So, what now?

So tonight, I was messing around with Audacity because I have decided that I am, on top of a full time job, full time school, and a resurging home business, going to write and record my own music. I can’t even find matching shoes to wear to work! I wore one black shoe and one brown shoe all day today. I didn’t realize until I was on the elevator and by then, it was too late.

So, anyways, in my own special brand of cart before the horse, I am playing around with the mixing software before actually writing the songs or perfecting an instrument. For fun, I took the first vocal track and raised the pitch several full steps. It sounds like a precocious little girl singing on one of those “most talented kid” contests. You can imagine the little girl, sweet Laura Ashley dress, crooning to the ceiling about love and sex and deceit and making it sound like 4th grade recess. I named the song “Mommy’s Little Darling” as a tribute to stage moms everywhere. It’s better than my first choice of “Patsy’s Patsy.” (Ouch, that’s pretty low, even for me.)

Here you are good people of the internet...or villi and p00per

Cheese it! It's the cops

So, the nachoisms that I posted in July or something have been, behind my back, placed on their own blogger page and entered as a wikipedia article. Although I am pretty sure I’m not on my way to international celebrity, it does mean there is a greater paper trail that leads back to me. I think this means I will have to start tempering this site – no more veiled threats against the president and no discussing why I love grape Otter Pops because they remind me of when I was 7 and would fake any illness just to drink Dimetapp straight from the bottle, like a little 3rd grade Rush Limbaugh.

In the spirit of my new, milder posts, I would just like to say that I hate HATE lotioned tissues. They make your lips all greasy and odd feeling and you can’t even use them as a napkin substitute.

Would you stand up and walk out on me?

There is a delicious little fluffy rumor floating around the internet about Osama (or is it Usama?) bin Laden’s apparent obsession with Whitney Houston. A poet/novelist who also claims to have been Osama’s sex slave is saying that he was obsessed with Whitney Houston and wanted to marry her. This interesting bit of gossip also states that Osama also threatened to kill Bobby Brown. Now, not that it makes up for 9/11, but…

Actually, the part of the story I find interesting is where they talk about Osama’s favorite western TV shows, MacGyver, Miami Vice and, inexplicably, The Wonder Years. Now, the first two shows seem like the type of shows that any crazed, insanely rich, terrorist mastermind would enjoy, but The Wonder Years? I find it hard to believe that anyone who watched Kevin and Winnie grow and change and love would still think that America (at least America circa 1960) was full of infidels.

Clever, little minx

So, aside from thinking this JonBenet Ramsey arrest is totally bullshit, I have a question after reading an article on cnn.com about his extradition hearings.

Apparently, John Mark Karr has outstanding charges in California that have been withdrawn so that he doesn’t have to face charges in California. When he inevitably doesn’t match the DNA that was under JonBenet’s fingers and in her panties, does that mean he doesn’t have to face the charges in California?

If so, is this guy a criminal genius or what? Fly overseas, cop to a crime you didn’t commit that will get you extradited to a state when you also face charges, have those charges dropped, and then be acquitted of the crime in Colorado and walk out of the whole situation a free man.

This whole arrest is just strange and surreal and feels very unrealistic and fake to me. I do realize that the Boulder Police bungled this investigation about as badly as they could and it certainly leaves the possibility for a killer that no one knew or even suspected to show up a decade later and be guilty, but I just don’t buy it.

The father, the son, the holy ghost - which MC do you like the most?

I believe in the trinity, or at least in the power of the number three. It has always been a deeply superstitious and interesting number to me. New concepts, ideas, and words tend to present themselves to me in threes. After two car accidents, two deaths, or two baroque cathedrals burning to the ground in the middle of the night, I always look for the third occurrence. I am convinced there has to be the trifecta.

Just yesterday, we were likening the level of our employees to the choir of angels. Sales is the lowest choir, or the Ophanim, support and professional services are the second choir, or Cherubim, and the developers are the highest choir of angels, or the Seraphim. We were discussing how to pronounce Ophanim and that is should be just like Seraphim and Cherubim.

Then, last night, Villi and I were watching $40 a Day on the food channel and Rachael Ray went to the Café Cherubim, but pronounced it cher-OOB-im. It was really funny. I am now just sitting around waiting for the third reference to the second choir of angels to make the series complete. I don’t know how likely that is, this far from Valentine’s Day, but I’ll keep an eye peeled.

Just cause a guy likes comics, he can't start some shit?

I don't know why I feel like all the titles have to be movie lines. Ok, I lied, I absolutely know why; it's so that people who google movie lines, like myself, may stumble upon my blog, read it, and post comments telling me how very cool I am. There is something to be said when you stumble upon someone who finds the exact same throwaway line in a movie as hilarious and memorable as you did. It feels a little fate-y. Even though your sensible side tells you this isn't a deep connection, it is hard to deny that instant connection.

Anyhow, the reason I choose that movie line is because I am going to post a comic I did into this here blog. I am a terrible artist, so I have to do all my comics in like MSPAINT and add text boxes and other insulting things. It's sad that I cannot draw, because I have exactly the mentality and humor for 3-4 panel comic strips. Anyhow, enjoy!



Fuck, I can't get a popup window in blogger and I don't know jack about HTML, so here is the link to the full size comic. The sad thing is, it isn't even that good and certainly didn't warrant all that work.

Why was your Uncle microwaving your socks?

Because he can’t get the goddamn washing machine to work.

I seriously hope the fix-it repair guy can get the washing machine working. Today, I am wearing paint splattered yoga pants and a red pajama top. The top usually matches up with flannel snowflake printed pajama bottoms, but I am straight up out of clothes. I don’t seem to be capable of spending 50 minutes sitting against the washer door to hold it closed. It is just too much work and, personally, I would rather show up to work looking homeless than use my time in that manner.

Game, Set, Matching His and Her Towels

I totally fucking won! LNT, for whatever reason, has decided to appease me. They won't say that I was right, so my guess is that policy does actually dictate that gift cards cannot be returned by the original purchaser, which is still stupid, but whatever. I get my $150 back.

It's funny, MFS used to be a manager at Target and I think he is deeply offended by my behavior. Apparently, most stores have a policy about accepting returns of gift cards. He gets really quiet and sort of defensive when I mention my battle. I think he feels like I'm the asshole in this situation, and I have no right attacking that manager. I don't really care. Their policy is not well documented and they probably know, legally, that trying to pass off redeem = return in court would be roundly attacked and dismissed.

But, Target knows-

"*e-GiftCards are not redeemable for cash and cannot be returned for a refund."

If the phrase "cannot be returned for a refund" had been on my gift card or receipt, I would have left the store in an embarrassed state and admitted defeat.

Uh Oh - Baby Luigi Time

GAHHHHH. I am so tired of answering questions. It is very frustrating and I am getting all bitter and annoyed and I spend the day wishing I were home with my doggies, reading a book and drinking some wine. Instead, I get a sore neck and an insuppressible urge to blow up Linens ‘n’ Things.

Did I tell you about my fight against Linens ‘n’ Things? It has consumed my whole world. I purchased a gift card from there about a month ago and have since decided that the amount of the gift card was altogether too much and wanted to return it. I have my receipt that says I paid $150 for a gift card on 7/22 and that I also bought some chairs and tables that day as well. Guess what? They won’t accept the gift card as a return. The stupid bitch manager just kept pointing to the redemption information on the back of the card. “Yes, bitch, I can read, but those rules really apply to the person REDEEMING the card, you whore.” The card cannot be redeemed for cash and I understand that. However, I BOUGHT the fucking card, just like any other piece of merchandise in their store, so I don’t understand why it is subject to its own rules (rules that are not detailed on the receipt or otherwise). I should, as a consumer, have the right to return any product that stops meeting my requirements. I have the documentation (receipt) and the card hasn’t be used, so why can’t I return it and get my money back? Well, LNT has been most uncooperative on this matter, so I decided to kick it up a notch. Since I bought the gift card on my sexy AMEX Gold card, I decided to dispute the charge through them.

I’m hoping that my story, coupled with previous attempts to settle the matter directly with LNT, will inspire American Express to advocate on my behalf. And if not, at least I get to make someone’s life a living hell at LNT for a few weeks.

Just 10 minutes ago, I was starting to wonder if I should have disputed the charge, and was thinking about calling AMEX and cancelling the dispute, but just typing this out and thinking about that smug, fucking manager made me positive that this was the right solution. I will keep everyone posted on how this works out.

Congratulations to Villi for the purchase of her smokin’ hot 2007 Mazda 3. It is a slick little trick; it will serve her well.

Like a polaroid picture...of a baby

Today, at work, when we weren't working, we were talking about the new ad campaign called 'Don't shake the baby,' at http://www.dontshake.com/. The site's purpose is obvious - don't shake your fucking baby - because they could get Shaken Baby Syndrome (SBS) and be permanently brain damaged. I have decided that "shake the baby" will be a euphemism for a short term solution that totally fucks things up in the long term. For example- "Yeah, well he got the left blinker on the car working, but screwed up the transmission in the process. He really shook the baby on that one."

Feel free to pass it on.

In shaker related news, I have to mention how much I hate the phrase 'shake it like a salt shaker.' It's a god-damned salt shaker; it's supposed to shake. I think it is the repetition of shaker in this phrase that makes me hate it so much.

He's never eaten ice cream or performed a sex act; he's pure

I love OK Go’s table tennis instructional video . I think that band is just super keen.

I don’t really have anything to write about. I was working on my final project for technical writing, but since I didn’t do any of the actual readings for this class, I have no idea how to format any of the pages beyond my opening memo. I'm done working on it until I get home to my book. Except for some graphs I got done last night, against the washer, I only have the one page of my 10-15 page paper done. Hmmm, looks like there will be no games or television for me tonight.

It's actually a little sad how little I have learned at school in the last year and change. I certainly haven't been motivated by bettering myself. To quote The Beatnuts, "I'm about getting my paper."

Killing time and maiming reason

Well, school is over this week and I have still managed to put two assignments off until the very end. One is due Wednesday and should be 10-15 pages long. I haven’t done a lick of it, but I figure some nice looking graphs, charts, tables and graphics and I should only need like 2-3 pages of text, which I could write on the toilet. It would be an appropriate place to compose, because the paper will probably be shit. I have to be careful about claiming to fake data for my paper, lest someone come to this site and realize that my final for technical writing could actually be a final for creative writing because it is fiction, through and through. If so, I guess they can have their diploma back.

I am writing this entry sitting in a chair, leaning against the washer door, to keep it closed while I do laundry. I feel like a hick, except hicks use washboards. Maybe I just feel exceptionally trashy. I get through it by pretending my clothes are the prisoners and if they escape, they will certainly tell General Montoya where the rebels are hiding. This way I feel like I am serving my country and my laundry.

Boy, this isn’t eating up nearly the amount of time of the wash cycle as I hoped it would. I may actually have to do some econ reading if this pace holds up. Apparently, my brain has stopped producing thoughts and ideas as a way to protect myself from myself. If I can’t write stories and waste time, I just might have to do some school reading. Well, either that or start the Harry Potter series over from book one?

Ok, well, I guess I will see you around…later and stuff. Um, take it easy.

In God’s army,

Girl

A more gentlemanlike manner

Of course it would take a British news site to point out why I am so obsessed with Ron and Hermione in the Harry Potter books.

“Herminone and Ron have been the Lizzie Bennett and Mr. Darcy of Hogwarts for several volumes of the seven-volume series.”

Duh! Or as they say in England, Dur! It is all so clear now.

That being said, J.K. Rowling, do what you wish with Harry Potter, but leave Ron and Hermione alone. Harry Potter is the chosen one and bound, in prophecy, to Lord Voldemort. Ron and Hermione are simply kids who chose a particular car on the train on their first year that got them embroiled in all this scandal. They don’t deserve to die; they deserve to bicker and fuck till the end of their days. End Transmission.

*edit* Gentlemanlike- one word, got it. Deep-seated, who knew?

*edit* The cake looked delicious.

Loading the gun that will shoot me

School’s got me down. Work’s got me down. Washing machine’s got me down, and you better believe that Maytag Dependability Plus has got me down. Appliance Factory’s got me down. Roommate’s got me down. Dog’s got me down. Homework’s got me down. I haven’t had a bottle of wine in almost two whole weeks. Did I mention that work’s got me down? Higher Ed’s got me down, particularly Rutgers and Rochester. Pretty much the only things that keep me going are my Simpsons’ page a day calendar, my sippy cup, and the cough-inducing wonder of otter pops.

In some strange puff of luck, I decided to cover the fire pit last night. I was just doing it to get the damn cover off the ground (I’m still not sure who or what left it lying on the ground). And then, 30 minutes later, it rained super hard and fast and I was so happy that I had put on the nylon cover. Last time the fire pit filled up with water, it made this char-y paste and soggy wood that someone dumped right into the grass (where obviously bits of wood should go). I was really pissed when I had to clean that out of the yard, so I figured I would avoid the half-assed clean up attempt by simply applying the cover to the fire pit. Oddly enough, it worked.
After it started raining, I found out that the dogs don’t like thunder, so I spent the better part of an hour sitting in the darkened, quiet dining room, trying to keep the dogs calm and content. I was rewarded for my compassion when Jean-Pierre pissed on the couch. To quote Heather Duke, sort of, “I got paid in piss.”

Below are a few things that always make me cry. This post is already pretty maudlin and wallowing in self-pity, so…

1. Imagining the man, carrying his groceries, facing off against the tanks in Tiananmen Square. In fact, just looking at the image on google, while trying to spell it, made me cry.

2. The Hallmark commercial about the old woman who checks her mailbox everyday and receives nothing, until the younger mom across the street sends her a card. When the young mom’s son comes back from across the street with the plate of cookies and says “these are from Mrs. So-and-So and she was crying,” man, that gets me every time.

3. Coming home from the CU-UT game in 2001, a few days after Douglas Adams died, there was a jeep I drove behind on the 36 tunrpike. In the dirt on his back windshield, he had written “so long and thanks for all the fish.”

4. The last 15 minutes in “Glory,” particularly when Smiley aka Private Jupiter Sharts (Jihmi Kennedy) picks up the flags to keep the colors off the ground, when Thomas (Andre Braugher) dies, and when they roll Col. Shaw’s (Matthew Broderick) body on top of Prt. Trip (Denzel Washington).