The Nerd in the Corner

Maybe you could cross-market the jerky to the stoners...

2011-03-01T20:38:00.000-05:00

A couple of weeks ago, Mr. Nerd bought himself a Nook e-reader, and surprised me with one, too. Since we got new Android phones for Valentine's Day, too, we basically just leaped ahead about four years, technologically speaking, and it's awesome. Except when it's kind of disturbing. Since I have new gadgets, I've been poking around in unfamiliar corners of the Internet, and I am finding a lot of things that make me say: What the heck are these people thinking?

Self-published books

Apparently the proliferation of reading devices like the Kindle and Nook has created a huge market for these self-published ebooks. Mr. Nerd has spent a lot of time on the NookBooks section of barnesandnoble.com, looking for stuff to read. Here is one of his finds:

It's considered a "paranormal romance/urban fantasy anthology." If you check out the overview, it appears to be a mashup of Twilight/fairy/space/cat people-shape shifter/bodice-ripper romance, for 99 cents. And there are tons of these. I don't know whether I should laugh, or get busy thinking up stories for my new series about a scrappy part-dog/part-elf female ghost investigator and her on-again/off-again romance with a shape-shifting bad-boy cat/vampire named Chance. (Mr. Nerd would want me to let you know that he doesn't read these; he was looking for science fiction stories.)

I came across these next few when I did a search for cookbooks:

Cooking with Coolio. Cooking. With Coolio. Now I'm wondering: Are there a bunch of these out there, that just shove a rapper into some completely random how-to guide? Like, say, furniture repair with 50 Cent? Landscaping with Lil' Wayne? Embroidery with Eminem?

Is there a follow-up to this one, called Ten Great Recipes for when You Have the Munchies?

And were there supposed to be, like, 100 recipes, but Smokey (ha! I see what you did there) got too baked and ended up staring at his fingerprints for a few hours instead? I think the next installment would be a big seller, since you've already identified your target market. And it wouldn't require a whole lot of effort--list Dr. Pepper, Snickers bars, and Doritos, and the book is half-done already. Just sayin'.

Pardon me a moment while I try not to hurl:

100? Seriously? That stuff is nas-ty. I've never tasted jerky, and I pray that I never have to. We have dog treats in the cabinet that look AND smell better than this stuff.

And finally, check out the tagline on this one:

"Converting" makes it sound so...clinical. Like chemistry class. Do a few equations, gather up some test tubes, fire up the Bunsen burner and--voila!--venison dinner. Definitely no gutting involved here.

I meant to include some of the head-scratching-ly strange Android apps I've found, but I'm out of time for tonight. Be sure to check back for that!

I think the Fat Fairy and Mr. Snarkypants are in cahoots

2011-02-16T20:56:00.000-05:00

It all started when I realized my dress didn't fit.

That was this morning, when I was getting ready for work. The dress wasn't just a little snug; I looked like a brown knit sausage (with cute boots). And I had just worn the dress last week, when it fit perfectly. So, either a) I managed to gain an entire dress size in a week, even though I'm on hard-core Weight Watchers and I haven't been cheating; or b) there's some sort of fat-distributing version of the Tooth Fairy out there who strikes unsuspecting 40-something women during the night. The Fat Fairy, if you will. Either way, I spent a sweaty 20 minutes ironing another dress, putting on my eye makeup, and letting the dogs out--all at the same time. It made for a good start to the day.

Crap.

Then, the machines turned on me.

When I got to my office, I immediately settled down to work on a high-priority report that had to be ready to send to a group of bigwigs by noon. I opened the Word document, did a "save as," and...lockup; restart; lather, rinse; repeat four times, on four different computers. It turned out that the server for my division had run out of memory. By the time I was able to start on the report, I had just over an hour to finish.

CRAP.

Aaaannnnddd then Mr. Snarkypants called.

Just thinking about this guy is making my face burn. Not only was he incredibly snarky, rude, and completely unwilling to provide any of the information I needed to answer his question, he yelled at me. For about three solid minutes. While I was already stressed out from the whole computer thing. Here's a tip, dude: Yelling at me does not make me want to help you. It makes me want to curse at you and kick you in the shins. I got so disgruntled that I lost the willpower to resist the massive croissants one of my co-workers brought, which made me even more bummed out about the dress-not-fitting thing.

CRAAAAAAP!!!!!!

It all worked out, eventually--the computer problem was solved, the report got finished, my pulse stopped racing from the sheer fury caused by that massive jerkwad, and this crummy day was finally over. I got to change into my jim-jams and have a nice cup of coffee. I'm keeping an eye out for that Fat Fairy, though. If I find that heifer, she's definitely getting a kick in the shins.

My 15 minutes were over before I even hit grade school

2011-02-07T19:34:00.000-05:00

Recently, Kathy of the Junk Drawer Blog asked her Facebook friends if they had ever appeared on television. Tons of people replied, and many of them had made appearances, particularly on local news or shows. Reading their comments took me back to 1975, when I made my television debut. Does "debut" imply that there were subsequent appearances?

When I was growing up here in Lexington, Kentucky, everyone watched a local talk-style show—it covered events and celebrities, human interest stories, and the like—hosted by a lady named June Rollins. Each Christmas, Ms. Rollins would select a group of children from a kindergarten class to appear on her holiday special. For her Christmas 1975 show, June chose Eastland Day School to provide her with the requisite number of cute kindergarteners. Enter yours truly.

When the representatives from the show called the school, they noted that, “the kids have to be able to sit still and be quiet for the length of the show.” I always toed the line at school (based on my mother’s threats of a punishment worse than death if I misbehaved), so I was one of probably ten or so kids chosen to appear on the show. To our great delight, my BFF Shannon was picked, too. Squee! We were so excited. While our teachers taught etiquette lessons and gave stern warnings about not embarrassing our fine educational institution on television, my aunt made me a special dress just for the program: a ruffled denim pinafore with red flowers, which I wore with a red turtleneck and knee socks. My mom shined up my saddle shoes and procured the perfect red ribbon for my ‘do. I was all ready for the big day.

Sadly, many of the memories of the “big day” have not stayed with me for the last 35 years. (Except every detail of what I wore. Tells you a lot about my priorities, huh?) The main thing I remember is waiting. Lots and lots of sitting, and waiting, and being quiet. All very difficult things for a group of five-year-olds already jacked up sky-high on pre-Christmas hysteria. At last, the show began. Ms. Rollins must have been a masochist, because she aired that bad boy live. Live, with a bunch of holiday-hyped kindergarteners. We all sat cross-legged on the floor, looking adorbz, trying not to fidget while June did her thing, and waiting for our chance to tell her what we wanted for Christmas. When she came to Shannon and me, it was like we had made an unspoken pact to take over the show. We would. Not. Stop. Talking. While June tried to steer the conversation to some of the other kids, we just kept ramping it up, going on and on about the gifts we had asked Santa to bring, until Shannon issued the coup de grace: “And guess what else I asked for! A DOLL THAT PEES!!!” (That was kind of scandalous in 1975, kids.) Shannon wore an expression of exhilaration and triumph; I fell over in a cascade of giggles; and June Rollins looked like she was hoping that the floor would open up and swallow us both.

After the show, my mother was appalled that I had participated in such a performance. But, she was also very glad that, at least, I was not the one who uttered the offensive sentence. That was the beginning, and end, of my television career. I spent the next couple of years begging my mom to get me a gig on Romper Room (LOVED that show), but she always quickly changed the subject when I mentioned it. At the time, I couldn’t figure out why, but now I’m pretty sure I understand. She didn’t want to give me the opportunity to embarrass her on a national scale. I already had the local audience covered.

How do I hate thee, AT&T? Oh, I'm going to count the ways.

2011-01-25T20:18:00.000-05:00

This doesn’t happen very often, peeps, but your usually mild-mannered host is gonna hafta go on a rant. It might be kind of long, so I understand completely if you want to bail now. If you do plan to stick around, make sure you’re nice and comfy. And that you won’t be insulted while I repeatedly skewer AT&T, because they’re jerkin’ me around.

Mr. Nerd and I have had cell phone service through AT&T for at least six years. In June of 2009, we got smart phones, signed a new two-year contract, and upgraded our service (at an extra $30 per month) to include a data plan. We’ve been good customers—I’ve even recommended AT&T to a couple of folks who were dissatisfied with other carriers. Last year, I learned from a co-worker that it is sometimes possible to upgrade your phone prior to the end of a contract. I have never been very fond of our current phones, so I started checking on the possibility of an upgrade last fall.

Due to a bad case of New Phone Fever, I’ve spent a lot of time online looking at phones, where each site has a little widget that can check your upgrade status. I was routinely checking that status on at least five sites. (I tried, on several occasions, to check our status on AT&T’s site, but I couldn’t get it to work, even after a call to customer service.) Imagine my excitement when, in December, I found that we were finally eligible. Yay! I started looking at phones in earnest. Last week, I was able to get Mr. Nerd on board with a great web special for a free Android phone from Radio Shack. Sound the trumpets! Cue the singing angels! Begin the search for cases, car chargers, and all of the other fun paraphernalia that accompanies a new phone. We ordered the phones Sunday morning, and all of our chosen accessories Sunday afternoon. Monday night, after work, I reminded Mr. Nerd to check his email and see if our phones had shipped, since the account is in his name.

The phones had not shipped. The order had, in fact, been cancelled--because we were not eligible for an upgrade until February 23, 2011. The cases and other accessories, however, were well on their way.

Thinking that there must have been some kind of mix-up, I called AT&T. There was no mix-up. I asked one customer service rep, her supervisor, AND one “conflict resolution specialist” why we were suddenly labeled ineligible. Their explanation was that the sites where I was shopping for phones (Amazon, Best Buy, Target, Wal-mart, and Radio Shack) were all third-party vendors, they all had the wrong information, and AT&T had no responsibility whatsoever for the information that was provided. *brushes off hands in the traditional “glad to be rid of you” gesture*

By this time, I was furious. (But polite. I never raised my voice, used inflammatory language, or blamed the person on the phone for the situation.) I politely requested that a) we be allowed to go ahead and upgrade now, or b) a credit be added to my next bill to cover the cost of the accessories we had ordered for the new phones, since I consider AT&T to be responsible for the faulty information provided to the third-party vendors. At this point, I was transferred to the conflict resolution specialist’s supervisor, who will henceforth be known as Ms. Snottypants.

Ms. Snottypants came on the line, her voice dripping with disdain before I ever said a word. She reiterated everything the other three people had told me (no responsibility, not eligible, wait until February 23rd, we don’t care that you are out money for accessories for the phones that you will never receive, "you can just return that stuff," you’re ugly and your mother dresses you funny, etc.), but with an unspoken, “Oh, and you're a massive idiot,” at the end of every sentence. She said that it was ridiculous for me to expect her to approve the upgrade now, and even more ludicrous to think that she would credit our account when we had not purchased any items from AT&T. (Except, I could point out, six previous years of cell phone service.) Ms. Snottypants added that it was our fault that we acted on unreliable information. She insisted that those widgets had nothing to do with AT&T. (I call shenanigans on that. You enter your cell phone number and it tells you whether or not you are eligible, so it has to access AT&T's information somehow.) She noted, as if I was a complete moron for not knowing this, that we could have checked our upgrade status by pressing “star six nine three four pound star” on our phones. (Well, that’s intuitive. How exactly was I supposed to know that? It wasn’t in the manual, and I couldn’t access our online account.) I told her, even after having tolerated her nasty attitude, that I would give her a chance to keep a good customer. If she would approve the upgrade, we would sign another two-year contract. If not, we were going to wait out our current contract and switch carriers in June. More nastiness on her end...rage building...feeling of imminent stroke-out...so I finally just gave up, and hung up. I felt like I was being jerked around, but I doubted there was anything I could do about it.

After I calmed down a bit, I decided to go back to all of the sites where I had received the incorrect information and make print screens of the message that said I was eligible for an upgrade, in case I wanted to make a formal complaint against AT&T. It was at this point that I knew, for certain, that AT&T was jerking me around. All of the five sites--Target, Wal-mart, Best Buy, Radio Shack, and Amazon—are now showing that I am not eligible for an upgrade until February 23rd. To me, this indicates that, sometime during or after my lengthy conversation with them, AT&T realized they were busted, and triggered something, somehow, in their system that would result in a message indicating an ineligible status. I was floored.

Since I am still aflame with the mighty light of self-righteousness, I can't tell if I'm being unreasonable. Am I making too much of this? I know it seems like kind of a petty thing to be so upset about, but I really, really hate it when huge companies routinely stick it to their customers just because they know we have no recourse. They're too huge for one lone customer to be able to put a dent in them. I know that AT&T has been the subject of thousands of formal complaints and reports to the BBB, so clearly I am not the only person who has had problems with them, but I don't know if anyone has ever had a satisfactory resolution.

So that’s why I hate AT&T with the white-hot passion of a thousand burning suns, and why I have been walking around all day with stabbing forehead pains and an eye twitch. If you stayed around for the conclusion of this epic tale of betrayal, thanks for reading. Now, I have a favor to ask. I’m not really all that into promoting my blog. I like writing, I like being “blog friends” with a lot of smart, funny people, and I don’t have much extra time to put into all the networking that goes along with serious blog promotion, so I really just write for fun. But, just this once, I am asking for promotion. If you feel like my complaints have merit, and you might like to have some part in helping me stick it to the man, please tweet, Stumble, share, or link to this post. Nothing would make me happier at this point than for some muckety-muck from AT&T to get wind of this and contact me. There’s no guarantee that I would get anything out of it, but at least it would give me a chance to be heard by someone higher up the food chain than Ms. Snottypants. It's going to be hard for me to rest knowing that someone that foul had the last word. Here's a final suggestion, AT&T: PEOPLE WHOSE PRIMARY RESPONSIBILITY IS TO RESOLVE CONFLICTS SHOULD NOT TREAT YOUR CUSTOMERS LIKE CRAP WHILE ACTING LIKE RUDE, SNIDE HEIFERS. THAT DID NOT RESOLVE MY CONFLICT OR IMPROVE MY EXPERIENCE WITH AT&T. That is all.

I'll never be Heloise, but...

2011-01-19T21:09:00.000-05:00

Everybody has to do housework, right? And most normal people hate it, right? I hate it. So, when I find things that make doing my chores slightly more tolerable, I like to share. (Please note that I am making these recommendations solely because I like the products, and that I did not receive any free merchandise or payment for my opinions. However, I certainly would accept free swag if it was offered.)

Bounce Dryer Bar

One of the perpetually aggravating things about laundry is fabric softener. I want to use it, but I hate most of the softener-delivery mechanisms. If you use liquid, you have to remember to add it at the rinse cycle. If you remember to add it, you can never be too sure that it won't stain the clothes. And those stains don't come out, which could prompt your spouse to ask why it looks like someone peed on the leg of his work pants. I also hate dryer sheets, because I don't think they work very well on static cling, plus the whole embarrassment factor of leaving your house with a sheet poking out of the back of your pants. Enter the Bounce Dryer Bar. This is a solid cake of fabric softener that comes with a holder that attaches easily to the inside of the drum of your dryer. It smells great, my clothes come out soft, and I have yet to need to replace it, despite doing at least four or five loads a week. I highly recommend it.

Mr. Clean Magic Eraser

This is not a new product, but it definitely deserves a mention. I first discovered Magic Erasers when I was trying to find a way to clean, well, dog slobber off of the wall. (The dogs play fetch in the hallway. Fetch=slobbery ball that sometimes hits the wall. I know, it's gross.) I had tried everything, and was about to go out and buy paint, when I saw the Magic Erasers at the grocery store. Oh. My. Gosh. If you've never used these things, it really is like magic. One of these little treasures and some elbow grease had my hallway looking like it was freshly painted. They remove soap scum, too, and the black crud that accumulates around the edges of sink drains. I keep three or four in the house at all times.

Herbal Essences Tousle Me Softly

I know, this post was supposed to be about things that make household chores easier. But, since I'm trying to grow out my super-short haircut right now, the daily struggle to make my hair look reasonably suitable definitely falls into the "chore" category. Have I written about my hair here before? It's like an alien creature has landed on my head, and I know there's no chance of conquering it and forcing it to obey my will. The best I can hope for is to try to keep it happy and maintain a good relationship with it so it won't turn on me. (It's thick, super-curly, and as coarse as a horse's tail. I've been fighting it since my first haircut, when I was six.) Since I'm letting it grow, there are all of these weird layers and humps that must be dealt with, in addition to the general unruliness. My sister (who has gorgeous, shiny dark hair that looks perfect curly or straight) recommended Tousle Me Softly, so I picked up a tub--with my usual dose of skepticism that anything could help this wig of mine. It not only helps, it actually makes my hair (the horse's tail, remember?) feel soft. And it smells good. And the tub is huge, and only cost about $5. Score! I think it's going to work even better once my hair is long enough to fall into its usual curl. I'm loving this stuff, and props to my wonderful sister for recommending it.

Have you found any miracle products lately? Anything that makes the thought of doing chores a little less soul-suckingly awful? I'd love to hear about it, because I'm lazy and willing to take any and all available short cuts.

Myriad meteorological miseries

2011-01-13T19:59:00.000-05:00

Yep, I’m going to write about the weather. I know, that’s pretty clichéd at this time of year. At least I gave it a fancy title.

I knew that the weather here in Kentucky, and all along the East Coast, had been crappy recently, but I had no idea just how crappy. My favorite weather blog had a map yesterday that showed that every state in the US except Florida had snow on the ground. That’s a lot of snow, people. I don’t have hard numbers on this, but it seems like we are averaging an inch or two of snow at least every week and a half. As of January 12th, this portion of Kentucky had already received more snow than we usually get in an entire winter.

But (you might be thinking) who doesn’t love snow? It’s sledding and snowmen and angels and hot cocoa and snuggling by the fire and rosy cheeks! I felt that way, too…until I started driving. And got old. Now, snow is getting stuck in an unplowed parking lot, sliding into a ditch, shoveling (and shoveling again, when the original shoveled area gets covered over), crawling up my sloping driveway on my hands and knees because it is too icy to stand on, constantly having wet frozen feet, and either breaking a limb or getting run over by a bus after falling off the slick sidewalk. Add to that a dog who, when there is snow on the ground, gets confused and thinks that poo is a food item. Oh, and the special joy of receiving a $330 electric bill in the mail, since the average temperature is running about 15 degrees below normal. Can you tell that I’m thoroughly tired of winter already?

There are a couple of bright spots. Mr. Nerd has promised that I can get a new cell phone next month, which gives me something to look forward to for the next few weeks. (I’ve been suffering from a bad case of New Cell Phone Fever. My life is not terribly exciting, in case you can't tell.) And I got these:

Aren’t they adorable? I have wanted a pair of wellies forever, but hadn’t been able to justify the expense. After he had to bodily pull me up the driveway a couple of times, Mr. Nerd heartily agreed that it was worth the $25 for me to get a pair of boots with good traction. So, if you see me slogging through the snowy downtown streets after a long, cold day at work, I might be feeling pretty miserable. But at least my feet will look cute.

You say "resolutions," I say "goals"

2011-01-03T19:40:00.000-05:00

Happy New Year! Welcome back to my corner. *dusting off cobwebs* It’s been a while, I know. If you’re reading this, thanks for sticking around through the lean times.

I don’t make New Year’s resolutions, because it makes me feel way too guilty when I break them. For the past couple of years, though, I have set myself a few goals—areas where I think I need to make improvements over the next year. Sometimes I follow them, sometimes I don’t. I’m hoping that sharing this year’s list of goals with you guys will help me actually follow them. Kind of an accountability-partner thing, or whatever the buzzword-y types are calling it now.

1. Lose nine pounds – I know, very original. Everyone makes this resolution. But just because it’s not an original idea doesn’t mean that my behind is not expanding at an alarming rate. I’ve gained five of those pounds since Thanksgiving. (Seriously. Six weeks, five pounds.) To that end, all treats except peppermint patties have been banished from my house. I have an ice cream coupon that expires on February 11th; if I have lost five pounds by that time, I get to buy the ice cream. Ah, ice cream. The Great Motivator.

2. Focus less on material things – This is really, really hard for me, because I love clothes and shoes and cool gadgets and purses and shopping and trying on and buying. (And boots. I particularly love boots.) But, I realized that I put too much emphasis on those things, and I need to do better. Hopefully this will also help me wait the six months until my cell phone contract is up and I can get a new phone. (Goal or no goal, I’m gettin’ a 4G phone, Jack.)

3. Exercise more – Again, very original. But my thighs have become ever more thunderous since my surgery last August, and I need to get my butt up and get moving. I should not be getting winded from tucking skinny jeans into my boots.

4. Read more – When I was younger, I read four or five books a week. In the last 10 years or so, though, I had kind of lost interest in fiction, with a few exceptions. Thanks to Masterpiece Mystery on PBS, I have discovered a newfound passion for mystery novels. Since the public library is conveniently located right next door to my office building, I have no excuse for not reading. My goal is to finish at least two books a month.

So what about you? Did you make resolutions or set goals for 2011? Have you broken them already? ‘Cuz I ate four Starbursts this afternoon, and I’m trying to figure out if that means I’ve already broken Goal #1.

There are no magic numbers here

2010-12-02T19:54:00.000-05:00

Have you ever seen that “by the numbers” thing in the newspaper? I love that. Love trivia--little nuggets of useless information that I can retain in my poor wee brain, squeezing out all of the more important stuff. Since I was a little light on blog topics this week, I have created a “by the numbers” list of my own. (Thanks to my local newspaper, from whom I ripped off the idea.)

2,252
The number of copies I nearly (accidentally) made at work yesterday. I needed two.

12
The number of dog paws in my house.

5
Approximate weight, in pounds, of the mulch, gravel, and leaves that 12 dog paws track into my kitchen on a daily basis.

1.875
The number of ounces in the bottle of saline spray I have been huffing for the last two weeks in an attempt to open up my clogged sinus passages.

8
Advil Congestion Relief pills I have taken because the saline spray wasn’t working. Now the pills aren't working.

4
Firemen who responded to my 911 call when I was trapped in a car wash.

6 – 12
The number of months, according to some website that I can no longer find, that it will take for me to grow out my pixie haircut.

4,593
Estimated number of times I will want to shave my head while I am growing out my short haircut.

$1,000,000
Amount of money that it would take for me to ride a motorcycle. (Seriously. Petrified of those things.)

3
The number of leftover Thanksgiving desserts I ate the other day—after consuming my little Weight Watchers-approved bag of veggies. (Pumpkin pie, dark chocolate cake, and cranberry cinnamon cheesecake. All yummy.)

2
Pounds I gained from eating leftover Thanksgiving desserts.

17
Days left until my church Christmas play, which is currently occupying all the parts of my brain that aren’t all full of trivia.

I was just finishing up my list, when I was brutally reminded of another:

240
Approximate number of times a day that I get poked--by a dog paw--in that one spot on my belly that is still sensitive from surgery.

And now: 2:20 until I can go snuggle in my warm bed. It's snowing outside, and I don't like it, y'all.

Fortunately for them, they're also cuddly and lovable

2010-11-18T19:42:00.000-05:00

I’ve often heard parents (particularly new ones) talking about the things no one tells you about before you have a baby. Like projectile vomiting, all-night screaming jags, diaper bombs, and other trials of parenthood. Well, I don’t have any kids…but I do have dogs. When my husband and I bought our first home in 2003, I decreed that it was time for us to have a dog. While he was scouting out lovable pooches on Petfinder, I was dreaming of L.L. Bean-catalog-style dog scenarios: Running through sunny meadows, frolicking at the beach, and cuddling with my fastidiously-groomed, perfectly-behaved Man’s Best Friend beside a roaring fire. Boy, was I wrong. Not to imply that I don’t love my little beasts—I adore them! But. In my seven years as a dog owner, I have learned a lot…and not all of it has been good.

Things No One Tells You about before You Get a Dog

You will become intimately familiar with all of the gross substances inside your dog.
My family had several dogs when I was growing up, but my mom must have taken care of the dirty work, because I don’t recall ever having to clean up so many gross excretions. Pee, poo, barf, mucous, mysterious leavings that could possibly be some mixture of the aforementioned…you name it, I’ve cleaned it up. And if one of the dogs is sick? You actually have to examine the stuff you’re picking up, prepare a “sample,” and, possibly, discuss its qualities and characteristics with a veterinary professional. I’ve never seen any of that stuff happening in the L.L. Bean catalog.

Dogs don’t have the ability to use good judgment.
They eat things that were never intended for consumption. They figure out how to get into situations that they don’t have the brainpower to get out of. They talk trash to German Shepherds and other big, tough-looking dogs, even though they are 30-pound fluffballs who couldn’t kill a mouse. If you are going to share your home with a dog, you need to have a clear head, the ability to think on your feet and remain calm, and the vet’s phone number on speed-dial. I have actually gotten better about handling dog emergencies over the years, and no longer resort to bursting into tears and calling Mr. Nerd to tell me how to handle the latest catastrophe. It can still be really unnerving sometimes, though.

Dog hair is the most confounding substance on the planet
It gets everywhere--even in places where the dogs don’t go--and you will never get it off. You might as well give up trying. It can sense when you’ve just vacuumed, and it will fly off the dog(s) at an incredible rate until all available surfaces are covered again. Also, if you don’t commit to Swiffering every 45 minutes or so, it will bind itself into six-inch tumbleweeds and roll down the hallway. The best you can hope for is to try to match your furniture and clothing to the color of the dog, so it won’t be quite so obvious that all of your possessions are sporting a layer of fur.

Dogs have extra-sensory abilities
It’s true! They must have some kind of special powers! Otherwise, how could they tell when I am in a hurry, so they can all gang up under my feet? (I swear, it is just a matter of time until I go bum-over-teakettle down the steps some morning.) Or sense that it's Saturday, so they can all start barking and running around the bedroom like rabid dingoes about two hours before I have to get up? Or determine—even from several rooms away--that a food item has just been set within dog-reach somewhere in the house? It’s amazing. You would think, given these astonishing mental powers, that they would be well-trained, perfectly-behaved, and able to perform all sorts of incredible tricks. You would be wrong. After seven years of work, all we have to show for it is a solid “sit” and a lackadaisical, halfhearted “stay.”

Dog people, what have I left out? What about cats? Do they come with a set of warnings, too? Tell me about it in the comments!

Tonight I’m not takin’ no calls

2010-11-04T19:50:00.000-04:00

If you’ve been reading this blog for a while, you might think that all I do is shop, take care of my wee beasts, watch TV, and lurk on my favorite blogs. (That's kind of true, actually.) I do, however, have a day job—I am an administrative assistant in a government office, where I am responsible (along with a couple of other admins) for answering the main phone line for the division. Calls. Lots of calls. Lots of calls from citizens, who are often a little unsure about how things work in local government—which I understand completely. The reason people call in is to get information. Somewhere along the way, though, it seems like some folks missed the instructions on how to make a good phone call. Clearly, these people need some help. In the spirit of being helpful, I thought I might include a few hints here on how to get the most out of your phone call.

1. Know why you are calling
You might think that this is a no-brainer, but there have been times when I was 10 minutes into a call and still had no idea what the person was asking. While playing a rousing game of “20 Questions” might be fun in my spare time, I don’t really enjoy it when both of the other lines are ringing, the copier just went toes-up, I can’t get a crucial document to print, and I have a meeting in seven minutes.

2. Be able to articulate said reason
I try to be patient here; I know that not everyone talks on the phone all day long as part of their jobs. I don't need a flowery oration. Just basic, moderately coherent human communication, that’s all I ask. If you are a young person (we get a fair number of calls from students working on research projects), please keep in mind that we are not all young people, and we might not be familiar with the current slang.

3. Do not be on fire
Our office gets lots of calls from people who are up against deadlines. They’ve often waited until the last minute to do all of the research on some kind of massive project. Therefore, they act as if their shorts are on fire, and they’re calling someone to come put them out. When someone says “emergency” to me, I think life-or-death, severed-limb, contractions-10-seconds-apart situations. Not “I forgot that my paperwork is due in 20 minutes and I lost the instructions and if I can’t get this done the world will end” kinds of situations. Not an emergency in my book. Please calm down.

4. Leave a message
Want to drive a receptionist (or other phone-answering person) crazy? Call for someone; note that it’s really important that you talk to them ASAP; refuse the opportunity to leave a message; and continue to call, every 15 minutes, for the rest of the day. I can’t stress this enough: leave a message. I know it’s hard to trust again when you’ve been burned before. But you need to understand: I want you to reach the person you’re trying to call! So you will stop calling me every few minutes. The people I work with are an incredibly passionate bunch of professionals who are very dedicated to serving the public. They return calls religiously. LEAVE A FREAKIN’ MESSAGE. (ahem)

Hopefully someone out there will find my helpful hints, and save some poor soul a bit of misery at work. Anyone else out there ever worked reception? Did I leave anything out?

I only come here seeking knowledge

2010-10-21T20:12:00.000-04:00

Do you ever feel like life is giving you more questions than answers? Do you ponder the big existential questions like “who am I?” and “why are we here?” Did you come to my corner today as part of your quest for knowledge? If so, then--ha! You have seriously overestimated the intellectual level of this blog. I don’t have the answer to anything, other than what happens when a dog eats a hairball out of the trash. (You don’t want to know. Trust me.) As a matter of fact, I have some questions of my own. And, since my husband has gotten tired of me pestering him, I’m doing what any rational person with a question does these days. I'm turning to the Internet.

Why do socks have seams in the toes?

Since the weather has turned cooler, I am once again reminded that I hate socks. I only wear them to keep my feet from freezing off. And you know why I hate them? Toe seams. Hard, stabby seams, right in the narrowest part of the shoe where my toes need all of the available space. We have nano-computers and space shuttles and working artificial organs, and yet the hosiery industry has yet to figure out how to knit a sock without seams. Lame.

Why does my hair go nuts overnight?
A couple of years ago, I got tired of dealing with my super-thick, white-girl-Afro hair, so I cut it really short to impart some degree of control. Short hair requires a fair bit of upkeep, so I get a trim every few weeks. Here’s what I don’t understand: One day, it will be fine…acting like normal human being hair, more or less, and able to be styled without too much trouble. The next day—a mere 24 hours later!—it won’t dry, it’s sticking out all over like some deranged Bozo wig, and it takes a crap-ton of hair gel to slick it into some sort of relatively normal shape. And if humid weather gets added into the mix? There might be tears. Quickly followed by a frantic call to set up a haircut appointment.

Why does my clock radio have a mind of its own?
This one has me completely mystified. A couple of Christmases ago, Mr. Nerd bought me one of those really fancy iPod-docking clock radios. It’s very nice, has two alarms, and a bunch of different functions (although it has a 60-page manual and it nearly requires a Computer Science degree to program it). The big mystery, though, is how and why it’s able to change stations of its own free will. Every few months, I re-set the alarm to my preferred radio station. It will work fine for a while, then I’ll notice that I’m waking up to classic rock. Then alternative rock…NPR…oldies...adult contemporary…Top 40, etc. When it lands on a country station (shudder), I know it’s time to start the cycle all over again. And each time I haul out the manual and block out a couple of hours for re-setting the alarm, I wonder.

Those are my questions of the moment. I'll be here playing Bubble Town while I wait for the great minds of the Internet to send me some answers. Bonus points to the first person who correctly identifies the musical reference cleverly hidden somewhere in this post.

Now appearing in a nightmare near me

2010-10-11T19:14:00.000-04:00

There's a lot going on in my corner right now, so I've been a bit pressed for time to write. I was going to do just that, though, about the photo below. Until I realized that a simple recounting of the conversation that this photo inspired might be funnier than any narrative I could write. First, some background. Mr. Nerd and I were sitting in traffic, on the way home from work. The photo is of an ad that appears on the back ends of some of our local buses. Of course, since I think it's bizarre and terrifying, I wanted to share it with you. So I asked Mr. Nerd (who always carries a camera) to take this photo:

Oh, hai!

Me: Can you take a photo of that bus, please?

Mr. Nerd: Sure, why?

Me: Because it's terrifying, and I want to write about it on my blog.

Mr. Nerd: You know, you're right. That freaky guy looks like he's peeping over the headboard or something. Like that view of him is the last thing you'd see before he murdered you in your sleep.

Me: Exactly! And, thanks for putting that image in my head.

Mr. Nerd: (sounding extremely satisfied with himself): You're gonna have nightmares now, aren't you?

Me: (shudder) I think the nostrils are the worst part.

So, what do you think? Terrifying? Or am I too sensitive? Are the nostrils the worst part?

Good night, dying of fright, get out the dynamite

2010-09-22T20:24:00.000-04:00

Okay, I've had enough. This has been going on for weeks, and I just can't take it anymore. To emphasize my point, I'm going to make it big and bold:

The news media MUST stop airing bedbug stories, effective immediately.
It is freaking me out.

It seems like every time I turn on the news, they're talking about bedbugs. In hotels, hospitals, stores; which cities and states have the most cases; how to tell if you have them; and on and on, ad nauseum. Each story is accompanied by large photos of the wretched things, along with disgusting, crawling video footage. In case you haven't read about it here yet, I HATE BUGS. (I even have a blog label for it.) So, while this neverending discussion of infestation is probably mildly disturbing to normal people, it is really messing me up. Pretty soon, I'm going to have to sleep standing in the corner, whimpering, because I fear all of my furniture.

I haven't had as much time to watch the news since I went back to work a couple of weeks ago, so I was starting to relax a bit. Until yesterday...when I heard about the North American Bedbug Summit. They are having a freakin' summit--the kind of thing usually reserved for talks about nuclear disarmament and such--to talk about bedbugs. If I had thought the mere existence of such an event was the worst part, though, well, I would have been wrong. This morning, I heard the following bone-chilling quote from someone associated with the summit: "If you start with one bedbug now, you will have 30,000 in a matter of six months." He may have said more, but I can't be sure, since I fell into a dead faint in my kitchen.

Media people, I know why you run the bedbug stories: ratings. No one wants to get bedbugs, so everyone watches your programs in hopes that you will reveal some magical bedbug-eradication secret. But please, I am begging you. Stop now, while I can still go to bed without thinking about hundreds of little bug feet.

Note: If any Homeland Security/FBI/terrorist watch list types happen to be reading, I don't actually have dynamite, nor do I have any means by which to procure it. I was just trying to be funny in the title of this post. Please don't send me to jail. You just know there are bedbugs there.

And me without my adamantium

2010-09-16T20:05:00.000-04:00

The other day, I came home from work and I was S-T-A-R-V-I-N-G. Within this box...

lay my solution: Kraft macaroni and cheese. I don't really cook, because, when I am hungry, I don't want to cook. I want to eat. I seem to have lost my ability to eat most foods since my surgery, so mac and cheese has become my standby. (Quick, minimal effort, tasty...meets all the criteria). Very well, then. Open up the box and--

I. Can't. Open. The. Freakin'. Box. Do you see the perforations in the (crummy cell phone camera) photo up there? It says, "Insert Thumb & Lift To Open." Is it just me, or can anyone actually open these things? I know I am kind of a weakling, but I couldn't even stab it open with a knife. Seriously, I would have to have Wolverine claws to get into the cursed thing. And, of course, the top of the box was never intended to open, so it wasn't exactly easy, either. That's why it's all ripped up. I was afraid I was going to have to smash the whole thing with a hammer and try to catch the flying macaroni shrapnel so I could have something to eat.

Kraft, let me give you some friendly advice: Your average macaroni and cheese customer does not need any additional aggravation. They are in a hurry. Either they are making your product for the 47th night in a row --because their picky kids won't eat anything else--or they are (like me) lazy sods who want something hot to eat that is a notch above a frozen dinner, but requires no actual cooking skills. So please, make the boxes easier to open. And do it quickly, because that was my last one.

In which I complain about commercials. Again.

2010-09-09T21:01:00.000-04:00

It's Thursday night and I'm front of the computer, so it must be time to blog. To be honest, I'm beat. I went back to work this week, and I'm tired, achy, and kinda grumpy. Time to gripe about commercials! I don't watch a lot of TV, but these are the ads that have been driving me crazy when I do.

Victoria's Secret "love my body"

You know what, Victoria's Secret? I would love my body, too, if I was six feet tall and weighed 42 pounds. No cellulite, no stretch marks, no thunder thighs...what's not to love? I would think a lot more of your commercial if you had actual human women, with normal bodies, hawking your seriously overpriced knickers.

Dairy Queen freaky lips

No video for this one, unfortunately. If you've never seen them, this series of commercials features a set of weird animated lips discussing various Dairy Queen products. In one commercial, The Lips are talking about some food that's served with gravy. To demonstrate the deliciousness of said gravy, it pours--like a fountain--over The Lips, the thought of which I find nauseous-making. Gravy, although sometimes tasty, is not refreshing. I can't imagine why anyone would want it poured over their face. Blerg.

That *%@$ Friskies song

I see this commercial every morning during the news. Every. Single. Morning. And, every morning, the little song gets stuck in my head. I'll find myself standing in the copy room at work, singing, "It's the magic Friskies makes happen, every day, so many ways," and then I start to think I might need psychological help.

Wait! There's a good one, too!

See, it's not all complaints this week. I just love this--every time I watch it, I end up grinning. Well done, Geico. I kinda like your little gecko, too.

So, how was your week? Any commercials bugging you lately?

Curse you and the salad you rode in on...

2010-09-02T16:39:00.000-04:00

Have you ever noticed that there are food trends? Certain foods will go through a big surge in popularity, only to be replaced with the next big thing that comes along. They mentioned this phenomenon in an episode of Seinfeld, concerning pesto. (George referred to Seattle as "the pesto of cities.") Even though I hardly have my finger on the pulse of the culinary world, I'm pretty sure I know what the current hot food is...feta cheese.

I can tell that feta is currently having its moment in the sun, because it's not just for ethnic or high-dollar restaurants anymore--fast-food joints are picking up on it, too. Mr. Nerd and I eat out quite a bit, but I try to stick more or less to the food pyramid guides, so I'm always looking for a good salad. Recently, Wendy's introduced a new line of salads, and I was so excited. We stopped by one Sunday after church, and I ordered up a Cobb salad. Grilled chicken, bacon, veggies...how bad could it be? Pretty bad, I discovered, if it's topped with disgusting feta cheese. (And boiled egg-blerg-but that's a subject for another post.) So, lesson learned.

Until a couple of weeks ago,when Mr. Nerd and I found ourselves once again in the Wendy's drive-thru. He was interested in a salad, too, so we were looking at the garage door-sized posters of the salads on the side of the building. The chicken, apple, and pecan salad looked delicious, but! "What is that white stuff on there? Can you tell?" I asked Mr. Nerd, hoping against hope. "Looks like feta." Grrr. Another salad, ruined. By feta.

Here's the thing, feta: I'm not really big on cheese. I like the more standard varieties (cheddar, swiss, mozzarella, even gouda) just fine. But if it's squishy, has visible mold, or smells like butt-rot, I am not going to even consider eating it. So, feta, you just enjoy your popularity while you have it. I'll be biding my time, waiting for the next Big Food Thing to come along. And praying that that Thing is not some kind of fish, because I don't eat that, either.

Greetings from the stir-crazy

2010-08-26T19:22:00.000-04:00

Three weeks post-surgery today, and I'm really ready to get out for a while...I haven't been any further than the mailbox since I got home from church on Sunday. Unfortunately, I found out the hard way that, even though I feel well, I'm not physically ready for any big outings just yet. Since I was feeling so well last Saturday, I decided to try a shopping trip. It was a lot of fun (and I found good stuff), but it took me about three days to recover. On the upside, I've actually been able to wear shorts today! I'm sure Mr. Nerd will be delighted to see me in something other than a robe.

I've learned something else, too: even though I haven't blogged in over a month, it's really hard to come up with posts when all I do is sit around the house all day. So, here's a little glimpse at what I've been doing for the past three weeks.

hanging out with the world's laziest dogs

Seriously. They do this ALL day. Except when they're going nutball, barking at nothing.

online shopping

My custom Chuck Taylors! I learned about custom Chucks on Cardiogirl's site. Thanks, CG. (And yes, those are my legs. They really are that white.)

coloring

One of my "grownup" coloring books. I never outgrew coloring, and it really helps to pass the time. I can spend most of a day working on one of these pictures.

reading

My wonderful co-workers sent me a sweet gift basket with lots of stuff to read, and other goodies, and a bunch of folks have been saving magazines and catalogs for me. This Old House, Glamour, Biscuit Magic...clearly, I have a wide variety of interests.

eating rainbow sherbet

I don't really have much of an appetite since the surgery (yay!), but when I am hungry, all I want to eat is sweets. So, meals have basically become a dessert-delivery system. I'm currently finishing up my second half-gallon of rainbow sherbet.

My post-surgery followup is tomorrow, and I should find out then when I can go back to work. Since I have been staying up until midnight, not doing my hair or makeup, and taking a nap whenever I feel like it, being back at work is going to be a MAJOR adjustment. Hope there's room in the communal office freezer for my sherbet fix. Oh, and I guess I'm going to have to, you know, get dressed every day. Whew. I'm tired just thinking about it.

I'm back, y'all!

2010-08-19T14:40:00.000-04:00

Well. It's been kind of an interesting summer.

On the first weekend in July, Mr. Nerd and I were looking forward to our upcoming week of vacation. That Friday night, dinner out at a Mexican restaurant for my aunt's birthday left me with a terrible stomachache. By Saturday afternoon, the stomach pain sent me to the local walk-in clinic, which sent me to the ER for a CT scan. I had suspected appendicitis, and the walk-in clinic folks agreed; when the ER doctor walked into my room looking really freaked out, however, I knew something else was up. He told me that my CT scan showed several masses in my abdomen...and then he wasn't the only who looked freaked out. After that, Mr. Nerd and I spent our week of vacation going to various doctor's and testing appointments, and trying to have a bit of fun when we could. One of the blood tests checked for cancer markers in my blood, and it came back elevated. I saw a gynecologic oncologist, who reassured me that it might not actually be cancer, and scheduled me for surgery.

So, two weeks ago today, I had major surgery to remove a whole mess o' lady parts. It turned out that everything was okay--no cancer whatsoever! Obviously, I am incredibly thankful that everything is going to be fine. I am currently sitting at home, trying to combat boredom, and doing the required four- to six-week recuperation period.

This whole thing is so new to me--I've never had surgery, spent the night in the hospital, or really had any medical problems, except for a bout of scarlet fever when I was little. I was pretty nervous going into the surgery, but, for the most part, being in the hospital wasn't too bad. With the following exceptions.

Your modesty suffers

I am modest. Nearly to the point of prudishness. I've heard many mothers claim that, once you've gone through the process of labor and birth, you lose all modesty. Well, I've never had kids, I hate discussing my (ahem) personal business with anyone, and being in the hospital was just mortifying because of it. It was not at all unusual to have a perky patient care tech bop into my room and ask several embarrassingly personal questions (in front of various family members, deacons from my church, whomever): "Ms. Absepa? Are you peeing? Have you passed gas yet? Would you like a stool softener?" Cripes, people. Couldn't you write me a note? Or at least whisper? And that doesn't even begin to cover the mortification I felt anytime someone wanted to take a look at my incision, which is on my lower, lower, LOWER abdomen. Mortified, I tell you.

They might kill you trying to take blood

I did not sleep the first night in the hospital. At all. Any time I started to doze off, someone popped in to check my vitals, IV, incision (gah!), etc., etc. So naturally, after my sleepless night, a girl showed up to take blood...at 4am. I am not kidding. She made two tries on my right arm, but came up with less than a thimbleful of blood, probably because I was so dehydrated. (No food or liquids after midnight before the surgery; ice chips only until late afternoon; and clear liquids for supper. I truly thought I was going to turn into a human-shaped tumbleweed and just blow away.) At 5am, she came back, and took a stab (well, two) at my right hand. She was getting mad by this time, sweating and growling at my uncooperative veins. She finally gave up, threw me a disgusted look, and left. ANOTHER girl showed up at 5:45, and went to work on my left hand. Apparently the additional thimbleful that she was able to extract was enough, because they left me alone after that. I came home looking like I had gone a couple of rounds in fight club.

Some medical procedures are just evil

While I was in the operating room (but, thank God, after I was asleep), the doctors set me up with a Foley catheter. If anyone ever tries to do that to you, RUN as far and as fast as you can. This was, by far, the worst part of my surgery experience. As the nurses explained to me, your bladder can kind of "forget" how to do its thing after you've had a catheter. Well, mine forgot for a while, and it was no picnic. Things went on for so long that the nurse was on the phone with my doctor (talking about putting the evil thing back IN), when my bladder suddenly came to its senses and did what it was supposed to do. A huge relief, in every sense of the word.

Honestly, although I'm making fun, everyone at the hospital was really nice. I have been blessed with a smooth recovery and not too much pain. And Mr. Nerd is totally jealous that I get to sit at home, waste time on the Internet, and nap whenever I want. All things considered, I'm feeling pretty grateful lately. And glad to be back to my blog.

Please pardon this interruption...

2010-07-13T19:57:00.000-04:00

But it looks like Nerd in the Corner is going to be taking a break for a while. I have some medical stuff going on, and I'm not sure how regularly I will be able to post in the coming weeks. Since I love my readers (and blogging in general), I obsess about my blog and feel really guilty when I don't post as often as I should. Taking an announced break should help to free me from feeling guilty while I get poked and prodded by (seemingly) every doctor under the sun. I'll still be reading all of my favorite blogs, commenting when I can, and hanging out on Facebook if possible. I'll miss you guys! Hope to be back again in full force in a few weeks.

They say knowledge is power...

2010-06-29T20:26:00.000-04:00

So gather round, kids, and let Ms. Absepa fill you in on some of the things I’ve learned over the past (extremely busy, moderately stressful, fairly exhausting) week or so. Don’t worry—there won’t be a test on this material.

Lots of kids + lots of sugar = a little scary
I spent a few nights last week working my church’s Vacation Bible School. One night, the kids had root beer floats--with cupcakes--for their snack. There were about 60 kids, and roughly 20 or so adults to corral them all. It’s a miracle there wasn’t a mini-riot that night, because those kids were all so jacked up that I'm not sure we could have gotten them back under control if they had decided to mutiny. I’m thinking next year we should consider serving fruit and bottled water.

Moving sucks, hot weather makes it suck more
I’ve developed a theory that, unless you schedule your move in January (which, of course, guarantees that there will be a blizzard), your moving day will always be the hottest day of the year. My parents and sister moved last weekend, and it was 94 degrees, with about 400% humidity. It was already nearly 90 when I joined the fun—at 9 am—and it only got worse. Fortunately, they had movers for all of the really heavy stuff…and Speedway has slushes for 89 cents. I drank so many of those this weekend that I believe I might have replaced all of the liquid in my body with Wild Cherry Freeze.

Investigate your doctor’s background carefully
In general, I am not one to doubt the medical community. After all, doctors go to school for a long time, so I feel like I should trust them. However. I’m pretty sure the fellow who performed my arthrogram yesterday was actually a sadist (who decided to show up at the clinic, throw on a lab coat, and torture a few poor souls who were already suffering), rather than a radiologist. And he knew I wouldn't try to run away, either, since his nurse made me take off my bra and put on that flimsy gown. And that “contrast medium?” They might tell you it's iodine or barium, but only pure, unadulterated bottled evil could be that painful. Here's the most important lesson I learned last week: If your doctor ever mentions anything about a contrast MRI, run away as fast as you can. It hurts like *#$&, which might make you want to kick the "doctor" in the groin as hard as you can. And they would probably frown on that.

Dear footwear industry, you've done it again

2010-06-17T21:05:00.000-04:00

First, it was the floot, a fugly flip-flop/ankle boot hybrid. Then, a couple of days ago, my sharp-eyed aunt, K, found a link to this abomination:

It's made by Sanuk, and it's called the Tubeflop. Here's a brief description from their website:

"Light and breathable sock connected to footbed through molded channel. Strap is feminine and soft."

So, it's a flip-flop...connected to a tube sock. Call me crazy, but I thought the primary purpose of knee socks was to keep you warm. I know some people live in parts of the country where you can be outside for more than 2.4 seconds without bursting into flames, but it's hot as all get-out here, y'all. You know what I think about when I look at Tubeflops? I think about how hot and itchy and gross my sweaty calves would be after wearing those things for about three minutes. If they're intended for people who live in cooler climates, they're still dumb. My feet are always freezing in cold weather. What good would it do me to have toasty-warm calves while my piddies were getting frostbitten?

I've been thinking a lot about this craze for bizarre shoes, and I think I know who is behind it all:

Remember this guy? I'm guessing the haberdashery business has suffered a lot in the last few decades, and Mr. Hatter was looking for some work. He turned his attentions to footwear-he's mad, remember-and the result is the Tubeflop. But, because I am a giver, I'm going to give him some career counseling. I'm pretty sure I've thought of the perfect employer to match his skill set:

Lady Gaga is clearly not afraid to take a few fashion risks, and shoes and hats are essential pieces of her crazy get-ups. I think the Mad Hatter could have a long and illustrious career designing her gear...and then the rest of us consumers would not have to suffer whatever he thinks up next. See? Perfect match.

Maybe not the ninth level, but it was getting close

2010-06-10T21:20:00.000-04:00

Spent some time waiting at the doctor's office today. A lot of time. As a matter of fact, I was able to read nearly the entire July issue of Real Simple magazine. Have you seen this thing? It's about a half-inch thick. After a while, I started thinking that maybe I had died and I was in Hell's waiting room, rather than my orthopedist's. Of course, Hell's waiting room is never empty; you're always accompanied by the most annoying people possible.

Christopher, the Super-Irritating Child
I swear, I am an irritating kid magnet. This one appeared to be about four years old, and he was LOUD. (And yes, I know--you can't expect small children to sit still and be perfectly quiet. But I don't think it's unreasonable to require them to leave the other patrons alone.) Christopher thought it was great fun to crawl on the floor under the chairs...and then pop up at the end of the row, which was directly beneath my elbow. He did this, oh, twenty times or so before his "MAMAWMAMAWMAMAW" (that's what he kept yelling) told him to stop. He finally discovered the toys in the corner, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Until...

Suspender Man
Suspender Man arrived with great fanfare. He, too, was loud, and on crutches (and inexplicably attired in Ralph Lauren denim shorts with suspenders). Suspender Man greeted all of the receptionists, loudly; found a seat, loudly; and made a great show of getting settled and arranging his crutches. Ahh, now I can go back to these engrossing articles about hot dog toppings and sports bras. At that point, Suspender Man yelled, "Whoo!" and nearly scared me out of my uncomfortable chair. He proceeded to holler "Whoo!" at intervals of approximately every 90 seconds. He left just enough time between for me to think we were finished with the Whoo-ing. Each outburst was followed by a heavy sigh, which wafted directly over my head, along with a gust of coffee breath. Ugh.

Every-freakin'-one else
There must have been 25 people in this waiting room, and at least 20 of them were having full-volume cell phone conversations. Do people not care that everyone in the room can hear them discussing their personal problems? In addition, a sign is prominently posted in the waiting room forbidding the use of cell phones. Clearly, no one was paying attention.

Oh, and did I mention that all of the doctors were running over an hour behind? And Dr. Phil was playing (loudly!) on the TV? Having your blood pressure checked is not part of a visit to the orthopedist, but, if it was, I'm pretty sure mine would have been through the roof. You know it's been a stressful visit when it's a huge relief to go back to work. And best of all, I get to go back in two weeks! Do you think that's enough time to round up an annoying kid and prepare a loud, embarrassing cell phone conversation?

Maybe I can hire him as a bunnyguard

2010-06-03T21:01:00.001-04:00

Wow. I just realized that it is Thursday, and I haven't blogged yet this week. I'm so dog-tired that I just ate dinner (pizza, courtesy of Domino's) in my PJs, so it looks like it's random time. Here are a few thoughts for the end of this short (and yet oh-so-long) week.

If you work outside your home, have you noticed an unusually large amount of water on the sink in the office restroom? One of my coworkers stopped by my desk this afternoon to point out the big, wet stripe across her abdomen, incurred when she leaned against the sink. What could cause a massive puddle on a sink where people only wash their hands? Do ducks sneak into the restroom and paddle around in the sinks? Because I refuse to believe that humans could splash that much water, then refuse to wipe it up...particularly when they should already have paper towels in their hands from washing.

I have, in the past several days, bitten my cheek repeatedly in the exact same spot, and cut the same place on my calf each morning when I was shaving my legs. Apparently pain and/or blood is not enough to make me remember to be more careful when chewing and shaving.

We have the most incredibly bold rabbits in my neighborhood. It's a massive, new-ish subdivision, with kids and cars and dogs all over the place. Living amongst all these threats, the rabbits must have gotten streetwise or something. We pulled into the driveway this afternoon, and there was a bunny lying in the front yard, just hanging out in the shade. I pulled further forward, and further still, and the bunny just...didn't move. Mr. Nerd got out of the car to shoo him off (I was afraid he would get scared and bolt under the car. [The bunny, not Mr. Nerd. Although he does say that my driving terrifies him.]) The bunny still didn't move! Mr. Nerd had to physically stand over him, and then he hopped off rather nonchalantly, I thought. Sometimes I wonder if one of these little toughies might run right into the house when I open the front door. Three dogs + one rabbit + indoors = Very Bad.

That seems to be the sum total of what's rattling around in my head tonight, except for a plea for opinions from my bloggy friends. I am interested in exploring the possibility of migrating my blog to Wordpress, and I would like to hear from anyone who has been through that experience. Was it difficult? Did you have any major problems? Is Wordpress easier to use than Blogger? Harder? My HTML skills are very limited, and I don't know the first thing about CSS and stuff, so I am a little nervous at the thought of migrating. Any information would be greatly appreciated. Have a good weekend, and watch out for tough bunnies.

No, Mr. Spider, I expect you to die

2010-05-27T20:09:00.000-04:00

I hate spiders. (I'm pretty sure I've mentioned this before.) Since I hate them, I am a huge chicken and don't want to kill them…but my husband has basically refused to kill critters for me anymore, so I am on my own. Which would be scary enough in and of itself, but I think the spiders are getting smarter. And that, my friends, is simply terrifying.

Sunday morning, I stumbled out of bed in my usual stupor to let the dogs out. Since I take something to help me sleep, I'm usually pretty confused for the first half-hour or so after I get up. I was collecting the dogs' dishes to feed them, when I saw it. Huge, black, evil freakin' spider, hanging out by the laundry room door. We keep a rolled-up catalog in the kitchen for killing critters (and threatening wayward mutts), so I grabbed it and steeled myself for battle. I gave the big #$%*^!& a solid swat, and stepped back to check his whereabouts. Except there were no whereabouts, because he was gone. No telltale smoosh on the catalog, but no sign of creepy-crawly, either. Then I heard a scratching, scuttling sound. And noticed that the catalog—which was still IN MY HAND—was moving. The spider had apparently seen the catalog coming, decided it would be a lark to cause me to have a fatal heart attack at 6:15 on a Sunday morning, and jumped inside. I was now holding one JC Penney's underwear ad, and one eight-legged ball of evil. I immediately broke out in a cold sweat, felt faint, and nearly wet myself, simultaneously. With more presence of mind than I thought I possessed, I shook the catalog violently until the monster fell out, then proceeded to beat him into oblivion. Have you ever seen Dr. No (the first James Bond movie)? Remember the tarantula scene? It was kinda like that. (For those of you who have never seen Dr. No, Bond wakes up in his hotel room to find a tarantula crawling up his arm. He flings it off, grabs a shoe, and pounds it repeatedly. During the beating, there is a big, crashing chord that plays with each whack. BAM! BAM! BAMBAMBAMBAMBAM!!! Then Bond wanders weakly off to the bathroom, clutching his stomach, presumably to hurl.)

This repeated pounding on the floor with the catalog woke up my husband, muttering about the racket. Of course, if the spider had crawled out onto my arm? He would have found me in the middle of the kitchen floor, dead of fright, and surrounded by hungry, confused (but mostly hungry) dogs. And I'm sure the spider that caused it would have been long gone. Even Gil Grissom wouldn't have been able to solve that one.

This might be rarer than Sasquatch...

2010-05-25T20:36:00.000-04:00

A couple of weeks ago, I posted a rant about some butt-ugly shoes I saw at Off Broadway, which I dubbed "floots" because they're kind of a boot/flip-flop hybrid. Since then, I've seen them in all the shoe stores, but never on an actual person. (Maybe because they are, well, butt-ugly?) But my sharp-eyed blog buddy Cardiogirl had a sighting! She wrote a hilarious post about it, complete with an awesome illustrative doodle. You should go read it immediately, because it was nine kinds of awesome. Thanks, cg...that totally made my day.

*********************************************************************

Do you ever have a dimwit week? If so, is there a cure, or am I going to be an idiot forever? All week long, I've been answering my work phone and completely forgetting what to say. On Sunday, I bought a dozen eggs so that I could make a pineapple upside-down cake for work...then left the eggs in the car for six hours. When I was baking the cake earlier this evening, I realized (too late) that I had bought the wrong kind of cake mix...and boogered up the liquid/fat ratio beyond all recognition. If you can offer any suggestions to help my poor brain, I would really appreciate it. I'm off to Kroger to buy more cake ingredients.

Weird things, volume 2: The one with the pig

2010-05-20T20:41:00.000-04:00

(So, it seems that my last post freaked some folks out. Sorry! I have a strong stomach and a high tolerance for yucky stuff, so I forget sometimes that other people might not enjoy reading about things like my gross ear. I promise, there will be nothing icky in this post.)

As far back as I can remember, I have loved pigs. I'm not really sure why I love them; I've seen several porcine-related episodes of Dirty Jobs, and they're certainly not the tidiest or most charming critters. Still, I think they're adorable. When it became trendy to keep pot-bellied pigs as pets a few years ago, I wanted one desperately...that is, until I actually met one.

I had been out to a bar with a couple of co-workers one January Saturday night. We ran into some friends-of-friends, a group of college guys, and ended the evening hanging out at their place. I can't really remember what brought the conversation around to their pet, but one of the guys said, "We have a pot-bellied pig." You do? Squee!! Where? No sooner had the words "in the back yard" come out of his mouth than I was out the door, looking for some sign of a pet pig. Mind you, I completely disregarded the fact that it was after midnight, the guys' house was in a suburb (and therefore surrounded by close neighbors) and it was about ten degrees. Nothing was going to stop me from petting a pig.

I somehow found the pen in the dark, squee-ing all the way (did I mention that I may not have been entirely sober?). The pig had come to the gate, probably to see who was making such a ruckus at that time of night. I was just sticking my hand through the gate to pet him when, simultaneously, I heard, "DON'T!" and felt a CHOMP. The pig, the one that I was so excited to meet, had bitten me! The guy explained that the pig lived outside because he wasn't very friendly, and I wasn't the only person he had chomped. I was crushed. I had no idea pigs could be ill-tempered. The bite didn't hurt much at the time (tipsy, you know) but my fingers were really sore the next morning. That day, I gave up my hopes of having a pet pig. Since then, I don't really trust them, so I just squee over them from afar.

So, there you go. Yet another weird thing that has happened to me. I don't know anyone else who has been bitten by a pig. Have you ever had a close encounter with a barnyard animal?

Weird things seem to happen to me, Volume 1

2010-05-11T21:00:00.000-04:00

"There is no earring here," said the triage nurse confidently as she checked out my earlobe. "It must have come out." When I told her that there was, in fact, an earring there, except my earlobe was too swollen to see it--well, she got kind of pale. It's a little alarming when an ER nurse, who has probably seen every kind of gnarly injury known to man, looks at a part of your body and blanches. Let's go back to the beginning of the story, though.

My poor ears have taken a lot of abuse—they have been pierced, in exactly the same spot, no less than five times. The first two times, I was too young to care for them, so I let them grow back; the third time, they got infected; the fourth time, things got interesting. My ears had been pierced, again, for about two weeks. The left one had been feeling a little infect-y, but I really wanted to wear earrings, so I was trying to deal with it. In the span of a couple of hours one evening, my ear turned bright red and started to swell. It was getting kind of painful, so I checked it in the mirror…and realized that I couldn’t see the earring, at all. My ear had actually grown (or swollen or whatever), well, around the earring. I was starting to get kind of freaked out by this point, so I headed off to the ER. Where I made the nurse turn pale. After apologizing to the nurse, I eventually ended up lying on an ER gurney while a doctor took a scalpel to my earlobe and cut(!) it open to retrieve the earring. I don’t want to be too graphic, but I will note that I had to throw away my white sweater after that little escapade. Did you know that there is a lot of blood in your earlobe? I didn't either. The evening ended with the shaken triage nurse telling me that her daughter had been begging for pierced ears for months, but there was no way it was going to happen after she saw my ear. So, to the child who got a hearty lecture instead of a shiny new pair of earrings, I’m really sorry that I wigged out your mom.

Since a lot of weird things seem to happen to me, I think I'm going to make this post part one of a series. (The next gripping tale features a pig.) Are you one of those people, too? If you are, what's the weirdest thing that's ever happened to you?

How do I hate thee, Blogger? Let me count the ways...

2010-05-06T21:11:00.000-04:00

There was supposed to be a pre-written, mostly well-thought-out post here tonight, but the first of what turned out to be many computer snafus left me unable to retrieve it. Instead, I was going to regale you with off-the-cuff tales about a couple of my early jobs...except that bloody bollocky frickin' Blogger refuses to save any of my drafts. (Props to Absolutely Fabulous for teaching me British slang.) It keeps giving me some error messages about META tags, which means about as much to me as Esperanto or astrophysics. So, I'm conceding to Blogger, for now. Check back tomorrow night for a post about the weird thing that happened to my ear. It's more interesting than it sounds, I promise.

Of floots and fashion victims

2010-04-27T20:28:00.000-04:00

Have I mentioned before that I love clothes? Since I love clothes, but I do not have the budget of, say, Sarah Jessica Parker, I spend a lot of time looking at catalogs, reading magazines like InStyle, and dreaming of the wardrobe I would have if I was a bajillionaire. I was happily perusing one of my catalogs recently when I saw what could possibly be one of the dumbest clothing/footwear ideas of all time. I would describe the item, but it kind of defies description:

It’s a flip flop…in an unholy union with the cuff part of a boot. What the heck? What is the purpose of this ridiculous shoe? Is this for women with hot feet but cold ankles? Are they specifically created to show off your pedi? I think the designers are running out of ideas, frankly. They’ve come to the point where they’re just taking things that already exist, cutting them apart, and rearranging the pieces, and this is the result. I call it the “floot.” Part flip flop, part boot, all absurd.

When I first saw the floot in the catalog, I thought it must be one of those things that Paris Hilton types would wear, but no normal woman would ever put on as part of everyday life. Imagine my surprise when I walked into my favorite shoe store last weekend, and there was a big display of floots right inside the door. Since my little corner of Kentucky is hardly a fashion mecca, it appears that normal women must be wearing them, too. It is to those ladies that I would like to direct a word of warning: No matter how cool floots seem right now, it will not be worth the shame in the long run. Trust me. Since I was a shameless trend-jumper for many years, I wore a lot of things that I deeply regret--and that make me very thankful that my family is not big on taking photos. (No evidence of my crimes.) Here are a few examples:

I wore a Mork outfit, fourth grade. Exactly like this, except my pants were khaki.

Jams shorts, similar to the ones I wore in high school. With a knit sweater vest. Oh, and I was chunky. It was a great look for me.

MC Hammer pants, late 80s. I couldn't even blame my foolishness on youth anymore; I was an adult when I wore these. Tragic.

Talk about tragic! I had about 10 pairs of stirrup pants in the early 90s. Picture these pants, a heavily crocheted sweater, lots of chub, and flats. Aw, yeah.

Having seen these horrors, you must be convinced that I have some serious regrets about my fashion past. Surely you understand why I'm recommending that you leave the trendy, goofy shoes behind and settle on a more conventional pair of sandals. The floots might make you feel really hip for a weeks, but the regrets could last a lifetime.

It's time for Doodle-palooza 2010!

2010-04-21T20:41:00.000-04:00

Last week, I was hanging out over at Cardiogirl's place, commenting on her post about sidewalk chalk. If you're not reading Cardiogirl...well, why not? She has a lot of funny, insightful, interesting things to say on a wide variety of topics. She posts every day, for cryin' out loud, even though she has three young kids, and several of the terms in her glossary are Seinfeld-based. Anyway, back to the sidewalk chalk post. In my comment, I noted that I am a doodler; Cardiogirl agreed that she, too, loves a good doodle. Since we live a few hundred miles apart and don't have the opportunity to doodle together, CG challenged me to scan and post some of my doodles, which she will replicate on her sidewalk in chalk form, photograph, and post to her blog. How awesome is that?

I should note that all of my doodles are the same shape because I drew them on the blank Saturday and Sunday squares of the division calendar, during my weekly staff meetings at work. Since my boss reads my blog sometimes, I should note that studies have shown that doodling helps you pay attention. So, it may appear that I'm zoning out, but I am actually totally focused on the meeting AND exercising my creative side. Back to the purpose of this post...Cardiogirl, here are some of my doodles. I can't wait to see your chalk interpretations!

Warning: This post could be even less coherent than usual

2010-04-15T20:41:00.000-04:00

A few months ago, I made a promise to my blog readers to update more regularly and, for the most part, I've stuck to it. So, I'm going to beg off tonight, because I'm not sure I can string more than two sentences together. Here's a brief recap of my day--for extra fun, see if you can spot the parts that left me in this wrecked, depleted state:

Arise at 4:45 am, as usual on weekdays, even though I won't be working
Deprive Sebastian dog of food and water, in preparation for his tooth cleaning and other procedures
Drive hungry, thirsty, confused animal to the vet; gently console while navigating through morning rush-hour traffic
Pick husband up; drop off at work
Embark on a 45-mile round-trip errand extravaganza
Arrive back at home; immediately head outside to mow the yard (front and back)--it was hot
Talk to vet about Sebastian's procedures while in the shower, cleaning up from lawn-mowing (sorry, Dr. Rauth!)
A break! Lunch, check email, take a blessed half-hour nap
Leave to pick up Sebastian dog; note, with dismay, how heavy the traffic is already at 4 pm
Spend over an hour in crawling, brake-every-ten-feet rush hour traffic with a wigged-out, post-op, hungry/thirsty/whiny dog
Contemplate several acts of bodily harm
Arrive at home, finally; feed dogs, feed self; hello, wine bottle my old friend!

And now I'm just knackered, which is why there's no post tonight. I will leave you with one treat, though:

Sigh. His name is Laurence Fox, and he plays the enigmatic Detective Sergeant Hathaway on the BBC detective series Lewis. It's a great show, Mr. Fox is absolutely yummy, and I intend to spend the rest of the evening enjoying it. Thanks for your patience.

My name is absepa, and I am a STATS sufferer

2010-04-08T17:55:00.000-04:00

Severe Tick-Associated Trauma Syndrome (STATS)

Severe Tick-Associated Trauma Syndrome, or STATS, is a short-lived but deeply distressing condition directly attributable to a variety of the family Ixodoidea, more commonly known as a tick. It typically affects individuals who are predisposed to moderate to severe entomophobia (or fear of insects), but anyone can be affected. There is no known cure for STATS, although the severity of the condition typically lessens as time passes following the initial contact with the tick.

Symptoms
Although each individual presents differently when affected with STATS, one or more of the following symptoms may be observed:

- an overall “freaked-out” appearance
- sobbing
- whimpering
- trembling
- bouts of swearing (directed toward those @#$* bugs)
- nausea (typically observed during the process of removing the tick)
- an intense need for chocolate and/or a glass of wine (following tick removal)

Following the removal of the tick, the STATS patient may suffer from episodes of skin-crawling sensations (also known as the “heebie-jeebies”). A more violent form of the heebie-jeebies, known as the “willies,” might cause the patient to leap suddenly from a seated position and begin tearing at their clothing, in fear that there is another tick somewhere on their body. Also, do not be surprised if the patient desires to immediately launder (or perhaps burn) any garments, bedding, pets, relatives, etc., that could possibly be housing another tick. This is normal behavior following such an experience.

Treatment
There is no formal treatment for STATS, but caregivers of patients are advised to be gentle with sufferers following an attack. Mocking, teasing, or accusations that the patient is being “too much of a drama queen” generally will not aid the patient in their recovery, and might cause feelings of bitterness in the patient. Caregivers are advised to be kind to the patient; offer supportive words and a tender hug; and provide the patient with a “treat” such as chocolate, ice cream, or cake, and perhaps an alcoholic beverage. This type of offering will typically go a long way toward improving the patient’s overall disposition. The treatment phase of STATS can be expected to last a few hours, but patients may continue to exhibit some symptoms of this illness for a few days up to a couple of weeks. In rare cases, patients who were severely traumatized might continue to suffer the willies and/or the heebie-jeebies throughout the summer months, when STATS is most common.

(Editor’s note: The neutrality of this article cannot be confirmed. It should be noted that the author is a multiple-episode STATS sufferer, with the most recent incident occurring only two days ago. It should also be noted that the author’s spouse not only refrained from mocking, but actually performed the removal of the tick, since the author was far too wigged out to do it herself. He’s a real gem.)

How Carrie Underwood and dog food made my day

2010-04-01T19:53:00.000-04:00

This is not something I would normally do, but I’m going to use my little part of the bloggy world to promote a cause that means a lot to me. I recently saw an interview with Carrie Underwood on the CBS Early Show. I've always liked her music, but after seeing that interview, I think I love her. Carrie Underwood is partnering with Pedigree dog food to benefit homeless animals. For every person who becomes a fan of Pedigree on Facebook (www.facebook.com/Pedigree), the company will donate one bowl of food to feed shelter dogs. That is awesome, in my book.

Anyone who’s read this blog more than once or twice knows that I dote on my three dogs. They were all rescues, but only one of them actually came from a shelter. When we saw Abby’s listing on Petfinder and contacted the shelter, she had already been there for more than six weeks--the shelter director was frantically searching for a foster family to take her in, so she wouldn't have to be euthanized. Mr. Nerd and I have had the pleasure of Abby's company for nearly six years, and she is a great dog. We are so grateful that she had a place to stay for those six weeks. The director of the shelter is a wonderful person who tries her best to save as many animals as possible, under very difficult conditions. The shelter is run solely by volunteers, is severely cash-strapped, and often makes appeals to the community for donations of food and supplies. Without caring people like these, and donations from companies, so many dogs and cats would not be able to stay in shelters long enough to find good homes. And Mr. Nerd and I wouldn't have this:

(Abby's pretty big on giving kisses. I don't really mind, even though I'm making a face.)

If you’re on Facebook, would you please consider becoming a fan of Pedigree to help provide food to shelters? She may not look very excited, but I know that Abby would really appreciate it.

The inexplicable pickle

2010-03-26T20:02:00.000-04:00

Saw something really weird a couple of days ago. I’ve been thinking about it ever since, and I still can’t come up with an explanation for—well, wait. Let me give you the back story, and then we’ll get to the bizarre part.

Mr. Nerd and I both work for our local government. We work downtown, and we ride together to save money. We park in a typical downtown parking garage—dimly lit, a little smelly, narrow spaces, you know the kind of place. A couple of days ago, we ran home at lunchtime to let the dogs out. When we got back to work, we found a great parking spot--which is no small feat, since several hundred cars park in this garage. I jumped out of the car and headed for the exit, but noticed that Mr. Nerd was hanging back. With his cell phone camera out, taking photographs. Being of a very curious nature, I had to see what he could possibly have found to photograph in the parking garage. It was this:

A jar of pickles. A one-gallon jar of those enormous, whole-cucumber-size pickles. Sitting, unopened, next to a concrete pillar in a downtown parking garage. What. The. Heck? When we left work that evening, it was still there, untouched. That was two days ago, and it's STILL there. We’re completely mystified. Who carries pickles around with them? Who would bring a giant jar of pickles to work, and then leave them in the parking garage?? So many questions.

Unfortunately, unless one of us runs across a co-worker who happens to be snacking on a massive pickle, we’ll never know. The Leaving of the Pickles will become just another of the mysteries of the parking garage. Like why that one space is always filled with a deep, murky puddle, even in dry weather, or who left the pile of pink Pixie Stick dust that appeared one day by the exit door. Who knows what secrets lurk in the shadows of the parking garage? Well, except for that one corner that always smells like pee. It’s pretty clear what’s been going on over there.

I speak of the pompitus of song lyrics

2010-03-18T20:43:00.000-04:00

I was listening to the radio today, when the new Black Eyed Peas song came on. It was a pretty cool song, except that the lyrics seemed to consist mostly of the words "Imma be." (A Google search just informed me that that is actually the name of the song, as well. And I don't think "imma" is a word, Kanye West's use of it notwithstanding.) That got me started thinking about songs with decent melodies and dumb words, which is something that has annoyed me for a long time. I have some kind of crazy Rain Man memory for song lyrics, so bad ones stay with me for a looooong time. Here are some of the ones I find the most ridiculous.

the "it will all make sense if you take another hit off the bong" lyrics - Oasis

slowly walking down the hall
faster than a cannonball - "Champagne Supernova"
These fellows had some big hits in the 90s, and earned a bit of notoriety for their outlandish behavior. If I remember correctly, they also had a reputation for being potheads, which is the only possible explanation I can come up with for those lyrics. They probably seemed reeeeeeaaaally deep, man. Oh, and the next line in the song? "Where were you while we were getting high?" Uh-huh. I thought so.

The "we need a thesaurus" lyrics - Van Halen
hey only fools rush in and only time will tell
If we stand the test of time - "Why Can't This Be Love?"

I know the guys in Van Halen did about a metric ton of drugs back in the day. I refuse to believe, however, that they killed so many of their brain cells that they couldn't come up with something better than "only time will tell if we stand the test of time." Geez, d'ya think? Sorry, fellas. You have some really good rockin' songs, but that's just lame.

the "who cares if it doesn't make sense-it rhymes!" lyrics - Elvis
well, bless my soul what's wrong with me?
I'm itchin' like a man on a fuzzy tree - "All Shook Up"

Okay, I know this might result in hate comments, but I don't think Elvis was a very good songwriter. He had tons of charisma, charm, good looks (at least when he was young), a nice voice-absolutely. But some of the lyrics were pretty trite, and some were just bad. A fuzzy tree? Also, if you think you're in love, and one of the symptoms is itchin', you might want to have a doctor look at that. And maybe pick up an antibiotic. I'm just sayin'.

The "I can't think of any more real words, so I'll just sing nonsense" lyrics - Miley Cyrus
Noddin' my head like, yeah
Movin' my hips like, yeah - "Party in the USA"

Actually, it's not fair to crack on Miley Cyrus for this, when there are millions of artists who have resorted to filling in a space with either a nonsense word, or something like "yeah" or "alright." (It's still an annoying--albeit catchy--song, though.) Let's not forget Steve Miller, the king of the nonsense word, who came up with "pompitus" to fill a three-syllable gap in his song "The Joker." But at least he was upfront about it...he needed a word, so he just invented one. And you know you like the song anyway. As a matter of fact, I think I'm going to start using "pompitus" as a multi-purpose word, kind of like "aloha." I like it.

That's just a small sampling of the dumb lyrics that bug me. There may be a sequel to this post someday. Are there any lyrics that just drive you crazy? Let me know in the comments.

headphone guy came from here

And this is why I growl at the TV

2010-03-10T19:42:00.000-05:00

We don't watch a whole lot of TV around here, mostly because we only have basic cable--22 channels. When we do watch, it is often PBS, which we both love. At the moment, though, PBS has chucked their usual lineup in order to conduct their "Telefund," so we've been suffering through some network shows. (I know they have to raise money. It's just really annoying that they're asking me for money to support the shows I enjoy, while they're pre-empting, you know, the shows I enjoy.) Aside from the quality programming, there is one particular reason why I love PBS...there are no commercials.

There are a few exceptions, but commercials, in general, annoy the heck out of me. I see this one every morning while I'm getting ready for work:

Gaah! Melodramatic much? "A prescription?!? What do I have??" Geez, lady, it's eye drops. Buck up! It's not like they're going to kill you.

I saw this one for the first time yesterday:

The commercial itself isn't terribly irritating, but there's something in there that I think is absolutely ridiculous. At 0:26, when the driver pulls close to the guy to grab the burger, a message appears: "Professional driver on closed road. Do not attempt." Is this really something someone would attempt? Veering over to the side of the road to snatch a cheeseburger? Considering the vehicular maneuvering that would have to take place, not to mention having to find someone who just happens to be sitting on the side of the road eating? I'm really skeptical about this.

This is the one that really makes me think I might snap:

I cannot STAND that kid. It's probably very, very wrong to feel that way about a child, but I can't help it. I see this commercial every morning, and every morning I go on a mini-tirade about it. It makes my husband's day, I'm sure.

There are many others, but those are my worst. How about you? Are you easily annoyed by commercials? Which ones get to you?

One burger, please hold the interrogation

2010-03-04T20:58:00.000-05:00

I don't like to cook. I don't like it, and Mr. Nerd isn't one of those guys who needs a meat-and-two-veg kind of meal every night, so we often take advantage of the dollar menu at one of our local fast-food joints. Lately, the drive-thru ordering procedure at these places has been making me nuts. Here's why.

Drive-thru person (DTP): Hi, welcome to McArwenby's Bell. Would you like to try our new McMeat Blaster Combo?
Me: No, thank you. I would like a single burger with pi-
DTP: Would you like cheese on that?
Me: No, thank you. Single with pickle, lettuce, and tomato. An order of chicken nug-
DTP: What kind of sauce with that?

Me: No sauce, please. A large order of fri-
DTP: Are you sure you don't want to make that a combo? You could save 19 cents.
Me: No, thank you, just the sandwich and fries. A side sal-
DTP: What kind of dressing?
Me: No dressing, please. That'll be it.
DTP: Would you like to try our new Siberian Tundra MochaJava Freeze?
Me: No, thank you. THAT WILL BE IT. (Who am I kidding?) Well, yeah...small, please.
DTP: Okay, what did you have after the single fish sandwich with pickle, mayo, and onion?
Me: AUUUUGGGGGHHHHHH!!!!! (begin beating head repeatedly on steering wheel)

Seriously, people. I am a good order-er. I speak slowly and clearly, group like items together, and give you a pause between items so you have time to key them in. But I can't do that if YOU WON'T LET ME SPEAK FOR A FREAKIN' SECOND WITHOUT ASKING A QUESTION. (ahem) I would love to roll up to the speaker and immediately say, "I'm going to give you my order, exactly as I want it. If I want cheese, sauce or dressing, I will say so. Do not, under any circumstances, ask me any questions!" But, I don't want to be that person. (And I definitely don't want some irritated drive-thru worker to befoul my Siberian Tundra MochaJava Freeze.) So, is this a widespread tendency with drive-thru restaurants, or is it just a local thing? I'm getting kind of tired of working myself up into a nervous frenzy just for some chicken nuggets. It still beats the heck out of cooking, though.

fast food meal came from here

I didn't know things like that happened in real life...

2010-02-24T20:52:00.000-05:00

In my last post, I mentioned an incident wherein a would-be suitor showed up at my workplace four days before my wedding, and asked me to abandon my fiancée and take up with him instead. Truthfully, I hadn't thought about the episode in years, but several commenters indicated that they thought the story needed to be told here in its entirety. JD, suzicate, and Kathy , here ya go.

(Note: Names in this story will be changed to protect, well, me. I don't want the fellow in question to Google himself, find his name on my blog, and track me down.)

"Ben" was a co-worker at a crummy job where I made no money, but had a lot of fun with all of the other broke 20-somethings. He made me laugh, and we became "work friends," but I never considered dating him. After a while, Ben began inviting me to play (ahem) Dungeons & Dragons with him and his friends. When I told him that D&D really wasn't my thing, he set up a couple of group outings with some of our co-workers. Oddly enough, all the other people cancelled at the last minute, leaving me alone with Ben. I was annoyed about the deception, but too polite to just leave. On the second outing, Ben suggested that we walk around a small pond in the shopping center where we were supposed to meet our friends (danger! danger! romantic setting!!). Ben then proceeded to tell me that he was in love with me, while I fervently wished that I could just die on the spot. If you have never been in the position of being the recipient of an "I love you" that you have no intention of returning, consider yourself fortunate, because it is dreadful. I was still praying for death when Ben swooped in for a kiss, and I nearly tumbled into the pond, trying to back away. Most. Awkward. Moment. Ever. (And I have a double-major Awkwardness and Embarrassment, with a specialty in Public Humiliation.) Needless to say, I deployed the "I care about you as a friend" speech, posthaste. Ben told me that he wouldn't give up hope that I would change my mind someday. A couple of months later, he found another job, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Moved on with my life, which included meeting and falling in love with Mr. Nerd.

A little over a year later, Mr. Nerd and I are in the final stages of preparing for our wedding. I was sitting at work, about four days before the wedding, when the receptionist called to say that I had a visitor at the front desk. Not suspecting anything amiss, I opened the door to the reception area and nearly fell out when I saw Ben and Ed waiting. (Why did he bring his friend? That was weird, and I never thought about it until now.) Ed left us alone, and Ben said he had heard that I was getting married in a few days. When I told him that was true, he asked me to reconsider. Ben said that Mr. Nerd was probably a nice guy, but he could make me much happier if I would give him a chance. He also asked me if I was really sure that I was in love with Mr. Nerd.

Stunned? Incredulous? You have no idea. My love life had always been pretty lacking in drama, and now here I was, face-to-face with this odd guy who was asking me to abandon my fiancée DAYS before the wedding, and pick him instead. I think pre-wedding stress was the only thing that kept me from kind of flipping out. Those last couple of weeks before the wedding had been so exhausting that I was just too out of my mind to respond normally. I think all I could say was, "I love him very much, he makes me happy. I appreciate the gesture, but I am getting married this weekend." Turned around, walked back to my desk, explained what had just happened to the dear friend with whom I shared an office. And then freaked out a little.

Looking back on it nearly 14 years later, I guess it was a little flattering to have a guy make a Grand Gesture for my sake. Please don't get the idea that I was some kind of temptress leaving a trail of broken-hearted Bens in my wake, though. He was 26, and probably had not had much attention from girls. I just happened to be the one who was nice to him. Since I had been on the opposite side of many (MANY) such unrequited crushes, I really hated the thought of hurting his feelings. When things like that happen in the movies, it seems all dashing and romantic, but I was kind of mortified by the whole thing. I don't know, maybe it only works if the Grand Gesture is followed by a bus ride with Dustin Hoffman.

(awkward t-shirt comes from here)

A very strange kind of day

2010-02-18T21:29:00.000-05:00

Do you ever have days that are just...odd? I'm not talking paranormal-weird or anything, just a little off. Well, I had one of those days today. Here are a few of the episodes that made me feel like I might be stuck in an episode of The Twilight Zone.

The phone calls
Let me begin by noting that I answer the phone all day long, every day, so I am no stranger to weird phone calls. This morning, I spoke to two different callers, about two completely different situations. I did my best to help each caller, so I thought that was the end of that. This afternoon, though, each of those people called me again...and, again, went through their entire spiel, in conversations identical to those we had had this morning. Here's the strange thing: They had no idea that they were speaking to the same person they spoke to earlier in the day. I would be willing to believe that my customer service had been somewhat underwhelming, but I usually try to be helpful and treat callers the way I would like to be treated. (Golden Rule and all, you know.) So, two people just completely forgot me. I watch a lot of science fiction, and I was beginning to wonder about parallel universes and rifts in the space-time continuum and whatnot. Weird.

The elevator
I was on an elevator, going from the 5th floor to the 11th. You know how you forget to push the floor button sometimes? I know I pushed the button, because it lit up. I promise! But the elevator didn't stop on my floor. It went all the way to the top of the building, shimmying and shaking like it was about two seconds away from a reeealllly fast trip to the basement. (My primary thought at that moment? Oh no, I have my new boots on! How's that for having your priorities straight?) Of course, I felt it necessary to explain to the lady who then boarded the elevator that I had actually pushed the button. She gave me one of those "sure, of course you did, dear" kind of looks. Weird, and a tad embarrassing.

The mystery visitor
The organization where I work is spread out over several buildings. This morning, I got a call from the security desk at one of the nearby buildings; a gentleman was there looking for me, and they were going to send him my way. I'm an administrative assistant, so it's pretty unusual for someone to be looking for me specifically. I have to confess to a bit of panic, because the first person who came to mind was one of my former co-workers. He liked me, I didn't feel the same, he left the company, and I thought no more of him. Until he turned up at the reception desk, four days before my wedding, to tell me that he was in love with me and would like for me to call off my wedding and give our relationship a chance. Can you see why I was unnerved? I was on pins and needles for the ten minutes or so that it took my visitor to find me. But it wasn't him after all. It was a perfectly nice and friendly fellow, with a legitimate work question for me. Whew. Could have been weird (boy howdy, could it have been weird), but it wasn't.

After a day like this, it was a great relief to come home, where everything is normal. How about you? Have you had an odd day lately?

photo came from here

Four whole days!

2010-02-11T21:02:00.000-05:00

I have a four-day weekend, and I am so excited about it! Here's what I'm going to do:

1. Sleep in
I saw another doctor this week (#3 in the Great Shoulder Adventure, in case you're interested). He noted my bag-eyed state, took pity on me...and prescribed something to help me sleep. I'm trying the new med for the first time tonight. All fingers are crossed.

2. Make a purse

Honestly, I have kind of a love/hate relationship with sewing. You've heard "measure twice, cut once"? I usually measure four or five times, cut wrong, try not to swear, cry for a while, then make sure I have enough fabric to start it all again. Sometimes I have to just scrap the whole thing. But I found some really cool UK fabric on sale, and I hope to make a quilted purse to sell online. I've made several of these purses already, but that's no guarantee I will be able to do do it again.

3. Read

You probably can't tell from my crummy photo, but this is my favorite reading spot. With my softest, warmest fleece throw, and two excellent Inspector Morse books from the library. I can't wait to curl up here for a few hours.

4. Nap

My favorite reading spot is also a good place to nap--especially if there is a warm puppy to cuddle. Sometimes they get tired of waiting for me, and just take over my napping spot for themselves.

5. Just running a little errand, no big deal

Uh oh. Patches just found out he has to go to the V-E-T tomorrow for some blood work. Looks like he has taken refuge under the bed. Don't worry, little guy! It's just a tiny poke.

So, those are my big plans. There is a chance that numbers 2 and 3 may take a backseat to number 4. How about you? What are you doing this weekend?

Minutes of the previous meeting of the dogs

2010-02-04T20:16:00.000-05:00

In attendance: Sebastian, Patches, and Abby
Agenda: Discuss the progress of the new initiatives to drive our mom crazy

Sebastian: Okay, everyone. Thanks for taking the time to meet today.

Patches: As if we would be doing anything else. We can’t drive, after all.

Abby: I think I saw a squirrel. Did you guys see a squirrel?

Sebastian: Let’s try to stay focused, so we can get through the agenda. Abby, how are you doing on your assignment?

Abby: I would say I’m making excellent progress. I don't know if it's the cold weather or what, but poop seems much tastier lately. I’ve been eating some every time I go outside.

Sebastian: Excellent! That definitely drives Mama crazy. She hates it when you eat poop. Patches, how about your assignments?

Patches: Well, I have been trying to rile up the neighbor dogs as much as possible, and they’re responding really well. The melting snow has been an added bonus, since all of our barking areas are super-muddy right now.

Sebastian: Are you making sure to bring in lots of little mud balls on your feet? So that they get ground into the carpet?

Patches: Absolutely. It took Mama 45 minutes to clean up all the mud last night. She had to mop the kitchen floor, too-twice.

Sebastian: Good, good. She should be getting close to the edge by now. For my part, I’ve been attempting to snatch Mama’s food off the table and counter whenever possible—I nearly got those fried pickles last week! I’ve also been contributing to the barking effort as much as I can.

Patches: I almost forgot! Two mornings last week I ate barf out in the yard, and then came inside and immediately yakked up my WHOLE breakfast. That really seemed to make a big impact on our mom—she went nuts.

Abby: Nuts? Did you see the squirrel?!

Sebastian: Mama is right, Abby—you really do have doggie ADD. So, for next week, I think we should all keep working on our current projects. Patches, can you also try to make sure you dump all of our toys out of the basket every day? Mama hates that.

Patches: Yeah, yeah…I’m on it. Can I take a nap now? I haven’t had a nap in at least an hour.

Sebastian: You are truly the laziest dog ever. Abby, be sure to continue with the poop-eating, and watch for birds that you can kill. You’re really good at that, and Mama hates to pick up their little carcasses.

Abby: No problem. I will eat as much poo as possible, and be on the lookout for birds. I love this project!

Sebastian: Okay, remember our primary objective here: If we can drive Mama crazy, she won’t be able to go to that "work" place anymore. Then, she can stay home with us all day! This meeting is adjourned.

The worst of the words

2010-01-28T19:46:00.001-05:00

After reading Kathy’s post about her sister Maureen’s “list of words, phrases or topics that are either prohibited or encouraged in her lunch room at work,” I decided it was time for me to go public with my own (and my sister’s) word-phobia. My sister Melissa and I have been compiling a “forbidden words” list for as long as I can remember, with new terms added all the time. They include:

supple
pus
bulbous
bud (this one is Melissa’s; I’m not really too troubled by it)
mucus
rupture (It’s usually associated with something that sounds horribly painful.)
sac
tongue (I know, I’m really weird! I can’t help it.)
nasal

And the worst offenders:

moist (bleegggh! This was on Kathy’s sister’s list as well)

and (I can hardly bear to type it)

panties
Ewewewewew!!! I just can’t bear it. What, may I ask, is wrong with “underpants?” It’s a perfectly good word, and provides a very accurate description of what the item does. It goes under your pants. Or call them “underwear” or even “drawers” or “bloomers.” I don’t really care what other term we come up with for them, I just think that that word should just be stricken from the English language forever. Ew.

I can’t speak for my sister on this, but I also have a really difficult time with body part words. For instance, if I ever had to say the word “penis“ in front of another living human being? I would just fall over and die on the spot. In fact, just typing it, all alone in my living room, has made me blush furiously. I understand that these words may need to be used for medical purposes, so they can’t be stricken from the language, but just don’t expect me to say them. Ever. If something goes awry with one of the body parts that I am unable to speak of, I’ll just have to write the doctor a note or draw a cartoon or something. Or, you know, maybe just go ahead and expire from whatever the ailment is, since I will want to anyway once the doctor says any of those words to me. I feel a little faint just thinking about it.

So, do you have any prohibited words? Leave them in the comments! I always thought that this was something particular to my family, but apparently there are a lot of us out there.

My sanity's in Jeopardy

2010-01-25T20:21:00.000-05:00

Tomorrow night, I will make my sixth attempt to win a spot as a contestant on a game show. At this point, steely determination has been replaced by weary resignation, but I am still maintaining a tiny shred of hope. You won’t find me blogging, Facebooking, or checking email at 8:00 p.m, like I do most weekday evenings. Instead, I will be sweatily staring at my laptop screen, trying to make the dogs leave-me-alone-already-for-goodness-sake-don’t-you-have-toys-or-something?, and searching every corner of my poor wee brain for information about South American lakes and the name of President Hoover’s dog.

As far back as I can remember, I have wanted to compete on a game show. When I was a little girl, I used beg my grandmother to let me be on The Price is Right. (I was not mollified by her explanation that it was filmed in California, and we were in Kentucky, and I was not, at four, really the appropriate age to be a contestant.) As a trivia-loving nerd, I’ve always wanted to have the chance to embarrass myself on Jeopardy, but Kentucky is not very high on the list of audition sites for most game shows. So, I resigned myself to watching (and yelling answers at the TV) at home.

But then Who Wants to be a Millionaire exploded, and suddenly game show audition opportunities were popping up everywhere. Like Louisville, which is a very doable hour-long drive from where I live! The Weakest Link was holding tryouts, and my aunt K and I decided to head on over and check it out. (Unfortunately, we got stuck in traffic and were running late, so she ended up parking the car instead of going into the audition. I felt terrible.) After an exhausting, day-long tryout process, I was told that I had passed all of the tests, including the mock game, and that I might receive a call to compete in the next six months. About two months later, the show was canceled. So much for my shot at being publicly humiliated by Anne Robinson! (In retrospect, it was for the best, since I probably would have burst into tears when she yelled at me.) A couple of years later, K and I were delighted to hear that the Jeopardy folks would be making a stop in Lexington…and we could take the test! We waited in a loooooong line in a car-dealership parking lot, and took turns assuring each other that—really!-- we would be perfectly fine if only one of us passed the test. When the moment of truth arrived, we learned that we had both failed. Yet another disappointment for the game-show wannabees.

In recent years, Jeopardy got smart, and realized that they could increase their contestant pool exponentially if they would offer online tests. I have participated in the past four test cycles, spending the nerve-wracking, hive-inducing half-hour test time blanking on answers in all of the categories I know the least about (Geography, Art, Sports, and US Presidents, in case anyone is interested). To prevent cheating, you don’t find out how many questions you answered correctly—you only receive notification if you pass the test, and are chosen at random to attend an audition. I kept track of my answers last time, though, and I know I missed at least 25. Out of 50. People, this test is a killer. So, you can see why I’m not getting my hopes up too much. But maybe, just maybe, the test categories will fall my way. Maybe I’ll be dealing with questions about pop culture, 80s music, food, celebrities, fashion, TV, shoes…you know, the things I actually know something about. Wish me luck! You’ll be the first to hear if I get called to Chicago to film an audition.

The little Whammy guy came from here.

It's hard to believe I haven't broken my head yet

2010-01-21T20:40:00.000-05:00

Do you ever feel like you're having a "clumsy day?" For instance, the other morning in the shower, I managed to drop my shampoo bottle, conditioner tube, AND razor. A clumsy day.

Except that I wasn't just having a clumsy day. I have a clumsy LIFE…and it's all the time. I fall off curbs, walk into walls, bump my knees and elbows, and hit my head with alarming frequency, so I'm always a mass of bruises. At least twice a week, I burn some part of my forehead, neck or ears with a flat iron, so I'm usually sporting a visible scorch mark. Thankfully, my clumsiness doesn't result in any sort of major injury, at least most of the time. I have done a few unbelievably klutzy things in my life, though. And, since I'm running low on blogging material this week, why not trot out some (more) of my embarrassing tendencies for public consumption? Here, in no particular order, is a little rundown of the more memorable episodes.

-Caught my foot on a parking-barrier rope while trying to jump it…on a dare. Resulted in a really gross rope burn and a moderately sprained right ankle.
-Slipped in beer spilled on a bar dance floor and twisted my right ankle; continued to dance on it, totally oblivious, for the remainder of the evening. Got home, took off my shoe, and burst into tears when I saw the ankle. Resulted in a severe sprain, two weeks on crutches, and several months to full recovery.
-Jumped up from my desk chair, where I had been sitting on my foot, too quickly. Got my foot caught up in my skirt and fell. Resulted in (yet another) ankle sprain. To make things even more fun, this happened on my first day at a new job. I was too embarrassed to tell anyone, so I suffered all day in silence.
-Stepped in a hole, while carrying two 22-pound bags of ice. Resulted in a broken ankle (clearly, I'm not doing any ice skating on these ankles. They're probably weaker than matchsticks), three weeks on crutches, and two months of physical therapy.
-Tripped and rolled down that little slope-y bit of a friend's driveway. Resulted in two skinned knees and the ruination of a brand-new pair of jeans.
-Tumbled off an ex-boyfriend's back porch. Resulted in damaged cartilage and a big fluid pocket on one knee.
-Slipped and fell in the shower, after a too-liberal application of Clean Shower spray. Resulted in some kind of injury to my tailbone region that left me in tears for two days. (That's pretty rare. Even the broken ankle didn't make me cry.)
-Slipped on the curb after an ice storm and fell under my car. Resulted in a huge bruise on my hip/thigh that took about two months to heal, and a determination to find a house with an attached garage.
-Attempted to poke the lawn sprinkler in the drought-stricken back yard; felt a pop in my shoulder. Resulted in a torn tendon and ligament, five months of physical therapy, and an ongoing, (seemingly) endless series of sleepless nights.

See? Told you I was clumsy. Please keep in mind that all of these things happened to me as an adult. If I had included all of the moronic, where-was-your-brain clumsy things I did as a kid, this list would have been four times as long! So, how about you? Are you a klutz like me, or one of those lucky souls who seem to glide through life on a cloud of grace and fairy dust?

(Clumsy Smurf courtesy of bluebuddies.com)

The Car Wash, the Firemen, and Me

2010-01-13T20:22:00.000-05:00

As I was approaching my car in the parking garage the other day, I noticed that it looks really crummy. We've had some snow recently, and the poor thing is just covered in crusty road salt-it's gotten so bad that you can hardly tell what color it is. While I was making plans to go to the car wash, I remembered another post-snowfall trip to get the car cleaned up. Let's just say that it didn't end very well.

My husband and I had bought our car about six months prior to the incident, and I was still deep in the honeymoon phase. I kept it spotless, and I was (obsessively) concerned that road salt might damage the paint. So, on a bright January day, I headed off to the automatic (touchless! no scratches, you know) car wash on my lunch hour to soap off a week's worth of salt. The temperature outside was only 26 degrees, but there was a sign posted that said the car wash operated down to 15 degrees. I paid, rolled into the bay, sat through the wash cycle, and waited for the front door to open so that I could head back to work.

Except the door didn't open.

Luckily, I'm not claustrophobic or anything, so I was pretty calm at this point. I peered out the windows to see if there was an emergency release switch I could activate to open the door, but then I realized that I didn't really feel comfortable with the idea of getting out of the car. You know, in case the car wash turned on somehow. I could just see the headline: WOMAN TRAPPED, SUDSED TO DEATH IN CAR WASH. Um, no thanks. I was still pondering about what to do when, in my rearview mirror, I saw a car pull up to pay for a wash. Saved! I was sure that the front door would open as soon as the person deposited their money.

Except the front door still didn't open. The rear door, however, did.

I could see the car-wash-wanting person behind me, gesturing and waving his arms. Apparently, he thought I was just hanging out in there, relaxing, instead of realizing that I was stuck. Eventually, he gave up and drove off...which provided me with the opportunity to try to back out of the wash bay. Saved (possibly)! As I backed up, I heard some sort of machinery whir to life, followed by a sickening scraping sound. I felt the car shudder, and I realized that the door had closed again. On. My. Car.

Oh, crap. Both doors are closed, my car is at least partially squished, and I still can't get out. I decided that my only option was to call 911. The fire station was right next door to the Car Wash from Hell, so I could see (through the !@#$ front door) the firemen streaming out, pulling on their gear. One of them pried up the rear bay door, found the emergency shut-off, and guided me out. They figured out that the front door had frozen to the ground, which was why it wouldn't open. One of the firemen asked why I didn't get out and activate the emergency switch, then looked very amused when I answered, "I was scared that I would get washed."

When I examined my car, I found that the rear lift gate was merely scraped, not squished, and the damage looked fairly minor. Unfortunately, the situation took a turn for the worse after I contacted the owner of the car wash. I (very reasonably) requested that he pay for the repairs. He low-balled his estimate at some shady repair place; I refused to accept it; and I spent two months fighting him. I eventually decided that life was too short to spend it dealing with greedy little people, and I cashed his paltry check.

Since I'm incredibly lazy, I still use automatic car washes, but now I make sure that there are no doors. If you're too lazy to wash your car, here's a tip: always take your cell phone, and, for Heaven's sake, watch out for the suds.

In which I discuss the harshness of reality

2010-01-07T19:31:00.000-05:00

Where I dream of being:

gorgeous, tropical white sand beach (courtesy planetware.com)

Where I actually am:

my patio - snow-covered, 30-mph-gusty-windblown, 16 degrees

Reality bites. (Sob.)

Going back to the way things used to be

2010-01-04T19:55:00.000-05:00

Once again, it has been quite a while since I've blogged. I could make the usual excuses--I was too busy (it was Christmas), too sick (I did have a head cold), and too tired (we did a major clear-out of the house last week). But really, that would be dishonest. The truth is that I have fallen back in with an old love. I've been reading. Y'know...books.

When I was a kid, I read constantly, usually making it through three or four books a week. Lately, though, I had kind of lost interest in reading fiction (except for Harry Potter books), and non-fiction can be kind of dry after a while. For a year or so, all of my reading was strictly online. Until the British mysteries came along, that is.

I tried reading mysteries when I was in junior high school, and I didn't care for them...not enough romance to suit my silly, sappy teenage tastes. Now that I'm older (and more realistic), though, I have discovered that I love a good, twisty mystery. So far, Colin Dexter's books are my favorite--I finished the last one in a day and a half. A trip to the library today yielded four more Inspector Morse books, and, since it's cold enough to freeze a welldigger's hinder off outside, I am all set to snuggle up and read to my little heart's content.

But what about my online life? Blog posts uncommented-on, LOLcats not LOLed-at, inane Facebook quiz requests ignored (What Kind of Vegetable Are You?), and a dirty, lonely Pet Society critter sadly languishing in her little house. And my poor blog, nearly un-blogged for the last two months. Well, this won't do. So, I'm going to work on dividing up my free time a bit better, so that I can keep up with all of my online peeps, too. Now, which household chore can I ignore in order to gain that extra free time? I already don't cook, so that leaves laundry, loading the dishwasher, and cleaning. I guess if you see me at Aldi buying a huge pack of paper plates, you'll know which one I chose.

(The reading puppy came from: http://skyways.lib.ks.us/library/pottwablib/dog%20reading.jpg.)

Christmas in my corner

2009-12-24T10:35:00.000-05:00

Whew! Christmas is almost here...finally. I'm kind of sick and totally exhausted, but this has been a wonderful Christmas season. I decided that, this year, I was going to give myself an attitude adjustment, since I usually fall into the whole Grinch-y mentality. Our tree is up, and decorated, for the first time in five years. Last Saturday, I baked a metric ton of goodies, while I listened to carols playing and watched snow falling outside. I chose not to let the usual stressors get under my skin, and everything has been so much better for it.

So, from my corner to yours, I wish you a wonderful day! I hope the holiday brings you fun with family, perfect presents, plentiful pies, and many happy memories. (Sorry for the annoying alliteration...I'm a little stoned on cold medicine.) Merry Christmas!

How I became the butt of a joke

2009-12-18T21:12:00.000-05:00

In my last post, I promised an embarrassing school story; it takes place when I was in fourth grade. A couple of things to keep in mind as you read: I had really bad taste in TV shows when I was nine; and, all evidence to the contrary, I am actually a good speller.

At some point during the year, my teacher, Ms. Marshall, gave us a creative writing assignment. I was not short on imagination as a kid, but I usually found creative writing kind of frustrating, often because we were supposed to write poetry. (I don't like to write poetry, and I'm terrible at it.) This assignment, though, was different: we could write about a favorite book or TV character. Since I was a little TV junkie, that was right up my alley. I chose to write about one of my favorite shows, The Dukes of Hazzard. (See? Terrible taste, I told you.)

Since I had imagination to spare, I didn't just write a standard Bo-and-Luke-car-jumpin'-yee-haw-adventure story. Instead, I decided to expand the role of one of the lesser-known characters--Enos, the hapless straight-man deputy to Sherriff Rosco P. Coltrane. (I was clearly ahead of my time! I'm talking about early Duke-boy fanfic, here.) I crafted my story with all of the enthusiasm of Ralphie writing his Red Ryder BB-gun essay. There was just one problem: since I was only nine, and I had never met anyone named "Enos," I didn't know how to spell it. Following years of advice from teachers, I "sounded it out" and decided it should be spelled A-n-u-s. Oh, yeah. You read that right. I turned in a story about a horrible country-bumpkin-stereotype TV show...featuring a main character named "Anus."

So, what does a good fourth-grade teacher do, when faced with a situation like this? When Ms. Marshall handed back my graded story (I think I got a "B"), she included a note for my mom. I was completely freaked out, of course; notes from teachers are never a good thing, and I wasn't the type of kid to get in trouble, anyway. I didn't open the note, but gave it to my mom, with great trepidation. I was expecting my mom to explode, and she did--but it was laughter, not yelling. Ms. Marshall had laughed so hard at my story that she simply had to write a note to tell Mom about it--and to advise that Mom explain to me why "Anus" was not an appropriate name for a literary character.

So, that's my little tale. My mom, grandmother, and teacher all had a good laugh, and I was left feeling indignant that my spelling error overshadowed what I thought was a literary masterpiece. Fortunately, that bad experience did not cause me to lose interest in writing, and I love blogging. Now, though, I make sure that I check my spelling very carefully. Spelling mistakes like that one could lead to some REALLY embarrassing Google searches.

A sort of hiatus

2009-12-15T19:02:00.000-05:00

I didn't intend to take a month-long break from blogging, believe me. It was actually another writing project that left me no time to write here. A few months ago, my church choir director and I decided to create our own Christmas play, rather than using a packaged program. I did most of the writing (with a huge amount of input and advice from several others), and it was one of the most terrifying, fun, creative things I've ever been involved in. However--because I was involved on a molecular level--I ate, slept, and breathed the Christmas play for the last month. We had our performance last Sunday evening, everything went very well, and now I can return to my regularly scheduled, boring life...just as I like it. I plan to spend the next few evenings catching up on Facebook; reading and commenting on my favorite blogs (I've been clicking "mark all as read" on the Google reader for a while now); and collecting all the supplies I'll need for a day of Christmas baking on Saturday.

If you're still checking in here, thanks! I missed you guys. Look for a new post later this week--all the writing I've been doing lately brought back an embarrassing memory of an early creative story assignment. Here's a hint about just how mortifying it was: the teacher who graded it wrote my mom a note, because my story made her laugh so hard. And not in a good way, either.

Maybe this is not the kind of therapy I really need

2009-11-18T21:09:00.000-05:00

Yup, I'm back in physical therapy for my bum shoulder. When I finished eight weeks of PT last April, the shoulder felt really good, and I assumed it would stay that way. Clearly, it didn't, so I headed back in for some more work. Except that it isn't--working, that is. So, my wonderful therapist is having me try some new techniques, which are making things a bit more...interesting than usual around here.

the TENS Unit
This odd little machine is supposed to relieve pain by doing, um, something to the receptors in my nerves, I think. I don't really know, and I also don't know if it works or not, since I just started using it yesterday. I do know, however, that the Wikipedia page contains a sarety tip that absolutely fascinates me: it says that one should not place the electrodes for the TENS unit transcerebrally, i.e., one on each temple. But it doesn't say why! WHY?!? What does it do??? I would love to ask my therapist, but I really like her and I respect her a lot, so I don't want her to think I'm an idiot. I'm not saying that I'm going to actually try placing the electrodes on my temples; but, you can't tell me something like that, and then think I'm not going to be way curious about what could happen.

the floor exercise
I've been doing home PT exercises for nine months now, but so far, they have all involved a ball or a stretchy band or pushing against a wall. My most recent exercise requires that I lie on the floor for 15 minutes at a time, with a rolled-up towel under my back, between the shoulder blades. This sounds easy enough, and it would be, except for one thing: in my house, human on the floor = playtime for dogs. The mutts think that having me lie down on the floor is their cue to sit on my head, stick chew bones in my ear, lick and paw at my face, and generally climb all over me like I'm a big ol' doggie jungle gym. Tonight, Sebastian must have decided that he needed to protect me from...something, because he spent the entire 15 minutes standing over my head. I took a photo:

In case you've ever wondered what the world looks like from the underside of a Cocker Spaniel's chin, there you go. I think the photo is kind of ominous-looking, but the only real danger was that Sebastian might drool on my forehead.

In two weeks, I should know if the new treatment plan is working, or if I'm headed back to the orthopedist for "the next step." Talk about ominous! I'm pretty sure I don't want to know what the next step is, unless it involves hot towels (there's another patient at the therapy office who is always lying down, covered in hot towels, when I go in for my session), or Lortab, my painkiller of choice. In the meantime, I guess I'll get used to having a dog sit on my head for a few minutes every night.

The unbearable cuteness of noms

2009-11-12T20:42:00.001-05:00

It's Thursday night, and I've been writing a blog post in my head all week, looking forward to writing something funny. But, by the time I got home from work, I was tired and kind of stressed and bummed out, and I didn't think I had any funny in the tank. Still need to blog, though. So, to brighten my spirits a bit, I turned to something that can always make me laugh--my dogs.

We don't feed our pups much people food, with a few exceptions. One of those is spaghetti; I can't explain it, but these dogs go nuts for plain, cooked pasta. A few weeks ago, I used my fancy cell phone (that I'm still trying to learn to operate after fve months) to take a video of the pups eating spaghetti, because it's sooooooo cute. And then it hit me: if a video of Patches, Sebastian, and Abby nom-ing spaghetti can make me laugh, you might like it, too. Hey, a blog post!

Honestly, I can't believe I even figured out how to upload the video to YouTube. (Note: It's pretty bad quality, and I'm a pretty bad videographer.) I promise to have a funny post next week; but, in the meantime, I hope you enjoy:

Raindrops on roses, whiskers on kittens, yada yada yada

2009-11-03T21:57:00.001-05:00

Yeah, I'm gonna do one of those "favorite things" posts. I will admit to blatantly stealing this idea from several bloggers, but the first I read was Sarah's post at Rhinestones and Telephones. Honestly, I am completely tapped out of writing ideas. But, I'm also trying to blog more regularly, so here's my little list of some of the things I'm really loving lately.

Naturalizer riding boots

Anyone who knows me is well aware that I love all shoes, but I really love these boots. They're soft and comfy; they look great with skirts, pants, jeans, and leggings; and I get a ton of compliments when I wear them. There aren't many things I like about cold weather, but wearing these boots alllmost makes it worth freezing my hinder off.

Crunchcakes
Mr. Nerd and I made a trip to the Louisville Zoo last weekend. On our way out of L-ville, we stopped by Lynn's Paradise Cafe, which is this incredibly cool, funky little local joint with kitschy decor and the most amazing food. It's almost impossible to decide what to order, but I chose the Crunchcakes, and I was not disappointed. Two plate-sized multigrain pancakes, stuffed with homemade granola and fresh blueberries. I had never dreamed of pancakes and granola together; but, it's been four days, and I'm still thinking about how scrumptious it was. Nom nom nom.

Louis van Amstel
I can't deny it--I am an enormous Dancing with the Stars junkie. I live and die by each week's episode, and eat up my text message allotment voting for my favorite stars. This season, though, I have developed a new obsession...and his name is Louis van Amstel. He's so adorable, I can't decide if I want to dance with him, marry him, or just squeeze him. Squee! Look how cute!

Do you have any new obsessions? What do you love right now? Do you also fantasize about dancing the tango with Louis? Books, music, food, TV, anything...tell me about it in the comments!

This is your eviction notice...

2009-10-29T20:48:00.000-04:00

To all of the millipedes who have taken up residence in my kitchen, I have just one thing to say: GET OUT. There are five creatures who are authorized to live in this house, and you do not count among that number.

I know that it's getting cold at night now, it has rained so much lately that we need a freakin' ark, and it's much nicer in here than it is outside...but I don't care. That probably sounds hardhearted; but, you freak me out, and I'm not likely to get over that anytime soon. I'm tired of turning on the kitchen light each morning and finding five or six of you creeping around on your many horrible little legs. It's equally foul to have to scoop up and dispose of your shriveled remains (with a paper towel, of course), when you are inconsiderate enough to expire on my linoleum. The worst, though, was when I entered the kitchen the other morning without my glasses. I saw what I thought was a brown leaf on the floor, and brushed it to the side with my foot--only to have blood squirt out of it! I nearly fainted dead away. That was the last straw.

So, millipedes, I'm going to have to ask you to remove yourselves from my domicile immediately. I will permit you to remain on the patio, provided you make no attempt to cross the threshold. If you force me to make a second request, it will be accompanied by insecticide spray.

(image courtest of ohiolandlord.com)

The flu didn't get me, but I thought daytime TV might

2009-10-26T19:58:00.000-04:00

I spent a few days on the sofa last week, recovering from what may or may not have been the H1N1 virus. It seemed like way too much effort to drag myself out to the doctor, so I just dosed up with a liver-busting amount of ibuprofen for the fever, and called in sick to spare my coworkers, just in case I did have Hamthrax. It took four days to chase the fever away, and I have to admit it--I felt like I might die a couple of times. Oh, not from the (maybe) flu, although that certainly wasn't pleasant. The real danger was the possibility of dying from boredom, given the suckitude of daytime TV.

Mr. Nerd and I made an uncharacteristically frugal decision last year, and cancelled the "extended" cable TV package. Our plan was to rely heavily on PBS and the Discovery Channel, which were included in the "basic" package. Most of the time, I don't miss the channels that we lost too much. But, spending three solid days on the sofa, too unwell to commit to watching a movie, nearly made me weep for the Food Network or TLC.

Even in my fever-addled state, I knew that the network stations would be a wash during the day--it's all soap operas; various hard-edged judges delivering justice to a series of lunkheads; and Oprah, Dr. Phil, and Dr. Oz (it would take a lot more than a fever to make me watch Oprah or anything Oprah-related). So, I turned to my old standby, Discovery, expecting to be able to sink back into my semi-coma and enjoy some reruns of Dirty Jobs, Mythbusters, and Time Warp. And, you may ask, what did I find there? Fishing, in many forms. A couple of shows about pimping out cars, some ghost-hunter-type nonsense, and a whole lot of other junk that I didn't care one iota about. By the second afternoon, I had given up. I didn't feel like surfing (which should give you some idea of just how rotten I felt), but I decided to check Netflix, to see what was available via their "watch instantly" feature. Hallelujah! There, I found many seasons' worth of all of my favorite BBC comedies...more than enough to get me through the next couple of days with my sanity intact. (What sanity I had to begin with, that is.) That alone was worth my $14.99 a month. All hail Netflix! And ibuprofen, and Luden's throat drops! Whatever I had, I couldn't have gotten through it without you guys.

(Image courtesy www.santacruzhealth.com)

So what is Eeyore, a werewolf?

2009-10-06T20:49:00.000-04:00

Ah, it's that time of year again. Autumn is my favorite season. The leaves are changing color, the weather is getting cooler, the scent of fireplace smoke is in the air...and the Halloween people are decorating with reckless abandon. I don't have anything against Halloween, but I'm not really into it, either. Dressing up is a lot of trouble, and we don't usually hand out candy because it makes the dogs go nutball for a solid two hours. I have a fall-color wreath for the front door, but that's pretty much the extent of my decorating. Some of the people in my neighborhood, though, are REALLY into it.

I was passing by one of those homes yesterday when I saw it. This is far from the most macabre Halloween decoration that I've ever seen, but it was still kind of disturbing:

What this inflatable says to me is that either: a) Winnie the Pooh has a dark side that none of us knew about; or b) Pooh (like pretty much everyone else in the free world) has been sucked into the Twilight phenomenon.

Now, I can't claim to be an expert on ol' Winnie by any means, but I read the books and watched the TV shows when I was a kid. I feel pretty comfortable in my assessment of Pooh as a gentle, slightly goofy kind of guy who likes to hang out with his buds and nosh on honey. So, whether he has truly embraced the bloodsucking lifestyle, or he's just another one of those emo vampire posers, neither of those personas really fit with Pooh's traditional reputation. Pooh's pretty lazy, so I just can't see him putting forth all that effort to chase down victims and do the whole neck-biting thing. His general outlook on life is sunny, and he doesn't really have the sort of depressive, poetry-writing nature that I associate with emo kids. The more I think about it, though, Eeyore kind of fits that image. So many questions! Of course, there's a better-than-average chance than I'm putting WAY too much thought into my neighbor's lawn decoration.

So, what kind of decorations have you seen in your neighborhood? Do you decorate your lawn? Do you find vampire Pooh disturbing, or cute? (By the way, "vampire poo" was one of the auto-complete searches when I was checking Google for that photo. Part of me really wanted to look, but I resisted.)

"Real life" can be really inconvenient sometimes

2009-09-30T20:49:00.000-04:00

I can't believe it has been almost two weeks since I posted! No real crises or tragedies or anything; I'm just SO busy right now that I barely have time to string two thoughts together, let alone compose them into a blog post. For those of you who know what a Facebook crack-monkey I am, this should prove how little free time I've had lately: I haven't spent more than three minutes at a time on Facebook in over a week. Seriously. Another writing project, a major housecleaning adventure, sick dogs, and a whole load of church activities have combined into the perfect storm of butt-smoking busy-ness, and I'm ready to get off the merry-go-round now, please. Since I am still short on time to write, here are a few random thoughts I've had lately:

Why do I keep doing embarrassing things in the copy room at work? I can stand primly by the copier for 20 minutes, and not a soul will come in...but, let me try to copy a move from Dancing with the Stars, or burst into a rousing rendition of "Son of a Preacher Man," and suddenly, someone will be standing right behind me. Then I get to spend the rest of the afternoon doing that whole did-they-see-or-did-they-not-see thing. Why do I never learn?

I am a terrible dog mom. Abby Dog had her yearly checkup and vaccinations last week, and the vet found that one of her ears is horribly infected. (I will spare you the details, but the words "ulcerated lesions" were involved.) The treatment? Antibiotics--and a rolled-up gauze square, soaked in medication and inserted into her ear canal, while I hold her ear closed, once a day for two weeks. Surprisingly enough, dogs don't really like it when you shove things into their ears. Poor Abby deserves some credit, though. After four days of doing the gauze-roll thing, she has stopped struggling when I hold her. Now she just sighs a lot and gives me dirty looks. It's a good thing dogs don't hold grudges, or she might try to smother me while I sleep.

It seems that the FDA has agreed with my opinion that Latisse, that eyelash-lengthening treatment, is pretty scary. One of the comments on my post mentioned that Latisse can cause hair to grow anywhere that it is dropped on your body, which was even more alarming to me than the side effects I wrote about. Of course, when Mr. Nerd and I saw that story on the news, he immediately asked if he could buy some to apply to his bald spot.

Okay, real life--I give! I know I'm out of writing time for tonight. I will try not to wait so long between posts next time!

A Culture of Lies

2009-09-18T19:58:00.000-04:00

Wow, that sounds all hard-hitting and newsy, doesn't it? While I think it would be really cool to do research and conduct interviews and write revealing exposés and stuff, I'm just way too lazy for all of that. Instead, I'm going to rant about yogurt. (Culture, get it? Ha! I've got
a million of 'em.) Speaking of being lazy, it seems like the media is all about reporting on Americans' horrible eating habits these days. In response, advertisers are rolling out tons of ads for healthy food products like soy milk, fiber bars, natural cereals, etc. And, of course, yogurt. Unfortunately, most of the yogurt commercials I have seen are either really annoying, or just downright untruthful.

I'm going to pick on Yoplait commercials in particular, because those are the ones that irritate me the most. First, there was a series of ads that featured two incredibly smug women. They had little conversations about the yogurt: "this is shoe-shopping good," "this is day-at-the-spa good," and so on. Ladies, do you really need to be so smug? It's just freakin' yogurt! And, to imply that a cup of yogurt could be better than a new pair of shoes is just some kind of lunacy, in my book. New shoes are blissful treats that can brighten a bad day, and make you feel pretty and sexy; yogurt is a barely-tolerable dairy product that you eat just because it's good for you. (But we'll discuss that a bit more in depth in just a moment.) Over the next couple of years, Yoplait continued to produce more ads featuring a number of self-satisfied women, all purporting to have lost a great amount of weight by ingesting large quantities of their rancid dairy product.

Now, Yoplait has gone too far. They are introducing a new line of products, called Yoplait Delights, which they claim taste just like a parfait. That is just a lie, plain and simple. Yogurt does not taste like pudding, or cake, or pie. And it most certainly does not taste like ice cream. This treachery upon the good name of desserts should be stopped, immediately. Somewhere out there is a woman who needs to lose some weight. She keeps seeing commercials about yogurt…the health benefits, the weight loss, and she thinks, "How bad can it be? The commercial said it tastes like pudding/cake/pie/ice cream." When she tries it, though, she discovers what yogurt really is: a slightly sour, mildly clumpy cup of thick dairy substance that may or may not contain fruit. While it's not really horrible, it surely wouldn't qualify as dessert.

In case anyone thinks I'm being too harsh on yogurt, or I don't know what I'm talking about, consider this: I ate it every single day for six years. After I did Weight Watchers in 2002, I needed to find a low-fat way to get some calcium in my body before I managed to snap my femur like a twig or something. (I can't stand to drink milk.) Approximately 2,000 cups of yogurt later, I could no longer face it, so I switched to chocolate soymilk. It doesn't taste like real milk with Hershey's syrup, but at least there are no commercials trying to make me believe it does.

It wasn't a "vacay"

2009-09-16T17:30:00.001-04:00

It was just a week off work...and I hate the word "vacay," anyway. The husband and I were off last week, and I was officially the least productive person on the planet. I spent nearly the whole week just breathing, napping, eating, and wasting time on the Internet. As my vacation time approached, I was planning to blog more, rather than less, since I was going to have so much free time. Apparently, though, I just couldn't work up the energy.

When Monday came around, I found that I really didn't mind going back to work all that much, since my job is usually okay. I did, however, have a bit of difficulty adjusting to being around actual people again. Mr. Nerd and I have been married for quite a while, so we don't sit around under each other's feet; when we're at home, he does his thing and I do mine. So, I would go for long stretches without conversing with anyone other than three lively, but uncommunicative, Cocker Spaniels. And most of those conversations were of the "don't: sit on the other dogs / lick up things you found on the floor / barf in the corner where I can't clean it up / do unnatural things to your brother's head / bark like fiends at the poor bored neighbor dog / hit the 'delete' key on the laptop" variety. My co-workers might have thought that I was unusually quiet on Monday (unusual, since I'm hardly ever quiet), but I was really just trying to remember exactly what it is that human beings talk about all day.

At any rate, I'm back, and I have some great ideas for new posts. I'll have one later in the week; here's a little teaser:

Be sure to check in later this week!

It's a major award*

2009-09-02T20:03:00.001-04:00

As if things hadn't been exciting enough around here lately, what with the new look and the blogoversary and getting TRIPLE the usual number of page views last week (you guys can't see that, of course, but my traffic report made me very happy)--I won an award! The lovely JD, of I Do Things So You Don't Have To, was kind enough to pass the Superior Scribbler Award on to me and several other happy bloggers. (Check out the link to read about the Scholastic Scribe, and the award.) Now, I'm supposed to pay it forward to some of my favorite bloggers, so here we go:

Heather, from The Mother Tongue. Heather is a writer for my local paper, and she's awesome: funny, geeky, smart, and totally cool. Her blog topics range from politics and current events, to hilarious reports about her home life as a mom to two little ones, to tough, touching stories about some of her personal struggles. Bonus: Heather is a Harry Potter nerd, too. It makes me feel better to know that I'm not the only adult who daydreams about Hogwarts.
Jeff, from View from the Cloud. Jeff has great stories about his former life on the road as a professional musician, and a lot of hilarious regular features (my fave is Mr. Know-It-All). He has been blogging for years, and you will find tons of laughs in his archives. Jeff is also a fellow Elvis Costello fan, and that's good enough for me.
Chris, from Maugeritaville. Chris is a school principal, and I believe anyone who deals with today's youth on a daily basis deserves some kind of award. He writes great nostalgia stories about his own school days, and reports from the front lines (aka his job) that make me oh-so-grateful for my boring office job, where everyone is over 25 and (relatively) sane.
Sarah, from Rhinestones and Telephones. I just started reading Sarah's blog about a week ago, and I am already addicted. She blogs about baking, sewing, crafts (all things I love), Strictly Come Dancing, which is the British version of Dancing with the Stars (my favoritest TV show), and tons of other interesting stuff. There's just one thing: I think "Sarah" may actually be a pseudonym for, like, five people. Because I don't see how one woman could get all of that stuff done.

Congratulations, everyone! Just click on the Superior Scribbler Award link to get the instructions for passing on the award, if you like. I'm not really gonna try to force you or anything.

*Leg lamp photo courtesy of notice things. If you don't understand the significance of the photo, or the post title, go here.

My baby is growing up!

2009-08-31T21:14:00.000-04:00

Happy birthday to Nerd in the Corner! Yes, my little bloggie is a year old. It seems like just yesterday that I created my Blogger account and began my weekly fret about what to write, but that was 108 posts ago. Wow...that seems like a lot of posts. What have I been writing about for the last year, anyway? Let's check back through the old posts and see.

In one of my earliest posts on September 3, I made the first reference to my recently-diagnosed strained pectoral muscle. It turns out that it wasn't a strained muscle at all. It still feels like crap, and I ran out of Lortab a long time ago. Advil PM is my new best friend.
On October 3, I mined my painful teenage years for laughs, and wrote about one of my (many) horrible gym class experiences. It's kind of a long post; I've learned since then that it's best to keep things short and sweet. It's a pretty funny story, though, despite all of the mental anguish and stuff.
On December 14, I explained why the Christmas season makes me kind of Grinch-y. Man, I hate those stupid sexy Santa outfits. Now I can't stop thinking that it will only be another couple of months until I have to endure them again.
On January 8, I discussed my lengthy episode of insomnia, and admitted that I have always been a sleepwalker. I still can't sleep very well, but my BFF Advil PM is helping out with that, too. I lurve you, Advil PM!
On March 10, I branched out a bit, and offered some tips for elevator etiquette. I know it's bad to hold grudges, but that guy still honks me off.
I am a huge fan of 80s music, and I (partlially) explained why on April 11. Yes, I really wanted to marry Prince. And no, I never completely grew out of it.
On August 1, I wrote about another one of Mother Nature's little cruelties. I think I may have inadvertently offended a member of the Goth community with this post.

Sometimes, when I write a post, I remember to label it. Except that I forget what labels I have used in the past, so my labeling system is totally spastic. Some of the labels use capital letters, and some don't. I have two different labels for posts about my dogs, and now I can't figure out how to delete one of the labels without deleting the posts that go with it. There are 18 posts labeled "random stuff," while most of the other labels have only one or two posts each. Labeling is definitely one of the areas where I hope to improve in my next year of blogging.

And there will definitely be a next year, because blogging is fun--even though I fuss a lot over what to write about, and sometimes I worry that no one is reading it. I love to think that something I wrote might have made someone laugh, though, and I like to write for myself, too. So, to everyone who has read Nerd in the Corner over the past year, particularly those of you who have left comments and followed me: a million billion thanks! And, to my blogging heroes JD, Kathy, and Jeff: You guys are awesome!! Thanks so much for reading my blog, giving me advice, leaving hilarious comments, and providing a ton of blogging encouragement. If y'all are still blogging in 20 years, I will still be reading your stuff, because you're great, funny writers...AND truly good people.

Here's to Year Two!

Why I loved back-to-school time, part 2

2009-08-25T19:50:00.008-04:00

Last week, I wrote a tender homage to my first lunchbox. I also noted that, although I have been out of the educational system for a long time, I still have a thing for school supplies. There are two reasons, I believe: first, I was (and am) a nerd who loved school; second, I was (and am) a shopper. And back-to-school shopping was the best...here's why.

New clothes and shoes
I've loved clothes for as long as I can remember, but I didn't become label-conscious until fifth grade. That year, a couple of brands nearly succeeded in turning me into a little Paris Hilton. I fell hard for this:
and pestered my poor, overworked single mother until she bought me two precious Izod shirts, and a few pairs of alligator footie socks. If Lacoste had made underwear, I would have worn it. My mother thought (and rightly so) that I was out of my mind, but she hadn't seen anything yet. Shortly after I began cultivating my Izod sickness, I developed another obsession, one that lasts to this day:

This, my friends, is a Nike Cortez sneaker. These were the first fancy, name-brand sneakers I had ever owned, and I loved them. For the first two or three weeks after I got them, I set them on my dresser before bed every night...so that I would be able to see them first thing each morning when I woke up. I still love flashy sneakers, but now I can (usually) restrain myself from looking at my feet in the mirror a million times a day when I'm wearing them.

Great organize-y gear
My name is absepa,and I have OCD. Obsessive-compulsive disorder doesn't just happen overnight, you know, and mine started early. I remember going to my granny's office when I was five or six and happily re-organizing everything in her desk. It was no surprise, then, that my discovery of the Trapper Keeper changed my school career forever. All the folders fit inside! There were so many pockets! Even my little plastic pencil case was designed to fasten into the Trapper Keeper...and then it allll closed up neatly with a velcro flap!
That's a little bit of nerd/OCD heaven, right there. The only thing that could improve it would be...

Lisa Frank stickers
Unicorns, rainbows, hearts, puffy clouds (sigh), all covered with more glitter than Dolly Parton and Beyonce combined...Lisa Frank's designs were enough to make my little head explode from pure, girly awesomeness.

I covered every possible surface, including my Trapper Keeper, with as much Lisa Frank-y goodness as my meager allowance could provide. Apparently I never outgrew that obssession either, because I realized, as I just spent a few minutes checking out LF's website, that I kind of miss this stuff. One of the bummers of adulthood is a serious lack of sparkly stickers, I think. That boring, black leather binder that I carry to meetings is just crying out for some puppies and unicorns.

I learned from the comments on part 1 of this story that not everyone has such good memories of back-to-school shopping. (Sorry, Kathy and JD.) How about you? Am I the only one who loves school supplies? Drop a comment, and tell us about your favorite back-to-school memory!

While you're at it, how about a smiley?

We got the look, we got the hook, etc.

2009-08-24T15:07:00.003-04:00

Well, not "we," really. Just my blog. 'Cuz I need a haircut, and I've gained a couple of pounds of birthday cake. But check out my blog--it really is cookin'!

The first birthday of Nerd in the Corner is coming up in a few days, and I decided that a new look would make an excellent gift. I shopped around, checking out different blog makeover sites, for a couple of weeks before I made my decision. I went with Designed by Leslie because I liked Leslie's portfolio, and her prices are very reasonable. There's a bonus, too: Leslie is a teacher, and she uses all the money she earns doing blog makeovers to buy supplies for her classroom. How cool is that? Not only does my blog look hawt, but Leslie's kiddies will have more things for their class. Win-win! Thanks again, Leslie!

*******************************

Don't worry, JD...I still plan to explain the whole shoe/school supply obsession. I just thought my cool new look deserved its very own post. Check back tomorrow for part two of my ~~self-indulgent~~ nostalgic musings about the first day of school.

Ring! Ring! Goes the Bell

2009-08-17T20:11:00.005-04:00

It's that time of year again...when the kids gather up their high-tech backbacks (stuffed with laptops, iPods, and graphing calculators), don their Abercrombie jeans and Nike sneakers, and head back to school. For most people like me who don't have children, it's probably a non-event. The nerd in me, however, always takes note of the appearance of all the shiny new notebooks, folders, binders, etc., in the stores--because I love school supplies. Until junior high, when I hit the Misery Trifecta of algebra, gym class, and mean popular kids , I actually loved school. From the time I was unleashed on the Kentucky public school system as a fresh-faced little nerdlet in 1976, until the day of my sixth-grade graduation, I was as happy as a clam in the academic world. I looked forward to the beginning of school each year with great excitement, partly because it provided me the opportunity to indulge my tendency to be a huge know-it-all. ("You know," my exasperated mother once said, "that grown-ups don't really like it when little girls correct their grammar." I sincerely hope that I grew out of being an annoying little swot.) The other reason that I loved back-to-school? The GEAR. I've always been into organizing things. Plus, at what other time of year would a six-year-old kid be able to get a new wardrobe, cool sneakers, a lunchbox, a book bag, and a boatload of awesome organize-y stuff? It was like Christmas, except without the pressure to be good and the threat of being passed over by Santa. So, for the next couple of posts, I'm going to ~~bore everyone senseless~~ share some memories of my all-time-favorite back-to-school stuff! Beginning with...

My First Lunchbox

As the first day of school approached, I was so excited. When the time came to choose the all-important lunchbox, I decided to forgo the trendy (i.e. Charlie's Angels and the Bionic Woman), and stick with two of my oldest, dearest friends: Raggedy Ann and Andy. Their cheerful little faces decorated my room at home, and I often slept with the dolls, so it was a natural choice. The lunchbox was metal, it came with a matching plastic thermos, and I was incredibly proud of it. I must have driven my grandmother crazy in the few days leading up to the start of school by making "practice lunches" so that I could have an excuse to use my lunchbox. Of course, by the end of the year, the metal was rusting, the thermos stained pink from tomato soup, and the whole thing smelled like feet, so my mom decided that it had to go. My Raggedy Ann and Andy lunchbox may not have accompanied me to second grade, but it will always hold a special place in my heart. (sniff)

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Some time later, after losing my wireless connection TWICE, I feel like I need to wrap this up before I lose the whole thing. So, stay tuned for the next installment of school memories...wherein I will discuss my unnatural devotion to a pair of sneakers, how Mead contributed to my OCD, and the role of glittery unicorns in my education. (I'm not kidding.)

If you liked this post, will you drop me a smiley?

Don't it make my blue/green/grey/hazel eyes...brown?

2009-08-10T18:52:00.004-04:00

It seems like I've been seeing a lot of commercials featuring actress/model/Tom Cruise b aiter Brooke Shields lately. I totally understand why these companies would want her as a spokesperson; she's in her early 40s, and she looks great.

(Photo courtesy of ivillage)

While I don't have anything against Brooke (well, except that whole Blue Lagoon thing, and I don't blame her for that because she was really young), I am frankly terrified by one of the products she's touting. It's called Latisse, and it claims to make your eyelashes grow. You smear it on your lids every night, and your lashes are supposed to grow "thicker and darker." Sounds fairly harmless, right? Well, watch this, and see if it freaks you out, too.

The scary part comes at 0:39. In case you missed it, the voiceover says, "...there is potential for increased brown iris pigmentation." What. The. Heck?!?! This is a substance that can change your eye color. I have nothing against brown eyes--my sister has lovely, big, brown eyes, with thick dark lashes--but I really do have something against using a product that can change a trait that was coded into my DNA. (This does not include colored contacts, by the way. Popping in a contact lens is worlds apart, in my mind, from permanently changing my eye color.)

I would love to have long, thick, black lashes. Mine are light-colored and stick-straight, so the eyelash curler is a necessary part of my morning routine. But, I have kind of grown attached to my physical attributes during my (nearly) 39 years, and I'm not really looking into altering them at this point. (Well. Except for that cellulite problem.) So, I'll keep up my close relationship with the eyelash curler, continue to purchase copious amounts of mascara...and keep my blue eyes, thankyouverymuch. I'll leave the Latisse to Brooke Shields, and we'll see (ha! I kill myself) what happens.

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On a completely unrelated note, Once Upon A Blog is having a contest! Jennisa is giving away several different design packages, and I would love to win one. Her work is awesome, and I have always wanted a custom blog design. Take a minute to check out her site! But, don't get your hopes up about the contest, because I'm totally going to win.

Just one more of Mother Nature's cruel jokes...

2009-08-01T08:24:00.003-04:00

For many people, summer is the best time of the year. And, although I'm not really into sweating, I love summer, too. Nothing makes me happier than digging in my back yard, wearing flip-flops all the time, and sipping a glass of wine on the patio in the evening. There's just one major drawback, however: I don't tan.

(picture courtesy of mikerbaker.com)

When I say that I don't tan, it's not that I don't want to be tan, or that I don't have time to tan. My skin physically cannot tan. This may not seem like a big deal to you, but I live in the South, y'all. Everyone here is tan. All summer long, I have to endure brown people yelling at me. "Girl! You need to get to the pool! Look at those white legs." Yes, I know. My legs are pale. As are my arms, chest, back, neck...everything is pale. I get it, already.

In my misspent youth, I gave in to the peer pressure, and used tanning beds. It never really made me brown, but at least I was kind of a darker white. I was diagnosed with rosacea last year, however, and sun exposure is considered one of the major triggers of outbreaks. Now that I am seeing a dermatologist regularly, she recommends using a sunscreen with an SPF of at least 50...which completely removes even the slightest chance that I might tan. Have you ever used SPF 50? It's like a chemical sweatshirt. No rays are gonna get through that stuff! Since my skin hates me, I am also allergic to sunless tanners. Trust me: that lovely orange fake-tan glow is not worth spending an entire summer covered in hives.

So, pale is what I am, and it doesn't look that is going to change anytime soon. I usually try to make the best of bad situations, so I have been considering how I could turn my paleness into an asset...or at least not stick out like a sore thumb. Here are some of the best options I have come up with:

Move to New York, don a black turtleneck, and cultivate an intellectual, artistic persona: I think I might like New York, but I am far from intellectual. And everything I know about art would not fill a thimble. Probably not such a good choice.

Move to the British Isles: Please note that I have not done any research to support this, but it seems like there would be a lot less pressure to be tan in such a cool, drizzly place. Based on what I see in my favorite BBC shows, I would love to live in England. But, it would require a lot of effort to move my entire life to another continent, and I am pretty lazy. Maybe someday, like after retirement. I just don't have the energy for that right now.

Become a Goth: From what I understand about the Goth lifestyle, pale skin is a prized asset. Bonus! All things considered, though, I think my personality is basically too sunny to embrace the dark side. The Goths probably would not welcome my love of all things pink, sparkly, cute, and cuddly.

Just get over myself and live with it, already: Hey, I'm lazy, remember?

Like this post? Drop me a smiley:

aannnndd...we're back!

2009-07-28T19:37:00.003-04:00

Sorry about that little impromptu vacation. I spent my evenings last week working Vacation Bible School at my church, and I was too wiped out to post when I got home at night. For those of you who aren't familiar with this phenomenon, it involves five nights of singing, dancing, screaming, squealing kids--and five workdays of being so tired you feel like you're going to die. Our church invites all of the neighborhood rugrats (in addition to our members' kids, of course), for a week of learning Bible stories, doing crafts, playing games, and singing songs. I helped to lead the group opening and closing activities, which were specifically designed to get the kids as hyped-up as possible. Figure in the kool-aid and cookies that we fed them for snack, and they were absolutely out of their little minds by the end of each evening. I think I had an advantage over some of the other workers, though, since I don't have any kids of my own. At the end of the night, I was able to retreat to my lovely,quiet, peaceful domicile, without any tiny jacked-up sugar fiends to keep me up until 1 am. All in all, we had a great time, but it was exhausting. I'm still recovering, so I'm going to take a couple of days and work on a real post. Just be thankful that I don't have any videos of those dance moves I was teaching last week. Trust me...no one wants to see that.

Can you spare a smiley for me?

Crocs, say it ain't so!

2009-07-16T19:48:00.008-04:00

This segment on the CBS Evening News tonight has shaken me to the core. It seems that I may have bought my last pair of my beloved Crocs. The company lost over $185 million last year, and they only have until September to pay back the losses. Financial analysts are predicting that they're not going to make it.

(My very own pink Croc maryjanes, courtesy of Mr. Nerd)

I know, I know...most people hate Crocs. A Google search for "I hate Crocs" returned 258,000 hits, including a blog devoted entirely to loathing the colorful foam footwear. But, you know what? I don't care what people think! I wear Crocs and I am not ashamed to admit it.

My first encounter with Crocs was about four years ago, when I was having a lot of pain from an old ankle injury. I did a Google search for "therapeutic shoes" or somesuch, and the Crocs website was one of the hits. I read several reviews, tried on a pair, and I was sold. (The fact that they come in all kinds of gaudy wild colors was just a bonus.) Sure, they're ugly--there's no denying it. I would never wear them in a situation that called for more formal footwear. But, they are also comfortable. I torture my feet in heels at least four days a week, and on the weekends my little piddies demand a rest. Walking in Crocs, even all day, is heavenly. They're great for gardening, too; you can get them filthy, muddy, and wet, run them under the hose, and they're good as new. I have four pairs (including the fleece-lined ones for winter), and I will be sad to see them go.

On the bright side, though, if the company needs to make a lot of cash fast, maybe they'll have a sale! Shopping always makes me feel better.

What does your Shuffle say about you?

2009-07-14T19:32:00.004-04:00

Okay, I gotta be honest. I saw this meme on Facebook, and I thought it looked like fun. I was going to just post it to my Facebook, but then I realized that it was high time that I came up with a blog post and, frankly, I was way too tuckered to write anything. But! I have a (sort of) good reason. I volunteered for some new responsibilities at work, and, between those and returning after ten days' vacation, my poor wee brain is so overwhelmed that I am simply not capable of coherent thought tonight.

So, here's the deal: the instructions said to set my iPod to Shuffle, and list the first 15 songs and artists that come up. I think this is supposed to tell you something about me. (Besides the fact that I'm too lazy to write a real post, that is.)

My Shuffle
"Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)" - U2
"SexyBack" - Justin Timberlake
"Think of Me" - Phantom of the Opera soundtrack
"Desire" - U2
"Summer Wind" - Michael Buble
"When Love Comes to Town" - U2
"No Action" - Elvis Costello
"Kissing A Fool" - Michael Buble
"Green Shirt" - Elvis Costello
"Wild Boys" - Duran Duran
"With or Without You" - U2
"(I Don't Want to Go to)Chelsea)" - Elvis Costello
"Only the Good Die Young" - Billy Joel
"Cavalleria Rusticana: Intermezzo" - Pietro Mascagni
"View to a Kill" - Duran Duran

As you have probably guessed, I'm kind of all over the place musically. I'm not going to tag anyone, since I always feel guilty when I don't do memes. But, if you would like to use this idea on your blog, feel free! And, I promise at least one actual post before I start teaching Vacation Bible School next week. (Shudder.)

Please excuse our dust...

2009-07-08T18:16:00.002-04:00

Since I have been on vacation from work this week, I decided it may be time to re-do the blog...again. I have always wanted a custom header (but didn't want to pay for it), so I decided to try my hand at using a nifty little tool called ScrapBlog. A short seven hours later, I had a new header! ScrapBlog is pretty easy to use--the only reason it took me seven hours is because I am a total doofus when it comes to things like that. Some of the backgrounds, stickers, etc., require that you purchase credits from the site, but I used only the free items for my header. I do need to give major props to Sneaky Momma Blog Design. Without all the awesome tips and tutorials there, I would never have found ScrapBlog, or learned how to install my new header. All things considered, I am pretty happy with the result...particularly since it was free.

I am considerably less pleased, however, with the way the rest of the blog looks to go along with the header. Using the "edit HTML" function that Blogger offers was pretty difficult for me, and it bugs me that the colors don't match the header very well. Me, OCD? Why, yes! How did you ever guess? So, this is where you come in. I really would love to get some feedback on the new look. Please let me know what you think in a comment, as an email, or on Facebook!

And now...the long-awaited product review!

2009-06-29T20:37:00.002-04:00

A few weeks ago, I purchased a new product that purported to "redefine your body's contours" and "reduce your waist, hips, and thighs by as much as two centimeters." At $12.99, it was a little pricey, but I thought it would be worth it if it could help me do something about my thighs. ("Thunder" doesn't adequately describe them. "Tornado" or "tsunami" thighs would probably be more appropriate.) I tried Nivea's My Silhouette for (roughly) six weeks. The packaging indicated that I should see results in four weeks, but...I didn't. So, I decided to give it a bit longer, since I was feeling generous and really hoping that it would work.

The result? Well, mostly inconclusive. I didn't actually measure any of my body parts, so I don't know if they're two centimeters smaller or not. Also during this period, I cut out nightly desserts and started doing Pilates, so any loss of centimeters could be attributed to that, rather than the lotion. My skin does feel nice and smooth, but I think my regular $2.99 Suave lotion would produce the same result if it was diligently applied twice a day, as I did with the Silhouette cream. The skin on my stomach did seem just a bit firmer, but the thighs, despite all my wishing and hoping, are completely unchanged. All in all, I would have to say that I did not get the results that Nivea says to expect from this product.

If you are interested in trying My Silhouette, I would recommend that you not go into it expecting a miracle. I am willing to accept, however, that it might work for someone else, and that my thighs may just be beyond all hope. So, if you decide to try it and get good results, please let me know. On the plus side, the cream smells really nice. I don't think I will buy another tube, though. Instead, I plan to spend that $12.99 on Good-bye Cellulite Gel-Cream, which is Nivea's new hail damage-busting product. What can I say? I am skeptical about a lot of things, but the dream of having thighs that don't jiggle will make me haul out my wallet every time.

Smiley me, please!

Why does it seem like everyone is turning into my grandmother?

2009-06-24T20:16:00.005-04:00

You can't turn on the television these days without hearing someone talk about poo.

Oh, they're not explicitly discussing poo. It's all about "digestive health." Activia. Align. FiberOne. FiberPlus. There is even a brand of bottled water that contains extra fiber. They talk about pre- and probiotics, natural enzymes, and "cleansing" your body. In one of the commercials, the actress has even developed a little hand signal that, I presume, indicates that her innards are now functioning like a well-oiled machine, thanks to Activia. I'm sure you've seen plenty of these products by now, but you may be wondering: What does all this have to do with my grandmother?

I don't know if it was a generational thing, or just a personality quirk, but my grandmother could not exist without keeping tabs on the state of everyone's bowels. (She was a wonderful woman otherwise, though, and I loved her very much.) It wouldn't have been quite as mortifying if she had sought some privacy in which to make her inquiries, but, throughout my childhood, she would ask me about my bathroom habits in front of anyone and everyone. I was naturally introverted, and her questions made me wish the floor would open up and swallow me. Those conversations usually ended up with me insisting, "No, Granny! I DON'T NEED ANY PRUNE JUICE!!" (Most of the time, I was able to escape the dreaded prune juice. Although a dosing with castor oil was also threatened many times, it never happened. Whew.)

That early embarrassment must have scarred me for life or something, because I passionately hate all of those digestive health commercials. I don't really have a problem with the existence of the products themselves, I just wish we didn't have to discuss them on TV. Although, now that I think about it, maybe I do have a problem with the products themselves. What have we, as a society, done to our bowels to require all that "regulation?" Here's the thing, people: It's not that difficult to regulate your digestive system. Eat some fruits and veggies every now and then! Some whole grain bread! Drink some water! If you do that, everything should be fine...problem solved. Now, you can collect all the money you've been spending on those products, and send it to me instead.

And no, Jamie Lee Curtis, I DON'T NEED ANY ACTIVIA!

Oompa-Loompa-Doop-A-De-Do

2009-06-21T14:40:00.003-04:00

This could be the fate that awaits me:

Not because I crossed paths with some bad gum, but due to the astonishing quantity of fruit I've been eating lately. One of my favorite things about summer is the affordability and variety of fresh fruits at the grocery store, so I load up my cart every week. I was cleaning and cutting up this week's fruit haul yesterday afternoon, when I noted the following tally:

2 pounds of strawberries
1 pound of cherries
1 pound of grapes
2 pints of blueberries
8 bananas
1 cantaloupe
2 large deli-cut bowls of watermelon and fresh pinapple

Since I've been eating this much fruit every week for the past month, I fully expect to blow up like Violet Beauregarde any day now. I can only hope that the Oompa-Loompas roll me past that chocolate river on the way to be squoze.

Coming this week: I question the ever-increasing number of "digestive health" products on the market, and the follow-up to my fascinating product review!

We're Gonna Take a Break and Introduce the Band

2009-06-16T20:10:00.007-04:00

At pretty much every concert I've ever been to, the band took a break at some point to introduce the members and give everyone a chance to play a little solo. Even if the group has been around forever, and most of their fans know more about the band members than their own relatives, they still go through the whole introduction thing at every show. I've been writing this blog for 10 months now, and I decided it may be time to devote a post to some of my band members (aka the other characters I write about here. Unfortunately, I'm not actually in a band, despite 25 years of fervent wishing.)

Your Host

So, this is me...absepa, for the purposes of this blog. That's not my real name, of course, but the husband is kind of squirrelly about identity theft and didn't want me to use my real name. I am 38, and I still live in my hometown in Kentucky. Since I did the dumbest thing ever and bailed on my college scholarship without getting a degree, I work as an administrative assistant. Over the past 20 years, I've worked at a life insurance company, a college textbook wholesaler, an equine insurance company, and a small private university. A little over four years ago, I was lucky enough to land a job in the Planning division of the local city government. It's a really good job, and I am so thankful to have it. During my clerical/admin "career," I have answered about a million inane questions; made thousands and thousands of copies; used many office machines in various stages of decrepitude; told an astonishing number of lies for bosses who refused to answer the phone or meet with people; and been cursed at, threatened, and called a liar. Some of those stories may eventually find their way here as blog fodder. Outside of work, I go to church, waste time online, and hang out with my husband, family, and dogs. I've been singing since I was seven years old, and would love nothing more than to be able to make a living doing it...but I'm not expecting to have a Susan Boyle moment anytime soon.

Mr. Nerd
My husband since 1996, who is kind of reclusive and most certainly would not want me to post his photo on the Internets. He's a few years older than me, and works in IT for the city government. Mr. Nerd is an amateur photographer and video gamer, very sarcastic and funny, and really handy at fixing things around the house. I don't write much about him here, mostly because he didn't ask to have his life made public on my blog.

The Dogs

Patches, Sebastian, and Abby, my three Cocker Spaniels. They're pretty spoiled, even though I try really hard not to be the Crazy Dog Lady. They never cease to amuse me, though, and they're great little companions. Patches is sweet and lazy; Sebastian is much smarter than a dog should be, and gets into lots of trouble; and Abby has an unfortunate tendency to kill critters in the yard. Two dead birds in just the past week, as a matter of fact.

Various Session Players
From time to time I write about my family, which includes my sister, M, and my mom, stepfather, and various aunts and an uncle. I wrote a couple of posts early on about my job, but my boss has probably discovered my blog through Facebook now, and I don't want to get fired. I guess I'll have to stick to stories about some of my old workplaces from now on.

So, that's the band. I haven't built up a large fan base at this point, but I'm grateful for every single reader. If you do read the blog, drop me a comment and let me know what you think! I love to know who's out there. We'll return to our regularly scheduled randomness next time.

Vote for me, please:

A Slap Chop to the Funny Bone

2009-06-11T20:23:00.005-04:00

Mr. Nerd and I spent about an hour last night watching this video over and over. My sides ached from laughing so hard.

Now that you've watched the video, you should understand perfectly why my husband and I have been going around yelling, "Watch this! You're gonna love my nuts!" to each other. (Or maybe you won't--we really are kind of odd.) But the video is still brilliant. Mad props to djsteveporter.

Like the Rap Chop? Smiley me, please!

Appliance Death II: Fall of the Machines

2009-06-08T19:56:00.003-04:00

It's almost summer here in Nerdland, and the lawn is growing like crazy. We've been mowing twice a week for the past month or so. That is, until the mower crapped out on us last weekend. My smart husband, who is absolutely incredible at fixing broken things, managed to keep it working enough to cut the grass on Saturday. It wouldn't be such a big deal, but our sissy dogs won't endure the tall grass tickling their fannies, so they tend to turn the patio into a toilet whenever the lawn needs mowing. We tossed around the idea of buying a new mower (ours is a super-basic model AND it's 12 years old), but the husband decided to just buy a small engine repair book, fix the motor himself, and save the money.

Not to be outdone in the necessary-machine-falling-apart-at-a-critical-moment contest, the washer decided to die on Saturday, as well. Unfortunately, I had washed only one of our usual four weekly loads of laundry. The (brilliant) husband found the appropriate replacement part on eBay, and he should be making the repair sometime later this week. Hopefully no one will get too close at work until then, just in case we're smelly.

I would like to take this opportunity to implore that my remaining functional appliances not join in this suicide pact, please. We could probably do without the stove for a while, but the microwave, fridge, toaster, and air conditioner are absolute necessities. And the computer...dear Lord, please save the computer! After all, writing about your problems is a stress reliever, right? I'm definitely gonna need a stress reliever if I'm hot, hungry, wearing stinky clothes, and living in a poo-strewn-patio jungle.

Vote for me, please! I could use all the smilies I can get.

A Few Thoughts on My New Exercise Program

2009-06-05T19:41:00.004-04:00

For the past seven years, I have been on a quest to find some type of exercise that doesn't bore me to tears or hurt any of my injured body parts. Enter a seemingly endless parade of exercise DVDs. I have walked, bellydanced (which always gave Mr. Nerd a good laugh), blasted my fat, danced with(out) the stars, and succumbed to the lure of a device advertised by the uber-annoying Tony Little. Each of these options held my attention for a while, but I always ended up either losing interest or dealing with my bad ankle, so I moved on. Last weekend, I found yet another workout DVD that intrigued me--for the low, low price of $2--at Big Lots.

I'd heard a lot about Pilates, so I was pretty excited to bring home my new video and give it a try. After all, a lot of really cool celebrities attribute their totally smokin' bodies to this sytem, so there must be something to it. Right? Anyway, I've done a few sessions now, and I thought I might share some thoughts.

Monday
Awesome! I have a new workout DVD to look forward to.

(Later, after spending nearly 20 minutes opening the @#*& DVD)
Hey, this is kind of fun. The stretching part feels really nice, and nothing hurts. I think I'm going to enjoy this. But I'm starving, so I'm gonna have to cut it short tonight.

Wednesday
Okay, time for Pilates! I'm totally ready for the warm-up and abs or "floor" portion of the video. Maybe I can develop a six-pack! (Editor's note: HA! As if.)

Wow, this is kind of harder than I thought. My abs are getting pretty sore, but no pain, no gain, right? That six-pack isn't gonna come easy. Um, what the fudge is this "t-stand" thing she keeps talking about? Oh, crap:
What is this going to do to my messed-up shoulder? Should I try it? Oh, well...the therapist said exercise is good, as long as it's not past the point of pain. Ha! Point of Pain totally sounds like a thrash-metal band. They would have beard-braids like those dudes from System of a Down.

Editor's note: This is NOT a good idea for a messed-up shoulder, particularly when the Lortab prescription ran out and the doctor won't give you any more.

Thursday
Oh, man, I'm really sore. Just putting on my sports bra nearly made me cry. But, I really want to be healthier and more flexible. It will feel better after I stretch.

I am SO glad I'm not doing this in a class. I can't imagine getting in this position in front of other people. This is not ladylike at all. And please, God, don't let Mr. Nerd come down the stairs while I have my butt over my head like this. He has too much stuff to laugh at me about already.

Are other people's dogs this annoying? Every time I lie down on the floor, I end up with one cold snout in my ear, one in the small of my back, and a furry butt sitting on my forehead. It's a miracle I haven't given one of them a concussion during the leg lifts.

Arrrggh, the leg lifts. My butt muscles feel like they're going to burst into flames. But I'm determined to make it through the whole video tonight.

Friday
So, Pilates tonight? Or take Facebook quizzes and watch Family Guy?

I'll leave you to guess which one I chose. Here's a hint: I am a Lyric Master, my Disney Princess name is Aurora, and TBS is showing the episode with Brian's gay cousin.

Like this post? Drop me a smiley at Humor-Blogs.com!

Friday Photo Fun

2009-06-04T19:49:00.006-04:00

Sorry...it was going to be Flickr Fun Friday, but it takes a really long time to look through all those pictures. We'll have to make do with one of my photos, instead:

My silly dog, Patches. And yes, I am holding him like a baby. He's pretty rotten...and really cute.

Have a happy Friday!

Out of the Mouths of Babes

2009-05-31T20:50:00.003-04:00

Even though I'll be turning 39 in a couple of months, I don't really feel that old. Except for a few aches and pains and some crows' feet, I usually try to think of myself as pretty young. Sometimes, though, it takes someone else to make one feel a little aged.

I was teaching preschool at church this morning, and we were bringing the little ones in from the playground. Two of the girls wanted to hold my hands, so we were walking along and having a nice chat. One of the girls asked if she could ride on my back. I told her that I was afraid I couldn't carry her on my back, and was getting ready to explain why (I have a bad shoulder). At that point, the other little girl said (very sweetly and sympathetically), "I know why you can't carry her...it's because you're too old, isn't it?" So much for feeling young! I guess to a five-year-old I must seem pretty ancient.

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And now, for a bit of blog housekeeping. First of all, I am incredibly excited to announce that I have joined Humor-Blogs.com!! It must have been the puppy face. My main reason for joining was to try to increase traffic to my blog, so that I could break free from Entrecard. I don't think it's a bad system; I just don't have time to give it the attention it deserves. So, as of today, I have removed the Entrecard widget from my blog and requested that my account be cancelled. I don't have any pending ads right now, but, if you had requested an ad, I apologize for leaving you hanging. If you came here from Entrecard, thanks for reading, and please stick around. Hopefully I will be able to use the time I was spending managing my Entrecard stuff actually writing on the blog, so please check back. If you like what you read here, please vote for me at Humor-Blogs.com! I'm a little confused about how to work the little widget-y link-y post-voting thing, but I will try to get it figured out before my next post.

An Apology, a Funny, a Shameless Plea, and an Award

2009-05-27T20:47:00.007-04:00

An Apology

To any EntreCard droppers who have dropped here in the past five days or so, I apologize. I totally have not had sufficient time to devote to EC recently. I am thinking of getting out of EC, but I need to find another means of advertising/networking first. More about that below.

A Funny
Part of my job is answering phones. I don't have to help many folks; mostly, I just route calls out to the appropriate people. Sometimes, though, the callers make it almost impossible for anyone to help them. I went through this little scenario last week:

Caller: I'd like to speak to Bob Shipping, please.

Me: Ma'am, there are several men named Bob here, but no one whose last name is Shipping. Do you know which Bob you need to speak with?

Caller: There's no Bob Shipping? That's how I wrote his name down.

Me: Ma'am, there's no Bob Shipping...this is Shipping. You've called the Shipping Department.

Caller: But, I know I wrote down Bob Shipping! Can you please check and make sure there's no one there by that name?

**At this point, I wanted to say, "Lady, have you ever known anyone whose name was "Shipping"? And, assuming that there was someone by that name, what kind of coincidence would it be for him to WORK IN THE SHIPPING DEPARTMENT??"**

Me: Ma'am, can you tell me what this is concerning? That could help me find your party for you.

Fortunately, she knew what she was calling about, so I was able to figure out who she needed. It was indeed a Bob, but his last name is not remotely close to "Shipping." Go figure.

A Shameless Plea
Since I've been thinking about getting out of EC, I've been trying to find another way to network/market my blog. I found a lot of my favorite blogs through Humor-Blogs.com, so I thought I might take a shot at registering my blog with them. I did the registration part a few days ago, but I haven't heard anything yet. So, Diesel, if you're reading this post, this puppy face is for you:
Pretty please? I would love to be part of Humor-Blogs.com!

An Award
This is so exciting--I got my first award!! Stacie very graciously gifted me with a "One Lovely Blog" award. It has a really cool button thingy, but I am seriously lame and couldn't figure out how to post it here. Thanks, Stacie, and sorry I suck at the whole technology thing. If you haven't checked out Stacie's blog, you should! She's a mom, which I'm pretty sure means that she has WAY more irritation in her life than I do, and she's really funny. She also has a very cool header that I have coveted on more than one occasion. Thanks again, Stacie!

It's About Time You Got Here

2009-05-20T19:55:00.003-04:00

Spring, I mean. (Not you, dear readers!) After a hellish winter, we have been suffering through a long, cold, WET spring. I was dealing with it pretty well for a while, but the four nights I spent shivering in the yard while I covered up the "tender vegetation" (that's what the meteorologists call it, and it makes me chuckle for some reason) used up my last bit of patience with this season.

Finally, though, spring seems to have really arrived. We have had three warm, lovely, dry days in a row. Today was perfect--temperatures in the high 70s, with no humidity and bright clear sun. I am currently sitting on my patio for the first time this year, and it is wonderful. Thanks to all the rain, the landscaping we put in last year is thriving. So, Spring, I am willing to forgive and forget all those April mornings that I trudged in to work in my winter clothes, longing for the day when I could haul out the sandals and set my toes free.

Now, I just need to figure out how to remove those airborne poop-delivery systems (aka birds) that have taken up residence in the vent on the back side of the house. I had to spend 30 minutes cleaning their leavings off the patio before I was able to enjoy it. I'm thinking a small explosive charge oughta do the trick; does anyone have a better idea?

Coming Soon: Bye-bye, Thunder Thighs?

2009-05-16T14:18:00.005-04:00

A few years ago, I lost 40 pounds on the Weight Watchers program. I've manged to keep the weight off, but, when the fat went away, it left some...unattractive remnants, shall we say. I've never really expected to have a six-pack, but it would be great to firm up some of those problem areas. I assumed the only way to do that was via lots of boring exercise. Until last weekend, when I saw a commercial that might (or might not) change my life.

Nivea has introduced a product called My Silhouette:
that claims to "redefine the appearance of the body's contours." The commercial insinuated that inches could be lost, and I was intrigued. I almost never fall for this kind of thing; I usually try to live by the old "if it sounds too good to be true, it probably is" philosophy. But, when I went to the grocery store on Tuesday, I found myself seeking out the Nivea products to price a tube of My Silhouette. It was $12, and the package claimed that although the product is "not intended for weight loss" it could reduce up to three centimeters from my waist, belly, hips, and thighs. Coincidentally, those are all the spots with the worst hail damage. Right into the cart it went.

I will be doing a full review of my (hopefully) magical flab-reducing potion in four weeks, which is how long the package says it takes to see results. I've been applying it twice a day since Tuesday, and things do seem a bit smoother, but only time will tell. I really don't expect a miracle. But, if a product promises to reduce the size of my mighty thunder thighs and help stop them flappin' in the breeze (it is shorts weather, after all), then I am at least going to give it the old college try. Stay tuned for the review in mid-June!

Busier Than A...

2009-05-12T19:18:00.005-04:00

One-armed paperhanger. One-legged man in a butt-kicking contest. Bee. Insert your favorite analogy here, because I've had a busy couple of weeks. Since I feel kind of bad for not posting for a while, here is a rundown of some of the things that have kept me away from the blog.

Thinking I Had Appendicitis
I spent one evening last week at the walk-in clinic, to see if my appendix was causing all the stomach pain I have been having. This is the pearl of wisdom I received from the physician's assistant: "I know that you don't have appendicitis, but I have no idea what you do have." Awesome--I had to pay a $20 co-pay AND get poked really hard in the belly for that.

Not Finding a Mother's Day Gift
Usually, when my mom asks for clothes for Mother's Day, I just take her shopping. She's kind of tough to buy for, and that way I can be sure that she gets something she likes. This year, though, she asked me to pick out an outfit for her. I live in a metropolitan area with a population of 300,000 people...and it appears that everyone's mom is the same size as mine. I waited until the last minute, then looked at every dress in three stores, and found nothing. I ended up giving Mom a gift card, and feeling like a loser.

Playing with My New Toys
I mentioned to Mr. Nerd a couple of weeks ago that I would like to have a painting program and a tablet to use it with. Not for any particular reason; I've just always liked to noodle around with art stuff. Mr. Nerd took it upon himself to order the items in question from Amazon, and I got them set up over the weekend. The only problem I've had so far is that Corel Painter does not come with art talent pre-installed. I couldn't draw when I was taking art classes in high school, and all the fancy computer equipment in the world doesn't seem to help. For example, it took me two days to produce this:

(It's a stargazer lily, in case you can't tell. And I would be amazed if you could tell.) I stink at the Painter thing, but it's lots of fun. And, I've discovered another way to waste time and avoid doing chores!

So, that's what I've been up to for the past couple of weeks. My next big project: contemplating what kind of havoc I can wreak on my back yard. I have landscaping fever, and that never ends well. I'll be sure to post photos if I come up with anything interesting.

Flickr Fun Friday: It's Inescapable

2009-04-30T19:42:00.008-04:00

I'm talking about the Kentucky Derby, and it is, indeed, inescapable, if you live in Kentucky. The Run for the Roses is this weekend, and I'm...well, not all that interested, really. Horses are kind of nice to look at, but I don't really like to be around them ("large" "unpredictable" and "temperamental" are not qualities I look for in an animal) . I hate losing my money on bets, and you could not pay me to fight the massive crowds at the race. Unless, you know, I was invited to sit in Prince William's royal box or something. But, for anyone who is interested in the race but cannot actually make it to Churchill Downs, I thought I could provide a glimpse of what you will be missing, courtesy of Flickr:

Hats

(courtesy of velo steve's photostream)

Knowing my luck, my seat would be behind this lady.

Drunk People

(courtesy of bhenak's photostream)

Based on some of the stories I've heard, you will see a lot of drunk people. And they will probably be covered in a nice, thick layer of mud, since it's supposed to rain pretty much nonstop from now until post time.

Oh, and yeah...Some Horse Races
(courtesy of boboroshi's photostream)

There will be a bunch of races, but I don't know if anyone will actually notice or not. They will all be too busy modeling hats, downing mint juleps, losing money faster than the current economy, getting stuck in the infield mud, and trying to scope out celebrities.

If you do decide to go to the Derby, I hope you have a great time! I think I'll just hang out here, where it's quiet, cool, and dry. And no one will throw up on me.

(And I realize it's Thursday night, not Friday, but I knew I wouldn't have time to post tomorrow.)

Shout-outs to a Couple of Peeps

2009-04-27T20:54:00.006-04:00

Since I've read all the way through the archives of most of my favorite blogs, I'm always looking for new chuckles. I discovered a couple of new blogs recently, and they are so awesomely hilarious that I just had to add them to my blogroll:

Cake Wrecks
Jen at Cake Wrecks searches the web for photos of disastrously-decorated professional cakes, and writes the most perfect comments on them. I laughed so hard at this entry that Diet Coke nearly came out of my nose, and that doesn't happen very often. And, if you're a fan of shows like Ace of Cakes, you will love her "Sunday Sweets" posts, which showcase gorgeous, non-wrecky cakes.

It's Lovely, I'll Take It
This is my most recent find, and there are plenty of chuckles to be had. Sara Lorimer culls funny, weird, and sometimes just plain inexplicable pictures from real estate listings, and adds her own commentary. It was hard to pick a favorite, but this post was one of them.

To Sara and Jen, thanks tons for the laughs! And for everyone else, I recommend that you check out these blogs immediately. Just put down the Diet Coke first.

Flickr Fun Friday

2009-04-24T20:44:00.005-04:00

Since I've recently discovered all the fun to be found on Flickr (I totally did not plan that alliteration-sorry), I decided to start a (maybe) semi-regular feature called Flickr Fun Friday. Here's the photo I chose for my first installment:

Photo courtesy of Kenn Wilson.
(If this does not satisfy the attribution requirements, I am truly sorry.
All that Creative Commons stuff is confusing.)

Ah, the I'm-way-too-smoove-for-pants-that-fit style! How I hate it. Any photo that highlights the foolishness of this look is okay by me. Nice work! (And nice gray undies, dude.)

I Think the Answer You're Looking for Is "Yes"

2009-04-23T18:47:00.008-04:00

(Photo and article courtesy msnbc.com)

I know that I am innately jealous of anyone who is naturally thin, but this is just ridiculous. To the Australia Miss Universe folks: Please do not condone this by allowing this woman to enter your pageant. I'm sure there are plenty of lovely, healthy-looking girls in Australia who could vie for the title. To Miss Naumoska: Eat something! And quick! You may not know it, but food can be really tasty. I would suggest a nice, big plate of pasta; a good glass of wine; a loaf of delicious garlic bread; and a yummy tiramisu. That always seems to do the trick for packing on the pounds for me.

I Love This So Much...

2009-04-15T19:16:00.004-04:00

Everyone and their brother has probably seen this clip by now, but I just had to share anyway:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9lp0IWv8QZY

(I would have embedded it, but YouTube has disabled embedding.)

I have wanted to be a professional singer my whole life. If you've never sung before, you probably don't realize how scary it is to walk out on that stage and wait for the music to start. Sometimes, I'm afraid that I won't be able to sing at all, but I may throw up instead. For that woman to not only take the stage, but perform so beautifully AND totally blow away the judges, was simply amazing. Susan Boyle, congratulations to you. I am so happy that the record companies are calling and you will have a chance to do what you love, because you deserve it.

Why I Loved the 80s, Part 2: Prince

2009-04-11T07:55:00.004-04:00

(Photo courtesy of criticaljunctions.com)

As I was reading the other day about Madonna's latest escapade, I started thinking about the fates of the big pop triumvirate of the 80s: Madonna, Michael Jackson, and Prince. While The Purple One has hardly lived what most of us would consider a normal life, he hasn't dangled any babies; been brought up on charges; become a scary yoga-fembot; or tried to adopt the majority of a small African nation. If the commercial I saw recently is any indication, he's still out there, singing, playing, and dancing, just like he was when I discovered his music in 1983.

I first saw Prince on MTV when I was 12 or 13, and I was enthralled--I had never heard music like that before. He was different, and talented, and (at least in my teenage mind) a little bit dangerous. My mom didn't like him, so that was another bonus. I fell deeply in love. My junior-high-logo windbreaker was covered in Prince buttons, and I read every magazine article and book that I could find about him. My mom was patient enough to listen to hours of facts about Prince (did you know that he plays 17 instruments? and his nickname is Skipper?). I even made my grandmother watch a couple of his videos, but she was less than impressed. I must have listed to my 45 of "When Doves Cry" a million times.

Eventually, after watching Purple Rain for the tenth time, I began to hatch a secret scheme. Prince had developed a reputation for discovering female acts: Vanity, Apollonia, Sheila E, and, later, Carmen Electra. Since I wanted to be a singer when I grew up, I was convinced that I could find a way for him to discover me, too. He would take me home with him to Paisley Park, so that we could work on my music. While I was there, Prince would naturally fall in love with me, and we would get married. I was going to be Mrs. Prince Rogers Nelson!

Seriously. I went through an entire year of my teens with the firm conviction that I would someday marry Prince. Eventually, I grew up a bit, and my passion for Mr. Nelson faded a bit as my musical tastes shifted to hair bands like Bon Jovi. I've continued to follow his music, though, and my wonderful husband took me to see him when he came to Lexington in 1997. I still turn up the radio when "Little Red Corvette" comes on, and I own the three-CD greatest hits collection. There was so much great music back then that it's hard to narrow my favorites down to just a few artists, but Prince was definitely one of the main reasons why I loved the 80s.

(I was going to end this post by embedding the video of "When Doves Cry," but apparently the aforementioned Mr. Nelson does not care for having his material posted to YouTube. Oh, well.)

Mid-week Blues

2009-04-08T20:33:00.004-04:00

It's Wednesday. Here at Nerd in the Corner, we're tired and a little grumpy. Most of all, though, we want warm weather NOW.

Even Abby is a little down about it. But! We're supposed to hit 65 degrees for Easter Sunday, so things should be looking up soon. I hope to have some free time this weekend to write a real post, too. Happy Thursday, everyone!

I May Owe Someone An Apology

2009-04-01T20:07:00.003-04:00

After I joined Facebook, I realized that it could be a valuable tool for gaining new readers for my blog. So, I added the little networking button, and shared my blog with all my Facebook friends.

Fast forward a few months. In the past couple of weeks, I've had a couple of Facebook friend requests from people I don't know, and I ignored them all (my mom's "don't talk to strangers" lesson must have REALLY made an impact on me). Being a huge dork, I completely forgot that I had ASKED people to find me on Facebook, and that those nice folks sending me friend requests had probably done so because they've been reading my blog.

So, many apologies to anyone who sent me a friend request and never got added. If you will resend, I'll add you! I promise I don't suck all the time.

A Lame Post is Better Than No Post, Right?

2009-03-24T20:55:00.005-04:00

Over the past 5.5 hours, I have:

-Done a PT session
-Finished the grocery shopping for the week
-Stopped by the hardware store for a new dog-poop containment system (aka 5-gallon bucket with a tight-fitting lid)
-Picked up husband at work
-Calmed dogs from end-of-day wildness
-Put away groceries
-Fed dogs
-Fed self
-Spent 90 minutes cleaning the backyard: poo pickup, reset landscaping fences that had blown down, cleaned out a dryer vent that was blocked with dead leaves
-Took dogs out
-Put out clothes for tomorrow for both of us
-Done 20-minute home PT exercise session; realized that the step I use at PT is four inches high, the step in my house is seven. That explains the leg cramps.
-Cleaned up dog toys
-Washed face, brushed teeth, got settled on sofa
-Checked email and Google reader; discovered that an old co-worker has a really funny blog; did 25 Entrecard drops
-Wrote this lame blog post

Whew. I promise less lame-ness later in the week, when I've had time to catch my breath.

Do You Have a "Movie Moment"?

2009-03-19T19:09:00.003-04:00

Do you get bored in the shower? How about when you're doing a mindless task, like housecleaning? I do. To combat that boredom, I imagine myself as a character in a movie. Sometimes the movies are familiar, sometimes it's a story I make up myself. I do this in the shower nearly every day, so I have mentally starred in thousands of films at this point.

After all those starring roles, though, I do have a favorite:

*sigh*

Where do I start? The voice, the princess dress, the hair...this scene has it all. She's 16 and beautiful, AND two smokin' hot men are going to be fighting for her throughout the duration of the movie. How much better could it get? I have imagined myself in that dress, singing that song, about a million times. My first runner-up is the "Summer Lovin'" scene from Grease.

Do you have a "movie moment"? If you do, tell me in the comments. I know I'm not the only one who does this, because I'm sure my sister would say I stole her scene.

I'm 38 going on 8...

2009-03-15T14:47:00.006-04:00

At least as far as my sense of humor is concerned. I love ridiculous, absurd humor that has no redeeming social value whatsoever. The things that make me laugh the hardest are usually the most lowbrow.

Take this, for example. See if you can figure out which line makes me giggle uncontrollably (answer below).

.
"Your son Rip is on line toot." HA! It gets me every time. Nothing but the best fart jokes for those of us with a mature, refined sense of humor.

On a completely unrelated note, I'm feeling the urge to create my own blog template again...which is never a good thing. We'll see what happens. I'm sure it will involve frustration, swearing, tears, and drinking wine. If you check back and everything looks a mess, it means I got tipsy and tried to figure out HTML. Wish me luck!

How to Not Be A Jerk on the Elevator

2009-03-10T19:58:00.005-04:00

My office is on the seventh floor of our building, so I spend a fair amount of time on the elevator. It's an uncomfortable situation--stuffed in a small space, with strangers, and the possibility of getting stuck looming in the back of your mind. All those healthy types would probably suggest taking the stairs...and to that I say-HA! It's seven flights! I would prefer not to arrive at work sweaty and exhausted, smelling like a yak, every morning. I would, however, like to offer some elevator etiquette tips to all the folks I share that space with on a daily basis, just to help make the workday a bit more tolerable for all of us. Without further ado, I present:

Absepa's Helpful Hints on How to Not be a Jerk on the Elevator

Don't talk on your cell phone.
I started to write, "No one wants to hear your conversation," but sometimes I do, actually. You see, I'm kind of nosy. The problem is that a normal elevator trip is not long enough for me to really satisfy my curiosity about your business. I might hear a snippet of your discussion about a fired co-worker, illegitimate offspring, or scary medical issues, and then I'll just spend the rest of the day wondering about it. That's not good for either of us.

Don't rush the door.
People, you're not trying to get a wicked front-row general-admission seat at the Lynyrd Skynyrd show here. Don't rush the door! Give the poor souls on the elevator a chance to disembark before you attempt to get on. The door bum-rush is usually a move favored by groups of large, oblivious men. Since I am not exactly hulking, I end up getting squished against the door frame by one of these walking monoliths. This involves the potential for injury (bad) and physical contact (extra-super-bad); therefore, it is one of my biggest elevator pet peeves.

Don't Be a Total Tool on Every Possible Level
Okay, this one is not universally applicable. It is directed toward one old jerk in my building, who committed the most egregious elevator faux pas I have ever witnessed. This guy boarded the elevator after I did, talking on his cell phone all the while. He positioned himself in the spot nearest the buttons and pulled out a legal pad. He then propped his legal pad against the buttons, so that I couldn't reach them, and began taking notes. I asked him at least four times to push the button for my floor, but he totally ignored me and continued his cell phone conversation. Consequently, I was forced to ride the elevator back down to the lobby, looking like a schmuck. I often do things that make me look like a schmuck, so that wasn't such a big deal. It was this guy's unadulterated, unmitigated, bold rudeness that blew me away. I've already decided that, should he ever pull that move again, I'm just going to shoulder him out of the way and push my button. He's not that big, and he's pretty old, so I think I can take him.

So, there you go, folks. Put these helpful hints into practice at your office, and your co-workers will thank you for it. Or at least they won't be hoping you get run over by a bus.

Another Note of Thanks...

2009-03-03T19:15:00.002-05:00

Goes to Kathy at The Junk Drawer for adding me to her blogroll! Kathy, you and JD have been SO incredibly helpful and encouraging to me on my adventure in blogging. I plan to demonstrate my gratitude to both of you by continuing to ask you a million and two questions about Entrecard. Thanks again for everything!

Dear Facebook, Please Stop Freaking Me Out

2009-02-27T17:20:00.005-05:00

I joined Facebook a couple of months ago, and promptly became an addict. That hard-core addiction seems to be lessening somewhat, but I still spend about half an hour a day there checking up on things, feeding my pet, etc. I would like to take this opportunity to ask the Facebook people to please, please ban the ad that uses this photo:
All of the ads on Facebook are annoying, but THIS BABY FREAKS ME OUT. People, my state of mind is tenuous at best. I really don't need things like this looking out of the computer at me (and possibly trying to steal my soul). Thank you.

This Just Made my Day

2009-02-23T20:35:00.003-05:00

I was killing time this afternoon, waiting for my husband to finish up work so we could head home. (We carpool, which generates enough confrontations to merit their own blog post.) Having perused all the new posts in my Google reader and checked my email accounts, I was amusing myself by re-reading JD's archives at I Do Things So You Don't Have To, when I noticed something interesting. Namely, that my humble little blog had been included on JD's "I Read These Blogs" list!

JD, I am touched and honored and all kinds of other goopy emotional things. And now I'm really going to have to step up my game, since I'm hanging out there with great bloggers like Jeff, Kathy, and a bunch of other really cool folks.

I Have a Bad Feeling About This

2009-02-21T08:12:00.006-05:00

Back in September, I wrote about my most recent injury. Short story: I felt something in my shoulder area pop when I pushed the sprinkler into the ground. The kind folks at the walk-in clinic said it was a strained pectoral muscle, and it should feel better in two to four weeks.

Six months later, the constant pain and lack of sleep finally sent me to the doctor. After two doctor's appointments, an MRI, and a rather painful physical therapy session, I finally have a diagnosis. Because I am not medically inclined, I will use diagrams to explain my condition.

A healthy shoulder:

My screwed-up shoulder:(Mad PhotoShop skillz, I haz dem.)

Apparently, there's a torn supra-something tendon, and a torn labrum (maybe?), and some bursitis. At least I think that's what it is, because my doctor has a pretty heavy accent and I can't always understand her very well. While she was telling me the diagnosis and recommending an orthopedic surgeon, I was surreptitiously reading the MRI results on the computer over her shoulder, so that I might have some comprehension of what she was saying.

It looks like the next step is the orthopedic surgeon...on March 19th. That was the earliest available appointment. Thanks, guys. I should be a raving Lortab addict by then. Until then, I will have two torture, um, physical therapy sessions each week. If you've never needed any kind of physical therapy, you should consider yourself lucky. They do all kinds of weird things to you there. But that will be the topic for my next post, I think.

I Get the Best Ideas in the Shower

2009-02-13T07:58:00.003-05:00

As I was showering this morning, I had some brilliant ideas for new inventions just pop into my head. Some science-y person will actually need to design and create the products, but that should be no problem once the ideas are out there, right? I believe that these items will benefit all mankind, and even more importantly, make me eleventy bajillion dollars. I will then use that cash to retire to my own private island, and hire Gerald Butler, Hugh Jackman, and Patrick Wilson to sing to me and bring me fruity blue drinks.

Scream-Ergy
We've all been hearing about the need for alternative fuel sources lately, and I believe I have the answer. Sound waves are energy, right? That's why an opera singer can break a glass, or stereo speakers can blow out car windows. (I'm pretty sure I saw that on "Mythbusters.") We Americans make a lot of noise. Think about it--sporting events, concerts, parades, protests--millions of people screaming, every day, all over the country. Why can't we harness the energy produced by all that yelling, and use it as a fuel source? Teenage-girl screams are probably extra-powerful, so all a city would need to do is schedule a couple of Jonas Brothers and Hannah Montana concerts each year, and they would be set.

GynoBot
I'm going to try to be delicate here, because I don't even really like talking about this subject. Every woman is supposed to endure that annual torture ritual known as a pelvic exam, and no woman likes it. You're naked, in a room with people you don't want to pursue the usual naked activities with, and it's just uncomfortable and embarrassing. Well, I think I may have the answer. A couple of months ago, I received a medical magzine with an article about one of those surgery robots. The doctor sits in another room, controlling the robot via computer, and the robot performs maneuvers that are too intricate or delicate for human hands. Wouldn't this be the perfect setup for gynecologists? The patient could be in the room alone, with just the robot, so all that nakedness-embarrassment factor would be eliminated. The robot could be temperature-controlled, and very small. And I don't think I need to say anymore about that.

No-Squoze Pantyhose
We have perfected space travel, nanotechnology, organ transplantation, and cloning, and I still can't find a *#%@ pair of pantyhose that doesn't make me feel as if my intestines are going to come shooting out of my ears. Why does the "panty" part have to be so tight, anyway? No matter what size I buy, they squeeze me in two. The leg parts could be so large that they make me look as if I've contracted that elephant disease, but I still won't be able to eat more than a pea and a grape for lunch, or the top part will explode. Here's my solution, and all of you pantyhose-making people should listen closely, because most of the women I know hate your products. Take a regular pair of women's comfy underpants, like this:

And then sew the usual pantyhose legs to them. Was that so hard? We could be appropriately dressed for all those occasions that require that the legs be covered, but we wouldn't have that wonderful rubber-band-around-the-midsection feeling of traditional pantyhose. I will even consider giving this brilliant idea to the pantyhose companies free of charge, if it means that all womankind can henceforth be freed from the shackles of their garments.

So, those are my brilliant ideas. Any science-y types who are interested in drawing up the blueprints and stuff should contact me, and I will give you a cut of my eleventy bajillion dollars. Oh, and Gery, Hugh, and Patrick? Pack your swimsuits, fellas! Brush up on your blue-drink bartending skills, and start practicing those show tunes.