So, Dunkin HQ actually wrote me back. They wrote to say that they appreciated my letter but they were returning it to me. However, I would like to note it has not been returned. For starters, I emailed it.
But regardless. They assured me that they "have entire departments whose job it is to come up with fresh and exciting concepts, products, flavors, programs, advertising, etc. We also receive many unsolicited suggestions from our friends outside the company . . . Most of the time, the suggestions are things our teams have already thought of and may be working on."
Ummmm..... they seriously should be working on this as a cup of properly made iced coffee could make or break someone's day.
"Therefore to prevent any possible misunderstanding, we are returning your original letter to you. we cannot accept or review unsolicited ideas including: patented or unpatented, trademarked or un-trademarked ideas, copyright protected materials, advertising slogans, marketing programs, promotional programs, patent applications, trademark applications, copyright applications, product suggestions, prototypes or models."
Now, you and I both know they will end up using my idea. Within a few months you can bet your bippy you will be seeing a sign in a Dunking advertising that their flavors are sugar free. And, within a year, you will no doubt see new cups with mysterious lines so the workers know how much milk/cream and ice go into an iced coffee. Honestly, I am fine with that as long as it means that anywhere I go, I am guaranteed a properly, well-made cup of iced coffee.
I would like to add that they did include a $5 booklet of Dunkin bucks. Personally, I thought they could have spared something more, maybe $10 or $15 but it was almost enough for stew and I to each get a large iced coffee. I still had to kick in $0.38 out of my own pocket.
So, that got me thinking, I should write more letters, sending more unsolicited ideas and get more free stuff. No sooner should I get this idea than a coupon for a free medium ice cream from Coldstone Creamery comes for me in the mail.
Coldstone is my enemy. For two reasons.
1.) I am not much of an ice cream fan.
2.) I think their ice cream is way overpriced.
3.) They never have enough help.
4.) They ruined my Valentine's Day.
You see, Stew likes their ice cream and last Valentine's Day I took advantage of this promotion they had for $2 off a Valentine's Day cake for two. The coupon said nothing about having to pick it up on Valentine's Day just that it was only good while supplies lasted. So, I went there the day before Valentine's Day and that was when I was informed I had to wait until Valentine's Day. The kid behind the counter was young and I was feeling particularly cute that day so I pretended to be way more bummed than I really was and gave him the sob story that V-day was our anniversary and we had 6 p.m. dinner reservations and I got out at 5:30 and had to hightail it to the restaurant with no time to come back for the cake. So, the kid went into the backroom, got me a cake (which was actually two small chocolate cakes with chocolate hearts in the center and could not have looked more like two boobs) and rang me up.
So, this past Valentine's day, I thought i would re-create the magic and stew was all excited. there was no coupon offer this year so I had to wing it. I figured being an ice cream shop they would have tiny pre-made cakes like they USUALLY do. It was a Monday and I was early but I figured I had time to order it. While waiting on line (because they only had one person mashing up ice cream for a long line) I was commiserating with a lady who was pissed off they had no Birthday cakes for her daughter's birthday. However, she couldn't bitch too much because what shitty mom waits until the last minute to get her daughter's cake.
I asked the girl behind the counter if they had any tiny cakes in the back. She said no and I would have to order one that would be ready no earlier than Wednesday after 5:30. So, i placed an order and left. Wednesday came, the night of the HUGE ice storm. I got out of work early because they forced us to leave the building. Stew came home early too and we risked life and limb to get to Coldstone around 5:30 and the place was closed.
I'm understanding and I am sure they closed early because they were worried about their employees and I am cool with that. But damn, they could have at least called and said they were closing early and if i wanted the cake for that night I had to come get it before they closed at X time. So, I wrote a letter to the headquarters. A few days later I got calls from the store manager and owner telling me to come and get my cake free of charge. I called to arrange a pick up and the cake was not there. I wasn't going to really push the issue. It was just principle. A few days later a coupon came and now I just got another one.
Stew is on me to write XM radio because he wants to know why Opie and Anthony got suspended for Bush jokes. I mean, isn't the point of satellite radio paying to hear radio that is not being censored? But, I say pick your own battles.
I have coffee wars to win and free ice cream to get.
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Wake up and smell the coffee
After having the scariest ice coffee ever. Seriously, i broke two straws trying to get through all the ice I decided to write Dunkin Donuts and revolutionize their business.
To the wonderful people at Dunkin who keep me caffeinated all day,
You make the best coffee. Hands down. Starbucks are chumps with their overpriced lattes and calorie filled drinks. When it comes to choosing between green and pink and orange, I always choose Dunkin.
On my last Dunkin visit, I was able to enlighten some customers to some wisdom that is not common knowledge. However, I know from writing you in the past, that all your delicious flavor shots are sugar free. For some reason, that fact is advertised only on your site and not in the shops. When I filled these customers in on that bit of INVALUABLE information they were elated and quickly added shots to their drinks. Their only question was how come you don’t say that in the store? A lot of your employees may not be aware of this or customers may not believe them but if it were posted somewhere, they could not dispute that.
My only guess for why it’s not posted in the store is that you may be apprehensive about people thinking it has an aftertaste or has some cancer-causing additive in it. Believe me, if fake sweeteners really caused cancer I would be dead. If you are going to offer “healthier” drinks like lite lattes and such then go ahead and tell your customers that the syrup they crave contains no sugar.
Another thought for you is to bring all your workers up to code on making a consistent cup of coffee. Sometimes, I’ll ask for a coffee with milk or cream and they put so much cream in that it tastes like I am drinking straight up cream. Or, I will ask for an iced coffee and get a few chips of ice that melt quickly or an iceberg in my cup so big I can’t get the straw in without it getting obstructed and crushed the like Titanic. This resulted in about 4 sips of coffee fitting into a medium cup but enough ice for at least two and a half drinks. I rarely find a happy medium.
So, here is my idea and it is completely free. However, feel free to hook me up with a loaded gift card should you like my idea and use it. On your cups, you should have lines that tell your employees how much ice to add, how much milk/cream or sugar. Or, you can just have a standard 4 squirts for a medium, 6 for a large and then add one if the customer prefers it lighter.
You pride yourself on “authentic” iced coffee so why not make it consistently perfect? I depend on Dunkin to deliver a great tasting cup o’ Joe and more often than not that is what I get but the times when I get something different like 4 sips of coffee and a ton of ice or a mouth full of cream I’m disappointed. I know the Dunkins I can depend on in each town in New England. Sad but true.
I hope that you read this letter. I know it’s long but it comes from a very dedicated customer who wants the world to appreciate all that Dunkin has to offer.
Sincerely,
Dr. Horder
To the wonderful people at Dunkin who keep me caffeinated all day,
You make the best coffee. Hands down. Starbucks are chumps with their overpriced lattes and calorie filled drinks. When it comes to choosing between green and pink and orange, I always choose Dunkin.
On my last Dunkin visit, I was able to enlighten some customers to some wisdom that is not common knowledge. However, I know from writing you in the past, that all your delicious flavor shots are sugar free. For some reason, that fact is advertised only on your site and not in the shops. When I filled these customers in on that bit of INVALUABLE information they were elated and quickly added shots to their drinks. Their only question was how come you don’t say that in the store? A lot of your employees may not be aware of this or customers may not believe them but if it were posted somewhere, they could not dispute that.
My only guess for why it’s not posted in the store is that you may be apprehensive about people thinking it has an aftertaste or has some cancer-causing additive in it. Believe me, if fake sweeteners really caused cancer I would be dead. If you are going to offer “healthier” drinks like lite lattes and such then go ahead and tell your customers that the syrup they crave contains no sugar.
Another thought for you is to bring all your workers up to code on making a consistent cup of coffee. Sometimes, I’ll ask for a coffee with milk or cream and they put so much cream in that it tastes like I am drinking straight up cream. Or, I will ask for an iced coffee and get a few chips of ice that melt quickly or an iceberg in my cup so big I can’t get the straw in without it getting obstructed and crushed the like Titanic. This resulted in about 4 sips of coffee fitting into a medium cup but enough ice for at least two and a half drinks. I rarely find a happy medium.
So, here is my idea and it is completely free. However, feel free to hook me up with a loaded gift card should you like my idea and use it. On your cups, you should have lines that tell your employees how much ice to add, how much milk/cream or sugar. Or, you can just have a standard 4 squirts for a medium, 6 for a large and then add one if the customer prefers it lighter.
You pride yourself on “authentic” iced coffee so why not make it consistently perfect? I depend on Dunkin to deliver a great tasting cup o’ Joe and more often than not that is what I get but the times when I get something different like 4 sips of coffee and a ton of ice or a mouth full of cream I’m disappointed. I know the Dunkins I can depend on in each town in New England. Sad but true.
I hope that you read this letter. I know it’s long but it comes from a very dedicated customer who wants the world to appreciate all that Dunkin has to offer.
Sincerely,
Dr. Horder
Saturday, May 12, 2007
I'm changing lives one iced coffee at a time
So, I gave up my weekly indulgence of a sugar free cinnamon dulce latte after boredom drove me to the nutrition section of Starbucks' Web site. Even with skim milk I was taking in half of my daily allotment of carbs. Frankly I'd rather eat those carbs in the form of pizza than drink them. Granted, i can swap to cream instead of skim milk but then I would be piling on the fat 25+ grams vs 0. So, I am back to my trusty standby summer drink - a large toasted almond iced coffee with cream and three Splenda.
Anyone who knows me knows that I was absolutely devastated when Dunkin Donuts announced they were no longer brewing french vanilla and hazelnut flavored coffees. Instead they announced all their great new syrups. Knowing how much sugar those syrups pack per tablespoon, I was banished to a life of plain tasting coffee. I figured they had to come out with sugar-free syrups eventually but that day never seemed to come. It got to the point where I was buying an assortment of sugar free syrups and adding them to my coffee when I got home. But, more often that not, I grabbed my coffee on the go so the syrups were going to waste. I had enough of society's contradiction that they want to make us healthy by offering healthy things but screw us in the end by finding some way to add sugar to it. I took matters into my own hands and wrote Dunkin Donuts headquarters. It took a few days but I finally got an answer and that answer made me the happiest little coffee lover alive. Every single one of their tasty flavors was sugar free. Not just like lame ass Starbucks who only offers caramel, vanilla and hazelnut but EVERY SINGLE ONE. And endless possibility of flavorful concoctions
I told everyone I knew (which basically consisted of about 5 people) who would actually care enough and not think I am totally insane that I took my concern all the way to Dunkin headquarters. Come on, I could not risk throwing myself into some sugar coma because the guy behind the counter would say "yes" to anything because that's just about all the English he knows. If you read my old blog you are well aware of the insane conversations I've had with Dunkin employees including the one who asked me if Stew's attitude changed towards me after we had sex. Not to mention all the times I asked for iced coffee and ended up with a hot one on the counter in front of me. And just last week I said "no sugar" three times only to take a sip of my coffee and get a straw full of sugar granules. It took everything in me to take that bit of heaven in a cup back and demand one sans sugar.
So, I really can't blame anyone for what happened yesterday.
After dropping off my clothes at the tailors, I stopped by Dunkin to get my congratulatory-you-survived-another-week Friday iced coffee. I walked in on mayhem in progress. Two ladies were engaged in a full-blown argument with the two employees (who I happen to know and like despite their prying questions). One customer with a condescending Aussie accent was interrogating an employee on why they don't offer sugar free syrups. His only defense was "no ma'am, no sugar free syrups." I took one look at her extremely dark looking iced latte and knew I could save the day because that was about to taste like a bitter turd if I didn't.
"Actually," I said, sounding like my 9-year-old nephew who starts off any fact he's about to correct you on, "They are all sugar free."
Aussie whipped around and glared at me. "Are you sure?"
"Yes, 100% sure."
The other lady in line turned around to join the inquisition, 'how do you know?"
I stood proud. I don't care who in that Dunkin was about to think I was a freak for taking my question to the top banana. I was about to let my freak flag fly high in orange and pink.
"I wrote headquarters and asked and they said that all their syrups are sugar free."
BOOOOYAAAA MATEY!!!!
"Even the chocolate?" She asked.
"Even the chocolate," I said and then I corrected myself because I remembered the time in Florida when I asked for chocolate and they put Nestle chocolate syrup in it and I had to differentiate calling it syrup and referred to it as a "flavor shot."
"Why don't they advertise that?' she asked and the other lady backed her up by tapping a sign listing all the flavors and saying, "this should say sugar free."
I had no answer. I think it is insanely retarded that they don't mention it in the store, only on the Web site that the flavors are sugar free. My guess is maybe they think that most people who want the flavors don't want to know it is sugar free because they'll think it is made with artificial sweeteners and has an aftertaste and causes cancer.
Let me tell you something about that artificial sweetener causing cancer thing.
M Y T H.
If it were the case my ass would be long dead by now. In my 33 years I can count on one hand how many times I drank regular soda and juices that were not Crystal Light. I'd be a goner.
"Well," Aussie said facing the employee, "I will have two shots of vanilla in this because this concerned customer cared enough to write headquarters and find out the truth so now you know and you can tell all your customers."
I liked it. Concerned customer . . . finding out the truth. I felt like Michael Moore.
'You've opened up a whole new world for me," said the other lady.
Cool, they should have a parade in my honor and throw sprinkles and gift cards at me. I'm opening up whole new worlds for people. Wait until I tell stew.
"That information is invaluable," Aussie said. "Invaluable."
Shit yeah. Suddenly my being crazy served a purpose. I changed lives and opened up new worlds.
Anyone who knows me knows that I was absolutely devastated when Dunkin Donuts announced they were no longer brewing french vanilla and hazelnut flavored coffees. Instead they announced all their great new syrups. Knowing how much sugar those syrups pack per tablespoon, I was banished to a life of plain tasting coffee. I figured they had to come out with sugar-free syrups eventually but that day never seemed to come. It got to the point where I was buying an assortment of sugar free syrups and adding them to my coffee when I got home. But, more often that not, I grabbed my coffee on the go so the syrups were going to waste. I had enough of society's contradiction that they want to make us healthy by offering healthy things but screw us in the end by finding some way to add sugar to it. I took matters into my own hands and wrote Dunkin Donuts headquarters. It took a few days but I finally got an answer and that answer made me the happiest little coffee lover alive. Every single one of their tasty flavors was sugar free. Not just like lame ass Starbucks who only offers caramel, vanilla and hazelnut but EVERY SINGLE ONE. And endless possibility of flavorful concoctions
I told everyone I knew (which basically consisted of about 5 people) who would actually care enough and not think I am totally insane that I took my concern all the way to Dunkin headquarters. Come on, I could not risk throwing myself into some sugar coma because the guy behind the counter would say "yes" to anything because that's just about all the English he knows. If you read my old blog you are well aware of the insane conversations I've had with Dunkin employees including the one who asked me if Stew's attitude changed towards me after we had sex. Not to mention all the times I asked for iced coffee and ended up with a hot one on the counter in front of me. And just last week I said "no sugar" three times only to take a sip of my coffee and get a straw full of sugar granules. It took everything in me to take that bit of heaven in a cup back and demand one sans sugar.
So, I really can't blame anyone for what happened yesterday.
After dropping off my clothes at the tailors, I stopped by Dunkin to get my congratulatory-you-survived-another-week Friday iced coffee. I walked in on mayhem in progress. Two ladies were engaged in a full-blown argument with the two employees (who I happen to know and like despite their prying questions). One customer with a condescending Aussie accent was interrogating an employee on why they don't offer sugar free syrups. His only defense was "no ma'am, no sugar free syrups." I took one look at her extremely dark looking iced latte and knew I could save the day because that was about to taste like a bitter turd if I didn't.
"Actually," I said, sounding like my 9-year-old nephew who starts off any fact he's about to correct you on, "They are all sugar free."
Aussie whipped around and glared at me. "Are you sure?"
"Yes, 100% sure."
The other lady in line turned around to join the inquisition, 'how do you know?"
I stood proud. I don't care who in that Dunkin was about to think I was a freak for taking my question to the top banana. I was about to let my freak flag fly high in orange and pink.
"I wrote headquarters and asked and they said that all their syrups are sugar free."
BOOOOYAAAA MATEY!!!!
"Even the chocolate?" She asked.
"Even the chocolate," I said and then I corrected myself because I remembered the time in Florida when I asked for chocolate and they put Nestle chocolate syrup in it and I had to differentiate calling it syrup and referred to it as a "flavor shot."
"Why don't they advertise that?' she asked and the other lady backed her up by tapping a sign listing all the flavors and saying, "this should say sugar free."
I had no answer. I think it is insanely retarded that they don't mention it in the store, only on the Web site that the flavors are sugar free. My guess is maybe they think that most people who want the flavors don't want to know it is sugar free because they'll think it is made with artificial sweeteners and has an aftertaste and causes cancer.
Let me tell you something about that artificial sweetener causing cancer thing.
M Y T H.
If it were the case my ass would be long dead by now. In my 33 years I can count on one hand how many times I drank regular soda and juices that were not Crystal Light. I'd be a goner.
"Well," Aussie said facing the employee, "I will have two shots of vanilla in this because this concerned customer cared enough to write headquarters and find out the truth so now you know and you can tell all your customers."
I liked it. Concerned customer . . . finding out the truth. I felt like Michael Moore.
'You've opened up a whole new world for me," said the other lady.
Cool, they should have a parade in my honor and throw sprinkles and gift cards at me. I'm opening up whole new worlds for people. Wait until I tell stew.
"That information is invaluable," Aussie said. "Invaluable."
Shit yeah. Suddenly my being crazy served a purpose. I changed lives and opened up new worlds.
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
License to Ill
I think Stew is getting a bit worried. See, he hasn't been hearing many good things about marriage from his unhappily married co-workers. While Stew admits to getting excited about he wedding, I think a fear is growing in the pit of his stomach. As the weddings of his friends near they express some frustration for their future spouses and tell stew to heed their warnings. "Lisa will get crazy right before the wedding. Brace yourself and just roll with it."
Truth be told, I may get a little wonky before the wedding but there is a slight chance I may not. I hated this wedding business from Day 1 so all my craziness reared its ugly head early on. I was hoping if Stew saw the craziness early on, he would rethink wanting a wedding before we dropped too many non-refundable deposits.
Apparently, I was not crazy enough which is shocking because I was pretty damn crazy.
A lot of it came from being overwhelmed and not knowing where to start. So, after I resigned myself not to winning the war I waged, I bucked up and broke it down. The plan was to tackle everything I could early enough and map out the rest. It frightened me how organized I was and what a drill sergeant I became about deadlines but Stew knew it was either drill sergeant or crazy and he liked the idea of drill sergeant much better. However, I dragged Stew along with me to every meeting, every registry selection. If he wanted this wedding, he had to be tortured just like me. This included, but was not limited to, watching endless videos of DJs, a lot of rhythmless crackers dancing to Bon Jovi, meetings with a florist who tried to take us for $2300 for an archway and the constant barrage of "what about this invitation/bridesmaids dress/color/song/favor?" questions which I demanded answers to. Not to mention any of the flack we had to take from our respective parents about the location and the decision to have a JP instead of a priest.
When I say uphill battle, I mean in an ice storm while it's raining grease.
Every time he looks a little stressed or beaten, I silently snicker to myself and asked him, "Aren't you glad you wanted a wedding? Don't you wish you listened to me about eloping? Isn't this so much fun?" Of course he would say this is what he wants but he said it through gritted teeth leading me to believe otherwise. Then I will not-so-gently remind him that for the next couple of months his time and attention belongs to me so don't go making any plans. I know this is mean but I'm not going down alone.
All that BS crap you see for weddings with a phrase that alludes to two hearts beating as one is no joke because as a couple you either killed your partner or you're around them so much you are now a single-celled amoeba.
Truth be told, I may get a little wonky before the wedding but there is a slight chance I may not. I hated this wedding business from Day 1 so all my craziness reared its ugly head early on. I was hoping if Stew saw the craziness early on, he would rethink wanting a wedding before we dropped too many non-refundable deposits.
Apparently, I was not crazy enough which is shocking because I was pretty damn crazy.
A lot of it came from being overwhelmed and not knowing where to start. So, after I resigned myself not to winning the war I waged, I bucked up and broke it down. The plan was to tackle everything I could early enough and map out the rest. It frightened me how organized I was and what a drill sergeant I became about deadlines but Stew knew it was either drill sergeant or crazy and he liked the idea of drill sergeant much better. However, I dragged Stew along with me to every meeting, every registry selection. If he wanted this wedding, he had to be tortured just like me. This included, but was not limited to, watching endless videos of DJs, a lot of rhythmless crackers dancing to Bon Jovi, meetings with a florist who tried to take us for $2300 for an archway and the constant barrage of "what about this invitation/bridesmaids dress/color/song/favor?" questions which I demanded answers to. Not to mention any of the flack we had to take from our respective parents about the location and the decision to have a JP instead of a priest.
When I say uphill battle, I mean in an ice storm while it's raining grease.
Every time he looks a little stressed or beaten, I silently snicker to myself and asked him, "Aren't you glad you wanted a wedding? Don't you wish you listened to me about eloping? Isn't this so much fun?" Of course he would say this is what he wants but he said it through gritted teeth leading me to believe otherwise. Then I will not-so-gently remind him that for the next couple of months his time and attention belongs to me so don't go making any plans. I know this is mean but I'm not going down alone.
All that BS crap you see for weddings with a phrase that alludes to two hearts beating as one is no joke because as a couple you either killed your partner or you're around them so much you are now a single-celled amoeba.
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
My left foot . . . . both of them
I should write a book. I know I've said that before about online dating (and I still think I should and i eventually will if i ever learn to like typing again) but now I should write a book about weddings. The side you don't see. The side they don't want you to know about. The side that requires me to put aside my hormones and put on high heels. The side that not only forces you to lose your mind but hands you your once sane (albeit slightly) mind to you on a silver Tiffany platter and then quickly rips it away when you reach out to reclaim it.
It's not even the crap you think will do you in. It's the crap you didn't even think about when you said "yes" after you were blinded by a shiny ring. It's the invitations. Double envelope or single? French flap or regular? Thermography or engraved? Lined or unlined? When the hell the postage rate is going to go up (incidentally 5 days prior to our planned mailing date). It's the flowers. What's in season? Would you like an $1800 archway that we're going to zap you a $500 delivery/pick-up fee for? Do you know what color your bridesmaids dresses are? No, why not? You only have a year to figure this out. It's the bridesmaids dresses. Don't even start me on that. It's the music song list. What music do you want to walk in to? What music do you want your bridal party to walk in to? (stew did not like my idea of having them walk in to "The Dope Show") Your wedding song. The song you'll dance with your mom/dad to? Songs to play during dinner? How will your wedding party stand? What order will they come in to the reception? It's the hor de' voures. You don't want anything too messy but you want something they can eat with their hands. Who has food allergies? Who needs a kosher meal? Who needs one that's gluten-free?
Most of that stuff we managed to work past. We pretty much told our florist where she could put her archway. Actually, I think we said something to the fact like, "We have the ocean as a backdrop, why do I need a $2300 archway to stand under for 20 minutes?" I asked our wedding coordinator to allow us a fourth vegetarian option. As for anyone with food allergies, well if you don't note that on the card when you send it back, that's your doggybag of hives you're bringing home.
One thing we didn't give much thought to was our first dance. I mean, we had the song picked out. And our photographer was kind enough to set our engagement photo DVD to our wedding song so we could get a good feel for how it would translate to the cuteness that's us. The bottom line is Stew and I are cute in person but not so cute pictures. Oh well. Good thing one of her expensive selling points was she has photoshop skillz that pay the billz.
But back to the dancing.
I dance.
Stew does not.
I grew up the pudgy kid wearing a tutu shuttled around to ballet, tap and jazz classes. Stew was too busy starting fires in the woods of Monroe and planning his next Dungeon & Dragons campaign. In the two years Stew and I have been dating, we only danced together once and we were both drunk and it was thug rap so it hardly required skill. My mom was pushing for a routine and I had Dirty Dancing Time of your Life flashbacks and and screamed no. Nobody puts baby in the corner. I was not concerned with my dancing skills as much as I was with Stew's. Let's face it. I love the boy but he could be a bit stiff in situations that require any attention be on him. After polling some people we knew, we decided to take dancing lessons.
Now, I don't know if you ever looked into dancing lessons but they are expensive. And when you're planning a wedding and you drop a grand on invitations, $300 to have someone address them doesn't seem like much in the grand scheme of things but $750 for someone to teach you a few dance moves is outrageous for the brief moments you will actually be on the dance floor seems like a giant waste of money.
We went for a $15 private lesson. We bought a CD with our wedding song on it and the song Stew is going to dance with his mom to. We also had one of my picks for the father/daughter dance. We were looking for something simple. However, "simple" was not in the vocabulary of a lithe and flexible Euro-trash instructor. And I would have called her European but she was sporting a case of cold-sore herpes that neither stew or I could take our eyes off of. We wanted to do something romantic. She made us do the rumba. I guess that could be considered romantic but when your partner is staring straight ahead like a programmed robot counting steps in his head and you're trying hard not to go limp in his arms with laughter, you look like you're both competing for the gold . . . . in the special Olympics.
Obviously my request for simple was lost in translation. The last thing I wanted to think about as I glided onto the dance floor with my new husband and people were taking our pictures was counting steps and following leads. Sure enough, that is what she had us doing to the point where I was falling over my own two feet and Stew looked like he'd fall to pieces if he broke his concentration for a second. Oh no, this will not work.
The clincher came when she heard the song stew wanted to dance with his mom and said that it was a swing song. Um, nothing about Green Day is swing, lady. NOTHING. True, the song is neither slow or fast but swing ----- no. When she puckered that cold-sore ridden mouth and said "swing" I saw Stew's face go death-white.
"We'll work on that later," she said trying to ease the blow. And that is when I knew she was going to suggest the 10 lesson package.
I'm onto you Euro-herps!
My favorite part was her lack of remembering that I could hear everything was saying (altho' it was muddled with that accent). She kept telling Stew, "This dance is all about you. She is just jewelery. The entire wedding is about her but this dance is about you."
Then, she would turn to me and say, "This dance is about you and your dress and your beauty and grace. It's about every bead on your dress, your shoes. It's also about your ring so make sure you are always holding your hand this way." And then she spent every step bending my hand in unnatural positions so that my ring was never hidden.
After our hard work out, we went for Sushi and started thinking hard about what we signed up for. By the time we went to bed, we decided the lessons were not for us and Stew was going to call the next morning and get his money back. We hoped we were making the right decision to sway our way through it.
On Easter, we gave my family a quick demonstration of what she wanted us to do and they laughed so hard I knew we made the right call.
It's not even the crap you think will do you in. It's the crap you didn't even think about when you said "yes" after you were blinded by a shiny ring. It's the invitations. Double envelope or single? French flap or regular? Thermography or engraved? Lined or unlined? When the hell the postage rate is going to go up (incidentally 5 days prior to our planned mailing date). It's the flowers. What's in season? Would you like an $1800 archway that we're going to zap you a $500 delivery/pick-up fee for? Do you know what color your bridesmaids dresses are? No, why not? You only have a year to figure this out. It's the bridesmaids dresses. Don't even start me on that. It's the music song list. What music do you want to walk in to? What music do you want your bridal party to walk in to? (stew did not like my idea of having them walk in to "The Dope Show") Your wedding song. The song you'll dance with your mom/dad to? Songs to play during dinner? How will your wedding party stand? What order will they come in to the reception? It's the hor de' voures. You don't want anything too messy but you want something they can eat with their hands. Who has food allergies? Who needs a kosher meal? Who needs one that's gluten-free?
Most of that stuff we managed to work past. We pretty much told our florist where she could put her archway. Actually, I think we said something to the fact like, "We have the ocean as a backdrop, why do I need a $2300 archway to stand under for 20 minutes?" I asked our wedding coordinator to allow us a fourth vegetarian option. As for anyone with food allergies, well if you don't note that on the card when you send it back, that's your doggybag of hives you're bringing home.
One thing we didn't give much thought to was our first dance. I mean, we had the song picked out. And our photographer was kind enough to set our engagement photo DVD to our wedding song so we could get a good feel for how it would translate to the cuteness that's us. The bottom line is Stew and I are cute in person but not so cute pictures. Oh well. Good thing one of her expensive selling points was she has photoshop skillz that pay the billz.
But back to the dancing.
I dance.
Stew does not.
I grew up the pudgy kid wearing a tutu shuttled around to ballet, tap and jazz classes. Stew was too busy starting fires in the woods of Monroe and planning his next Dungeon & Dragons campaign. In the two years Stew and I have been dating, we only danced together once and we were both drunk and it was thug rap so it hardly required skill. My mom was pushing for a routine and I had Dirty Dancing Time of your Life flashbacks and and screamed no. Nobody puts baby in the corner. I was not concerned with my dancing skills as much as I was with Stew's. Let's face it. I love the boy but he could be a bit stiff in situations that require any attention be on him. After polling some people we knew, we decided to take dancing lessons.
Now, I don't know if you ever looked into dancing lessons but they are expensive. And when you're planning a wedding and you drop a grand on invitations, $300 to have someone address them doesn't seem like much in the grand scheme of things but $750 for someone to teach you a few dance moves is outrageous for the brief moments you will actually be on the dance floor seems like a giant waste of money.
We went for a $15 private lesson. We bought a CD with our wedding song on it and the song Stew is going to dance with his mom to. We also had one of my picks for the father/daughter dance. We were looking for something simple. However, "simple" was not in the vocabulary of a lithe and flexible Euro-trash instructor. And I would have called her European but she was sporting a case of cold-sore herpes that neither stew or I could take our eyes off of. We wanted to do something romantic. She made us do the rumba. I guess that could be considered romantic but when your partner is staring straight ahead like a programmed robot counting steps in his head and you're trying hard not to go limp in his arms with laughter, you look like you're both competing for the gold . . . . in the special Olympics.
Obviously my request for simple was lost in translation. The last thing I wanted to think about as I glided onto the dance floor with my new husband and people were taking our pictures was counting steps and following leads. Sure enough, that is what she had us doing to the point where I was falling over my own two feet and Stew looked like he'd fall to pieces if he broke his concentration for a second. Oh no, this will not work.
The clincher came when she heard the song stew wanted to dance with his mom and said that it was a swing song. Um, nothing about Green Day is swing, lady. NOTHING. True, the song is neither slow or fast but swing ----- no. When she puckered that cold-sore ridden mouth and said "swing" I saw Stew's face go death-white.
"We'll work on that later," she said trying to ease the blow. And that is when I knew she was going to suggest the 10 lesson package.
I'm onto you Euro-herps!
My favorite part was her lack of remembering that I could hear everything was saying (altho' it was muddled with that accent). She kept telling Stew, "This dance is all about you. She is just jewelery. The entire wedding is about her but this dance is about you."
Then, she would turn to me and say, "This dance is about you and your dress and your beauty and grace. It's about every bead on your dress, your shoes. It's also about your ring so make sure you are always holding your hand this way." And then she spent every step bending my hand in unnatural positions so that my ring was never hidden.
After our hard work out, we went for Sushi and started thinking hard about what we signed up for. By the time we went to bed, we decided the lessons were not for us and Stew was going to call the next morning and get his money back. We hoped we were making the right decision to sway our way through it.
On Easter, we gave my family a quick demonstration of what she wanted us to do and they laughed so hard I knew we made the right call.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
i just wanted you to be unhappy, is that too much to ask for?
So, I read this article on CNN.com today about how people Google their potential dates before or after meeting them. I don't know anyone who would do this. I also don't know anyone, who just for shits and giggles, would look up an ex to make sure they're unemployed/getting a divorce/dead or anything but happy.
I'm not saying i wish ill will on many of my exes, I'm just saying that I like to know that I'm doing way better than they are. That I am happy and healthy (wow, I just totally mistyped "healthy" and put "lethal" instead and I am sure in some parts of the tri-state area and the Mid-West that whether i am healthy or lethal is probably being debated) and delieriously in love with a boy who worships me (read: puts up with me) and planning my wedding by the sea where the two of us fell in love almost two years after doing so. Too cute, I know!
So, during my lull of jury duty selection today something made me think of Jersey Boy which led to the nagging thought, "I wonder what that ass is up to. Did he sell his trailer like he talked about doing for more than a year but was reluctant to get off his fat ass and do it?"
Idle hands are the Devil's playground so I went to work.
I found his grandfather's obit which listed him as a survivor and HIS FIANCEE'. He's engaged. So, of course I had to whitepage his hass to see if he was still trailer dwelling and he is already married. Married! already. We broke up in the Summer of 2005. You mean to tell me you already courted, proposed and had a wedding already. Holy moses.
I told Stew. Stew told me I had to let it go. Stew doesn't get broads and their constant need to know that they are always doing 600 times better than their ex-boyfriends. I let it go. He is yesterday's news. I shake my head and physically cringe when I think about having dated him and that two-pack-a-day ashtray he called a mouth.
"That relationship was a springboard to marriage," Stew said.
God, doesn't that boy ever see the bad side of things? Everything is a ray of positivity and hope. The cloud is not only lined in silver but it's encrusted with diamonds. I often feel like when I do something productive he's going to award me with a "great job" puffy sticker from all the positive reinforcement he blows up my ass. I've tried to warn him.
So, of course, it is my job to bring him back down to Planet Depresso by explaining my theory that it was tehs tory of my dating career. Lisa meets boy. Boy dumps her. Boy marries the next girl he meets. I used to tell that to my boyfriends too, 'the next girl you will meet you will marry. I am sure of it.' Kinda like how I tell Stew his next wife will love cooking, won't conduct bathroom business with the door open and certainly will not pass gas that Stew describes as "destroying him."
At least i don't have the luxury of running into people I've dated like Stew does. I owe this to the fact that they don't live around here and the ones that do must never leave the house. But, mark my words, the next time I see the girl Stew dated before he met me sitting across from us at the bar (yes, it has happened), I am going to buy her a drink and invite her over to talk.
I'm not saying i wish ill will on many of my exes, I'm just saying that I like to know that I'm doing way better than they are. That I am happy and healthy (wow, I just totally mistyped "healthy" and put "lethal" instead and I am sure in some parts of the tri-state area and the Mid-West that whether i am healthy or lethal is probably being debated) and delieriously in love with a boy who worships me (read: puts up with me) and planning my wedding by the sea where the two of us fell in love almost two years after doing so. Too cute, I know!
So, during my lull of jury duty selection today something made me think of Jersey Boy which led to the nagging thought, "I wonder what that ass is up to. Did he sell his trailer like he talked about doing for more than a year but was reluctant to get off his fat ass and do it?"
Idle hands are the Devil's playground so I went to work.
I found his grandfather's obit which listed him as a survivor and HIS FIANCEE'. He's engaged. So, of course I had to whitepage his hass to see if he was still trailer dwelling and he is already married. Married! already. We broke up in the Summer of 2005. You mean to tell me you already courted, proposed and had a wedding already. Holy moses.
I told Stew. Stew told me I had to let it go. Stew doesn't get broads and their constant need to know that they are always doing 600 times better than their ex-boyfriends. I let it go. He is yesterday's news. I shake my head and physically cringe when I think about having dated him and that two-pack-a-day ashtray he called a mouth.
"That relationship was a springboard to marriage," Stew said.
God, doesn't that boy ever see the bad side of things? Everything is a ray of positivity and hope. The cloud is not only lined in silver but it's encrusted with diamonds. I often feel like when I do something productive he's going to award me with a "great job" puffy sticker from all the positive reinforcement he blows up my ass. I've tried to warn him.
So, of course, it is my job to bring him back down to Planet Depresso by explaining my theory that it was tehs tory of my dating career. Lisa meets boy. Boy dumps her. Boy marries the next girl he meets. I used to tell that to my boyfriends too, 'the next girl you will meet you will marry. I am sure of it.' Kinda like how I tell Stew his next wife will love cooking, won't conduct bathroom business with the door open and certainly will not pass gas that Stew describes as "destroying him."
At least i don't have the luxury of running into people I've dated like Stew does. I owe this to the fact that they don't live around here and the ones that do must never leave the house. But, mark my words, the next time I see the girl Stew dated before he met me sitting across from us at the bar (yes, it has happened), I am going to buy her a drink and invite her over to talk.
Friday, April 06, 2007
I'm going to hell and picking steak out of my teeth the whole way down
The wait at Outback on a Friday is hell. It could be hours before your ass sees a seat and at least another hour or so before it sees the calories from the victorian horseradish encrusted fillet you are about to inhale. I've spent more Friday nights waiting for my Matey beeper to vibrate and blink than I care to admit. That is how stew and I started Pagan Good Friday fests. Any good Catholic knows that Good Friday means no meat. I haven't observed this since moving out from under my parent's roof and partaking in a meatlovers pizza party one Good Friday many moons ago.
And now that Stew and I have been officially labeled Heathens by our families for our refusal to get married in a church, we rightfully eat meat on good Friday and love every chewy, bloody bite of it. Every year we pick a new House of Meat Worship that is usually swamped on a friday night and we just show up during prime eating time. Sometimes we have to wait because other heathens and Jewish people have to eat too but usually the wait is no longer than 20 minutes. No beeper necessary. We're the epitome of "no rules" so bring on the meat.
Right now, as I am writing this at 2 p.m. on Good Friday, I am taking breaks to bite into my roast beef sammich.
FEARLESS.
However, they did screw it up and leave off the pickled ginger and the wasabi mayo that i was the ONLY reason I got this stupid sandwich and paid $2 extra for double meat.
So, tonight is pagan meat fest and then Sunday we'll please the families by donning pretty Easter bonnets and giving each other baskets full of stuff because after having a big meat meal, you know you want some candy. Of course Stew has a list full of things I require to be in my basket like a Just Hatched Peep and a Reese's peanutbutter egg. And, because i still have to keep up the illusion that I care about what I eat, Sugar Free Peeps (They are actually pretty good.) I also keep hinting (albeit not at all in a subtle manner) that I'm also expecting something i picked out in Tiffany a week ago. It's unlikely that it will be there so I have already braced for the sadness. Even more unlikely now that Stew got a speeding ticket on his way to work that is more than the item I want. So, when he is in Court fighting it, he should keep that in mind and write the check and put it in a blue box with a white ribbon.
And before you think I am mean. Okay, I am. But still. I got Stew a basket full of really cool stuff that he is not expecting and will really like. Now, I just have to wake up before him so I can hide it.
And now that Stew and I have been officially labeled Heathens by our families for our refusal to get married in a church, we rightfully eat meat on good Friday and love every chewy, bloody bite of it. Every year we pick a new House of Meat Worship that is usually swamped on a friday night and we just show up during prime eating time. Sometimes we have to wait because other heathens and Jewish people have to eat too but usually the wait is no longer than 20 minutes. No beeper necessary. We're the epitome of "no rules" so bring on the meat.
Right now, as I am writing this at 2 p.m. on Good Friday, I am taking breaks to bite into my roast beef sammich.
FEARLESS.
However, they did screw it up and leave off the pickled ginger and the wasabi mayo that i was the ONLY reason I got this stupid sandwich and paid $2 extra for double meat.
So, tonight is pagan meat fest and then Sunday we'll please the families by donning pretty Easter bonnets and giving each other baskets full of stuff because after having a big meat meal, you know you want some candy. Of course Stew has a list full of things I require to be in my basket like a Just Hatched Peep and a Reese's peanutbutter egg. And, because i still have to keep up the illusion that I care about what I eat, Sugar Free Peeps (They are actually pretty good.) I also keep hinting (albeit not at all in a subtle manner) that I'm also expecting something i picked out in Tiffany a week ago. It's unlikely that it will be there so I have already braced for the sadness. Even more unlikely now that Stew got a speeding ticket on his way to work that is more than the item I want. So, when he is in Court fighting it, he should keep that in mind and write the check and put it in a blue box with a white ribbon.
And before you think I am mean. Okay, I am. But still. I got Stew a basket full of really cool stuff that he is not expecting and will really like. Now, I just have to wake up before him so I can hide it.
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
An open letter to someone who ruined my Friday
Dear Space non-Invader,
I like you . . . sometimes. I like that when i am in store at the register, your cart is not parked up my ass waiting for me to finish. I appreciate the freedom to be able to get back to the ATM and pay and not feel rushed. It warms my heart to know there are people out there who respect personal space. Please don't take what i am about to say next as an insult that infringes on your kind and generous etiquette, but really we need to come to a happy medium.
I was in Starbucks behind you. I can tell how perky and cute you are, even from behind. You waited patiently while the lady at the counter finished ordering her vanilla no fat double soy latte half dry extra hot. You didn't even bat an eye while I grew increasingly annoyed by her abuse of adjectives and disregard for my time. You see, it was Friday and it was time for my reward. After a long hard work week toiling away at a computer, I reward myself with a $4.86 cup of coffee. I do not need it, I simply want it and driving up High Ridge Road is a ritual to get it. For I know my reward is near and it's officially Friday.
But you, Missy. You! You were being your usual space non-invading self waiting patiently, not putting any pressure on Miss Soy whip to step on it and get her shit together and walk away. My problem with you is not that you were being patient and waiting your turn. Bless your little heart. That is actually a welcome pleasantry in this day and and age of grab, swipe and go. But you were standing so far away from Miss Soy Whip that I wasn't even sure you were in line or just hanging around looking blankly at the board. Like I said, a happy medium. There comes a time when some space is too much and you have to close the gap to avoid the cutters or the questions, "are you in line?" Because you know you are in line and you'll just want to sneer at the poor questioning soul and just say, "no, I just enjoy standing here." You are much too sweet for that no matter how much I think their question was totally warranted.
I used to be you. But now I am the anti-you because of what happened last week. Last week, i was in line at marshal's, which any bargain shopper knows is hell on earth no matter how many people they have working the registers. What good is having every cashier on when 99% of them have to stop what they are doing to get a price on something? And, as you know, most of the crap in Marshal's has no price.
Anyway, i was standing there with two pairs of pants that I wanted. It was my second attempt at buying the brown pair. The first time I tried to buy them, the line was too long and I had PMS. Not a good combination. This time I was determined and saw them still being there nearly two weeks later as a sign that they were meant to go home with me. I get in line and some little boy (whose mom was MIA) got in line behind me. I made the fatal mistake of making eye contact with him. He said, "Hi" and I said, "hello." The line moved amazingly slow like it usually does but I was in a good mood so I didn't mind. I had a $1 movie rental in my purse and new pants that looked great on me draped over my arm. I was at a fair distance behind another customer but apparently, not far enough. The boy started inching his way up, looking at the socks that were along side of me. I inched up. Any closer and the lady in front of me would have been buying my clothes. He inched up too, pretending to read the gift cards that were displayed on the register putting him right in front of me but not directly because I was still close behind. I figured once he was done, he would venture back to his place in line. But he did not. I contemplated saying something but the kid didn't look like he was playing with a full deck and I thought how it might look if i got into a fight with a kid who was not mentally all there ifyaknowwhatImean. The womyn in front of me (who he was now behind) made eye contact with him and he said, "Hi." She did not speak English so she just nodded and turned around. So that was his hook. I let him go because it wasn't worth a scene over but if his mom were there, I'd let her have it.
That is why I am not you anymore, Miss space non-invader. So, the next time you feel rushed at a register or feel the sharp, cold metal of a carriage grazing your ass, it's me. And I wouldn't turn around if I were you.
Dr. Horder
I like you . . . sometimes. I like that when i am in store at the register, your cart is not parked up my ass waiting for me to finish. I appreciate the freedom to be able to get back to the ATM and pay and not feel rushed. It warms my heart to know there are people out there who respect personal space. Please don't take what i am about to say next as an insult that infringes on your kind and generous etiquette, but really we need to come to a happy medium.
I was in Starbucks behind you. I can tell how perky and cute you are, even from behind. You waited patiently while the lady at the counter finished ordering her vanilla no fat double soy latte half dry extra hot. You didn't even bat an eye while I grew increasingly annoyed by her abuse of adjectives and disregard for my time. You see, it was Friday and it was time for my reward. After a long hard work week toiling away at a computer, I reward myself with a $4.86 cup of coffee. I do not need it, I simply want it and driving up High Ridge Road is a ritual to get it. For I know my reward is near and it's officially Friday.
But you, Missy. You! You were being your usual space non-invading self waiting patiently, not putting any pressure on Miss Soy whip to step on it and get her shit together and walk away. My problem with you is not that you were being patient and waiting your turn. Bless your little heart. That is actually a welcome pleasantry in this day and and age of grab, swipe and go. But you were standing so far away from Miss Soy Whip that I wasn't even sure you were in line or just hanging around looking blankly at the board. Like I said, a happy medium. There comes a time when some space is too much and you have to close the gap to avoid the cutters or the questions, "are you in line?" Because you know you are in line and you'll just want to sneer at the poor questioning soul and just say, "no, I just enjoy standing here." You are much too sweet for that no matter how much I think their question was totally warranted.
I used to be you. But now I am the anti-you because of what happened last week. Last week, i was in line at marshal's, which any bargain shopper knows is hell on earth no matter how many people they have working the registers. What good is having every cashier on when 99% of them have to stop what they are doing to get a price on something? And, as you know, most of the crap in Marshal's has no price.
Anyway, i was standing there with two pairs of pants that I wanted. It was my second attempt at buying the brown pair. The first time I tried to buy them, the line was too long and I had PMS. Not a good combination. This time I was determined and saw them still being there nearly two weeks later as a sign that they were meant to go home with me. I get in line and some little boy (whose mom was MIA) got in line behind me. I made the fatal mistake of making eye contact with him. He said, "Hi" and I said, "hello." The line moved amazingly slow like it usually does but I was in a good mood so I didn't mind. I had a $1 movie rental in my purse and new pants that looked great on me draped over my arm. I was at a fair distance behind another customer but apparently, not far enough. The boy started inching his way up, looking at the socks that were along side of me. I inched up. Any closer and the lady in front of me would have been buying my clothes. He inched up too, pretending to read the gift cards that were displayed on the register putting him right in front of me but not directly because I was still close behind. I figured once he was done, he would venture back to his place in line. But he did not. I contemplated saying something but the kid didn't look like he was playing with a full deck and I thought how it might look if i got into a fight with a kid who was not mentally all there ifyaknowwhatImean. The womyn in front of me (who he was now behind) made eye contact with him and he said, "Hi." She did not speak English so she just nodded and turned around. So that was his hook. I let him go because it wasn't worth a scene over but if his mom were there, I'd let her have it.
That is why I am not you anymore, Miss space non-invader. So, the next time you feel rushed at a register or feel the sharp, cold metal of a carriage grazing your ass, it's me. And I wouldn't turn around if I were you.
Dr. Horder
Monday, March 12, 2007
Stealing my wedding band
I wore my wedding band on Friday. Okay, so I totally cheated, shoot me. Stew said I shouldn't have it until I successfully make it down the aisle. He says it's my reward for going through with it. I say, "what is my reward for cooking dinner four nights out of the week, cleaning the bathrooms, picking up snotty tissues he leaves laying around and wiping pee of my seat. Not to mention sometimes having to actually put the seat down?" And he smiles, when I ask this and bats his eyes like that's my reward. Whatever skippy, I'm not that easy!
I'm only wearing it because my engagement ring is too lose and when my hands get cold (which every minute of every day) I am afraid it is going to fly off and take someone's eye out. and I am in the in the position (daily) where a hundred lawyers would descend upon the now eye-less person shoving their cards in his/her face. So,i wear my band as a guard of sorts which furthers my case that i need another one to wear behind it where a wedding band normally goes - closest to your heart.
The first couple of days I had such a gift in my presence I stared at it and was reminded that soon I would be married. I did the same with my engagement ring but now with T minus 127 days, the shock of that ring lost its luster. It reminds me that soon I will walk down the aisle in my pretty pretty dress I am unable to breathe to marry this messy boy who slowly but surely scooped up my heart like he was making a mud pie. Granted, i can barely remember to call him my fiancee, but does that matter? It also reminds me that dating life is well behind me and affords me the opportunity to look back on it with some perspective that i should have been using at the time.
i am pleased to report that i have successfully managed to block out all boyfriend except the last couple. This is not because they were so great that i could never forget them, but rather they are the freshest. I was unpleasantly reminded of Jersey Boy this past week when Stew told me my Yankee Candle addiction was teetering on the edge of needing rehab. Considering the case of gaming minis that arrive at our doorstep weekly, I'd say i am able to quit at any time but choose not to. He suggested buying candles from his friend who sells them and with a discount. I immediately boiled because during one of my last trips to Jersey, I spent $21.00 on some fruit punch candle from JB's friend and the following week we broke up. He claimed she was going to send me the candle but she never did. Not that I think Stew is going to break up with me, but it is the association I don't need if he wants to start this marriage off right. I warned him I held grudges and they don't even have to be against the person who fucked up.
Anyway, it got me thinking about Jersey Boy and how insane it was that i dated someone who not only lived in a trailer but had some of the trashiest friends I have ever seen. I used to tell JB all the time that we came from two different worlds, mine being Fairfield County and his being a place where it was okay for your home to have a title. Eventho I think sometimes Stew's friends and I are worlds apart, it's only because I don't take part in their favorite activity - boozing my face off. But all the common things are there like good jobs, the fact we'd rather have nicer things in life rather than a car stereo that could register as an earthquake. And camping is our idea of hell not fun.
I remembered one Jersey outing in particular. We were hanging out in his friend's backyard for something. Al their kids were running loose and one little girl was alone in the pool. She was the outcast child, mainly because she didn't belong to anyone there. It was JB's roommate's daughter and his roommate was MIA as usual and this little girl's stripper mom was MIA as well. The little girl was playing with dolls - a Ken and Barbie. She was making barbie slap Ken and demand money from him berating him that she knew he had it and he should give it to her and buy her things. One of JB's friends looked at her, looked at JB and said, "I see she is learning from her mama." Everyone laughed. Even more. But out of sheer embarrassment for this poor child who was really hell in two pink high-tops.
But looking back.
PHEW!
I'm only wearing it because my engagement ring is too lose and when my hands get cold (which every minute of every day) I am afraid it is going to fly off and take someone's eye out. and I am in the in the position (daily) where a hundred lawyers would descend upon the now eye-less person shoving their cards in his/her face. So,i wear my band as a guard of sorts which furthers my case that i need another one to wear behind it where a wedding band normally goes - closest to your heart.
The first couple of days I had such a gift in my presence I stared at it and was reminded that soon I would be married. I did the same with my engagement ring but now with T minus 127 days, the shock of that ring lost its luster. It reminds me that soon I will walk down the aisle in my pretty pretty dress I am unable to breathe to marry this messy boy who slowly but surely scooped up my heart like he was making a mud pie. Granted, i can barely remember to call him my fiancee, but does that matter? It also reminds me that dating life is well behind me and affords me the opportunity to look back on it with some perspective that i should have been using at the time.
i am pleased to report that i have successfully managed to block out all boyfriend except the last couple. This is not because they were so great that i could never forget them, but rather they are the freshest. I was unpleasantly reminded of Jersey Boy this past week when Stew told me my Yankee Candle addiction was teetering on the edge of needing rehab. Considering the case of gaming minis that arrive at our doorstep weekly, I'd say i am able to quit at any time but choose not to. He suggested buying candles from his friend who sells them and with a discount. I immediately boiled because during one of my last trips to Jersey, I spent $21.00 on some fruit punch candle from JB's friend and the following week we broke up. He claimed she was going to send me the candle but she never did. Not that I think Stew is going to break up with me, but it is the association I don't need if he wants to start this marriage off right. I warned him I held grudges and they don't even have to be against the person who fucked up.
Anyway, it got me thinking about Jersey Boy and how insane it was that i dated someone who not only lived in a trailer but had some of the trashiest friends I have ever seen. I used to tell JB all the time that we came from two different worlds, mine being Fairfield County and his being a place where it was okay for your home to have a title. Eventho I think sometimes Stew's friends and I are worlds apart, it's only because I don't take part in their favorite activity - boozing my face off. But all the common things are there like good jobs, the fact we'd rather have nicer things in life rather than a car stereo that could register as an earthquake. And camping is our idea of hell not fun.
I remembered one Jersey outing in particular. We were hanging out in his friend's backyard for something. Al their kids were running loose and one little girl was alone in the pool. She was the outcast child, mainly because she didn't belong to anyone there. It was JB's roommate's daughter and his roommate was MIA as usual and this little girl's stripper mom was MIA as well. The little girl was playing with dolls - a Ken and Barbie. She was making barbie slap Ken and demand money from him berating him that she knew he had it and he should give it to her and buy her things. One of JB's friends looked at her, looked at JB and said, "I see she is learning from her mama." Everyone laughed. Even more. But out of sheer embarrassment for this poor child who was really hell in two pink high-tops.
But looking back.
PHEW!
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Ninja of the nasty and a pregnant Suri Cruise
Stew is nasty. can I just say that?
Nasty. Nasty. Nasty. Nasty.
I was showering yesterday afternoon when I came home from work. I like to do this because for some reason the AC is on the in the court room all day and I am frozen solid when I come home. Despite having on a turtleneck and very thick cardigan. So, I take a really hot shower. REALLY hot. So, i am showering away and Stew comes home. I am cut off from him all day so I get excited when he comes home because I can tell him all the craziness I saw that day. After a few attempts at yelling from a shower down the stairs, he came upstairs and into the bathroom. We chatted for a bit and then he walked out. That is when the smell hit me.
"OH MY GOD!!!!!' i screamed. "Did you fart in here?"
He came in to investigate and immediately let out an "oof, I'm sorry that is bad."
It was like the fan pulled it up from the depths of his bowels and then was blowing the rank down onto me in the shower. I was trapped. With my legs coated in shave gel - trapped.
I called him every name in the book including Hitler because I literally felt like I was in a gas chamber clawing at the walls to free myself. It was terrible.
so, where does Suri Cruise fit into this?
Well, nowhere really. A few nights ago I had this crazy dream that Suri Cruise was being bred. She was a year old and was preggers for the seond time. As if a pregnant 1 year-old was not a disturbing visual in itself, for some reason she lived under my desk at work and it was my responsibility to lead care for her during her pregnancy. I kept forgetting to feed her and she was in so much pain with her distended belly. We had to be so careful with her too. careful not to apply any pressure whatsoever to her protuding belly.
No wonder i couldn't sleep.
Nasty. Nasty. Nasty. Nasty.
I was showering yesterday afternoon when I came home from work. I like to do this because for some reason the AC is on the in the court room all day and I am frozen solid when I come home. Despite having on a turtleneck and very thick cardigan. So, I take a really hot shower. REALLY hot. So, i am showering away and Stew comes home. I am cut off from him all day so I get excited when he comes home because I can tell him all the craziness I saw that day. After a few attempts at yelling from a shower down the stairs, he came upstairs and into the bathroom. We chatted for a bit and then he walked out. That is when the smell hit me.
"OH MY GOD!!!!!' i screamed. "Did you fart in here?"
He came in to investigate and immediately let out an "oof, I'm sorry that is bad."
It was like the fan pulled it up from the depths of his bowels and then was blowing the rank down onto me in the shower. I was trapped. With my legs coated in shave gel - trapped.
I called him every name in the book including Hitler because I literally felt like I was in a gas chamber clawing at the walls to free myself. It was terrible.
so, where does Suri Cruise fit into this?
Well, nowhere really. A few nights ago I had this crazy dream that Suri Cruise was being bred. She was a year old and was preggers for the seond time. As if a pregnant 1 year-old was not a disturbing visual in itself, for some reason she lived under my desk at work and it was my responsibility to lead care for her during her pregnancy. I kept forgetting to feed her and she was in so much pain with her distended belly. We had to be so careful with her too. careful not to apply any pressure whatsoever to her protuding belly.
No wonder i couldn't sleep.
Monday, February 05, 2007
Super Stench Sunday
Superbowl Sunday is always a bittersweet day in our house. It is always just plain happy for me because football finally ends and I can stop planning our weekends pretending Sundays don't exist because stew MUST watch football. For Stew, it is the day he waits for all year. An entire day of gut gluttony spanning the alphabet of debauchery from beer to towering nachos. He usually gets together with his guy friends and they hole themselves up like some "no girls allowed" clubhouse in one of their apartments with a gigantic TV and half a supermarket worth of of food. I don't hear from him for hours and I always feel guilty if I have to call and interrupt "guy-time" so I make sure I only call for extreme emergencies or computer disasters.
However, this year, because Stew's friends are all growing up and getting married, the event failed to become an all-guys event. For the first time in their Superbowl history, girlfriends and girls were allowed to infiltrate the clubhouse. I was actually a little bummed. I start work soon so I was looking forward to basking in the final few moments of time to myself. But, I was torn because Stew was gone all of Saturday visiting friends in Massachusetts so we didn't have much time together this weekend at all. I figured we would take two cars and that would free me up to leave whenever when I had my fill of food.
By halftime, you could tell the few guys that made it to the party this year (which wasn't many compared to previous years) were sorry they let girls share their day when they were outvoted on Prince's halftime show. I left around 8:40 so I could get home and watch the Surreal Life Fame Games which ended up not being on anyway. So, really, I came home for nothing except . . . .
Except buying myself some time away from the noxious fumes that would emanate from Stew's ass the second he walked in. I should have been more prepared. I should have started burning Yankee candles the second I walked in. I should have strung matches about the room and began burning them so that the sulfur would cancel out any of the choking gas he expelled post Lard Fest.
I just should have known.
Last year, Stew came home. I was already reading in bed and he slithered in next to me. I put my book away and went in to steal his warmth. One thing led to another (what can I say, living together was still pretty new) and we started fooling around until I smelled a SBD toot he must have let sneak out. It hung there in the air like a thick shield of just plain nasty. I turned away in disgust and began choking on my own breath trying not to open my mouth for fear the stench will get in my throat. I don't use the word horrendous often because it is a powerful word only used to describe the ugliest of misadventures. However, I will say it in this case, it was HORRENDOUS.
This year, he tried to take all kinds of precautions by planting himself on the couch behind me which is clear across the room. As thick as that gas was, it wasn't going to be drifting my way anytime soon. He also warned me if he saw me coming too close like a fart alarm, "Stay back, Lulu. You don't want to come over here now." And when I did make an attempt to join him, my weight on the cushion pushed out a cloud of rank like seconds for me to enjoy.
I should have made him sleep on the couch but against my better judgement, I let him share the room with me. Before he fell asleep and couldn't control it, he would get up when he knew one was coming and leave the room. Sometimes, it followed him in like an aura of rot.
He started to drift to sleep and I knew I was DOOMED. Once he relaxed so would his sphincter muscles and and it would become a no holds barred Fume Fest in my bedroom . . . . where I sleep. God help me. He woke himself up once and jolted out of the room.
"Turn around 10 times to shake the stank off before you come back," I screamed and continued reading.
A few seconds later I heard what sounded like bare feet turning around several times on a wood floor and I thought, "Is he really turning? I was just kidding. That doesn't even sound like logical advice." I laughed at the thought and then said to myself, "No way."
"Wow, I'm dizzy," I hear from the other room.
Hahahahaha. I laughed and laugh and laughed.
"You actually spun around 10 times?" I asked.
"Yeah," he said emerging into the room while holding his head. "It sounded like good advice."
The scary thing is, it was. Not so much as a dull whiff followed him in. I was suffering after he went to sleep tho'. I actually thought about sleeping on the couch.
Next year. I will be ready.
However, this year, because Stew's friends are all growing up and getting married, the event failed to become an all-guys event. For the first time in their Superbowl history, girlfriends and girls were allowed to infiltrate the clubhouse. I was actually a little bummed. I start work soon so I was looking forward to basking in the final few moments of time to myself. But, I was torn because Stew was gone all of Saturday visiting friends in Massachusetts so we didn't have much time together this weekend at all. I figured we would take two cars and that would free me up to leave whenever when I had my fill of food.
By halftime, you could tell the few guys that made it to the party this year (which wasn't many compared to previous years) were sorry they let girls share their day when they were outvoted on Prince's halftime show. I left around 8:40 so I could get home and watch the Surreal Life Fame Games which ended up not being on anyway. So, really, I came home for nothing except . . . .
Except buying myself some time away from the noxious fumes that would emanate from Stew's ass the second he walked in. I should have been more prepared. I should have started burning Yankee candles the second I walked in. I should have strung matches about the room and began burning them so that the sulfur would cancel out any of the choking gas he expelled post Lard Fest.
I just should have known.
Last year, Stew came home. I was already reading in bed and he slithered in next to me. I put my book away and went in to steal his warmth. One thing led to another (what can I say, living together was still pretty new) and we started fooling around until I smelled a SBD toot he must have let sneak out. It hung there in the air like a thick shield of just plain nasty. I turned away in disgust and began choking on my own breath trying not to open my mouth for fear the stench will get in my throat. I don't use the word horrendous often because it is a powerful word only used to describe the ugliest of misadventures. However, I will say it in this case, it was HORRENDOUS.
This year, he tried to take all kinds of precautions by planting himself on the couch behind me which is clear across the room. As thick as that gas was, it wasn't going to be drifting my way anytime soon. He also warned me if he saw me coming too close like a fart alarm, "Stay back, Lulu. You don't want to come over here now." And when I did make an attempt to join him, my weight on the cushion pushed out a cloud of rank like seconds for me to enjoy.
I should have made him sleep on the couch but against my better judgement, I let him share the room with me. Before he fell asleep and couldn't control it, he would get up when he knew one was coming and leave the room. Sometimes, it followed him in like an aura of rot.
He started to drift to sleep and I knew I was DOOMED. Once he relaxed so would his sphincter muscles and and it would become a no holds barred Fume Fest in my bedroom . . . . where I sleep. God help me. He woke himself up once and jolted out of the room.
"Turn around 10 times to shake the stank off before you come back," I screamed and continued reading.
A few seconds later I heard what sounded like bare feet turning around several times on a wood floor and I thought, "Is he really turning? I was just kidding. That doesn't even sound like logical advice." I laughed at the thought and then said to myself, "No way."
"Wow, I'm dizzy," I hear from the other room.
Hahahahaha. I laughed and laugh and laughed.
"You actually spun around 10 times?" I asked.
"Yeah," he said emerging into the room while holding his head. "It sounded like good advice."
The scary thing is, it was. Not so much as a dull whiff followed him in. I was suffering after he went to sleep tho'. I actually thought about sleeping on the couch.
Next year. I will be ready.
Thursday, January 25, 2007
Oh crystal ball, tell me what is in store for me
Note: I started writing this yesterday and posted it today. I meant to do it last night but when I came home I was STARVING so we had to go eat our weight in 20 cent wings and then I just plain forgot to update it.
So, today I have a second interview at the dental office which just about sent my fingerprints to the lab to see if i came up with any homicide matches. Yes, a second interview. Let me reiterate. A SECOND interview for a receptionist job. Oh, and I found out today they have been calling around for my references. Nothing like doing that 14 days later!
So, I think they are hauling me back in today to meet with the doctors. I am making a prediction now and then I will put this aside and tell you if I was right.
I am going to spend another two hours in there while I wait 10 minutes to meet with each doctor for two minutes and I have to answer the same questions over and over again.
Let's go see if i am right.
I was totally right. I was there for 90 minutes and met with two doctors and the coordinator (who I waited 20 minutes for). They offered me the job but not before trying to shake my confidence with shady head games and everyone knows how much I LOVE that. So, now I have some thinking to do.
So, today I have a second interview at the dental office which just about sent my fingerprints to the lab to see if i came up with any homicide matches. Yes, a second interview. Let me reiterate. A SECOND interview for a receptionist job. Oh, and I found out today they have been calling around for my references. Nothing like doing that 14 days later!
So, I think they are hauling me back in today to meet with the doctors. I am making a prediction now and then I will put this aside and tell you if I was right.
I am going to spend another two hours in there while I wait 10 minutes to meet with each doctor for two minutes and I have to answer the same questions over and over again.
Let's go see if i am right.
I was totally right. I was there for 90 minutes and met with two doctors and the coordinator (who I waited 20 minutes for). They offered me the job but not before trying to shake my confidence with shady head games and everyone knows how much I LOVE that. So, now I have some thinking to do.
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Dush Dush in the bush
I did a focus group.
Everyone who knows me knows I make my unemployed living off focus groups. I am not even picky in times like this. I suppose that is how I ended up doing one on douche and feminine wash yesterday. Yes, you heard me. DOUCHE. As in the feminine version of the Stick-Up. As in my favorite term to call people - douchebag.
The group consisted of seven girls. That is seven vaginas and seven mouths who have a lot to say about their vaginas. However, five people of those seven insisted on pronouncing "douche" as "dush". For a while I thought I was in the wrong group. I thought they were saying "dish" and actually wondered, "what is this dish they are talking about? Satellite TV? I am here to talk about my vagina. Maybe it's a new term or some new product like that menstrual cup thing." Yeah, i was obviously up at 5 a.m. for that to even make a lick of sense to me.
Anyway, there was one girl in the group who thought her vagina was above all other vaginas when anyone referred to a feminine problem like too much wetness or a strange odor.
"Well, then you have to go see a doctor" she would say.
Maybe the person did have to go see a doctor but every female has an odor and it sure as shit ain't roses! In my house we call it "Stanky Pachang" or "Smelly Fish Butt." But apparently, Fresh Snatch over there thinks her vagina is supreme. Maybe it is. But she didn't look like she was doing anything with her vagina that led me to believe she was clean as a whistle "down there." I'm not saying this to be mean but when we went around the room introducing ourselves she did say she lived with her three kids and her mother. There was no mention of a husband/boyfriend/babydaddy. However she did go on about spermicide and that being the reason she doesn't dush after sex. She is afraid the dush will clear out the spermicide and enable her to get knocked up . . . again. Do you see what kind of ignorance I am up against?
Despite the fact that the only reason I was there was to extol the virtues of douching and feminine wash, I felt the need to remind everyone that "dushing too much is bad for you." I am such a rebel rouser. Seriously, my gyno told me years ago that douching will wreak havoc on the Ph balance of your vergander and cause all sorts of infections. I said this, making the comparison of protective bacteria to nosehair.
The moderator had her work cut out for her getting us back on track after such tangents about dushing myths. The purpose of the group was to get dushers to use feminine wash instead and she was there to show us an array of feminine wash. Fresh Snatch of course claimed to use feminine wash everyday. What the moderator wasn't getting was that douching and using a feminine wash had two different purposes. One was an internal flush and one was . . . well . . a WASH.
However, I did hear some words unknown to the English language that I wish I wrote down.
Cleansier - I suppose she meant cleaner but who knows.
Vaginal - which is a word but ceases being one when pronounced Vah-jy-nal.
Moistier - Heck?
Translute - As in "I like the bottle that is translute because I can see what color the wash is."
And yet, I was the only one at the table without a job.
Amusing. I type these missives in gmail so I can save them, catalog them and revise them as needed. My sponsored links are: Douchebag t-shirts, Dr. Laura and John Kerry. Random. Apparently Gmail likes to think that democrats are douchebags.
Everyone who knows me knows I make my unemployed living off focus groups. I am not even picky in times like this. I suppose that is how I ended up doing one on douche and feminine wash yesterday. Yes, you heard me. DOUCHE. As in the feminine version of the Stick-Up. As in my favorite term to call people - douchebag.
The group consisted of seven girls. That is seven vaginas and seven mouths who have a lot to say about their vaginas. However, five people of those seven insisted on pronouncing "douche" as "dush". For a while I thought I was in the wrong group. I thought they were saying "dish" and actually wondered, "what is this dish they are talking about? Satellite TV? I am here to talk about my vagina. Maybe it's a new term or some new product like that menstrual cup thing." Yeah, i was obviously up at 5 a.m. for that to even make a lick of sense to me.
Anyway, there was one girl in the group who thought her vagina was above all other vaginas when anyone referred to a feminine problem like too much wetness or a strange odor.
"Well, then you have to go see a doctor" she would say.
Maybe the person did have to go see a doctor but every female has an odor and it sure as shit ain't roses! In my house we call it "Stanky Pachang" or "Smelly Fish Butt." But apparently, Fresh Snatch over there thinks her vagina is supreme. Maybe it is. But she didn't look like she was doing anything with her vagina that led me to believe she was clean as a whistle "down there." I'm not saying this to be mean but when we went around the room introducing ourselves she did say she lived with her three kids and her mother. There was no mention of a husband/boyfriend/babydaddy. However she did go on about spermicide and that being the reason she doesn't dush after sex. She is afraid the dush will clear out the spermicide and enable her to get knocked up . . . again. Do you see what kind of ignorance I am up against?
Despite the fact that the only reason I was there was to extol the virtues of douching and feminine wash, I felt the need to remind everyone that "dushing too much is bad for you." I am such a rebel rouser. Seriously, my gyno told me years ago that douching will wreak havoc on the Ph balance of your vergander and cause all sorts of infections. I said this, making the comparison of protective bacteria to nosehair.
The moderator had her work cut out for her getting us back on track after such tangents about dushing myths. The purpose of the group was to get dushers to use feminine wash instead and she was there to show us an array of feminine wash. Fresh Snatch of course claimed to use feminine wash everyday. What the moderator wasn't getting was that douching and using a feminine wash had two different purposes. One was an internal flush and one was . . . well . . a WASH.
However, I did hear some words unknown to the English language that I wish I wrote down.
Cleansier - I suppose she meant cleaner but who knows.
Vaginal - which is a word but ceases being one when pronounced Vah-jy-nal.
Moistier - Heck?
Translute - As in "I like the bottle that is translute because I can see what color the wash is."
And yet, I was the only one at the table without a job.
Amusing. I type these missives in gmail so I can save them, catalog them and revise them as needed. My sponsored links are: Douchebag t-shirts, Dr. Laura and John Kerry. Random. Apparently Gmail likes to think that democrats are douchebags.
Thursday, January 11, 2007
"What do you hope to get out of this job?"
Ok, now I have seen it all.
Since being unemployed I have only been able to score a handful of interviews. Five to be exact unless I am missing one which is entirely possible.
Yesterday's interview took the cake. It was a receptionist job. I know what you're all thinking. "Receptionist job, Lisa? I mean, really." The fact of the matter is admin and receptionist jobs are the only jobs currently out there not to mention the only jobs willing to call me back because my resume is so "diverse". I had so many different jobs. It's all over the board, sales, marketing, research, journalism, customer service. One thing is for sure, I certainly dabbled.
So, this particular interview was at a dental practice. I thought my dentist's office was a nice comfortable place to go but this place has it beat. There is a masseuse in the waiting room and ladies can have paraffin waxes while they wait too. There is a fridge stocked with water, a babysitting service and they even give you lipgloss on your way out if your lips took a beating from keeping your mouth open all that time. Swanky.
I walk in and I am all ready for my interview. I have my resume in hand, recommendation letters and references attached and I am red to go. The receptionist handed me an application. An application. What is up with companies still making you fill out applications like a freaking mall job. List your jobs. Your education. Seriously. It is absurd but I'll play along. This is the second time I witnessed this insanity. Finally, I grew tired of repeating myself and just clipped my resume to the application. I flipped through to make sure I got everything and that is when I saw it.
Page 3.
Page 3 of the application was a graphology test. For those of you who didn't work in the autograph biz or don't know anyone in the FBI or CIA, a graphology test is a handwriting analysis test that can determine your personality by your handwriting. And you sillies thought it had something to do with your zodiac sign. Hah! Theses particular questions focused on your past job. I guess that was an added security measure to see if you were lying. Sometimes, they can tell if you are lying by how small or tight you make your letters. Well, wouldn't you know, i was ready to run. I completely forgot how to write cursive. I haven;t done it in so long that almost every letter escaped me. They also requested you not use lined paper but the page happened to be laying right over a lined page so it was impossible not to. Visually, the line was there. My writing will probably deem me a serial killer. But careful, I might be lying that I indeed do know how to answer the phone.
However, I was somewhat prepared for the interview that would follow. When the guy called to pre-screen me he asked what i consider a silly question that makes me want to scream "Duhhhhhh" followed by an air horn. I get it a lot because the jobs I am applying for are not anywhere near what my experience is in. I guess it is valid from their point of view. They want to make sure they aren't going to take the time to train me and I am out the door when something better comes along. But really, in this job market, you should be grateful you have people with half a brain applying for these gigs.
The question: "What do you hope to get out of this job?"
Well, let's see, it's a receptionist job. I'm not quite sure anyone actually seeks these types of jobs and surely you don't want to hear me say "um, a paycheck and some benefits" so what else can I say? I give the standby. I am looking for stability. A job that i don't have to worry how the market is going to affect it because everyone has teeth!
The guys asked me this on the phone and again when he was meeting with me. Honestly, I am sick and tired of this question. I mean anyone who reads a newspaper knows that the job market is not great. Why else would you be getting people who have accounting backgrounds or marketing backgrounds applying for admin jobs. HELLOOOOO!!!!! Ace!
Anyway, I was there for almost 2 hours. I met with the employee coordinator, some chick who i am not sure what her role is and the doctor who owns the joint. They mentioned me coming back for a second interview. I wanted to say, "um, are you hiring me as a dentist because I didn't have two interviews for most jobs I had that didn't require just picking up your phone."
My favorite was that he grilled me on my Excel knowledge and then when I asked if it was software they used, he said no. WTF?
Since being unemployed I have only been able to score a handful of interviews. Five to be exact unless I am missing one which is entirely possible.
Yesterday's interview took the cake. It was a receptionist job. I know what you're all thinking. "Receptionist job, Lisa? I mean, really." The fact of the matter is admin and receptionist jobs are the only jobs currently out there not to mention the only jobs willing to call me back because my resume is so "diverse". I had so many different jobs. It's all over the board, sales, marketing, research, journalism, customer service. One thing is for sure, I certainly dabbled.
So, this particular interview was at a dental practice. I thought my dentist's office was a nice comfortable place to go but this place has it beat. There is a masseuse in the waiting room and ladies can have paraffin waxes while they wait too. There is a fridge stocked with water, a babysitting service and they even give you lipgloss on your way out if your lips took a beating from keeping your mouth open all that time. Swanky.
I walk in and I am all ready for my interview. I have my resume in hand, recommendation letters and references attached and I am red to go. The receptionist handed me an application. An application. What is up with companies still making you fill out applications like a freaking mall job. List your jobs. Your education. Seriously. It is absurd but I'll play along. This is the second time I witnessed this insanity. Finally, I grew tired of repeating myself and just clipped my resume to the application. I flipped through to make sure I got everything and that is when I saw it.
Page 3.
Page 3 of the application was a graphology test. For those of you who didn't work in the autograph biz or don't know anyone in the FBI or CIA, a graphology test is a handwriting analysis test that can determine your personality by your handwriting. And you sillies thought it had something to do with your zodiac sign. Hah! Theses particular questions focused on your past job. I guess that was an added security measure to see if you were lying. Sometimes, they can tell if you are lying by how small or tight you make your letters. Well, wouldn't you know, i was ready to run. I completely forgot how to write cursive. I haven;t done it in so long that almost every letter escaped me. They also requested you not use lined paper but the page happened to be laying right over a lined page so it was impossible not to. Visually, the line was there. My writing will probably deem me a serial killer. But careful, I might be lying that I indeed do know how to answer the phone.
However, I was somewhat prepared for the interview that would follow. When the guy called to pre-screen me he asked what i consider a silly question that makes me want to scream "Duhhhhhh" followed by an air horn. I get it a lot because the jobs I am applying for are not anywhere near what my experience is in. I guess it is valid from their point of view. They want to make sure they aren't going to take the time to train me and I am out the door when something better comes along. But really, in this job market, you should be grateful you have people with half a brain applying for these gigs.
The question: "What do you hope to get out of this job?"
Well, let's see, it's a receptionist job. I'm not quite sure anyone actually seeks these types of jobs and surely you don't want to hear me say "um, a paycheck and some benefits" so what else can I say? I give the standby. I am looking for stability. A job that i don't have to worry how the market is going to affect it because everyone has teeth!
The guys asked me this on the phone and again when he was meeting with me. Honestly, I am sick and tired of this question. I mean anyone who reads a newspaper knows that the job market is not great. Why else would you be getting people who have accounting backgrounds or marketing backgrounds applying for admin jobs. HELLOOOOO!!!!! Ace!
Anyway, I was there for almost 2 hours. I met with the employee coordinator, some chick who i am not sure what her role is and the doctor who owns the joint. They mentioned me coming back for a second interview. I wanted to say, "um, are you hiring me as a dentist because I didn't have two interviews for most jobs I had that didn't require just picking up your phone."
My favorite was that he grilled me on my Excel knowledge and then when I asked if it was software they used, he said no. WTF?
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
Sim-ply Addicted
I blame Stew.
If Stew hadn't been so supportive of me playing video games while I'm unemployed there is no way I would have been persuaded to buy Sims 2. I knew how lethal The Sims were. I prcatically had to break the game CD to stop playing. Well, actually, all i had to do was to break up with the boy who I was borrowing it from prompting me to have to return it. Still, do you see the lengths I went to to rid myself of the evil that was The Sims?
All that.
And what does Stew do?
"I'll buy it for you if you really want it. I want you to be entertained."
Ohhhhhh, noooooo, Stewwwwwww! Why didn't he just hand me the belt and needle? Heck, why he's at it, give the vein a few good pats to get it to show its face. Its ugly ugly pixelated face.
"No," I said. "If I want it, I'll buy it."
I couldn't let Stew buy me the eqivalent of crack. Granted, I let him buy me Cold Stone ice cream and S'mores fondue and that might be considered my own personal crack, but The Sims was a whole different drug. I made it look like a decision I was struggling with. I even said a few times out loud, "I don't know. I may get addicted." I was hoping Stew would tackle me to the floor and rip it out of my hands and drag me out of the store. Alas, he didn't. He stood there thinking where we should go to dinner and why the hell is it taking me so long to buy a stupid game.
"Wait," Stew said, "You should buy this. It has The Sims 2 and the Holiday Stuff expansion pack. Why would anyone buy them separate when they are both here for only $10 more. Stupid."
Oh my god. Not just crack, holiday crack. I skipped to the register. I didn't want dinner, I wanted to go home and start installing.
It did not take long for me to rediscover why i have a love/hate relationship with The Sims. The Sims are very time consuming and like pets they must be trained when to eat, sleep, bathe and go to work. Being unemployed and playing Sims while polishing off a pot of coffee doesn't exactly give me the right to start running other people's lives. But, hell if i tried.
Sims 2 is like 900 times better than Sims. It is much more advanced and your characters eventually learn when to pee, poop, eat, go to work or bathe. Altho' sometimes when one of my Sim hears the horn for her job, she immediately runs to the living room to watch TV. That would be my favorite Sim, Stony Burner. More on Stony later. The new sims even get fat, lose weight and have sex. They also have aspiration meters so you can start your Sim off with high ror low aspirations from birth. But they whine a lot when they don't reach their goals.
So, i am addicted and what does Stew go ahead and do?
He buys me more exansion packs for Christmas. I got Sims University where i can send them to college and make them join fraternities or sororities. Sims Open for business which is a really involved game about having your Sims starts businesses and buld empires. And, Sims Glamour Life where I can buy them more expensive funky stuff.
I'm in Sims Hell.
If Stew hadn't been so supportive of me playing video games while I'm unemployed there is no way I would have been persuaded to buy Sims 2. I knew how lethal The Sims were. I prcatically had to break the game CD to stop playing. Well, actually, all i had to do was to break up with the boy who I was borrowing it from prompting me to have to return it. Still, do you see the lengths I went to to rid myself of the evil that was The Sims?
All that.
And what does Stew do?
"I'll buy it for you if you really want it. I want you to be entertained."
Ohhhhhh, noooooo, Stewwwwwww! Why didn't he just hand me the belt and needle? Heck, why he's at it, give the vein a few good pats to get it to show its face. Its ugly ugly pixelated face.
"No," I said. "If I want it, I'll buy it."
I couldn't let Stew buy me the eqivalent of crack. Granted, I let him buy me Cold Stone ice cream and S'mores fondue and that might be considered my own personal crack, but The Sims was a whole different drug. I made it look like a decision I was struggling with. I even said a few times out loud, "I don't know. I may get addicted." I was hoping Stew would tackle me to the floor and rip it out of my hands and drag me out of the store. Alas, he didn't. He stood there thinking where we should go to dinner and why the hell is it taking me so long to buy a stupid game.
"Wait," Stew said, "You should buy this. It has The Sims 2 and the Holiday Stuff expansion pack. Why would anyone buy them separate when they are both here for only $10 more. Stupid."
Oh my god. Not just crack, holiday crack. I skipped to the register. I didn't want dinner, I wanted to go home and start installing.
It did not take long for me to rediscover why i have a love/hate relationship with The Sims. The Sims are very time consuming and like pets they must be trained when to eat, sleep, bathe and go to work. Being unemployed and playing Sims while polishing off a pot of coffee doesn't exactly give me the right to start running other people's lives. But, hell if i tried.
Sims 2 is like 900 times better than Sims. It is much more advanced and your characters eventually learn when to pee, poop, eat, go to work or bathe. Altho' sometimes when one of my Sim hears the horn for her job, she immediately runs to the living room to watch TV. That would be my favorite Sim, Stony Burner. More on Stony later. The new sims even get fat, lose weight and have sex. They also have aspiration meters so you can start your Sim off with high ror low aspirations from birth. But they whine a lot when they don't reach their goals.
So, i am addicted and what does Stew go ahead and do?
He buys me more exansion packs for Christmas. I got Sims University where i can send them to college and make them join fraternities or sororities. Sims Open for business which is a really involved game about having your Sims starts businesses and buld empires. And, Sims Glamour Life where I can buy them more expensive funky stuff.
I'm in Sims Hell.
Friday, January 05, 2007
Happy New year
Happy 2007!
I know. I have been slacking. I promise to be better. That is my New Year's resolution. With my nephews off from school this past week and holiday stuff I barely had a moment to myself. And yesterday was a great start to 2007. My crawlspace received a nice healthy dose of water. Stew was going down there anyway to retrieve the Christmas bins so I could undecorate. His, "uh oh Lulu, we got some water down here" started a 12-hour project that included a shop-vac, trips to Goodwill to unload some junk and Target to get bins for more junk and no rest for the wicked. Tonight, after the floor dries, we're planning on putting the rest of the bins down there so my dining room looks less like a storage facility and more like a place we would eat if it had a TV. We lead such an exciting life.
Christmas was fun. Stew and I cheated by opening up a few presents early because we couldn't contain ourselves. Plus, I wanted to wear the jammies i knew were under the tree when I woke up Christmas morning. The only way to do that was to open them Saturday night. Stew got me a whole bunch of Sims 2 expansion packs and I am so addicted that my digital exploits deserve a blog of their own. The Chronicles of Stony Burner and her father, Rad Burner.
Some highlights of my days since I last wrote:
1.) well, Stew unveiled that surprise he has been holding over my head for months now. Christmas night, I was presented with a red bag. Inside the red bag were two envelopes and a wrapped cd. Envelope #1 contained a menu to a restaurant called The View. It had the same logo as the show so I was shocked that stew would give me tickets to see The View. But the logo just happened to be a coincidence. The View is a restaurant in the Marriott hotel in Times Square that spins and overlooks Times Square. The second envelope contained tickets to see Avenue Q. Yay! Dirty puppets. The cd was the soundtrack so we could hear what we were getting ourselves into. The city was a bit crazed but the evening was really fun and nice. I will post pics to my smugmug page soon.
2.) I think I found my invitations. After spending a few hours looking through books with my mom, I finally found something I like online. My mom is against ordering them online eventho they cost way less because there is not store overhead so she insisted we go to a stationery story. It's her dime so fine with me. This store carried the line of invites but did not have the book that contained the sample of the invite. But, they got it in for me within a few days. Just to show you what a rip off everything wedding is. I found the invites online for $189 per 150. That is just the invites, don't even get started on envelopes, response cards, reception cards and placecards. At the store they want $189 per 100. Uhhhhh.... I'm going to mention this to them when I go to order them and I may have to add a few things in like a design on the placecards in order to get a deal but I WILL get a deal.
3.) Unemployment offers training courses for computer programs like PowerPoint, Excel and Access. They are not super in-depth but if you have half a brain you can figure it out. So, I took a PP one because i see that one mentioned a lot. The first day I went the computers weren't working. It took the instructor an hour to get through one slide. I suggested she should reboot the computers but she looked at me like I had six heads. She was probably thinking, "I am the employed one here missy, if you knew anything you would have a job like me." So, after wasting a couple of hours just watching her, the two other ladies an I started a revolt and walked out. When we went back on Thursday the instructor said she rebooted the computers and they were working much better now.
4.) I gained 10 lbs over the holidays. Every year I do my indulgence routine where I avoid the scale for 10 - 12 days during the holidays and eat whatever I want. I have actually been doing this for a while (eating whatever i want). Anyway, in the 2.5 weeks or so of debauchery and scale avoidance, I gained 10 lbs. That is almost a size so believe me, I feel it in my clothes. Lucky for me, once I get my sorry ass back on track, I can lose it almost as fast as I gained it. I already lost 3 since Wednesday. I'll lose it all just in time for PMS week to start when I live on chocolate, salad and carbs. But, with only 195 more days until I have to fit into my dress, I better swap out the carbs and chocolate for more salads and lean meats.
Back to my Sims
I know. I have been slacking. I promise to be better. That is my New Year's resolution. With my nephews off from school this past week and holiday stuff I barely had a moment to myself. And yesterday was a great start to 2007. My crawlspace received a nice healthy dose of water. Stew was going down there anyway to retrieve the Christmas bins so I could undecorate. His, "uh oh Lulu, we got some water down here" started a 12-hour project that included a shop-vac, trips to Goodwill to unload some junk and Target to get bins for more junk and no rest for the wicked. Tonight, after the floor dries, we're planning on putting the rest of the bins down there so my dining room looks less like a storage facility and more like a place we would eat if it had a TV. We lead such an exciting life.
Christmas was fun. Stew and I cheated by opening up a few presents early because we couldn't contain ourselves. Plus, I wanted to wear the jammies i knew were under the tree when I woke up Christmas morning. The only way to do that was to open them Saturday night. Stew got me a whole bunch of Sims 2 expansion packs and I am so addicted that my digital exploits deserve a blog of their own. The Chronicles of Stony Burner and her father, Rad Burner.
Some highlights of my days since I last wrote:
1.) well, Stew unveiled that surprise he has been holding over my head for months now. Christmas night, I was presented with a red bag. Inside the red bag were two envelopes and a wrapped cd. Envelope #1 contained a menu to a restaurant called The View. It had the same logo as the show so I was shocked that stew would give me tickets to see The View. But the logo just happened to be a coincidence. The View is a restaurant in the Marriott hotel in Times Square that spins and overlooks Times Square. The second envelope contained tickets to see Avenue Q. Yay! Dirty puppets. The cd was the soundtrack so we could hear what we were getting ourselves into. The city was a bit crazed but the evening was really fun and nice. I will post pics to my smugmug page soon.
2.) I think I found my invitations. After spending a few hours looking through books with my mom, I finally found something I like online. My mom is against ordering them online eventho they cost way less because there is not store overhead so she insisted we go to a stationery story. It's her dime so fine with me. This store carried the line of invites but did not have the book that contained the sample of the invite. But, they got it in for me within a few days. Just to show you what a rip off everything wedding is. I found the invites online for $189 per 150. That is just the invites, don't even get started on envelopes, response cards, reception cards and placecards. At the store they want $189 per 100. Uhhhhh.... I'm going to mention this to them when I go to order them and I may have to add a few things in like a design on the placecards in order to get a deal but I WILL get a deal.
3.) Unemployment offers training courses for computer programs like PowerPoint, Excel and Access. They are not super in-depth but if you have half a brain you can figure it out. So, I took a PP one because i see that one mentioned a lot. The first day I went the computers weren't working. It took the instructor an hour to get through one slide. I suggested she should reboot the computers but she looked at me like I had six heads. She was probably thinking, "I am the employed one here missy, if you knew anything you would have a job like me." So, after wasting a couple of hours just watching her, the two other ladies an I started a revolt and walked out. When we went back on Thursday the instructor said she rebooted the computers and they were working much better now.
4.) I gained 10 lbs over the holidays. Every year I do my indulgence routine where I avoid the scale for 10 - 12 days during the holidays and eat whatever I want. I have actually been doing this for a while (eating whatever i want). Anyway, in the 2.5 weeks or so of debauchery and scale avoidance, I gained 10 lbs. That is almost a size so believe me, I feel it in my clothes. Lucky for me, once I get my sorry ass back on track, I can lose it almost as fast as I gained it. I already lost 3 since Wednesday. I'll lose it all just in time for PMS week to start when I live on chocolate, salad and carbs. But, with only 195 more days until I have to fit into my dress, I better swap out the carbs and chocolate for more salads and lean meats.
Back to my Sims
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
The "sell by" date on sushi isn't a suggestion. It's an order!
I get cravings for sushi. Actually i get a craving for the wasabi-soy mustardy looking mixture I like to plunge my sushi rolls into. Yum. Something about that feeling right when it hits the tip of your tongue and shoots hell through your nose that i need every now and then. Plus, anyone who has seen me eat knows I keep a fork in one hand and the salt shaker in the other/ I love me some salt. Oh yes I do. After you gasp in horror as I salt my roastbeef sandwiches after every bite, I will tell you I have to eat salt. It is doctor recommended. I have to eat it because my blood pressure is so low if i don't, i will be dizzy.
It's a lie.
My blood pressure is really low but my doctor didn't order me to shake it on everything like a salty Nor-Easter me to. He did say that it certainly wouldn't hurt me since I drank 3 liters of water a day and my blood pressure is so low, but he didn't write it in my chart or anything.
And, as you know what I have been going through the past few days with things not being in your chart like they should like Codeine prescriptions then it MUST not be law. Btw, I managed to get 6 pills out of my PCP. Thank you very much. Oh, and her jackass of an assistant called me the following day leaving the test results for someone else on my machine. I will have killer cramps but at least Kathy has a normal result for her bone density tests and her hip growth for the year was good.
Anyway, Stew asked me last night why I don't buy sushi in Stop & Shop. I will at Stew Leonard's tho and usually when I buy store-bought sushi, it's vegetables or imitation crab, something that can't kill me. Otherwise, ewwwwwwww.
Today, I went to Port Chester to get m aunt and uncle a giftcard to a movie theater they frequent. let me tell you, Port Chester has become a shopping mecca. In one shopping center there is a BIG cine-plex movie theater with two restaurants attached, a Costco, Marshall's, DSW, Michael's Arts & Crafts, some other shoe store with discount shoes and a Stop & Shop. All they are missing is a Home Goods and I could live there in the parking lot. Oh, it's a free parking lot too. Even for the movies. Any time you go not just between the hours of 1 and 4:30.
Because S&S was right there, I figured I may as well pick up a few things. Stew and I were talking about having stuffed salmon Thursday night. Why we are thinking about this with an all-you-can-eat fish-filled Christmas Eve in a few days is beyond my comprehension. I usually get it from Stew Leonard's or Costco. Costco was right there but I don't have a card. Stew shares a membership with his friend Kenny so Kenny has card #2. I can use Stew's but i don't know if they are going to bust my chops because we're not married and have totally different names still. So, eventho I can go at times when Costco is virtually empty like mid-day, I can't. We have to wait until Stew gets home at 6:15 and then eat something really fast or go through Costco hungry which you NEVER want to do because at that time, they have stopped handing out samples. You'll have to take out a second mortgage to pay your bill that night.
Man, i am tangent girl today. Wait until I blog about my Sims.
Anyway, I cruised by the seafood dept and spotted stuffed salmon. They looked good so I looked at the sell-by date. It said, the 18th. People, today is the 20th. Sell by Dec. 18. Now, i know they didn't mean Dec. 18 of 2007. I threw the package down. I wanted to throw it at the 15 year-old behind behind the counter but resisted. I wanted to show her that shit was supposed to be sold 2 days ago and ask for something fresher. But I knew, she would go right into the backroom, and just make a new label for it. Not chancing that one. Then it hit me. the craving for wasabi-soy mixture of death. I wandered over to the sushi. Again, those were supposed to be sold by the 19th. Ewwwwwww.... I found one that appeared to be the freshest (sell by the 21. It was probably just restamped) and it was veggies so I knew I wasn't entering level orange ecoli danger. I chose that one. I was feeling risky.
But the 18th?
Ewwww.
It's a lie.
My blood pressure is really low but my doctor didn't order me to shake it on everything like a salty Nor-Easter me to. He did say that it certainly wouldn't hurt me since I drank 3 liters of water a day and my blood pressure is so low, but he didn't write it in my chart or anything.
And, as you know what I have been going through the past few days with things not being in your chart like they should like Codeine prescriptions then it MUST not be law. Btw, I managed to get 6 pills out of my PCP. Thank you very much. Oh, and her jackass of an assistant called me the following day leaving the test results for someone else on my machine. I will have killer cramps but at least Kathy has a normal result for her bone density tests and her hip growth for the year was good.
Anyway, Stew asked me last night why I don't buy sushi in Stop & Shop. I will at Stew Leonard's tho and usually when I buy store-bought sushi, it's vegetables or imitation crab, something that can't kill me. Otherwise, ewwwwwwww.
Today, I went to Port Chester to get m aunt and uncle a giftcard to a movie theater they frequent. let me tell you, Port Chester has become a shopping mecca. In one shopping center there is a BIG cine-plex movie theater with two restaurants attached, a Costco, Marshall's, DSW, Michael's Arts & Crafts, some other shoe store with discount shoes and a Stop & Shop. All they are missing is a Home Goods and I could live there in the parking lot. Oh, it's a free parking lot too. Even for the movies. Any time you go not just between the hours of 1 and 4:30.
Because S&S was right there, I figured I may as well pick up a few things. Stew and I were talking about having stuffed salmon Thursday night. Why we are thinking about this with an all-you-can-eat fish-filled Christmas Eve in a few days is beyond my comprehension. I usually get it from Stew Leonard's or Costco. Costco was right there but I don't have a card. Stew shares a membership with his friend Kenny so Kenny has card #2. I can use Stew's but i don't know if they are going to bust my chops because we're not married and have totally different names still. So, eventho I can go at times when Costco is virtually empty like mid-day, I can't. We have to wait until Stew gets home at 6:15 and then eat something really fast or go through Costco hungry which you NEVER want to do because at that time, they have stopped handing out samples. You'll have to take out a second mortgage to pay your bill that night.
Man, i am tangent girl today. Wait until I blog about my Sims.
Anyway, I cruised by the seafood dept and spotted stuffed salmon. They looked good so I looked at the sell-by date. It said, the 18th. People, today is the 20th. Sell by Dec. 18. Now, i know they didn't mean Dec. 18 of 2007. I threw the package down. I wanted to throw it at the 15 year-old behind behind the counter but resisted. I wanted to show her that shit was supposed to be sold 2 days ago and ask for something fresher. But I knew, she would go right into the backroom, and just make a new label for it. Not chancing that one. Then it hit me. the craving for wasabi-soy mixture of death. I wandered over to the sushi. Again, those were supposed to be sold by the 19th. Ewwwwwww.... I found one that appeared to be the freshest (sell by the 21. It was probably just restamped) and it was veggies so I knew I wasn't entering level orange ecoli danger. I chose that one. I was feeling risky.
But the 18th?
Ewwww.
Friday, December 15, 2006
Canadians have it made
So, I got in touch with my doctor's office yesterday. Actually, I spoke to her assistant who was about as helpful as a brick. Apparently, the fact that i have been working on the same bottle of codeine since February 2006 makes me look like a junky now that I need a refill almost a year later. She asked me 2,000 questions before telling me that my former doctor (who has since retired from that practice) was the one who prescribed it to me and not the current doctor.
Let me tell you something about this practice. It's one of those places where they have 4 doctors on staff and I don't think I ever saw the same doctor twice. Seeing that they all worked together, under one umbrella, if one doctor prescribed something for you then all the doctors should see that in your chart and honor it. But that seems to make too much sense. I was told yesterday that the doctor I saw last only wrote in my chart that I should continue my extra strength Tylenol and never said anything about Tylenol with codeine. I was also told that this particular doctor doesn't like to prescribe pain meds. I explained my no insurance having case to the assistant so coming in so that the Dr. could see me before giving me what i can get on the Internet without a script was not an option i could afford right now and she was like stone on the other end of the phone. Jesus lady, it's Christmas, have a freaking heart.
Let me tell you something about my cramps. Thanks to 20 years of having irregular periods, my uterus seems to be making up for it now. I have about two days where I pass out from the loss of blood and can barely function because my cramps are so severe. They're made worse by the IUD which gets pushed into my ovaries when they swell to what I figure to be the size of watermelons. I can only describe the pain as feeling like someone is sawing me in half. I wish this pain could be held at bay with extra strength Tylenol but I would have to start taking 3 every 4 hours now for it to have any impact on my pain and frankly that would give me an ulcer before I even got the Aunt Flow drop-by. Why bother when all i have to do is take a shot of Malloxx and two T3s a day for just two days?
So, today, I found Tylenol 3s that i can get online from Canada for super cheap. The only problem is a $30 a month fee to join this site and a 1 - 4 week wait on the pills. The deal turns out to be not such a deal after all and the wait will not help me when my period is 7 days away. So, I looked at the bottle again today and noticed that this doctor's name happens to be on the bottle as the prescriber. So, WTF? Why isn't it in my chart. I called her assistant back to inform her of this and advise her to talk to the Dr. again. We'll see what happens.
I may have to move to Canada.
Let me tell you something about this practice. It's one of those places where they have 4 doctors on staff and I don't think I ever saw the same doctor twice. Seeing that they all worked together, under one umbrella, if one doctor prescribed something for you then all the doctors should see that in your chart and honor it. But that seems to make too much sense. I was told yesterday that the doctor I saw last only wrote in my chart that I should continue my extra strength Tylenol and never said anything about Tylenol with codeine. I was also told that this particular doctor doesn't like to prescribe pain meds. I explained my no insurance having case to the assistant so coming in so that the Dr. could see me before giving me what i can get on the Internet without a script was not an option i could afford right now and she was like stone on the other end of the phone. Jesus lady, it's Christmas, have a freaking heart.
Let me tell you something about my cramps. Thanks to 20 years of having irregular periods, my uterus seems to be making up for it now. I have about two days where I pass out from the loss of blood and can barely function because my cramps are so severe. They're made worse by the IUD which gets pushed into my ovaries when they swell to what I figure to be the size of watermelons. I can only describe the pain as feeling like someone is sawing me in half. I wish this pain could be held at bay with extra strength Tylenol but I would have to start taking 3 every 4 hours now for it to have any impact on my pain and frankly that would give me an ulcer before I even got the Aunt Flow drop-by. Why bother when all i have to do is take a shot of Malloxx and two T3s a day for just two days?
So, today, I found Tylenol 3s that i can get online from Canada for super cheap. The only problem is a $30 a month fee to join this site and a 1 - 4 week wait on the pills. The deal turns out to be not such a deal after all and the wait will not help me when my period is 7 days away. So, I looked at the bottle again today and noticed that this doctor's name happens to be on the bottle as the prescriber. So, WTF? Why isn't it in my chart. I called her assistant back to inform her of this and advise her to talk to the Dr. again. We'll see what happens.
I may have to move to Canada.
Thursday, December 14, 2006
All I want for Christmas is some insurance
I have this foot pain.
It really hurts.
This pain travels all the way up the top of my foot, through my ankle and into the core of my shin with every step i take. I don't remember when this pain first occurred or if i did anything to cause it. All I know is it hurts.
And I can't take my insurance-less ass to the doctors because I decided to try my luck this time and reject the COBRA offer because any other time I paid for it, I paid to never use it. Now that I went with a cheap insurance (six months for one month of what COBRA wanted) means I have a $1000 deductible. I already went to the doctor once already and even had to get a script.
It could be a blood clot. In which case I don't want to screw around. Or, it could just be because I sit at this computer for hours at a time with my feet all cocked up beneath me. The veins are looking a bit bulging and the ankle somewhat swollen but that is how this foot has been since I busted it in the 8th grade falling down a flight of cement steps. Yeah, that was graceful. That one slip caused a variety of issues in this leg but busting my right kneecap left that right leg in pristine condition. Go figure. Just lucky I guess.
And yesterday, I thought I was getting a "yeasty beav." I haven't had one in several years and I write that off to not consuming a diet high in chocolate and white carbs. I thought, "oh crap, do you know what a trip to the gyno is going to cost as well as medicine? I may as well start selling my eggs." But alas, I found the itch culprit and everything is fine. However, I did notice my Tylenol with codeine script is running low and Aunt Flow is only a mere 8 days away. So, i have to call my doctor anyway and beg her for a script with hopes she doesn't need to see me first. last time they wanted to see me and i managed to convince her she didn't need my $20 co-pay to write me a script. I literally need 6 pills, enough for two of my worst days. It's not like I'm selling this crap on the street corners. I have hydrocodone and dilaudin for that. That crap gives me a headache and constipates me for weeks.
I am stalking my doctor's office. they said they are open from 8:30 to 4:30 but closed between 12 and 1 for lunch. It's 1:15, where are they? I'd be less apt to do this if I had something else to do but all I have to do is go to the Post Office and stand there in the huge line of people waiting to mail Christmas packages because I have to mail half.com crap who seem to spread out their purchases enough to make me go to the P.O. at least three times a week.
Ohhhhh yes. PMS.
Great, now my doctor's office phone is busy.
Poop.
It really hurts.
This pain travels all the way up the top of my foot, through my ankle and into the core of my shin with every step i take. I don't remember when this pain first occurred or if i did anything to cause it. All I know is it hurts.
And I can't take my insurance-less ass to the doctors because I decided to try my luck this time and reject the COBRA offer because any other time I paid for it, I paid to never use it. Now that I went with a cheap insurance (six months for one month of what COBRA wanted) means I have a $1000 deductible. I already went to the doctor once already and even had to get a script.
It could be a blood clot. In which case I don't want to screw around. Or, it could just be because I sit at this computer for hours at a time with my feet all cocked up beneath me. The veins are looking a bit bulging and the ankle somewhat swollen but that is how this foot has been since I busted it in the 8th grade falling down a flight of cement steps. Yeah, that was graceful. That one slip caused a variety of issues in this leg but busting my right kneecap left that right leg in pristine condition. Go figure. Just lucky I guess.
And yesterday, I thought I was getting a "yeasty beav." I haven't had one in several years and I write that off to not consuming a diet high in chocolate and white carbs. I thought, "oh crap, do you know what a trip to the gyno is going to cost as well as medicine? I may as well start selling my eggs." But alas, I found the itch culprit and everything is fine. However, I did notice my Tylenol with codeine script is running low and Aunt Flow is only a mere 8 days away. So, i have to call my doctor anyway and beg her for a script with hopes she doesn't need to see me first. last time they wanted to see me and i managed to convince her she didn't need my $20 co-pay to write me a script. I literally need 6 pills, enough for two of my worst days. It's not like I'm selling this crap on the street corners. I have hydrocodone and dilaudin for that. That crap gives me a headache and constipates me for weeks.
I am stalking my doctor's office. they said they are open from 8:30 to 4:30 but closed between 12 and 1 for lunch. It's 1:15, where are they? I'd be less apt to do this if I had something else to do but all I have to do is go to the Post Office and stand there in the huge line of people waiting to mail Christmas packages because I have to mail half.com crap who seem to spread out their purchases enough to make me go to the P.O. at least three times a week.
Ohhhhh yes. PMS.
Great, now my doctor's office phone is busy.
Poop.
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
Pay-lo J. Lo
I don't know why I dislike Jennifer Lopez so much other than I just do. For some reason I can't explain. Maybe it's her shitty movies. Maybe it was the whole Bennifer thing. Maybe it was her crossover from dancing to acting to singing to clothing designer to perfume creator. Maybe I am just jealous.
However, I always get taken by this broad.
A few years ago, I was walking down the hall at work to go to the ladies room. A womyn passed me and I smelled her perfume. I was taken aback by how great it smelled so I asked her who made the perfume she was wearing.
"It's Glow by J. Lo" she said.
I cringed.
"I know," the womyn said. "I hate her too but I love how this smells."
I was determined to find an equally awesome scent. I discovered Vera Wang and despite it's pricey tag, I put it on my Christmas list and laughed every time I saw a bottle of Glow at T.J. Maxx for a fraction of my Vera Wang.
A year or so later, I was browsing the lingerie section at Macy*s and came upon a great piece that was perfect for a body conscious girl like me. It was long enough to hide my problem zones yet sexy enough to still light some fires. I jumped for joy and rubbed my eyes to make sure I wasn't dreaming. That is when I saw it - the J. Lo tag. I thought long and hard but ultimately put it back on the rack.
One night while talking to Maria, I mentioned this issue.
"Oh my god," she screamed, "I know exactly what you mean." Maria faced the same issue when J Lo came out with these adorable empire waist cami jammies she wanted but couldn't bring herself to buy.
Hating J Lo means we missed out on some really cute things. Damn her.
A couple of weeks ago, my mom took me to Lord & Taylor to buy a new coat because my other coats just weren't warm enough. After seeing the price of the only coat I liked, I decided that I would rather have the money to pay for the new computer than coat I didn't really need if i owned a few heavy sweater to wear under the coats I already have. Besides, none of them really made me "ohh" and "ahhh." The following night Stew and I hit Macy*s to do some Christmas shopping. I dragged him to the coat department to see if anything struck my fancy.
I spotted it from across the department. A heather green pea coat, tailored to perfection with enough funky tabs on it to make it look less like a military coat.
I gasped.
Seriously.
I gasped.
The cuteness of the coat took my breath away. It was nothing that I told my mom I was looking for. It was not long and it was no thicker than my black wool dress coat but it was cute as hell. Big buttons, princess seams, tailored back and side and a hood!
I ran over to it. I don't think Stew ever saw me move so fast but I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw the white and pink label read "J. Lo." Ugh!
I jumped up and down (yes, in the middle of the store) screaming "NO NO NO NO NO" stomping my feet.
"What's the matter?" Stew asked, eager to get what we came for (wine glasses) and get the hell out of the mall before he turned into a pumpkin.
"It's J.LO!" I said.
I may as well have said it to a brick wall because all I got was an empty stare.
"I hate J. Lo," I explained. "I NEVER buy her things. Ever. And do you know how many great things I passed up on?"
"Ok, then" Stew said, "Are we done here?"
I ignored him because I was too busy examining the jacket hoping and praying to find something about it I hated. Something that was a deal breaker. Something like a gold glitter design on a pocket. Nothing. Not a thing.
'I'll try it and maybe it won't fit or the double breasted action will make me look like the broad side of a barn," I said taking it off the hanger.
Not only did it fit perfectly but looked great.
I looked at the price, "$220? Is this broad nuts."
Stew pointed to the 40% off sign and reminded me I had a 20% off coupon in my pocket.
'Still,' I said, 'It's too much money."
But I scanned the price anyway, it was actually 50% off and with my coupon, that means its 70% off.
"I'll buy it for you," Stew offered. "I was going to get you a big gift but wasn't sure what to get so if you want the coat, I will buy it for you."
Ohhh, tempting. And so ensued a 10 minute debate where I tried to justify walking out of the store with the coat. Technically, I wouldn't be buying it since it was Stew's money, but I would be wearing it on my person. And Maria would kill me. But she even broke her "I will never buy from Walmart because I saw some movie about how awful their employees were treated" because she was thirsty and the water was right there by the register where she was standing with me.
I walked away. I came back. I walked away. I came back.
I took it off the rack and carried it around trying to force myself to find something equally as cute and as much of a deal to get instead. But there was no such thing so I let Stew buy it for me for Christmas and I have not taken it off since.
Damn J Lo.
However, I always get taken by this broad.
A few years ago, I was walking down the hall at work to go to the ladies room. A womyn passed me and I smelled her perfume. I was taken aback by how great it smelled so I asked her who made the perfume she was wearing.
"It's Glow by J. Lo" she said.
I cringed.
"I know," the womyn said. "I hate her too but I love how this smells."
I was determined to find an equally awesome scent. I discovered Vera Wang and despite it's pricey tag, I put it on my Christmas list and laughed every time I saw a bottle of Glow at T.J. Maxx for a fraction of my Vera Wang.
A year or so later, I was browsing the lingerie section at Macy*s and came upon a great piece that was perfect for a body conscious girl like me. It was long enough to hide my problem zones yet sexy enough to still light some fires. I jumped for joy and rubbed my eyes to make sure I wasn't dreaming. That is when I saw it - the J. Lo tag. I thought long and hard but ultimately put it back on the rack.
One night while talking to Maria, I mentioned this issue.
"Oh my god," she screamed, "I know exactly what you mean." Maria faced the same issue when J Lo came out with these adorable empire waist cami jammies she wanted but couldn't bring herself to buy.
Hating J Lo means we missed out on some really cute things. Damn her.
A couple of weeks ago, my mom took me to Lord & Taylor to buy a new coat because my other coats just weren't warm enough. After seeing the price of the only coat I liked, I decided that I would rather have the money to pay for the new computer than coat I didn't really need if i owned a few heavy sweater to wear under the coats I already have. Besides, none of them really made me "ohh" and "ahhh." The following night Stew and I hit Macy*s to do some Christmas shopping. I dragged him to the coat department to see if anything struck my fancy.
I spotted it from across the department. A heather green pea coat, tailored to perfection with enough funky tabs on it to make it look less like a military coat.
I gasped.
Seriously.
I gasped.
The cuteness of the coat took my breath away. It was nothing that I told my mom I was looking for. It was not long and it was no thicker than my black wool dress coat but it was cute as hell. Big buttons, princess seams, tailored back and side and a hood!
I ran over to it. I don't think Stew ever saw me move so fast but I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw the white and pink label read "J. Lo." Ugh!
I jumped up and down (yes, in the middle of the store) screaming "NO NO NO NO NO" stomping my feet.
"What's the matter?" Stew asked, eager to get what we came for (wine glasses) and get the hell out of the mall before he turned into a pumpkin.
"It's J.LO!" I said.
I may as well have said it to a brick wall because all I got was an empty stare.
"I hate J. Lo," I explained. "I NEVER buy her things. Ever. And do you know how many great things I passed up on?"
"Ok, then" Stew said, "Are we done here?"
I ignored him because I was too busy examining the jacket hoping and praying to find something about it I hated. Something that was a deal breaker. Something like a gold glitter design on a pocket. Nothing. Not a thing.
'I'll try it and maybe it won't fit or the double breasted action will make me look like the broad side of a barn," I said taking it off the hanger.
Not only did it fit perfectly but looked great.
I looked at the price, "$220? Is this broad nuts."
Stew pointed to the 40% off sign and reminded me I had a 20% off coupon in my pocket.
'Still,' I said, 'It's too much money."
But I scanned the price anyway, it was actually 50% off and with my coupon, that means its 70% off.
"I'll buy it for you," Stew offered. "I was going to get you a big gift but wasn't sure what to get so if you want the coat, I will buy it for you."
Ohhh, tempting. And so ensued a 10 minute debate where I tried to justify walking out of the store with the coat. Technically, I wouldn't be buying it since it was Stew's money, but I would be wearing it on my person. And Maria would kill me. But she even broke her "I will never buy from Walmart because I saw some movie about how awful their employees were treated" because she was thirsty and the water was right there by the register where she was standing with me.
I walked away. I came back. I walked away. I came back.
I took it off the rack and carried it around trying to force myself to find something equally as cute and as much of a deal to get instead. But there was no such thing so I let Stew buy it for me for Christmas and I have not taken it off since.
Damn J Lo.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
