for an introduction to the namesake of my meager blog.
Efficiency-schmefficiency
Say that 5 times fast! Ha!
This is a such a gem, I could not pass up the opportunity even though I was going to try to leave
le bureau out of this blog.
One day, a man, we'll call him Yosemite Sam, emailed a senior level manager (SLM) and asked him to set up a conference call. Soon thereafter, Yosemite called a junior professional staff member (JP) and asked her to set up (the same) conference call. JP emails me, and asks me to set up the aforementioned conference call. I then email the whole team and say the following:
"I see that Person A asked Person B to set up a conference call. Person C also asked me to set up a conference call. I don't want to duplicate anyone's effort so I am just checking to see if this call has already been set up."
SLM responds that Yosemite's assistant was going to set that up. Hello. I am Yosemite's assistant and Yosemite never actually asked me to set up anything.
I call Yosemite just now and say "I am trying to understand who wants this conference call and who is supposed to set it up".
Yosemite says "I asked SLM to set up the conference call and then he called me and asked me to ask JP to set up the conference call."
I say "Well, JP asked me to set up the conference call. One person is not available so what do you want to do, reschedule?"
"No, we need to have this call. Call the other person back and see when they are available."
Okey-dokey. Let's see, it takes 4 different people to set up a conference call which will include only 4 people, 3 of which are the same.
Isn't that
HILARIOUS? Aren't you totally envious of me and my position?! I know you want to apply for a job like mine right now. You can't. It's a really special job only for really special people. And if you think by "special" I mean "retarded", you would be right.
I LOVE being a secretary. It's so much fun to intercept cryptic messages and interpret conflicting data. It's almost like being a secret agent. Intrigue! Excitement! Danger!
It's also like being a psychic. I get to read minds. Just call me Madame Quilty, Psychic Extraordinaire, Mistress of the Mystical, Predictor of the Profound. I actually didn't realize ESP was required for this job, because in order to know you need ESP you have to have ESP since they purposely leave it off of the job description.
Even though the sun is shining (as has been pointed out by about a million people) and I am not complaining, I should have stayed in bed today!
A menace to society?
It's Wednesday and instead of self-portrait day that I've seen around the blogs, I have decided to make it confession day for me. I rant plenty about other people and I would like to think that I am without any flaws whatsoever, but, alas, I am not. I am starting to feel the therapeutic effects of blogging, so in the interest of bettering myself and, perhaps, the world, it's time to reveal my first confession.
Sometimes I put makeup on while driving. OK. A lot of times. It's usually at stop lights, but it's still a bad habit. I need help, I admit it. I am a menace to drivers everywhere. I don't think I need to outline why it's a bad idea. Since my daughter has her driving permit now, I really need to stop. It is rather difficult though because after we've been driving for 20 years, we do tend to get a little complacent. Of course, I think I am a good driver, but doesn't everyone? Can't we all talk on our cell phone, drink coffee, smoke and drive all at the same time? Just because we can, doesn't mean we should.
Anyway, it's almost been a full year since my last car was totaled by a guy running a red light. I was shocked to discover how easy it's been for me to become lackadaisical again.
My resolution for February 23: I will not put makeup on in my car (unless I am parked, engine off).
"Bi" the way: a problem of amBIguity
In a fit of writer's block, I am publishing grammar tips that you may find useful. I use these in a monthly meeting segment at work. Here is the first one:
Q: Does
bimonthly mean "twice a month" or "every two weeks"?
A: It means both! The same ambiguity affects biweekly and biyearly.
Bi- means "two" and it also means "twice". Therefore, if you have a contract where a task is specified to occur at bimonthly intervals, you may have a real problem when the client expects you to perform the task twice monthly, but you only plan to do it once every other month.
In order to be absolutely clear, use a phrase such as "twice a week", "twice monthly" or whatever. Just say it the way it is.
Here's the caveat: In publishing, the prefix bi- is consistent: a bimonthly is published every two months and a biweekly is published every two weeks. In science and some other fields, bi- is usually quite specific so there is no need to alter your usage.
BONUS material:
Pet peeves of mine:
Acrossed (Acrost) - There is no such word (to my knowledge). Across is a preposition. Crossed is a verb. Please do not fuse or confuse these two different words.
Nuclear - is pronounced noo-kle-ar, not nu-kyo-lar, contrary to our beloved POTUS's preferred pronunciation. (Thanks to Rude Cactus for being so specific. I was trying to sum up and I screwed up instead).
Should have, Could have, Would have... not "should of", "could of" or "would of".
Irregardless - don't even get me started on that one!
It's fricking freezing in here, Mr. Bigglesworth
I am back at work. Yay. I really don't mind being at work even though yesterday I didn't get out of my pajamas until 5.30 p.m. and only then because we went out to get some dinner. On a rainy day, one may find that staying in one's pajamas the whole day is not entirely unpleasant.
Anyway, the problem I am having (and I am always having a problem, dontcha know), is that besides every female in the office being a complete and utter you-know-what today, it is ffffreeeeeezzzzzzinnng in here. The reason? The two girls across the aisle from me had a contraption placed over the vent above their cubicle which diverts the air flow away from them and directly onto me. How inconsiderate of them. Now, they are comfortable and I am a human popsicle. If I turn the thermostat up, then they will complain that it is too warm or stuffy and someone will go back and turn it down again. I realize that everything can't be about me, but just for one day, I'd like to not wear a parka at my desk.
Thanks for listening. This complaint of the day is brought to you by: PMS. Bringing misery and strife to a woman near you.
In a funk
I am in a funk and will write again when either 1) the rain stops; or 2) I think of something clever to say, whichever comes first.
Something Requisitely Witty and Urbane: Book Meme:
Dylan had this linked, via Chuck, and I'll probably screw this whole thing up:
Here are the instructions:
1. Grab the nearest book.
2. Open the book to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the text of the sentence in your journal along with these instructions.
5. Don’t search around and look for the “coolest” book you can find. Do what’s actually next to you.
Here is my result (mind you, I am at work so I have weird random books on my shelf):
"I want to give them of course!"
One, Richard Bach
Je ne suis pas stupide!
UPDATE: last night before class, I actually ate something (a gigantic, and quite tasty, cheeseburger) and it made a HUGE difference. The synapses were firing, I understood what was going on, and I actually cared. My exam was not a complete and utter disaster, only a minor disaster. I will do better next time. I know it's common sense to eat dinner at dinner time, but due to a variety of circumstances, I've just gotten accustomed to having a latte before class and trudging through on a semi-empty stomach. So, the moral of this story is that sometimes you learn more from going to school than you actually learn at school.I am crazy busy today but I can't resist posting at least once.
I have a French test tonight and I am
so not going to ace it. I am not even sure I will pass it. I am normally a very good student but I am not a good
studier (don't correct my grammar - I know what I am saying). Most classes I've taken so far (lower division stuff) have been really easy; I just pay attention in class, I take great notes, and I understand new concepts fairly easily. Taking exams does not give me anxiety, usually.
However, French 3 is kicking my butt (and I don't even know how to say that in french). It's a lot of hours per week (6), it's late at night (7-10), I usually don't eat a proper dinner so I am usually hungry - and, hello, what do we talk about most in French class? Food, of course. - and it's not something I get to practice every single day.
French 3 is like Algebra to my brain. It needs to be practiced a lot and I need a lot of help correcting my mistakes. We had a quiz last week, Jeopardy style (but in French, "Jeopardy" sounds kind of like Geo Par Tea). It was really difficult for me and I am not used to being so challenged in school! I only got 10/20 points. I know, poor me. How will I cope?
Here's the really aggravating part: half of the class consists of high school students (AP, Ivy-league-bound types with perfect pronunciation), and the other half of the class are ladies of leisure who are taking French for fun and have 8 hours a day to devote to studying their French and doing their homework, and paying private French tutors. I do not fall into either of those categories. Even if I had 8 hours a day, I wouldn't spend it doing my homework.
So, I guess I will have to just do my best and accept that I am not and will not always be the brightest student in the class. Or the hardest working. Or the most disciplined. Hey! That's just like work! How about that?!
Things I never, ever thought I would say
"I'll be happy if I get a 'C'", said to Mr. Quilty last night after my French exam.
"No thank you, it's
too chocolatey," said to the Starbucks barista offering me a free sample of
Chantico.
"It's not
that messy," said to self when opening the door to my closet this morning as clothes fell off the top shelf onto my head.
Lessons for the Lame-Brained
Things I figured out today:
1. Don't use the dining room table for an ironing board. It doesn't work and your cat might decide to use your pants for nap when you're not looking.
2. Don't wear short socks with loafers and your khaki trousers if you haven't shaved your legs today. It's not attractive to show stubble when you sit down and cross your legs. Really. It's just not.
3. If you are busy at work, try not to blog too much (reading or writing). Also, don't balance your checkbook at your desk. Because then you can't tell people you're too busy to help them. They aren't as dumb as they look.
4. Don't eat Kashi Go Lean Crunch without milk. It is too crunchy and your cubemates will think you're crunching ice - and everyone knows that sounds obnoxious.
So, there you have it. Hope this helps.
Tuesdays: Like Mondays but with less enthusiasm
It's Tuesday, y'all. I am not a big fan of Tuesday. I don't know why I can't get going. There always seems to be more work on Tuesday and I have even less motivation than I did the day before. Plus everything with me is delayed. I have delayed reactions to just about every single thing that ever happens. If a car cuts me off (which happens daily), I don't freak out until about 10 seconds later. So, naturally, I hate Tuesdays like most people hate Mondays.
By the way, to the Driver of the Humvee: if you absolutely
must take up 2 parking spaces at work, could you be a dear and park away from the front of the building? I realize that you are all entitled and stuff since you obviously feel the need to show us your manhood (or lack thereof), but if you have a shred of awareness in your feeble little mind, you would have the courtesy to not make me park in the farthest parking place in the lot just so you can get 2 spaces near the door. I realize fewer people would then have the priviledge of seeing your behemoth vehicle and would therefore not benefit from the great awe and astonshment we have for you and your enormous wealth and power. That would be tragic but somehow I think we could cope.
Is that supposed to be a compliment?
I know this has happened to just about everyone.
The scene: 3 hours after I arrive at work.
Co-worker who is thoughtful AND articulate: "Cute haircut!"
Random co-worker #1: "You got your hair cut."
Me: "Yes."
Ten minutes later.
Random co-worker #2: "Hey, you got your hair cut."
Me: "Yes. Thank you for being so observant."
Ten more minutes later.
Random co-worker #3: "Did you get a hair cut?"
Me: "No, I got them all cut."
RCW #3: (Blank stare).
My boss: (Three months from now) "Did you get your haircut?"
It's like a regular Mensa meeting around here.
My question is this: Is "You got a haircut" supposed to be a compliment? I have no response to you if you tell me that I got a hair cut. Of course, I was there so I remember getting it cut. It's very helpful of you to remind me though. Do they think it's ugly? If so, why say anything at all?* Do they think it's terribly brave, indulgent, retarded, or (fill in your own adjective here), of me to get my hair cut? I go through this everytime. I just don't get it!
*Once, me and CQ went to our favorite sushi place and the girl that's always there and knows our name took one look at me after a haircut and said (I kid you not) "You got your haircut. It doesn't look very good. I liked it much better the other way." "Um. Thanks?" Alas, the sushi restaurant isn't in business anymore. It couldn't have been due to the stellar customer service, could it?
My new 'do
I know the whole wide world has been eagerly awaiting the results from my trip to the salon on Saturday. Actually, I know that is impossible since no one but me knew I was going to the salon. I get my haircut about once every 2 or 3 months ('cause I'm kinda poor). I almost always have short or medium short hair and it's always some shade of reddish-brown. I have had a bitchin' 'do for about 6 months (the fabulous bob in my other picture) but the thing was, I couldn't just roll out of bed and dash to work. No matter how late I slept, I had to take the time to make the hair wet in some way and then blowdry. It wasn't hard, it was just time intensive (20 minutes or so to dry my thick, thick hair).
Anyway, in a fit of exhaustion I decided it was time to simplify (or messify) the hair. This morning, I spent five minutes on my hair, and I was able to drink coffe and read something while drying beacause my hair is so easy now, it fixes itself!
Yay! I love it. It's a little more cutesy and a little less serious executive assistant-y, but that's me. More cute, less helpful. I've been trying to get my bosses to admit that they really do pay me to sit around and look pretty, but so far they have refused to admit it.
Anyway, thanks for all the (2) comments about how young I look! I know it must be true because I hear it often. I promise I haven't had any work done! I started having babies really, really young. I stay out of the sun (it gives me hives). And, I have young-looking genes. The down-side, if there is a down-side, is that many times, people don't take me very seriously, or they assume I don't know much since I am so young. It's weird though because I know I'll be 40 one day (in the not too distant future) but I still feel exactly the same as I did at 16 (except happy now and without so much angst!).
Anyway, it's only 4 weeks to the family reunion in Las Vegas. Let the anxiety begin!
CQ Rocks My World
You still give me butterflies.
Thanks for all of the thousand things you do to pamper me everyday.
I am so proud of what you do. I am so inspired by the love and compassion you give out on a daily basis. I am overwhelmed and amazed at how hard you work and how underappreciated you are.
I love that you love everthing that I love even if you don't really love it.
I love that we both turn each other on to new things all the time. And that we appreciate all of the same old things.
I love that you are impulsive and naughty and rebellious but that you also care enough to try to change the world.
I love that you are going to change the world!
I love that you changed my world.
I love that we are going to grow old together.
You have my undying and eternal love (and no, you can't really put it in your pipe and smoke it!).
You are a rock star!
lah-ti-dah, lah-ti-dah.
I smell like a man, baby
In a momentary lapse of concentration this morning, I inadvertently put on Mr. Q's deodorant. It's Aveda, so it's nice, but it's distinctly masculine. I am feeling unusually turned on by my armpits today.
gung hee fat choy!
It's a busy day today.
My son turned 19 today.
It's Chinese New Year. Hello to the Year of the Rooster and farewell to the Year of the Monkey. I liked the Year of the Monkey. I was born in the Year of the Monkey, as was Mr. Quilty. I met Mr. Q in the Year of the Monkey and we got married in the Year of the Monkey.
It's Ash Wednesday. I'm not technically or officially Catholic (just married to one)so I don't have to give anything up for Lent. Whew.
I emailed a post to this blog earlier this morning about my armpits but it is lost in cyberspace somewhere. That's not important, but it did happen today.
Our company just had a big photo shoot outside the office to commemorate our 60th anniversary. All that entailed was for us to stand outside in the beautiful sunshine for about 20 minutes. The girl next to me was whining the whole time about how hard it was to stand there and she said "Oh my god, I'm dying" about 10 times. I was about to smack her and say "I can make that dream a reality, sweetie" but I restrained myself. All that negative energy can't be pretty. Let's see. Sit inside the office, answer phones, do paperwork, and stare at a computer OR stand outside in the sunshine and smile for a camera. That's a tough one. And I am sensitive to sunlight so I can be a big whiny baby, too. I just generally like to keep it to myself.
Anyway, gung hee fat choy means something like "congratulations for striking it rich". So may you strike it rich this year, be it in love or in money or whatever you fancy most.
Ha! Having solved all other societal problems, Virginia has passed a bill that says
you can be fined $50 if you wear your pants low enough to show your underwear. I know this is utterly ridiculous and the government surely has better things to do than legislate good taste in clothing, but I am so sick of seeing peek-a-boo thongs, boxer shorts, and butt-cracks. I gather from the article this seems to be targeting gang-style apparrel but here in Southern California, it is a wildly popular fashion statement.
I cannot go into a restaurant, a library, school, or the supermarket without seeing somebody's butt crack or their Victoria Secrets. I am not interested in what color your g-string is, or where you bought it. I don't want to see your buttcrack, ever! And I think it can't really be that sanitary, is it? If I sit in a booth at a restaurant and somebody's bare buttcrack was pressed against it, doesn't it seem like their buttcrack germs are now on my clothing? Or if I am exposing my own buttcrack, isn't that kind of like buttcrack to buttcrack contact? Gross.
One of the few drawbacks to living somewhere with a near perfect climate year round is that I don't even get a break during the winter months from this hopefully-soon-to-be-extinct trend. I know my age and my nerdiness is showing, but since when are buttcracks sexy anyway? I'm not a prude and I am sure that anthropologists think cleavage is sexy to us because it resembles a buttcrack and cavemen apparently liked buttcracks because, well, you can figure it out.
I think it is incredibly bad taste and the fashion police need to be on a non-stop campaign to end this hideous practice of buttcrack exposure. And while we're at it, if I see one more ginormous lower back tattoo, I think I'm going to hurl. Especially at the office. We really don't want or need a reminder of your drunken weekend in Mexico. But won't it be cute when you're 70?
I was pleased to read this post at
SRWU which reinforced everything I've been feeling about my blog 'speriment. I have always enjoyed a small group of friends, some years smaller than others, but usually I have 3 or 4 people who I enjoy hanging out with and talking to. The same thing is happening here. I love my readers right now. And I love what Dylan said in his post:
In looking back, it is apparent to me what I wanted was an audience. Blogging provided the mix of those two things: A chance to write what I want, and the ability to bounce it off of other people.
And it is because the audience, once first achieved, doesn't remain an audience: it becomes a community. The communal aspect of the blogs are what make them go.
I feel like that is starting to happen. And it really does give me warm fuzzies! (Warm fuzzies from the internet? Who knew?) Anyway, I read and read and read. But I'm still (a little bit)afraid to write. Most days, I check the high priority blogs first, the ones where I am truly intrigued by what they will say next, followed by the ones I like to read but can go a whole day or two without checking in. Often, the ones I admire seem so intelligent, articulate or cool, I am intimidated to try to compete. Or I am afraid that I will come off looking like a copycat. Whatever. I need to get over myself! 'Cause sometimes (sadly) it is the highlight of my work day to see my little email popup with a comment, too!
So, three things for today.
Thanks for reading and commenting (especially the commenting).
Thanks for giving us (me) a peek inside your world.
Thanks for providing a little inspiration each day!
You rock!
Proud Mama
The cutest boy that was ever born will be 19 years old tomorrow.
I have no idea how this happened.
On nic fits and fun with fleas
It's Friday! (doing the Friday happy dance). In other news, I have only had one cigarette ALL DAY!
I have been trying to quit for a long time. Since September last year, I've been a very casual, weekend-only kind of smoker. January 13th was the first day of school and I suddenly saw my intake go from 1 or 2 a day at most to 3, then 4, then 5 and I think yesterday I had 6 cigarettes. I really want one right now! Luckily, I don't have any with me.
I've been really ambivalent about quitting. You know what made me start smoking more again? French class. I have this silly, romantic notion of sitting with my lov-ah in a cafe in Paris smoking and drinking coffee and talking about love, life and the pursuit of happiness. I've never been to Paris, but that's the image I've been hanging on to my whole life. I know that by the time I do get to visit, smoking will be banned in all public places so I'll have to let that one go too (like the Irish pub, drink a pint, smoke a cigarette fantasy).
Also, I really love old movies and they are always smoking in them. I think it's tres distingue' (ok, I don't have any accents working on my keyboard right now). I know it's really bad for me, blah blah blah. I know it's stinky. Really stinky. I know it's expensive, too, but it's way cheaper than my latte habit and I'm not giving that up any time soon.
The main motivation (besides the obvious, I don't want to have a stroke or die from COPD) goes back to the snob factor. I think standing outside smoking anywhere looks kinda white trashy. I hate that. If I run down to the Walmart to pick up some tampons, the last thing I want to do is stand outside the Walmart and smoke a cigarette! But being in or near a Walmart stresses me out and makes me want to have a cigarette. Besides that, in California, smoking in public is almost the worst thing you can do. I'd be better off I was a leper! It's that bad.
So, while part of me wants to give a big f-off to the OC, and anyone else who pretends to care, the other part of my does think it's a ridiculous and nasty habit.
I think I've found a few diversions to help ward off the dreaded mid-afternoon nic fit, though. Blogging is good. Knitting something is good. Going for a brisk walk is good. A nap would be even better.
My weekend agenda: de-flea. The weirdest thing happened last week. We noticed that we have fleas. Or the cat does. I have no idea how that happened. We live in a second floor flat and our cat never goes outside. Someone must've snuck into our apartment and purposely planted a girl flea and a boy flea on the cat. They have been merrily multiplying so now we really have an issue. Damn fleas!
bathroom trauma
Dylan made me realize that my blog wouldn't be complete without a good bathroom story. I have many but I'll devote today to the big one.
This story takes place a long, long time ago when I was a wee lass no more than 6. I had just started a new school, I didn't have any friends and I had just gotten my hair cut. It was long and beautiful in kindergarten but for some reason, still unknown to me, my mom decided that I needed to look more like Alfalfa from the Little Rascals and had my hair cut really, really short. I
was
a tomboy and liked to wear pants and turtlenecks to school, but still!
I remember that I was wearing a pair of plaid bell-bottoms that day. Don't laugh, it was the 70s! It was cool. Anyway, we are at recess and I must have had to pee because I ended up in the main bathroom by the playground. It was really busy at the time, tons of girls in there from 1st graders to maybe 4th graders. I was standing at the sink, I think, and a really tall girl (some 4th grade prissy girl Amazon) starts shrieking "there's a boy in the bathroom!!! there's a boy in the bathroom!!".
Oh my god! I am all freaked out thinking that this boy must be a pervert or a psycho if he intruded upon the girls bathroom at recess. Eeek! There was what seemed like a mad stampede towards the door, which I didn't join in because I was busy washing my hands. But, man, was I scared! In all the chaos, I never did see the boy in the girls bathroom.
Moments later, Mrs. Alexander, my math teacher, came in to see what all the ruckus was about. The prissy girly-girl, still hyperventilating, managed to say "th-th-th-there i-i-s a-a b-boy in h-here" and she pointed. Right at me.
I was only 6 years old, but I thought I would DIE from embarrasment. I have probably never been more mortified than at that very moment when the prissy girl pointed at me and called me a boy.
Luckily my teacher knew me (and my gender) so she handled it all sweetly and compassionately. Otherwise, I may have been attacked and maimed, or worse, by an angry mob of primary school girls!
Thankfully, no one would mistake me for a boy anymore, although I still like bell-bottoms and turtlenecks. I don't have an Alfapha hair cut either, but once in a while I get a glimpse of myself or see a picture and think "gosh, I do look like a boy".
won't you take me to funkytown
The vending machine at work just made me smile. Well, IT didn't make me smile but something in it did. Since Mr. Quilty works with
dying people I have learned that my "problems" never add up to much, especially compared to some, so I embrace the little things and try to appreciate every detail that I can.
I had a pretty crappy childhood (who didn't?) and for years and years and years I totally perseverated on how bad it was. It has taken a long time to grieve about it and accept it and just get over myself and all the destructive self-pity that comes with being a big, whiny baby. Happily, I've been on the road to good mental health for quite some time. As Martha would say, "it's a good thing".
Anyway, a few minutes ago I foggily and light-headedly went to the vending machine to cure my low blood sugar situation. I decided to spring for the $1.75 Quaker Instant Oatmeal, Baked Apple Flavor even though I think I probably have a packet of plain oatmeal in my cubicle somewhere that I could make for a late breakfast/early lunch. Whatever. It was totally cool that I did because as I'm looking at the wide-array of incredibly nutritious snacks in the vending machine, I spy a bag of
Andy Capp's Cheddar Fries. I haven't seen those in these parts ever and I don't think I've seen them since I was a kid.
I was instantly transported back to 6th grade when we'd spend Friday nights at the skating rink listening to Funkytown and YMCA and drinking "suicides" and eating
Jolly Rancher "fire stix" and showing off our impressive roller skating skills. Those were skills that I would take to my first job as a roller-skating carhop.
I actually remembered something nice. I love when that happens. I did have fun when I was a kid!
That is encouraging and gives me something to store in my brain for when I get Alzheimers.
work is a four-letter word
so, i'm here at work (and too lazy to use capital letters). i don't know why i'm here. it's so beautiful out and my bosses are both out of the office. no one would notice if i left. i. can't. really. focus. and the lights just went out. i am taking that as a sign.
i don't know what was more depressing and difficult to watch last night, the SOTU speech or american idol. both were equally appalling in their own way. the only thing i will say is that i thought it was really symbolic that when the mom of the dead soldier and the iraqi woman hugged, the soldier's dog tags got all tangled up with the iraqi woman's clothes. if you think about that as a metaphor, it is rather significant, don't you think? it works on many levels. i would like to hear if that meant anything to anyone else too.
other than that, i will leave the commentary to others. eventually, i will get into writing political rants but for now i'm out. i've been on hiatus from excessive news ever since the election. i think i must not be ready for a steady news diet yet because i had a dream about aaron brown last night. (not that kind of dream, get your mind out of the gutter). when anyone from the news seeps into my subconcious, that's a bad sign. i will, however, make an exception for anderson cooper.
Putting the Stink back in Distinction
I have news! You probably don't know that I am transferring from community college to a university soon. You also don't know (because I just found out) that I have been... drumroll, please... "admitted with distinction". I especially love that part. With distinction. I don't think I've ever done anything with distinction!
I am much more excited than I thought I would be. It kind of caught me off guard because I did expect to get in (humble, aren't I?) but wasn't 100% sure since I've never tried before. Once I found out, it was really a thrill. I have sooooo far to go to actually get my degree, but it's a great milestone for me. Yay! No more community college (not that there is anything wrong with that).
Anyway, I just wanted to share my news because, well just because.
Now- only 4 more years of university (I'm on the 10-year plan) and then I'm off to grad school! ha!
That's all. You can all go back to whatever you were doing!
P.S. I am looking for scholarships and grants in Linguistics so if you know anything about anything, please show me the way.
You still might be a dimwit
Good news for the birds.
Scientists have determined that birds' brains are not as primitive as we once thought.
They can use tools, they can use songs and imitate human language to communicate and they can count.
"They can lie -- you can teach a pigeon to do something that will have another pigeon get food for a reward. You can find a female pigeon that will pretend a reward for food is coming and then she eats it instead of her mate," Jarvis said.
Jarvis said he is not only defending the intellect of birds.
"We should be able to get more insight into how the human brain works, too," he said.
I always thought birds were smarter than a lot of people I know and now I see that it's true.
I, myself, am inclined to fly somewhere south for the winter right now, not because it's cold here, but just because I need a change of scenery. Rio sounds nice. Or New Zealand.
Isn't there another bird myth involving food? I have heard that birds eat enormous amounts of food vis a vis their body weight. (I've never verified this.) So when people say you eat like a bird they really mean you're being a pig. I don't know how much pigs actually eat, having never spent any time on a farm.
Anyway, I am truly the dimwit now, seeing how I am still at work and it's after 5 on a school night. So, I'm going to make like a tree, and leave.
Apropos to my last post!
I am 24% White Trash.
I, my friend, have class. I am so not white trash. . I am more than likely Democrat, and my place is neat, and there is a good chance I may never drink wine from a box.
Whew! What a relief. I have an ongoing conflict with myself and Mr. Q over whether I am actually white trash or if I am indeed reformed! I never wanted to be, but you can't help where you're born. I've spent the last 20 years trying to eradicate any WT residue that I may have brought with me! So, while killing time this afternoon, I stumbled on this somewhere (god only knows where) and I couldn't resist. Don't judge, you know you want to take it too! Even if you know the answer already (and I think we all do!).
