A coworker showed me one of the coolest things I've seen on Facebook in a while - an application that allows you to see your status updates for the entire year, categorized by month.
What a fantastic (and hilarious) way to rehash the events of my year...
January
Macie Schreibman is wishing she was asleep or drunk.
is having a case of the mondays.
is ready to go home.
February
is drinking beers and waiting for football to begin.
is wishing she owned a seahorse.
is getting excited to see dizzle!
is ready for the weekend!
is realizing she was in a black hole for the last 3 days...
is wondering why it's not friday yet
is excited about happy hour!
is drinking wine...ahhhh
is wondering why she doesn't really know what mardi gras is.
is missing her nephew...
March
is loving the rainy sunday!
has come to the conclusion that soup is delicious.
is hoping her wallet is at home and not lost.
is officially pissed because someone actually stole her wallet.
is thinking the cops that just came to her house were really cute...
is up too early for a saturday.
is trying to be positive. It's harder than it seems.
is anxious for Friday!!!
is procrastinating everything. literally.
Don't think 23 minutes could go by any slower....
is feeling like a jerk
April
bye, bye Vancouver....hello Monterey!!!!
Giants game tonight!!
is wanting to open a bottle of wine.
is missing the beach.
is so stoked for the sunny weekend ahead!
is wondering why she's not outside on a boat.
is still laughing at "our balls are in your court" from The Office last night.
is alone in her office...thiking it's just swell.
May
is wondering why people in her office insist on putting their phones on speakerphone when they are on hold... are you serious?
is not sure, but I'm pretty sure I'm in a dance off....
"Wow! I can't believe you fit into those shoes!"
is wishing freelance journalists were the richest people in the world.
wants SHAZAAM to make a comeback.
is in the mood for beer and onion rings (and NOT in the mood for martinins and 9 to 5-ers)...
is sunburnt and had way too much to drink yesterday. ugh bay to breakers, you win!
can't wait for the 3-day weekend!!!!
is going to leave her bank and hide her money under her mattress. (whoops...secret's out).
Weird things that happened at work today: my CEO drank out of a real coconut, I got in an ALL CAPS e-mail fight, a dog licked my knee caps.
is back at work...and loving her sunburn!
back to work....with an awesome sunburn!
June
I'm kind of pissed that I got my first ticket today - damn stop signs...no one cares about you anyway.
getting ready for a day in Disneyland...tough job.
just had room service and off to Disneyland...ahhhh
back in Sausalito and the countown to Vegas begins!!! 5 days to go!
2 days til VEGAS!!!
Vegas tonight! Can't wait to see everyone!!! Is it 5:30 yet?
is back from Vegas, babes!
Wearing flip-flops at work is weird.
outta here....
Food Network has inspired me to go grocery shopping on my lunch break....now that is what I call being a grown up!
Thanks to Tiff, I now know what it feels like to be needy...and I do not dig it.
turns out people I work with have lots of MJ jokes to throw around...don't know how I feel about that. He's dead, guys. Chill.
Turns out sort-of-expensive liquor store wine will still give you a huge headache...makes for a fabulous Friday!
Watching my boyfriend watch TV...is this love?! Cause it could just be a major procrastination technique :)
meeting deadlines is way overrated!
Countdown to San Diego: 2 days!!!
July
is wondering how her twin got to be so much funnier than her...so sad.
"Yesterday was Canada Day and I celebrated it like I celebrate every Canada Day...by not knowing it's Canada Day."
Oh, San Diego...
can i please go camping now?!
Officially on vacation in 5, 4, 3, 2.........peace! Brookings, here I come!
back to work...good news is that I took a shower without my flip flops on this morning, bad news is that I wish I was still camping.
still at work which is NOT awesome. Leaving for Hawaii in the morning which IS awesome.
In Maui!!!!!!!!!!!!!
packing up to leave Maui :(
back to work...
is wondering why she doesn't take more naps in the car...that was an amazing lunch break...
Off work at noon today...I love summer hours! (It's also the only way I know it's summer cause it's freezing cold and foggy...hmmm)
Two things I learned this weekend: 1. Eric and I will break our own window if we are locked out of our apartment and 2. both of our parents will play flip cup together.
I officially forgive you, Ryan & Katie. Come back to SF now please - we have dead bird watching to do and rap names to brainstorm.
"Writing is like prostitution. First you do it for love, and then for a few close friends, and then for money."
sitting at work with a sombrero and a fake moustache on...it really doesn't get better than this!
August
Finally a Friday in San Francisco...ahhhh....
just me and my laptop at a coffee shop...can you say cliche?!
working on Sundays is torture.
Thanks to ZD, my ego just grew...
(In the rhythm of the Ting Tings song) "They call me Marcie, they call me Mayshe...that's not my name! That's not my name!"
Feeling like a sell out...What's the remedy you ask? A trip to to Vegas!
I think only taking Monday off of work was a bad choice.
The inside of my office feels like Vegas weather. It sucks.
drunk facebooking...always a good idea?
off to enjoy bottomless mimosas! love saturdays...
Can't wait to see my friends this weekend! Is it Thursday yet?!
At a good mood and still at work...something is definately wrong.
I just decided that Pandora needs to have a device that reads what time it is...there really is something wrong when it decides to play me Petey Pablo songs at 9 a.m.
ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh deeeeeeaaarrrrr loooorrrrrddddd............i miss my apartment....can i go home now?
I wish Bloody Mary's were acceptable at my office. I would down one like you wouldn't believe...
...and scene.
September
at the San Diego airport and I didn't see my friends....weird.
back in Sausalito...
turns out drinking wine gives you a very annoying headache...
...wishing my Fridays off at noon consisted of something cooler than stealing the BF's Dr. Pepper's while he's not home.
Movin on up!
Sitting at the OC airport surrounded by lots of people with their sunglasses on indoors...thinking of joining them
It's raining and I love it!!!
Officially on vacation!!!! SD here I come!!
Booked myself in a middle seat on my flight home last night and sat next to a drunk woman who poked me numerous times...now I'm back at work and it's Monday. Later SD!
Turns out swine flu may have hit home...
Friday!!!
$142 fine for talking on my phone while driving.... Give me a break SF
What online traffic school thinks I need to know about drinking and driving: "not only would an individual be unable to operate a motor vehicle safely, but in the long run they may be unable to function normally in society." Why did that make me laugh outloud?!
My kitchen is literally dinner impossible...
October
....and this is why he is my favorite author, ever. "Any reviewer who expresses rage and loathing for a novel is preposterous. He or she is like a person who has put on full armor and attacked a hot fudge sundae." - Kurt Vonnegut
The singing life-size skeleton in my office is making me hate Halloween...and no one should have to hear "Super Freak" at 9 a.m.
Just got back to the office after an afternoon out on the Bay watching the Blue Angels....ahhhh
Just decided that Eric & I's Halloween costumes are no longer lobsters...now we're lobsters boiling in pots and I've never been so excited about a costume in my life!
Sitting in traffic and almost at the 1-hour mark for my 12-mile commute home from work. Only saving grace is Miss Toni Braxton on the radio :)
...and scene
Watching football and waiting for my cousins to arrive... Gonna be a big family slumber party tonight!
need a vacation...like NOW!
Wishing I could fall asleep at my desk...pretty sure that's frowned upon though.
I just kissed my computer out of love for a man who sent me an e-mail...it's been a long week.
Great Sunday... On the couch drinking a mimosa :)
lots of doubt.
Taco Tuesdays are making a comeback!
Just discovered HD screensavers on our TV... Pretty much sums up how amazing the night is gonna be!
Last e-mail I got was at 11:30 am, pretty sure no one would notice if I left work right now...early happy hour?
sitting on a ball chair at work...pretty sweet.
Turns out pumpkin carving is still awesome!
Won $8 in scratchers tonight and heard this hilarious scene: Guy#1, "that's one of my biggest fears, you know, waking up as a giant doughnut." Guy#2, "and you would eat yourself?!" Guy#1, "I wouldn't even hesitate."
just another day...at work in a lobster costume
November
Working by the ocean :)
Getting ready to leave the beach (the sunny one, not where I live)...happy Friday!
I miss San Diego....
Too early to listen to the Elf soundtrack? Oh well, already happening!
is at work listening to a baby crying and a dog peeing on the carpet...reality TV contract, anyone?!
It's official: the iPhone is the worst purchase I've ever made...you suck Apple. I hate you. I also hate the GeekSquad. The end.
Only thing that could have made this beerfest Sunday any better would have been if we didn't forget the free case of beer in the back of the unmarked taxi!
Waiting for the bus next to a man kicking the trash can repeatedly... Ahhh city life
"Your favorite kind of cake can't be birthday cake, that's like saying your favorite kind of cereal is breakfast cereal."
Super Mario makes a Sat night comeback!
can't wait to leave work, not super stoked on the road trip...happy almost t-giving!
December
just heard someone say "you've got to choose and pick." I love when people mess up sayings...it's funny.
Got out the Christmas decorations and used my gingerbread man to-go coffee mug today...love the holidays!
Currently learning to type with gloves on...apparently a necessary skill in SF.
Going to get our Christmas tree today!!!
Across the Golden Gate before the sun came up... Off to Sac town for work!
Happy Hanukkah!!!
Broke down on a trolley in Union Square... Good news is there is a rabbi nearby!
Work Xmas party = sloppy mess. Drinking and wrapping when I got home = amazing! Side note: Ashley Wells is my hero and the other love of my life. (we won't tell Boston)
Don't think SoCal got the message that it's winter...
Disneyland!!!!!
Finally leaving Disneyland... So tired but sooooo much fun! Definately the right way to start Christmas week!
Finally home... I love it here!
Wine tasting with my lovely best friend in Lodi!!! So fabulous!!
Later 2009, we had some good times.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
FAIL
Okay, so we have now discovered why I cannot handle a blog with rules. I obviously do not respond well to having to do something every single day. Unfortunately, this is worse than I had thought...I literally made it two days of writing from a word prompt. So, upon further ado, I officially quit my blog with a purpose.
The good news is that I do plan on going back to my blog as usual. And hey, you can't say that I didn't try.
The good news is that I do plan on going back to my blog as usual. And hey, you can't say that I didn't try.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
WP: A misspoken compliment
Well, didn't get off to a great start as it's Dec. 2 and I'm writing Dec. 1's blog. Oh well. To be fair, I did start writing it yesterday (well, I got the prompt at least). Okay, enough excuses...here goes.
Doing the A-B-C thing again:
As it rolled off her tongue, she knew it wasn’t coming out right. But she said it anyway.
“Cute haircut,” she said with a tone of that’s-really-not-a-good-look-for-you.
“Don’t be rude,” her co-worker responded.
“Eww! Is that what you want me to say?!”
“Fuck you.”
Great, she thought. Haircuts really shouldn’t be that big of a deal now that we are past our teens. In reality, however, they are. Just hair, you tell yourself, but everyone knows it’s just not true—it’s part of who we are. Keeping up with the trends, hair included, isn’t an easy task. Loose curls or an awesome up-do…doesn’t matter, it’s all about how you feel wearing it. Men have it so easy, us ladies think at least. No one knew really how big this misspoken compliment was. Oh shit, she thought, not getting a raise this year. Poor choice as the compliment was directed at her boss. Quite the bad move for the day. Rudeness was just who she was. She didn’t know how to kiss ass, and apparently that was a requirement they failed to mention on her first interview. This was the 3rd year as a lowly assistant, and it had now been confirmed it wasn’t her year to move up the food chain. Ugh, she thought. Very shitty. Well, there are worse things, I guess, like having a bad haircut, she said to herself.
“X product doesn’t do your hair any good either,” she shouted past her boss’ desk.
“You’re so rude! Zip it, and you’re fired.”
Doing the A-B-C thing again:
As it rolled off her tongue, she knew it wasn’t coming out right. But she said it anyway.
“Cute haircut,” she said with a tone of that’s-really-not-a-good-look-for-you.
“Don’t be rude,” her co-worker responded.
“Eww! Is that what you want me to say?!”
“Fuck you.”
Great, she thought. Haircuts really shouldn’t be that big of a deal now that we are past our teens. In reality, however, they are. Just hair, you tell yourself, but everyone knows it’s just not true—it’s part of who we are. Keeping up with the trends, hair included, isn’t an easy task. Loose curls or an awesome up-do…doesn’t matter, it’s all about how you feel wearing it. Men have it so easy, us ladies think at least. No one knew really how big this misspoken compliment was. Oh shit, she thought, not getting a raise this year. Poor choice as the compliment was directed at her boss. Quite the bad move for the day. Rudeness was just who she was. She didn’t know how to kiss ass, and apparently that was a requirement they failed to mention on her first interview. This was the 3rd year as a lowly assistant, and it had now been confirmed it wasn’t her year to move up the food chain. Ugh, she thought. Very shitty. Well, there are worse things, I guess, like having a bad haircut, she said to herself.
“X product doesn’t do your hair any good either,” she shouted past her boss’ desk.
“You’re so rude! Zip it, and you’re fired.”
Monday, November 30, 2009
This is it
This is the last non-obligatory post for the next month. I really have nothing to say, and yet, here I am, just so I can say that I didn't have to write this...but I am. What an over-achiever.
The following rules for December's posts:
1. Must be everyday (if I miss a day, I must make it up)
2. Must use a writing prompt from somewhere (of course, if I make it up...who is really gonna know?)
3. Try to challenge myself. (note: the practice from last week mentioned that I used the alphabet for each sentence starter, these are the types of things you will be seeing when I can find no other creative outlet.)
....off to live my last day of freedom.
The following rules for December's posts:
1. Must be everyday (if I miss a day, I must make it up)
2. Must use a writing prompt from somewhere (of course, if I make it up...who is really gonna know?)
3. Try to challenge myself. (note: the practice from last week mentioned that I used the alphabet for each sentence starter, these are the types of things you will be seeing when I can find no other creative outlet.)
....off to live my last day of freedom.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
As they say, practice makes perfect
For a while now I’ve wanted a blog with a purpose and have done absolutely nothing about it – for fear, of course, of ruining the sheer original purpose of the spontaneous, un-critisized, unedited version of myself. Hence the current nature of my blog. Today, however, I’ve decided that it’s my blog, damn it, and I’m gonna do what I want with it. So, beginning in December I am going to do one writing prompt a day and post it on my blog. I had originally wanted to follow one prompt calendar everyday, no matter what but I also decided today that if I don’t like the prompt I am going to find inspiration elsewhere. (This is just a fair warning in case things go awry.)
In preparation for this feat of daily postings, I looked at Toasted Cheese today to check out their November writing prompts and I chose my favorite one. This one is from Friday, November 13 and says: “WP: He walked under the ladder on purpose, as always.” For fun (the way I define it), I am also going to make each sentence I write begin with each letter of the alphabet, in the correct order – and also am going to limit myself then to only 26 sentences, and no repeat letters.
Here goes nothin’…
As the sun went down, he walked slowly down the street leaving his car behind. Buzzing in his ears were the sounds of sirens rushing to his side and a woman yelling for him to come back, yelling as if she had the right to tell him to do so. Car crashes happen every day, he thought to himself, and I’m sure there are a number of people who just don’t care. Days like this are a dime-a-dozen, he was sure, and he wasn’t about to give into the hype.
Easily distracted, and even less affected by the situation, he continued walking and ignored everything behind him. Fear was not an option. Good for me, he thought. He was headed toward his favorite bar, and even though it was miles away, there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that he was going the right way. In case anything bad happens, and he naturally assumed it wouldn’t, he was secretly prepared with a folded up phone number written on lined paper in his pocket – a phone number that would help, just in case. Jack wasn’t a man that prepared, and he wasn’t a typical man in any sense of the word. Keeping up with the Joneses was not anywhere in his mind, he didn’t even know his neighbors names – though they made an effort to know his every single day he passed them by. Laughing to himself, Jack could no longer hear the sirens or the screaming woman. Making his way closer to his destination, he knew what he really wanted. No more work, he thought. Open spaces and freedom, that’s what I need.
Passing through the small crowd of smokers outside, Jack made his way in the door of his favorite bar. Quietly taking his usual seat, he nodded to the bartender who immediately poured him a double of the cheapest scotch they had. Rude to some and oddly casual to others, Jack spent his evening there and hadn’t felt happier in his life. So it goes, he thought. This was it, he had finally figured it out. Under the guise of a low-life with a mundane existence, Jack had actually found the real meaning and purpose of it all. Vulgar was his middle name, and he was going to bank on it. Why had he been holding onto his screenplay this whole time? XX was its current title, but who cares? You know, he thought, the right person will understand it, and it is what’s next for me. Zipping out the door faster than ever before, Jack left the bar where he planned to never return again, and running toward his second-story apartment just a block away, he went under the ladder on purpose, as he always did.
In preparation for this feat of daily postings, I looked at Toasted Cheese today to check out their November writing prompts and I chose my favorite one. This one is from Friday, November 13 and says: “WP: He walked under the ladder on purpose, as always.” For fun (the way I define it), I am also going to make each sentence I write begin with each letter of the alphabet, in the correct order – and also am going to limit myself then to only 26 sentences, and no repeat letters.
Here goes nothin’…
As the sun went down, he walked slowly down the street leaving his car behind. Buzzing in his ears were the sounds of sirens rushing to his side and a woman yelling for him to come back, yelling as if she had the right to tell him to do so. Car crashes happen every day, he thought to himself, and I’m sure there are a number of people who just don’t care. Days like this are a dime-a-dozen, he was sure, and he wasn’t about to give into the hype.
Easily distracted, and even less affected by the situation, he continued walking and ignored everything behind him. Fear was not an option. Good for me, he thought. He was headed toward his favorite bar, and even though it was miles away, there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that he was going the right way. In case anything bad happens, and he naturally assumed it wouldn’t, he was secretly prepared with a folded up phone number written on lined paper in his pocket – a phone number that would help, just in case. Jack wasn’t a man that prepared, and he wasn’t a typical man in any sense of the word. Keeping up with the Joneses was not anywhere in his mind, he didn’t even know his neighbors names – though they made an effort to know his every single day he passed them by. Laughing to himself, Jack could no longer hear the sirens or the screaming woman. Making his way closer to his destination, he knew what he really wanted. No more work, he thought. Open spaces and freedom, that’s what I need.
Passing through the small crowd of smokers outside, Jack made his way in the door of his favorite bar. Quietly taking his usual seat, he nodded to the bartender who immediately poured him a double of the cheapest scotch they had. Rude to some and oddly casual to others, Jack spent his evening there and hadn’t felt happier in his life. So it goes, he thought. This was it, he had finally figured it out. Under the guise of a low-life with a mundane existence, Jack had actually found the real meaning and purpose of it all. Vulgar was his middle name, and he was going to bank on it. Why had he been holding onto his screenplay this whole time? XX was its current title, but who cares? You know, he thought, the right person will understand it, and it is what’s next for me. Zipping out the door faster than ever before, Jack left the bar where he planned to never return again, and running toward his second-story apartment just a block away, he went under the ladder on purpose, as he always did.
Monday, November 23, 2009
I tried
Well, it's only 10 a.m. and I've already managed to impress myself. A few months back I turned on Pandora and decided that I was going to cheer myself up with a little Christmas music. So I tuned into the Bing Crosby Holiday station and lasted less than one song before I started bawling because, as it turns out, Christmas music reminds me of my beautiful Aunt Mary Ann. I didn't know it at the time but any and all Christmas music takes me immediately back to the backseat of my parents' car where I sat with my grandma and aunt each year driving around Sacramento to find the best Christmas lights. (Of course, it was no accident...my dad had already planned our route so that we would finish our light tour at the house closest to our own to finish the evening with cookies and hot chocolate.)
But aside from the amazing Christmas lights, my favorite part of the night was watching my aunt's eyes light up and arms spread out wide when she saw Santa. Most every year we'd go to a house that would have someone dressed up as Santa Claus, and this was Mary's favorite thing. She almost couldn't wait to get out of the car to run and hug Santa as hard as she could, and no matter what the circumstance it always made everyone else around us smile. Sure, she confused a few little children that she'd inadvertently pushed out of her path, but everyone else felt her pure joy and energy. She was so happy to see him, and she made sure we knew it.
Growing up, I went through phases of appreciating her and getting annoyed by her. But it never failed that around Christmas I wanted to be her. Because at 14, 15, 16 years old I didn't really care about a man dressed up as Santa on his driveway handing out small candy canes - but she did, because to her it was Santa.
There are few things better than those moments.
(Well, I was proud I had listened to Christmas music this morning and not cried. So much for that...miss you Mary.)
But aside from the amazing Christmas lights, my favorite part of the night was watching my aunt's eyes light up and arms spread out wide when she saw Santa. Most every year we'd go to a house that would have someone dressed up as Santa Claus, and this was Mary's favorite thing. She almost couldn't wait to get out of the car to run and hug Santa as hard as she could, and no matter what the circumstance it always made everyone else around us smile. Sure, she confused a few little children that she'd inadvertently pushed out of her path, but everyone else felt her pure joy and energy. She was so happy to see him, and she made sure we knew it.
Growing up, I went through phases of appreciating her and getting annoyed by her. But it never failed that around Christmas I wanted to be her. Because at 14, 15, 16 years old I didn't really care about a man dressed up as Santa on his driveway handing out small candy canes - but she did, because to her it was Santa.
There are few things better than those moments.
(Well, I was proud I had listened to Christmas music this morning and not cried. So much for that...miss you Mary.)
Friday, November 20, 2009
Really?!
Alright, so I have a confession to make. This month I am not sure that I got my $9 worth for my stunners. I don't know if it was the poor timing of their arrival or the actual product but I was disappointed on several fronts. I'll set the scene for you...
It's Saturday and I am home alone. I decide to update my iPhone since it's been telling me to do so for about a month. I use Eric's computer as mine is very slow and I plug my phone in, open iTunes and seem to be on my way. In the middle of the software update it says there is an error and now iTunes isn't registering my phone at all. (Not a good sign). In short, the phone freezes and the program closes. For about an hour I try to remain calm and get my phone up and running, but to no avail. At the end of my Apple-infused rage, which I have taken out on two computers, my phone and my kitchen table (with fists and shouts), Eric walks in the door. In his hand, my Stunner of the Month box. Because of my foul mood, this may have further affected the way I saw my stunners, but nonetheless when I opened the box I was not stoked. My biggest complaint is that they are white...again. Second complaint, they seem to only be fitting for a retired clown who thinks he/she is a stunner.
Oh well, not every month can be perfect. I forgive you, SOTM club organizers.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Life: Pure and Simple
I haven't written in a while and don't really have much to say at the moment but wanted to share some moments of pure happiness from this past weekend - sharing my dad's 50th birthday with family and friends in Sunset Cliffs, San Diego. So beautiful.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Meant to be
Sometimes I get super pissed off that I don’t live near my really good friends anymore. Like it makes me mad. When we all lived in San Diego none of us had the same work schedule so we couldn’t like get off work and meet up for happy hour. Now, we all have the same exact schedule (well, Megz is going to school now, so not really), but we don’t even live near each other. It sucks. It is all this wasted time that we could have spent together if we lived nearby. But unfortunately Megz lives with her dog and boyfriend in Lodi and Ash is in SD….and I am, of course, in San Francisco.
However, today Ashley and I reminisced a little bit about the good ol’ days when we did live in San Diego together (and, at one time, with each other). And as I started to recall all the drunken nights and even drunker mornings, I began to feel that we don’t live near each other for a reason. I mean, it’s appropriate that I have packed away my Superman underwear and called it quits on the phone throwing across campus.
I was also reminded the other day about how frequently we all went to Mexico. And on second thought, not so sure it was all that good of an idea. It was so nonchalant, like no big D. But, seriously. We all met up and walked down the street to the laundromat after hours (when it doubled as Hollywood Ray’s bus tours to Mexico) and hopped on a usually very old bus and headed to the border. They let us out and we walked across as all the signs turned to Spanish only. Then we hopped in cabs and made it to TJ. Like, really? Somehow (and to this day, I really have no idea how we made it safely) we all left the club and made it back to the border, through customs and on the bus by 3 or 4 a.m. Yes, our feet were black and we were way too drunk for our own good, but we made it. And not one of us got arrested or put in jail. (Michelle got questioned once, but hey, that happens when you decide to drop trou mid-customs and pee on the carpet.) And I lost $20 once to pay off the cops outside of Club Safari, but that’s it! I just can’t believe we made it out alive.
Maybe someone is looking out for us after all. That’s why they split us up.
However, today Ashley and I reminisced a little bit about the good ol’ days when we did live in San Diego together (and, at one time, with each other). And as I started to recall all the drunken nights and even drunker mornings, I began to feel that we don’t live near each other for a reason. I mean, it’s appropriate that I have packed away my Superman underwear and called it quits on the phone throwing across campus.
I was also reminded the other day about how frequently we all went to Mexico. And on second thought, not so sure it was all that good of an idea. It was so nonchalant, like no big D. But, seriously. We all met up and walked down the street to the laundromat after hours (when it doubled as Hollywood Ray’s bus tours to Mexico) and hopped on a usually very old bus and headed to the border. They let us out and we walked across as all the signs turned to Spanish only. Then we hopped in cabs and made it to TJ. Like, really? Somehow (and to this day, I really have no idea how we made it safely) we all left the club and made it back to the border, through customs and on the bus by 3 or 4 a.m. Yes, our feet were black and we were way too drunk for our own good, but we made it. And not one of us got arrested or put in jail. (Michelle got questioned once, but hey, that happens when you decide to drop trou mid-customs and pee on the carpet.) And I lost $20 once to pay off the cops outside of Club Safari, but that’s it! I just can’t believe we made it out alive.
Maybe someone is looking out for us after all. That’s why they split us up.
Friday, October 16, 2009
The Aboriginals
Month 3 and it just keeps getting better! My stunners have arrived, right on time...and I love them. They are called "The Aboriginals" and are supposed to connect me to my roots - or something like that. You probably can't see the detail, but they are hand painted with red and yellow designs that sort of look like cave paintings (?). They are super cool. We haven't spent much time together yet as its been very cold and foggy here (and unfortunately wearing sunglasses in the fog makes it very dangerous to drive). I did get to wear them for a bit this morning from my house to the bridge where the sun was out, and it was amazing. Seriously, again I will reiterate...best money I've ever spent.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
When it hits you
It’s hard to control the way you see yourself. Unfortunately, most people end up seeing themselves in the worst light; but there are those times when you see yourself through another’s eyes. Of course, the best experiences are when you realize that the way others see you is a lot better than the way you see yourself—that’s actually my feeling on love. I constantly think about how Eric sees me. I mean, if you think about it (aside from my coworkers), Eric is definitely at the top of the list of people that see me for the most hours per day. He sees me at my worst, best and everything in between. (It’s kind of like Santa Claus actually… “he sees you when your sleeping, he knows when you’re awake” weird…never really thought about that before). Anyway, its hard to imagine the way people see you, especially those closest to you, and sometimes they are the ones that change your own perception. If you see a loved one look at you poorly or negatively, it can often hurt the most. Of course, there are also random people that remark or react to you in a way you’ve never seen before—and it hits you—just like that.
So, I am fully aware that I am 25 years old now. I am also aware that I live in an apartment with my boyfriend of 4 ½ years, and I am holding down a decent job, and I want kids someday, and I want to get married. All of these things seem more than obvious at this point; yet, while at Beverages & More the other day, all of these things lost all importance with one comment from the cashier.
So, I am at Target and have asked Eric before I left our apartment if he’d like me to get him anything. He says some beer would be nice as it’s Sunday and it’s football all day. So, I make up my mind that Target sells beer because they sell wine—and they are a package deal, right?! Like you are at a bar and they don’t say, “Oh, we only sell wine, or we only sell beer.” It’s always, “We only sell beer and wine. No booze. But beer and wine.” (Obviously, I know there are bars that only sell wine, but they are clearly called wine bars, okay…so my point isn't all that valid, but for the most part, it’s beer and wine or everything!) Moving on, Target does not sell beer. They only sell wine. So, I buy what I “need” and move on. As I leave the parking lot I remember there is a BevMo right in the same center so I decide that is where I will pick up the beer for my man.
Enter the store. All’s well. I make my way back to the refrigerated section and grab the cheapest beer they have (I know, great girlfriend, right?), and I head to the checkout lanes. I wait in line, still all’s well. It’s my turn and I am asked for my BevMo card and drivers license. I grab both and hand them over. As I am looking down into my purse to find my chapstick while she rings me up I hear her say matter-of-factly, “25.” That’s all she said. No shock, no surprise, no hint of rudeness. Just “25.” For some reason this was my moment of realization. My birthday was in April but it just hit me last Sunday that I was actually 25 years old. Holy shit, I thought. But, wait a minute! By 25 I was supposed to be engaged and thinking of buying a house and having a job that pays me a crap-load of money. Wait just a minute. None of those things are happening. Damn it. How did this happen? Don’t get me wrong, I love my life. I LOVE living in San Francisco and I love my boyfriend and my apartment, and my job is alright…at that moment; however, nothing mattered. I was 25 years old! Wow.
Thanks, cashier lady at BevMo…now I have a lot of work to do.
So, I am fully aware that I am 25 years old now. I am also aware that I live in an apartment with my boyfriend of 4 ½ years, and I am holding down a decent job, and I want kids someday, and I want to get married. All of these things seem more than obvious at this point; yet, while at Beverages & More the other day, all of these things lost all importance with one comment from the cashier.
So, I am at Target and have asked Eric before I left our apartment if he’d like me to get him anything. He says some beer would be nice as it’s Sunday and it’s football all day. So, I make up my mind that Target sells beer because they sell wine—and they are a package deal, right?! Like you are at a bar and they don’t say, “Oh, we only sell wine, or we only sell beer.” It’s always, “We only sell beer and wine. No booze. But beer and wine.” (Obviously, I know there are bars that only sell wine, but they are clearly called wine bars, okay…so my point isn't all that valid, but for the most part, it’s beer and wine or everything!) Moving on, Target does not sell beer. They only sell wine. So, I buy what I “need” and move on. As I leave the parking lot I remember there is a BevMo right in the same center so I decide that is where I will pick up the beer for my man.
Enter the store. All’s well. I make my way back to the refrigerated section and grab the cheapest beer they have (I know, great girlfriend, right?), and I head to the checkout lanes. I wait in line, still all’s well. It’s my turn and I am asked for my BevMo card and drivers license. I grab both and hand them over. As I am looking down into my purse to find my chapstick while she rings me up I hear her say matter-of-factly, “25.” That’s all she said. No shock, no surprise, no hint of rudeness. Just “25.” For some reason this was my moment of realization. My birthday was in April but it just hit me last Sunday that I was actually 25 years old. Holy shit, I thought. But, wait a minute! By 25 I was supposed to be engaged and thinking of buying a house and having a job that pays me a crap-load of money. Wait just a minute. None of those things are happening. Damn it. How did this happen? Don’t get me wrong, I love my life. I LOVE living in San Francisco and I love my boyfriend and my apartment, and my job is alright…at that moment; however, nothing mattered. I was 25 years old! Wow.
Thanks, cashier lady at BevMo…now I have a lot of work to do.
Monday, October 5, 2009
Upholding the family name
As a daughter, I was fairly convinced that meant that I could take the easy way out. Although I do carry the Schreibman family name around with me on my license, business cards, in my email address, etc., I was pretty certain that was my only obligation to the name…that is, until this past weekend.
My father is a big part of the Sebastopol Rotary Club (which rocks, by the way!) and not to brag but he’s kind of a big deal. And it’s not like I didn’t know that my dad was amazing and that he cared about helping charities, raising money, etc. but I got a great reminder of this at the annual Lobster Feed, which my family attended this past weekend.
Here’s how the night played out in an extremely condensed version: arrive on time, check in, collect personal wine glass, drink a lot, eat yummy appetizers, watch huge pots of boiling water with great food in them, drink some more, sit down, cheer for a lot of things, watch the lobster pot being poured onto our table, consume massive amounts of food, drink, get a lobster hat and wear it, bid on auction items, drink, bid, drink, bid, get elbowed by other bidders vying for my item, check out, find my brother sharing a cigar with some fellas, go home. All in all, GREAT night! But there was one particular moment that could not have happened and I would have been just fine.
Here’s the scene: The night is ending and you must go to the cashier to pay your dues on what you bid on, what you’ve donated, etc. throughout the evening. After I had been so politely told that I would not be getting my auction item (via the mouth of the hoverer who actually out-bid herself just cause she knew I couldn’t afford any higher), I decided to go check out. I walk in, purse in hand, and I already have a plan of attack. I know that because I didn’t get my auction item I had only successfully donated $10 to help children learn to swim, and $10 is a very low number, and I was already embarrassed by it before I walked in the room. (Initially I had wanted to donate $50 and then throughout my drinking extravaganza I was going to spend $100 toward charity.)
So, I walk into the cashier room, and, of course, it’s just me and one other lady in the room amid like 6 cashiers. And, of course, the “lady” just so happened to be the previous president of the Rotary Club, whom I have met before (because she knows my father…). The minute I walk into the brightly lit room (which sucked in itself cause I was pretty drunk and it was a shock), former-president lady says, very loudly, “This is David Schreibman’s daughter!” Not only was I caught off guard, but I’m still not sure what prompted her exclamation, or who really cared…but, boy did it get a reaction. Every single person behind the long desk looked up if they weren’t already staring at me and let out a long “ahhhhh” of realization.
Already embarrassed, I smile widely and move toward one of the cashiers. My plan to ask them to change my donation from $10 to $50 was slowly losing its chance at panning out – this I already knew in my mind. Still, with a slight bit of confidence, I show them my bid number and they bring up my bill. “So…we have $10 here to help children swim….” He looks up at me. “Uhhhh…ummmm…well, I was trying to bid on some stuff in the silent auction and those people are feisty out there! Some woman actually elbowed me to outbid me!” I immediately say even though he hadn’t really questioned my small donation. Everyone laughed and definitely thought I was hilarious. (It’s also important to note that I am wearing a bright red lobster hat and a lobster necklace.)
Once the laughter subsided, the man in front of me looked up and said, “Oh, well, your dad would be proud!” (in a completely sarcastic tone). Again, everyone laughed. My face turned red and I, again, proclaimed my intentions on donating more. Then I handed over my debit card (another bright-eyed moment as it was only $10 after all), and I didn’t have the gumption to say anything about making the donation more money (because I felt like if I said something they would think it was because they were mocking me and that is not what I wanted to portray). Transaction finally complete, I walked out feeling like a loser and shaking my head at myself. I immediately ran to tell my brother and Eric…and they laughed at me as well. Humor probably saved me here, as it does in so many other situations.
The moral of the story is that my dad has set the bar pretty damn high. And Rotary donation aside, he makes me want to not only meet his expectations but exceed them on a daily basis. Most days I feel very lucky to have that. Thanks, Dad.
My father is a big part of the Sebastopol Rotary Club (which rocks, by the way!) and not to brag but he’s kind of a big deal. And it’s not like I didn’t know that my dad was amazing and that he cared about helping charities, raising money, etc. but I got a great reminder of this at the annual Lobster Feed, which my family attended this past weekend.
Here’s how the night played out in an extremely condensed version: arrive on time, check in, collect personal wine glass, drink a lot, eat yummy appetizers, watch huge pots of boiling water with great food in them, drink some more, sit down, cheer for a lot of things, watch the lobster pot being poured onto our table, consume massive amounts of food, drink, get a lobster hat and wear it, bid on auction items, drink, bid, drink, bid, get elbowed by other bidders vying for my item, check out, find my brother sharing a cigar with some fellas, go home. All in all, GREAT night! But there was one particular moment that could not have happened and I would have been just fine.
Here’s the scene: The night is ending and you must go to the cashier to pay your dues on what you bid on, what you’ve donated, etc. throughout the evening. After I had been so politely told that I would not be getting my auction item (via the mouth of the hoverer who actually out-bid herself just cause she knew I couldn’t afford any higher), I decided to go check out. I walk in, purse in hand, and I already have a plan of attack. I know that because I didn’t get my auction item I had only successfully donated $10 to help children learn to swim, and $10 is a very low number, and I was already embarrassed by it before I walked in the room. (Initially I had wanted to donate $50 and then throughout my drinking extravaganza I was going to spend $100 toward charity.)
So, I walk into the cashier room, and, of course, it’s just me and one other lady in the room amid like 6 cashiers. And, of course, the “lady” just so happened to be the previous president of the Rotary Club, whom I have met before (because she knows my father…). The minute I walk into the brightly lit room (which sucked in itself cause I was pretty drunk and it was a shock), former-president lady says, very loudly, “This is David Schreibman’s daughter!” Not only was I caught off guard, but I’m still not sure what prompted her exclamation, or who really cared…but, boy did it get a reaction. Every single person behind the long desk looked up if they weren’t already staring at me and let out a long “ahhhhh” of realization.
Already embarrassed, I smile widely and move toward one of the cashiers. My plan to ask them to change my donation from $10 to $50 was slowly losing its chance at panning out – this I already knew in my mind. Still, with a slight bit of confidence, I show them my bid number and they bring up my bill. “So…we have $10 here to help children swim….” He looks up at me. “Uhhhh…ummmm…well, I was trying to bid on some stuff in the silent auction and those people are feisty out there! Some woman actually elbowed me to outbid me!” I immediately say even though he hadn’t really questioned my small donation. Everyone laughed and definitely thought I was hilarious. (It’s also important to note that I am wearing a bright red lobster hat and a lobster necklace.)
Once the laughter subsided, the man in front of me looked up and said, “Oh, well, your dad would be proud!” (in a completely sarcastic tone). Again, everyone laughed. My face turned red and I, again, proclaimed my intentions on donating more. Then I handed over my debit card (another bright-eyed moment as it was only $10 after all), and I didn’t have the gumption to say anything about making the donation more money (because I felt like if I said something they would think it was because they were mocking me and that is not what I wanted to portray). Transaction finally complete, I walked out feeling like a loser and shaking my head at myself. I immediately ran to tell my brother and Eric…and they laughed at me as well. Humor probably saved me here, as it does in so many other situations.
The moral of the story is that my dad has set the bar pretty damn high. And Rotary donation aside, he makes me want to not only meet his expectations but exceed them on a daily basis. Most days I feel very lucky to have that. Thanks, Dad.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Treasures....
I am currently sitting at work and listening to a CD a co-worker brought back from a recent tradeshow. Listening to the CD actually started out as a joke, but as it turns out I am thoroughly enjoying listening to "Treasures of Hawaiian Slack Key Guitar." Who knew? I just think that's a funny thing to point out right now...oh, you know, I'm just a 25-year-old girl pretending to be a professional journalist, sitting in her extremely bright-colored office with a red poodle puppy moping under her desk...I wonder what this girl is listening to on her iPod headphones plugged into her laptop? Oh, of course, Treasures of Hawaiian Slack Key Guitar. Naturally.
I would also like to admit semi-publicly that when I was in Maui for work a few months ago every time I went back to my hotel room I turned on the TV to the generic hotel station, which was showing photos of the property and fish swimming. The reason I turned on this channel was to listen to the Hawaiian music they played in the background. The worst part is that the station only had like 4 songs that just repeated over and over...and yet, still turned it on every single time I was in my room. I don't care, I'm still really cool. I swear. My blog is called shameless, so who cares. No shame here.
I would also like to admit semi-publicly that when I was in Maui for work a few months ago every time I went back to my hotel room I turned on the TV to the generic hotel station, which was showing photos of the property and fish swimming. The reason I turned on this channel was to listen to the Hawaiian music they played in the background. The worst part is that the station only had like 4 songs that just repeated over and over...and yet, still turned it on every single time I was in my room. I don't care, I'm still really cool. I swear. My blog is called shameless, so who cares. No shame here.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
When alcohol drives you to other addictions
Due to recent things I have been reading, mainly in my online traffic school hell, I have come to yet another conclusion about myself.
The excerpt: "The brain, heart, and liver are the organs most affected by alcohol. The brain has a large concentration of vessels and thus absorbs a large percentage of the alcohol directly. As a result, the brain can be damaged to the point where, in the short term, not only would an individual be unable to operate a motor vehicle safely, but in the long run they may be unable to function normally in society."
(side note: this is from COMEDY SCHOOL ONLINE! Turns out, not so funny)
First, let me just say that I know alcohol is serious and in no way am I trying to say it isn't...but, the thing with me is that I don't feel like I want to drive when I'm drunk. Oh no, I am different. Alcohol has provided me with another addiction and/or false perception of myself and my abilities. When drinking, especially when I'm home after work, I think that I can cook. Now this may be because of my other addiction to any and all food-related shows (seriously, it's bad...I've even admitted it on my work blog), but regardless it's getting a little out of hand.
The scene: I pour myself a glass of wine and Eric and I begin to watch either Top Chef, Iron Chef, Unwrapped, Throw Down with Bobby Flay, Best Thing I Ever Ate, Man vs. Food, Rachel Ray (though she's been bugging me lately)...the list goes on and on. As I watch and enjoy the show I don't even know it but I am setting myself up to spend about an hour longer in the grocery store the next time I go. Here's what happens: someone mentions rosemary or heirloom tomatoes, or scallops and they all stick somewhere in my head. Then I go on living life and we go grocery shopping and as I'm in the aisle I get these "brilliant" ideas to make something I saw on TV. The problem is that I have only caught and remembered about 3 essential ingredients when there are like 15. So, what do I do? I make them up. And it almost always ends up okay but I always find myself thinking, "damn it. I need to stop thinking I am on the Food Network and just look at a recipe."
Now, don't get me wrong...we eat some good meals out of these experiences. But every time I'm in the kitchen I seriously start chopping as if there are cameras watching me. I am not really making anything revolutionary, I usually end up dumbing down something and ending up with lemon, rosemary chicken and it only looks cool cause I bought fresh rosemary and put it on top of the chicken in the baking dish. Anyway, not the point.
Here's why I bring this not-so-great combo of booze and food shows up...I have at least 3 scars on my hands from cooking while drunk. I will explain them to you:
(A long time ago):
With: Megan and Haley
Food: frozen pizza
How it happened: We were all downing wine in our old apartment in SD and, of course, we got the drunk munchies. Megan and Haley voted on walking to get some food or ordering it, but I said that was ridiculous! We have a pizza in the freezer and I will make it. That probably would have been fine if I didn't want to add my own fresh ingredients on top of it...so, I started chopping and I got the toppings on and the pizza successfully in the oven. All was fine until I tried to take it out. So, I grab the pizza with my oven mitt on and the pizza slides out of my hand and onto the open oven door. Not thinking, I grab the fallen pizza with my other hand (with no oven mitt) and....burn. This is my worst one, by the way.
(Not so long ago):
With: Eric, Jess, B
Food: Homemade Pizza Bagels
How it happened: We got home from the bars in SF when Jess and B were visiting. We were hungry and too drunk to drive. The only option was McDonald's by our house and I am so anti-McDonald's it's not even funny. So, I realize we have cheese, pasta sauce, bagels and mushrooms in our fridge and decide to make pizza bagels. Not only does it take way too long to get all of the ingredients together but my Top Chef mentality tells me that when I take them out of the oven it's totally fine to pick them each up with my hands. Wrong again. Burn.
(An even shorter time ago):
With: Eric
Food: Tortillas
How it happened: We got home from the bars and had nothing to eat...I mean, our fridge was virtually empty. But we NEEDED food and we had a package of tortillas and a tiny block of cheese, so quesadillas it was. I'm warming up a tortilla to eat while the cheese is being shredded and as I try to turn it over it flies out of the sizzling pan. Since it absolutely cannot land on the floor, I grab it with my hand mid-air (I got skills!) and an air pocket bursts and burns the crap out of my finger. Damn.
Well, I may not be loose on the streets but one thing is for sure: I am dangerous in the kitchen. And though I'm not addicted to alcohol, I am addicted to cooking while intoxicated...and that I blame completely on the wine.
The excerpt: "The brain, heart, and liver are the organs most affected by alcohol. The brain has a large concentration of vessels and thus absorbs a large percentage of the alcohol directly. As a result, the brain can be damaged to the point where, in the short term, not only would an individual be unable to operate a motor vehicle safely, but in the long run they may be unable to function normally in society."
(side note: this is from COMEDY SCHOOL ONLINE! Turns out, not so funny)
First, let me just say that I know alcohol is serious and in no way am I trying to say it isn't...but, the thing with me is that I don't feel like I want to drive when I'm drunk. Oh no, I am different. Alcohol has provided me with another addiction and/or false perception of myself and my abilities. When drinking, especially when I'm home after work, I think that I can cook. Now this may be because of my other addiction to any and all food-related shows (seriously, it's bad...I've even admitted it on my work blog), but regardless it's getting a little out of hand.
The scene: I pour myself a glass of wine and Eric and I begin to watch either Top Chef, Iron Chef, Unwrapped, Throw Down with Bobby Flay, Best Thing I Ever Ate, Man vs. Food, Rachel Ray (though she's been bugging me lately)...the list goes on and on. As I watch and enjoy the show I don't even know it but I am setting myself up to spend about an hour longer in the grocery store the next time I go. Here's what happens: someone mentions rosemary or heirloom tomatoes, or scallops and they all stick somewhere in my head. Then I go on living life and we go grocery shopping and as I'm in the aisle I get these "brilliant" ideas to make something I saw on TV. The problem is that I have only caught and remembered about 3 essential ingredients when there are like 15. So, what do I do? I make them up. And it almost always ends up okay but I always find myself thinking, "damn it. I need to stop thinking I am on the Food Network and just look at a recipe."
Now, don't get me wrong...we eat some good meals out of these experiences. But every time I'm in the kitchen I seriously start chopping as if there are cameras watching me. I am not really making anything revolutionary, I usually end up dumbing down something and ending up with lemon, rosemary chicken and it only looks cool cause I bought fresh rosemary and put it on top of the chicken in the baking dish. Anyway, not the point.
Here's why I bring this not-so-great combo of booze and food shows up...I have at least 3 scars on my hands from cooking while drunk. I will explain them to you:
(A long time ago):
With: Megan and Haley
Food: frozen pizza
How it happened: We were all downing wine in our old apartment in SD and, of course, we got the drunk munchies. Megan and Haley voted on walking to get some food or ordering it, but I said that was ridiculous! We have a pizza in the freezer and I will make it. That probably would have been fine if I didn't want to add my own fresh ingredients on top of it...so, I started chopping and I got the toppings on and the pizza successfully in the oven. All was fine until I tried to take it out. So, I grab the pizza with my oven mitt on and the pizza slides out of my hand and onto the open oven door. Not thinking, I grab the fallen pizza with my other hand (with no oven mitt) and....burn. This is my worst one, by the way.
(Not so long ago):
With: Eric, Jess, B
Food: Homemade Pizza Bagels
How it happened: We got home from the bars in SF when Jess and B were visiting. We were hungry and too drunk to drive. The only option was McDonald's by our house and I am so anti-McDonald's it's not even funny. So, I realize we have cheese, pasta sauce, bagels and mushrooms in our fridge and decide to make pizza bagels. Not only does it take way too long to get all of the ingredients together but my Top Chef mentality tells me that when I take them out of the oven it's totally fine to pick them each up with my hands. Wrong again. Burn.
(An even shorter time ago):
With: Eric
Food: Tortillas
How it happened: We got home from the bars and had nothing to eat...I mean, our fridge was virtually empty. But we NEEDED food and we had a package of tortillas and a tiny block of cheese, so quesadillas it was. I'm warming up a tortilla to eat while the cheese is being shredded and as I try to turn it over it flies out of the sizzling pan. Since it absolutely cannot land on the floor, I grab it with my hand mid-air (I got skills!) and an air pocket bursts and burns the crap out of my finger. Damn.
Well, I may not be loose on the streets but one thing is for sure: I am dangerous in the kitchen. And though I'm not addicted to alcohol, I am addicted to cooking while intoxicated...and that I blame completely on the wine.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Brrr....it's cold in here!
Round 2 ladies and gents! My new pair of stunners have arrived - enter the newest obsession in my life...the icicles! Top photo really does equal me wearing my sunglasses at night, so I can officially check that off the list. And bottom photo is my first official day of me and my stunners, just off to work.
Let me set the scene. I get home from work late (around 11 p.m.) on Tuesday night and Eric says, "You have a surprise!" I knew right away it was my stunners as I've been patiently awaiting them for a month. This month, my box has a blue-hued sticker on it with the fabulous Stunner of the Month logo on it...little did I know that would mean blue shades inside. The description said something about a polar bear and the sunglasses being really "cool." Honestly, best money I've ever spent. LOVE THEM!
Friday, August 28, 2009
"That's a plan!"
I was inspired this morning on my way to work to write a blog about how hilarious my mother is. Sometimes I'm not sure if she means to be funny...but holy hell, she is! There are several things I love about my mom (I know, original...right?) but one of them is that I can tell her just about everything.
So, after I get off of work today Eric & I are heading to the big SR to celebrate the annual End of Summer party at my parents' house. The party is on Saturday but we are going up tonight to get some quality time in with the parents and I am taking my mom to a wine bar as a belated bday present...anyway...not the point.
This week I found out that I have been recruited (they're calling in 3rd string here!) to go to my work's event in San Diego this weekend, which I am excited about - minus the fact that I have to fly out with several coworkers at 8:30 a.m. on Sunday morning. Well, because I sort of have a life, this ruins my plans to get wasted at my parents' party on Saturday because I will have to drive back home to be ready for the early morning airport extravaganza. And this is where my mom comes in. In our conversation this morning I say to her, "So, my plan is to get really drunk tonight so that I don't even want to drink on Saturday!" to which she replies, with little hesitation, "That's a plan!" But she says it in a way that makes me not know if she thinks that I am the biggest drunk on the planet or if she thinks I am the world's smartest person.
She just cracks me up. And if you don't think that I have the coolest mom ever you've got your own issues.
So, after I get off of work today Eric & I are heading to the big SR to celebrate the annual End of Summer party at my parents' house. The party is on Saturday but we are going up tonight to get some quality time in with the parents and I am taking my mom to a wine bar as a belated bday present...anyway...not the point.
This week I found out that I have been recruited (they're calling in 3rd string here!) to go to my work's event in San Diego this weekend, which I am excited about - minus the fact that I have to fly out with several coworkers at 8:30 a.m. on Sunday morning. Well, because I sort of have a life, this ruins my plans to get wasted at my parents' party on Saturday because I will have to drive back home to be ready for the early morning airport extravaganza. And this is where my mom comes in. In our conversation this morning I say to her, "So, my plan is to get really drunk tonight so that I don't even want to drink on Saturday!" to which she replies, with little hesitation, "That's a plan!" But she says it in a way that makes me not know if she thinks that I am the biggest drunk on the planet or if she thinks I am the world's smartest person.
She just cracks me up. And if you don't think that I have the coolest mom ever you've got your own issues.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
It's Official!
I'm not sure what made me happier - seeing the "Stunner of the Month" box in my tiny metal mailbox, or actually getting the glasses. I will admit that the glasses are not as ridick as I had thought they would be, they actually are very similar to my "real" sunglasses except that they are purple on the outside and silver inside (which is rad, by the way).
Even cooler, the stunner shades came with a case, a pink cloth to clean the lenses with and a description of what the glasses are called (if your curious, these are called "candy") and the small note inside also warned me to "not let them get eaten off of my face." I am in love.
Monday, August 17, 2009
New additions....
As a future biography title:
Onesie (this was given to me by my good buddy Tim who thinks this really sums up my entire life...)
Drunk Bike Rides (a tribute to my SD life)
Onesie (this was given to me by my good buddy Tim who thinks this really sums up my entire life...)
Drunk Bike Rides (a tribute to my SD life)
Friday, August 14, 2009
I (will) wear my sunglasses at night
Last week when I joined the Stunner of the Month club (where I will get a new pair of stunner shades sent to my apartment every month), I officially entered a new phase in my life. From now on I will be cooler, faster, more popular, funnier and my game will undoubtedly take a step up. Basically I am a stunner (well, I will be when my glasses arrive around the 15th of each month). I will eventually be so cool that even when the sun goes down I will still have to wear my shades, just because I am that rad. Some people may laugh, but they will wish they were as cool as I am with my stunner shades on.
In addition, I will probably be using some words and/or phrases that you aren't used to including ballin', thang and bro. I may also be calling you names like guy, dude, homie and playa pimp. When you ask me why I am wearing my sunglasses at night I will most likely respond by saying, "Cause my future looks so bright!" or something to the effect of "I'm just livin' large." I will also be filling my iPod shuffle with one song, and one song only: "Number one stunna"
As a treat to my readers I will also be posting a photo of me wearing my new shades every month - just so you can see how cool I look.
In addition, I will probably be using some words and/or phrases that you aren't used to including ballin', thang and bro. I may also be calling you names like guy, dude, homie and playa pimp. When you ask me why I am wearing my sunglasses at night I will most likely respond by saying, "Cause my future looks so bright!" or something to the effect of "I'm just livin' large." I will also be filling my iPod shuffle with one song, and one song only: "Number one stunna"
As a treat to my readers I will also be posting a photo of me wearing my new shades every month - just so you can see how cool I look.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
A real conversation I just had...
Me: There are two concert halls named with the same last name? Wow.
Talia: They probably just gave them a butt-load of money.
Me: For sure. One day I'll have a Macie Schreibman Concert Hall.
Talia: We can only hope.
Me: (laughs hysterically)
Talia: Maybe they'll just name it after you for a great article.
Me: That's very likely.
Talia: I'm pretty close at least.
Talia: They probably just gave them a butt-load of money.
Me: For sure. One day I'll have a Macie Schreibman Concert Hall.
Talia: We can only hope.
Me: (laughs hysterically)
Talia: Maybe they'll just name it after you for a great article.
Me: That's very likely.
Talia: I'm pretty close at least.
Viva Las Vegas
On my last trip to Las Vegas, I learned a few things about myself and my relationship with the Las Vegas strip. First of all, every time I am in Vegas, all I can think about is leaving. Then, once I get home all I want to do is go back. The place is so carefree, yet I feel like it's always the same...kind of like same shit, different casino.
Another thing I learned is that I hate the heat. It's not like I didn't know that before, but Vegas really brings it out in me. The minute my sunglasses go on I am over it. I want to be inside the dark, falsely lit casino even though it is filled with cigarette smoke. It's a bit weird - my eyes sting and my clothes smell when I leave but I'd rather be inside in Vegas than outside...doesn't really make sense.
Thing #3: My eyes react violently to cigarette smoke but only past 1 a.m. and when I poke my eye with my mascara wand, it hurts so bad I drop to my knees. (Come to think of it, that could also have something to do with the eye stinging situation.)
Plus, I am apparently really into gambling...never done so much of it in my life. And I didn't even come home with winnings, yet I still feel like it was a good idea.
And lastly, I really like swimming when I am in the desert. It's not like I hate swimming, I would actually consider myself a big fan, but in the desert I am all about it. If I'm not doing it, I'm thinking about it. It's weird. Anyway...Vegas is a little intense. Probably would be just fine if I never returned. You know, I get it. I don't sleep, I drink a lot, my stomach hurts, I lose my voice and I come home exhausted with smoke-smelling clothes. I get it. Thanks Vegas - you are one of a kind.
Another thing I learned is that I hate the heat. It's not like I didn't know that before, but Vegas really brings it out in me. The minute my sunglasses go on I am over it. I want to be inside the dark, falsely lit casino even though it is filled with cigarette smoke. It's a bit weird - my eyes sting and my clothes smell when I leave but I'd rather be inside in Vegas than outside...doesn't really make sense.
Thing #3: My eyes react violently to cigarette smoke but only past 1 a.m. and when I poke my eye with my mascara wand, it hurts so bad I drop to my knees. (Come to think of it, that could also have something to do with the eye stinging situation.)
Plus, I am apparently really into gambling...never done so much of it in my life. And I didn't even come home with winnings, yet I still feel like it was a good idea.
And lastly, I really like swimming when I am in the desert. It's not like I hate swimming, I would actually consider myself a big fan, but in the desert I am all about it. If I'm not doing it, I'm thinking about it. It's weird. Anyway...Vegas is a little intense. Probably would be just fine if I never returned. You know, I get it. I don't sleep, I drink a lot, my stomach hurts, I lose my voice and I come home exhausted with smoke-smelling clothes. I get it. Thanks Vegas - you are one of a kind.
Friday, July 31, 2009
My Life: The Edited Version
This one goes out to my peeps (and my mom).
Over the years I have come up with several titles for my life story, which will not be an autobiography cause I just simply don't have the patience...but due to boredom I will share some with you now and what they mean...well, sort of (feel free to vote on which you like best, this is important - it's my life, after all).
- Dinner with Strangers (this mostly applies to my recent life but I really like what it implies)
- Hours on the roof (a recent addition...just seems fitting for my city years)
- Everyone is an artist (live in SF for a month and you'll understand)
- At least I keep my talent quiet (musicians are loud and bad, at least if my writing sucks it doesn't wake up my neighbors)
- Lack of imagination ('cause I suck at writing fiction)
- Are you serious? Yes, I am (was also the name of my much dreamed up comedy routine when I was a kid)
- I doubt it (I just say this a lot)
- Trying and Crying (it's simply what I do)
- Off the couch (which will be a study of how ironic my life is because most of my important moments happen on the couch)
- When did Marcie arrive? (if you don't get this, I don't know you)
Over the years I have come up with several titles for my life story, which will not be an autobiography cause I just simply don't have the patience...but due to boredom I will share some with you now and what they mean...well, sort of (feel free to vote on which you like best, this is important - it's my life, after all).
- Dinner with Strangers (this mostly applies to my recent life but I really like what it implies)
- Hours on the roof (a recent addition...just seems fitting for my city years)
- Everyone is an artist (live in SF for a month and you'll understand)
- At least I keep my talent quiet (musicians are loud and bad, at least if my writing sucks it doesn't wake up my neighbors)
- Lack of imagination ('cause I suck at writing fiction)
- Are you serious? Yes, I am (was also the name of my much dreamed up comedy routine when I was a kid)
- I doubt it (I just say this a lot)
- Trying and Crying (it's simply what I do)
- Off the couch (which will be a study of how ironic my life is because most of my important moments happen on the couch)
- When did Marcie arrive? (if you don't get this, I don't know you)
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Could be worse
Before I begin, I love these...
"Writing is like prostitution. First you do it for love, and then for a few close friends, and then for money."
"I prefer an interesting vice to a virtue that bores."
"I live on good soup, not on fine words."
- Moliere
Alright, here it is. I am currently earning my salary as I sit on a couch on a balcony overlooking the ocean...wait for it...in Maui! So, though my job may not be my dream job, I'm gonna have to say, this seems pretty damn good.
I am here in Maui staying at The Ritz Carlton for a press trip and I have some time before dinner, so I thought that I would gloat. I must admit, however, that last month I went to Disneyland on a press trip and I thought it was the worst place in the world to be alone. Traveling for work is awesome because I love to travel and even more, I love hotels; but, once the group dinners, tours and lectures are over, you are really alone. And I do not dig it. I like it for just about 30 minutes and then all I want to do is share it with someone.
So, before I go get ready for a dinner with strangers in a beautiful place (side note: I think that is a good book title for my life: Dinner with Strangers....anyway...)- I feel the need to tell you something I have only yet admitted to Eric. About a half an hour ago as I was walking back from the beach (yay!) I saw a hammock swaying oh-so-coolly between two palm trees and I thought to myself, I must lie in that, that would be so cool. So, I did. First I took a few photos and then I set my flip flops, towel and purse to the side and (without thinking) sat on the hammock. Instead of a success in this unknown feat, I tumbled onto the ground off of the opposite side, shoulders/head first. Yeah, it happened. I didn't even look around to see if anyone had seen me and because no one laughed too loud, I think I may have come out of it without total humiliation. And this is exactly why I should not be traveling alone.
"Writing is like prostitution. First you do it for love, and then for a few close friends, and then for money."
"I prefer an interesting vice to a virtue that bores."
"I live on good soup, not on fine words."
- Moliere
Alright, here it is. I am currently earning my salary as I sit on a couch on a balcony overlooking the ocean...wait for it...in Maui! So, though my job may not be my dream job, I'm gonna have to say, this seems pretty damn good.
I am here in Maui staying at The Ritz Carlton for a press trip and I have some time before dinner, so I thought that I would gloat. I must admit, however, that last month I went to Disneyland on a press trip and I thought it was the worst place in the world to be alone. Traveling for work is awesome because I love to travel and even more, I love hotels; but, once the group dinners, tours and lectures are over, you are really alone. And I do not dig it. I like it for just about 30 minutes and then all I want to do is share it with someone.
So, before I go get ready for a dinner with strangers in a beautiful place (side note: I think that is a good book title for my life: Dinner with Strangers....anyway...)- I feel the need to tell you something I have only yet admitted to Eric. About a half an hour ago as I was walking back from the beach (yay!) I saw a hammock swaying oh-so-coolly between two palm trees and I thought to myself, I must lie in that, that would be so cool. So, I did. First I took a few photos and then I set my flip flops, towel and purse to the side and (without thinking) sat on the hammock. Instead of a success in this unknown feat, I tumbled onto the ground off of the opposite side, shoulders/head first. Yeah, it happened. I didn't even look around to see if anyone had seen me and because no one laughed too loud, I think I may have come out of it without total humiliation. And this is exactly why I should not be traveling alone.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Camping is for lovers
I've just returned from the family camping trip in Brookings, Oregon and am proud to report that it is just like I remembered it. I have been on this trip with my cousins before and you know how sometimes when you go back somewhere years later it's just not as cool as you'd remembered? Well, not the case here. Brookings is freakin' awesome. Though we all had fun, it turns out there may or may not have been a major curse on the trip. A few things that happened that may be considered unlucky (thankfully, pretty much all of these things happened to other people...sorry guys.)
- Sonny and Debbie's transmission blew adding an extra $3,000 to their camping bill
- It took half the crew more than 9 hours to complete the 6-hour trip to the campground
- Sonny and Debbie pulled their trailer from the truck with only duct tape holding it on
- 5 people puked over the course of 4 days (and it wasn't alcohol induced)
- Leila hit/fell on her forehead three times in a day, causing her little baby head to have a very large red mark on it (she's 1 year old)
- Ava (11 mos. old) ate rust chips voluntarily
- Michele and Eric's backyard flooded leaving them to receive the call during the trip
- Eric and I placed our tent on top of a pile of poop and we didn't realize until we packed up (Eric then almost made the puke count go up to 6)
-Our campsite happened to be right next to the trash cans for the loop, which meant 6 a.m. wake-up calls and trash bag changes...
-We may or may not have seen a dead sea lion (verdict is still out on this one)
Can't wait for next year!
- Sonny and Debbie's transmission blew adding an extra $3,000 to their camping bill
- It took half the crew more than 9 hours to complete the 6-hour trip to the campground
- Sonny and Debbie pulled their trailer from the truck with only duct tape holding it on
- 5 people puked over the course of 4 days (and it wasn't alcohol induced)
- Leila hit/fell on her forehead three times in a day, causing her little baby head to have a very large red mark on it (she's 1 year old)
- Ava (11 mos. old) ate rust chips voluntarily
- Michele and Eric's backyard flooded leaving them to receive the call during the trip
- Eric and I placed our tent on top of a pile of poop and we didn't realize until we packed up (Eric then almost made the puke count go up to 6)
-Our campsite happened to be right next to the trash cans for the loop, which meant 6 a.m. wake-up calls and trash bag changes...
-We may or may not have seen a dead sea lion (verdict is still out on this one)
Can't wait for next year!
Friday, June 19, 2009
A wonderful discovery
As I was perusing through articles today, I ran across something that was completely fantastic! And because of it, I feel that I have discovered that people are like me all around the world - they have the same sense of humor, the laugh at people, they get drunk and do weird things, and basically rock.
The article, titled, "The Five Worst Hotel Rooms for Drunk People," goes through a short list of hotel rooms that basically spell disaster for any drunken idiot (a.k.a. me and/or most of my friends). And it made me laugh out loud numerous times. The kicker is that it is from a website for the hotel industry (hotelchatter.com), but it just doesn't care - the writers just make fun of anything and everything - like the things that most magazines would rave about, just because it's new or different or "all the rage." But Hotel Chatter rebels against the professional jargon and instead reports what's really going down. Including, I may add, all the shit that no one would ever admit...and they are hilarious.
My favorite part of the article comes after a photo of a clear (plastic?) chair at a hotel room in Paris, and the writer says, "We can see how a little tequila might make you think that sitting in this see-through chair totally naked and letting your friend take photos of you might seem like a really, really funny idea at the time. Trust us: it's not."
And that pretty much sums it up. Rockstars.
The article, titled, "The Five Worst Hotel Rooms for Drunk People," goes through a short list of hotel rooms that basically spell disaster for any drunken idiot (a.k.a. me and/or most of my friends). And it made me laugh out loud numerous times. The kicker is that it is from a website for the hotel industry (hotelchatter.com), but it just doesn't care - the writers just make fun of anything and everything - like the things that most magazines would rave about, just because it's new or different or "all the rage." But Hotel Chatter rebels against the professional jargon and instead reports what's really going down. Including, I may add, all the shit that no one would ever admit...and they are hilarious.
My favorite part of the article comes after a photo of a clear (plastic?) chair at a hotel room in Paris, and the writer says, "We can see how a little tequila might make you think that sitting in this see-through chair totally naked and letting your friend take photos of you might seem like a really, really funny idea at the time. Trust us: it's not."
And that pretty much sums it up. Rockstars.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
A name: the continuation
I received a package at work today from a company that wants us to use them. The label, cover sheet and letter all said "Dear Mary Schreibman..."
At least that makes my decision easier.
At least that makes my decision easier.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
What's in a name?
I would say that, on average, 8 out of 10 of my e-mails begin with "Dear Marcie"...and it pisses me off to no end. I mean, seriously. They send the email to macie @_________, really, did you not get that you spelled my name Macie and then Marcie. It's like people cannot believe that my name could possibly be Macie - because that is like the store! Oh my god...can you imagine what would happen then???!!! "You mean Macie, like the store?" My response: "Yep. Just with an i-e at the end..." Their answer: "Oh, wow. I have NEVER heard that before!" My thoughts: Oh, really...I couldn't tell by your shriek of shock, My words: "Oh, really? Awesome. So, what is your name...something super cool like Sarah or Melissa?" (Okay, so maybe I don't say that but you get the point).
So, emails are undoubtedly bad, but it's so much worse when people say it out loud. Work examples include a hand-written thank you note addressed to the proper name on the envelope, and inside above the three paragraphs explaining how awesome I am and how great it was to meet me, sits, "Dear Marcie," It just ruins the entire note. Or, and this is my personal favorite, in my work birthday card from my coworkers...two (count them, TWO!) Marcies. Really? Our office has 15 employees...really? You can't learn 15 names of people you sit less than 20 feet from at the longest point.
Oh, and another thing: A notice to all you spell check systems out there...Macie and Schreibman are real words, spelled correctly. So deal with it. And, a notice to all you key chain vendors out there: it would be nice to see Macie on just one California license plate key chain or one light-up Vegas dice. It would be nice.
So, emails are undoubtedly bad, but it's so much worse when people say it out loud. Work examples include a hand-written thank you note addressed to the proper name on the envelope, and inside above the three paragraphs explaining how awesome I am and how great it was to meet me, sits, "Dear Marcie," It just ruins the entire note. Or, and this is my personal favorite, in my work birthday card from my coworkers...two (count them, TWO!) Marcies. Really? Our office has 15 employees...really? You can't learn 15 names of people you sit less than 20 feet from at the longest point.
Oh, and another thing: A notice to all you spell check systems out there...Macie and Schreibman are real words, spelled correctly. So deal with it. And, a notice to all you key chain vendors out there: it would be nice to see Macie on just one California license plate key chain or one light-up Vegas dice. It would be nice.
Monday, June 1, 2009
BUStin' a move
Aside from Kermit the Frog, I have very few arch nemeses. This past Friday, however, I have come across one more: the bus system. To preface, I have a very poor sense of direction...I can literally walk out of a store in the mall and walk the same way I had just come from for quite a while until I realize I was just there. It's that bad.
Anyway, on Friday I woke up early so my co-worker could take me into work because I was going to meet up with my cousins, friends, boyfriend, etc. at the Giants game. After a long day at work anxiously awaiting the game, it was finally 5:30 and time to go. My co-worker, again, took me to Civic Center and unleashed me to take public transportation the rest of the way. In a conversation with a very city-savvy employee before I left, I was also told that I could take the #49 bus to a spot near AT&T Park...so, against my better judgement (because taking a bus that I haven't taken before scares me), that is what I did.
As I sat on the bus, things got a little weird. I sat through the entire Mission district, which I do not like and sat next to a gentleman holding a guitar and wearing no shirt...needless to say, it was an unpleasant experience. After about 15 minutes, I felt that I was going in the wrong direction, so I asked the bus driver if we were headed toward AT&T Park. The conversation went like this:
Me: Are we going to AT&T Park? Or anywhere near it? Like can I walk there from somewhere you stop?
Driver: Yes.
Me: OK. Awesome...cause it sort of seems like we are going away from where I need to be.
Driver: No, it's good.
Me: OK.
So, maybe I should have said a little more. Or maybe I should have never gotten on the bus at all. But, hey...you live and you learn right.
30 minutes later I find myself at the Bart station like 5 minutes from my house (across town from where I want to be, by the way). So, (like any adult would do) I start to cry. And not just like one glistening tear down my cheek - I am talking a full-on cry. After Eric talks me into not crying all night, I hop onto Bart and jump in a cab...problem solved in 20 minutes flat. (So, the moral of the story may be that San Francisco is awesome and you can get anywhere really fast, but I'm not that positive of a person).
OK, so I guess I overreacted a bit. I met up with Eric, drank a beer very fast and was at the game 5 minutes after the first pitch. Still, I hate the bus system. And until I take the time to learn the routes, I will still blame them.
Anyway, on Friday I woke up early so my co-worker could take me into work because I was going to meet up with my cousins, friends, boyfriend, etc. at the Giants game. After a long day at work anxiously awaiting the game, it was finally 5:30 and time to go. My co-worker, again, took me to Civic Center and unleashed me to take public transportation the rest of the way. In a conversation with a very city-savvy employee before I left, I was also told that I could take the #49 bus to a spot near AT&T Park...so, against my better judgement (because taking a bus that I haven't taken before scares me), that is what I did.
As I sat on the bus, things got a little weird. I sat through the entire Mission district, which I do not like and sat next to a gentleman holding a guitar and wearing no shirt...needless to say, it was an unpleasant experience. After about 15 minutes, I felt that I was going in the wrong direction, so I asked the bus driver if we were headed toward AT&T Park. The conversation went like this:
Me: Are we going to AT&T Park? Or anywhere near it? Like can I walk there from somewhere you stop?
Driver: Yes.
Me: OK. Awesome...cause it sort of seems like we are going away from where I need to be.
Driver: No, it's good.
Me: OK.
So, maybe I should have said a little more. Or maybe I should have never gotten on the bus at all. But, hey...you live and you learn right.
30 minutes later I find myself at the Bart station like 5 minutes from my house (across town from where I want to be, by the way). So, (like any adult would do) I start to cry. And not just like one glistening tear down my cheek - I am talking a full-on cry. After Eric talks me into not crying all night, I hop onto Bart and jump in a cab...problem solved in 20 minutes flat. (So, the moral of the story may be that San Francisco is awesome and you can get anywhere really fast, but I'm not that positive of a person).
OK, so I guess I overreacted a bit. I met up with Eric, drank a beer very fast and was at the game 5 minutes after the first pitch. Still, I hate the bus system. And until I take the time to learn the routes, I will still blame them.
Friday, May 22, 2009
Self involved
So, as it turns out I don't have time for myself. I just realized that it has been over two weeks since I was on here last. Wow. Too cool I guess.
Anyway - onto a blog. It's Friday a.k.a. the best freakin day ever. And even better this Friday because it is Memorial Day weekend....a three-day weekend, a.k.a. the best weekend ever.
But that is not what I am here to share with you.
This is: I have a raccoon as a stalker.
It all started a couple weeks ago after sushi dinner with Eric. We had intended on going to eat Pho at a restaurant on Ocean Ave but low and behold, they were closed on Tuesdays. Who would have thought. (Actually, I thought it right before we got there because things like that happen to me all the time.) Moving on....we walked instead to a sushi restaurant Holloway-style and ate soup with weird hot pink stuff in it.
We walked home and raced to the restroom and I won, so I was obviously excited about that. Turns out, not good. I sit and immediately look up to find a masked creature staring back at me. And as our tall window in the bathroom doesn't have a screen on it, naturally I screamed for help. Then, I got up and ran towards the window to close it, and just in time because the raccoon's paw was just reaching towards our windowsill. No good.
By the time Eric arrived, I had closed the window successfully but I really wanted him to see it. So, we opened the latch once more and there the little bastard sat. On the neighbor's roof just peering in at me. He (or she?) eventually got scared and scurried over the rooftop....
Now at present day: On Tuesday night we came home from doing the laundry and, again, immediately into the restroom. Not acknowledging my orders, Eric had left the window open again while we were out and again, the little creature was sitting there, on the roof, peering in at me. Now, I can't officially say it was the same animal but I mean, seriously...it has to be. I screamed, "raccoon! ahhhh! again!" and again, Eric came to the rescue. We watched it run off.
But what sucks is that I am now afraid to walk in the bathroom if it is dusk or later. I look up and think that there is no doubt my little friend is waiting for me. And now if my back is turned to anything in the bathroom or the kitchen (for no real reason except I am sure that is what the raccoon is stalking me for), I freak out. A car drives by and I whip my head to make sure it wasn't the raccoon. Eric moves in the other room and I whip. The dish soap flys at me. Whip. Well, you get the point.
Moral of the story: raccoons are scary, mean and can be the worst stalkers of all.
Happy Memorial Day weekend!!!!
Anyway - onto a blog. It's Friday a.k.a. the best freakin day ever. And even better this Friday because it is Memorial Day weekend....a three-day weekend, a.k.a. the best weekend ever.
But that is not what I am here to share with you.
This is: I have a raccoon as a stalker.
It all started a couple weeks ago after sushi dinner with Eric. We had intended on going to eat Pho at a restaurant on Ocean Ave but low and behold, they were closed on Tuesdays. Who would have thought. (Actually, I thought it right before we got there because things like that happen to me all the time.) Moving on....we walked instead to a sushi restaurant Holloway-style and ate soup with weird hot pink stuff in it.
We walked home and raced to the restroom and I won, so I was obviously excited about that. Turns out, not good. I sit and immediately look up to find a masked creature staring back at me. And as our tall window in the bathroom doesn't have a screen on it, naturally I screamed for help. Then, I got up and ran towards the window to close it, and just in time because the raccoon's paw was just reaching towards our windowsill. No good.
By the time Eric arrived, I had closed the window successfully but I really wanted him to see it. So, we opened the latch once more and there the little bastard sat. On the neighbor's roof just peering in at me. He (or she?) eventually got scared and scurried over the rooftop....
Now at present day: On Tuesday night we came home from doing the laundry and, again, immediately into the restroom. Not acknowledging my orders, Eric had left the window open again while we were out and again, the little creature was sitting there, on the roof, peering in at me. Now, I can't officially say it was the same animal but I mean, seriously...it has to be. I screamed, "raccoon! ahhhh! again!" and again, Eric came to the rescue. We watched it run off.
But what sucks is that I am now afraid to walk in the bathroom if it is dusk or later. I look up and think that there is no doubt my little friend is waiting for me. And now if my back is turned to anything in the bathroom or the kitchen (for no real reason except I am sure that is what the raccoon is stalking me for), I freak out. A car drives by and I whip my head to make sure it wasn't the raccoon. Eric moves in the other room and I whip. The dish soap flys at me. Whip. Well, you get the point.
Moral of the story: raccoons are scary, mean and can be the worst stalkers of all.
Happy Memorial Day weekend!!!!
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Holy Matrimony
Last weekend I went to a wedding in Orange County. It was held at a golf course and was absolutely beautiful - so in no way is this post intended to be a negative reflection of the wedding I just went to. Again, it was beautiful and the bride and groom left the wedding via white horse and light-up carriage a la Cinderella. I mean, come on. Seriously don't think anything could be cooler. (Minus that the horse was riding them around super fast and I had just watched "When Good Animals Go Bad" on TV that afternoon, and was therefore sure the happy couple would get thrown off at full speed...luckily that did not happen).
Back to my point (though I technically haven't made one yet). There are so many parts of a wedding that I feel extremely awkward during and/or think are really lame, and they are the following:
1. Waiting for the ceremony to begin.
2. The first dance as a married couple.
3. The couple walking around the tables as people are eating to say hello to their guests.
4. The couple announcing the cake cutting. (this particular wedding didn't do that and it was fabulous)
5. The "all the women to the dance floor" call...
And there are some things that I absolutely love (and they are as follows):
1. The walk back down the aisle after they are officially married.
2. The best man/maid of honor/father of the bride speeches.
3. The last dance.
4. The champagne (and the open bar, of course).
5. The YMCA (which was nonexistent at this wedding as well...due to their "no list" that they gave the DJ).
And the why:
1. I hate waiting for the ceremony because once you are seated there is absolutely no turning back. You can't get up to use the restroom or to make a phone call because the wedding could start at any minute...and laughing at that point is basically out of the question entirely.
2. I feel uncomfortable during the couple's first dance because I don't want people staring at me while I'm in love with my husband (hypothetically speaking, of course)
3. I know you don't want to talk to me - stop pretending you do. Also, I don't want to feel obligated to do so at my own wedding. (again, hypothetically cause I'm not engaged).
4. No one wants to watch you feed cake to each other. Honestly. Who thought of this? And why is it now a tradition?
5. Maybe I don't feel like dancing - that's why I wasn't on the dance floor already. And they always say it like "the bride wants all the ladies on the dance floor..." no she doesn't. She wants her best friends and like her mom and aunts but not everyone...let's get real.
And why I love these things:
They are real, honest and don't feel forced. They are from the heart. Now, all together let's say ahhhhhhhh......
Back to my point (though I technically haven't made one yet). There are so many parts of a wedding that I feel extremely awkward during and/or think are really lame, and they are the following:
1. Waiting for the ceremony to begin.
2. The first dance as a married couple.
3. The couple walking around the tables as people are eating to say hello to their guests.
4. The couple announcing the cake cutting. (this particular wedding didn't do that and it was fabulous)
5. The "all the women to the dance floor" call...
And there are some things that I absolutely love (and they are as follows):
1. The walk back down the aisle after they are officially married.
2. The best man/maid of honor/father of the bride speeches.
3. The last dance.
4. The champagne (and the open bar, of course).
5. The YMCA (which was nonexistent at this wedding as well...due to their "no list" that they gave the DJ).
And the why:
1. I hate waiting for the ceremony because once you are seated there is absolutely no turning back. You can't get up to use the restroom or to make a phone call because the wedding could start at any minute...and laughing at that point is basically out of the question entirely.
2. I feel uncomfortable during the couple's first dance because I don't want people staring at me while I'm in love with my husband (hypothetically speaking, of course)
3. I know you don't want to talk to me - stop pretending you do. Also, I don't want to feel obligated to do so at my own wedding. (again, hypothetically cause I'm not engaged).
4. No one wants to watch you feed cake to each other. Honestly. Who thought of this? And why is it now a tradition?
5. Maybe I don't feel like dancing - that's why I wasn't on the dance floor already. And they always say it like "the bride wants all the ladies on the dance floor..." no she doesn't. She wants her best friends and like her mom and aunts but not everyone...let's get real.
And why I love these things:
They are real, honest and don't feel forced. They are from the heart. Now, all together let's say ahhhhhhhh......
Monday, April 27, 2009
Someday...
So, my good friend Ashley just returned from a week-long trip to Fiji. I spoke to her this morning and can't help but feel like some people just belong on islands. She said it was like a dream, surreal and she doesn't have words to describe it.
As a writer, that is the part that intrigues me the most. So amazing that you don't have words to describe it. I mean, I understand - some things are so wonderful that it is simply better to keep the feeling rather than trying to put it into words. And I also feel vocabulary is a bit limited sometimes - a feeling means so much more. Nonetheless, I feel that Ashley should live on an island. I would miss her but she would be so happy.
As a writer, that is the part that intrigues me the most. So amazing that you don't have words to describe it. I mean, I understand - some things are so wonderful that it is simply better to keep the feeling rather than trying to put it into words. And I also feel vocabulary is a bit limited sometimes - a feeling means so much more. Nonetheless, I feel that Ashley should live on an island. I would miss her but she would be so happy.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Out of character
You know, I really hate it when people say things that are so undoubtedly out of the line, yet, they say it like you are known for these things. More specifically, about a month ago, every single time I walked into my office (walking in in the morning, coming back from the bathroom, back from lunch, etc.), the owner’s dog would bark at me like I was some intruder trying to steal everyone’s laptops. Obviously, this was not the case. But it didn’t fail, every single time I entered the room, it was all hell breaks loose. This behavior did not go unnoticed, as you can imagine. The occasional, “it’s every time you walk in, and no one else!” was shouted by the head honcho, and you know…that got old. But here is the kicker. The thing that really set it off.
I’m casually sitting in my cubicle one afternoon, typing, listening to music…when all of a sudden I feel a tap on my shoulder. And with a slightly whispered tone, she says, “What did you do to her?” With obvious confusion, I say, “what?” and the response was, “Well, obviously the dog is scared of you, what are you doing to her that she barks at you, and only you, when you walk into the office?”
Because I am at work, I refrain myself and do not do what I really want to. (Which is, of course, to freak out, scream and yell that it is a DOG versus a HUMAN, so the DOG is probably just being a DOG and barking because she is a DOG!) and I instead say, “I didn’t do anything, that is weird that she does that.” The conversion ended awkwardly and with a look of I-absolutely-don’t-believe-you-didn’t-kick-my-dog-while-I-wasn’t-looking. And the bottom line is that it freakin’ pissed me off. Really? I seriously hurt your dog at work and she is trying to tell everyone every time I walk into the office?! Really? It’s not my first day. You sort of know me, who I am, etc. Really? That is what I did. God, it just annoyed me to no end.
And though I was sort of over that incident, another happened today that has set me into this motion and puts us where we are now. So, today the owner comes over to me and shares a magazine with products in it that she likes for a section that I work on in our magazine. Nice enough, everything is okay, fine. And as our conversation ends and I take the magazine from her out placed hand, she leans in and whispers, “Now, don’t lose it.” And walks away. What?!!! Cause I lose things all the time? No. Hmmm…and that is exactly what I am talking about.
I’m casually sitting in my cubicle one afternoon, typing, listening to music…when all of a sudden I feel a tap on my shoulder. And with a slightly whispered tone, she says, “What did you do to her?” With obvious confusion, I say, “what?” and the response was, “Well, obviously the dog is scared of you, what are you doing to her that she barks at you, and only you, when you walk into the office?”
Because I am at work, I refrain myself and do not do what I really want to. (Which is, of course, to freak out, scream and yell that it is a DOG versus a HUMAN, so the DOG is probably just being a DOG and barking because she is a DOG!) and I instead say, “I didn’t do anything, that is weird that she does that.” The conversion ended awkwardly and with a look of I-absolutely-don’t-believe-you-didn’t-kick-my-dog-while-I-wasn’t-looking. And the bottom line is that it freakin’ pissed me off. Really? I seriously hurt your dog at work and she is trying to tell everyone every time I walk into the office?! Really? It’s not my first day. You sort of know me, who I am, etc. Really? That is what I did. God, it just annoyed me to no end.
And though I was sort of over that incident, another happened today that has set me into this motion and puts us where we are now. So, today the owner comes over to me and shares a magazine with products in it that she likes for a section that I work on in our magazine. Nice enough, everything is okay, fine. And as our conversation ends and I take the magazine from her out placed hand, she leans in and whispers, “Now, don’t lose it.” And walks away. What?!!! Cause I lose things all the time? No. Hmmm…and that is exactly what I am talking about.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
What drives you
For me, it’s writing.
My dream job is sitting anywhere I want for how long I want and writing. And then, of course, getting paid well to do that. I want to write whatever I feel like writing, in my own words, and make people smile, think and respond to what I have to say. Currently, I am improving my skills, being edited, trying on a new industry, and jumping head first into something that I have really enjoyed. But some days when I get a piece of paper back with hundreds of words written on them that say the same thing…with words like “perched, myriad, picturesque, scenic, blah, blah, blah”…these are not my words. They belong to someone else. I interject my way in with puns and ideas that make me smile, and just hope that they get to stay…that they get to make it through the press and on the page – forever.
I am in love with print publications. Online is fun – there is no doubt about that. But there is nothing like seeing my name under the headline (that I came up with). Nothing. The feeling is unmatched. And it is how I will spend the rest of my life: waiting for the thrill of turning another page.
My dream job is sitting anywhere I want for how long I want and writing. And then, of course, getting paid well to do that. I want to write whatever I feel like writing, in my own words, and make people smile, think and respond to what I have to say. Currently, I am improving my skills, being edited, trying on a new industry, and jumping head first into something that I have really enjoyed. But some days when I get a piece of paper back with hundreds of words written on them that say the same thing…with words like “perched, myriad, picturesque, scenic, blah, blah, blah”…these are not my words. They belong to someone else. I interject my way in with puns and ideas that make me smile, and just hope that they get to stay…that they get to make it through the press and on the page – forever.
I am in love with print publications. Online is fun – there is no doubt about that. But there is nothing like seeing my name under the headline (that I came up with). Nothing. The feeling is unmatched. And it is how I will spend the rest of my life: waiting for the thrill of turning another page.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
I just can't wait....
So, here I sit. Waiting...for Friday. And it's not just any Friday - this Friday I am off to Las Vegas. Yes, despite what Obama has to say about the city, I am headed there...well, actually the way I am going to celebrate Vegas is exactly what he stereotyped it as...but that's a whole 'nother story altogether. Anyway, soon (in almost exactly 24 hours) I will be off to Vegas. Ready to have a drink or two, watch people be insane, wear clothes I would never normally wear, and all in all enjoy myself. Can't freakin' wait.
Friday, March 13, 2009
Life without Eric
So, Eric and I are under the impression that we, as adults, can each leave one another at home by themselves. This seems logical enough, yet somehow every time he is away I manage to do something completely ridiculous that I am convinced would not have happened if he were home.
So, last Thursday. I get home from work, do some Wii Fit (a new addiction of mine), make dinner and watch some Sex and the City cause Eric isn't home to groan about how annoying the stars of that show are. Finally, I drag my ass off the couch and start cleaning for the company I will be having this weekend. Near the end of my cracked-out tirade through the house, on the floor, and in every nook and cranny, I end up at the trash can/compost/recycling bins that take up a huge corner of the kitchen/dining room.
Instead of doing what I would normally do -- which is set all three bags outside the kitchen door onto the porch that doesn't belong to us and casually look around to make sure no one saw me do it -- I decide that I will be a better person and take the bags down the crooked stairs and around the dark corners to their proper bins. Because it is dark outside, I grab the small grey flashlight on the windowsill and place it in between my teeth (yes, that is how classy I am). I successfully make it down the stairs and put two of the bags into their respective homes...then, the incident happens. As I ungracefully toss the trash bag into the extra-large container, I hit my mouth, and the flashlight falls out, and into the bin (of course).
I stand there for one second and without really thinking, I throw the trash bin on its side and dive into it. Now, as I write this I am completely baffled at why this was my reaction. I chose to crawl inside a plastic container that holds trash to retrieve a tiny (and cheap) flashlight. A minute later, I back out, wipe off my knees and smile widely. Then I realize what just happened. As fast as I can, I put the receptacle back in its proper place and run upstairs to detox my skin.
Once I make it through the shower and change my clothes, I can't help but wonder what made me act the way I did...just because I'm not used to being alone doesn't give me the right to stop thinking and rummage around trash bins.
The moral of the story: Life without Eric is weird.
The bright side: From now on, instead of saying "As hard as finding a needle in a haystack," I am going to say "As hard as finding a small flashlight in a trash bin."
So, last Thursday. I get home from work, do some Wii Fit (a new addiction of mine), make dinner and watch some Sex and the City cause Eric isn't home to groan about how annoying the stars of that show are. Finally, I drag my ass off the couch and start cleaning for the company I will be having this weekend. Near the end of my cracked-out tirade through the house, on the floor, and in every nook and cranny, I end up at the trash can/compost/recycling bins that take up a huge corner of the kitchen/dining room.
Instead of doing what I would normally do -- which is set all three bags outside the kitchen door onto the porch that doesn't belong to us and casually look around to make sure no one saw me do it -- I decide that I will be a better person and take the bags down the crooked stairs and around the dark corners to their proper bins. Because it is dark outside, I grab the small grey flashlight on the windowsill and place it in between my teeth (yes, that is how classy I am). I successfully make it down the stairs and put two of the bags into their respective homes...then, the incident happens. As I ungracefully toss the trash bag into the extra-large container, I hit my mouth, and the flashlight falls out, and into the bin (of course).
I stand there for one second and without really thinking, I throw the trash bin on its side and dive into it. Now, as I write this I am completely baffled at why this was my reaction. I chose to crawl inside a plastic container that holds trash to retrieve a tiny (and cheap) flashlight. A minute later, I back out, wipe off my knees and smile widely. Then I realize what just happened. As fast as I can, I put the receptacle back in its proper place and run upstairs to detox my skin.
Once I make it through the shower and change my clothes, I can't help but wonder what made me act the way I did...just because I'm not used to being alone doesn't give me the right to stop thinking and rummage around trash bins.
The moral of the story: Life without Eric is weird.
The bright side: From now on, instead of saying "As hard as finding a needle in a haystack," I am going to say "As hard as finding a small flashlight in a trash bin."
"That's a thought to think about"
Sometimes when you overhear something, it's truly hard not to point and laugh at the person who is saying it. It seems juvenille, and it is. However, I don't know what else to do - and maybe this is why I don't have children, am not married and basically would like to take life as least seriously as possible.
What a wonderful life
If for no other reason than to have lived for everyone else, she has done well. If she knew the way she impacted everyone around her, she would be happy. She is happy. And because I love and miss my aunt Mary very much, though I know she is peaceful, I want her to know that we all love her down here.
Been working so hard
I'm punching my card
Eight hours. For what?
Oh, tell me what I got
I've got this feeling
That time's still holding me down
I'll hit the ceiling
Or else I'll tear up this town
Now I gotta cut
*Loose, footloose
Kick off your Sunday shoes
Please, Louise
Pull me offa my knees
Jack, get back
C'mon before we crack
Lose your blues
Everybody cut footloose
You're playing so cool
Obeying every rule
Dig a way down in your heart
You're burning, yearning for songs
Somebody to tell you
That life ain't passing you by
I'm trying to tell you
It will if you don't even try
You can fly if you'd only cut
Loose, footloose
Kick off your Sunday shoes
Oowhee, Marie
Shake it, shake it for me
Whoa, Milo
C'mon, c'mon let's go
Lose your blues
Everybody cut footloose
We got to turn me around
And put your feet on the ground
Now take a hold of all
Whooooooooa, I'm turning it
Been working so hard
I'm punching my card
Eight hours. For what?
Oh, tell me what I got
I've got this feeling
That time's still holding me down
I'll hit the ceiling
Or else I'll tear up this town
Now I gotta cut
*Loose, footloose
Kick off your Sunday shoes
Please, Louise
Pull me offa my knees
Jack, get back
C'mon before we crack
Lose your blues
Everybody cut footloose
You're playing so cool
Obeying every rule
Dig a way down in your heart
You're burning, yearning for songs
Somebody to tell you
That life ain't passing you by
I'm trying to tell you
It will if you don't even try
You can fly if you'd only cut
Loose, footloose
Kick off your Sunday shoes
Oowhee, Marie
Shake it, shake it for me
Whoa, Milo
C'mon, c'mon let's go
Lose your blues
Everybody cut footloose
We got to turn me around
And put your feet on the ground
Now take a hold of all
Whooooooooa, I'm turning it
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
I miss my identity
I guess I still have it. But it seems that I am also sharing it, which I did not agree to. Here's the story. I got my wallet stolen at a bar when having drinks with my San Fran BFF. I put my purse on that nifty little hook under the bar where I (and all other women in the whole world) always put my purse (and their purses respectively). Being the paranoid freak I am [side note: this should also answer any questions my friends may have about me not smoking doobies, etc.], I reached my hand over to check that my purse was there about 30 times in the course of the 2-hour drink extravaganza that probably changed my life.
Every time I reached, it was there.
Okay, so we finish our beers and go our seperate ways and I laugh on the phone all the way to my car as I blab on and on about how awesome things are and how wonderful life is...all this without realizing, noticing, knowing that I had just been had. Shit.
So...fast forward to the next day. Out to lunch with a couple of co-workers (also friends), having a great time, ate a fabulous quesadilla. Rushing to eat our food so that we don't extend our allotted hour-long lunch break, we ask the waiter to bring over our check. It arrives and I casaully reach in my purse. Where is my wallet? I think, still calm. So, I proceed to scour through the dense black hole that is my purse and still...nothing. With words of encouragement, my friends assure me that the wallet is in my car. I look and nothing. Fuck. That is all I can think.
I call Eric to ask if he saw it at home. No. I call my BFF to see if she stole it in jest. No. I call the bar to see if I dropped it and the cleaning guy (or gal) saw it and it's happily sitting behind the bar waiting for my phone call. No.
Shit.
I get home and Eric tells me to stop worrying. Just get on Wii Fit and calm down, he says. Fine. Rhythm Boxing takes me into my happy place and I don't know it yet, but this will be the last happy moment for days....my cell phone rings. It's a recording (which is never good). This is Washington Mutual Fraud Services calling to check on some suspicious account activity for (insert name here). I get connected to a live person and it's not all fun and games. It's verification, questions, account balances. Apparently the culprit had tried to use my debit card at a Champs sports store to buy a $40 pair of fucking shoes. I say this is not me, explain what happened, etc.
And all I can think is...If that's not a sign of a down economy, I don't know what is.
Anyway, all not-that-funny-shouldn't-be-kidding-about jokes aside, this sucks. But at least I know my wallet is stolen and not lost and I sleep okay that night.
Fast forward again to Friday evening. It's 6 p.m. and I am leaving work (yes, a half and hour later that normal, so I am already anxious and ready to get home) and I look down at my cell phone, which I placed in my purse for the last two hours of work so that I would stop looking at it, waiting for another bad phone call. Turns out that was a bad decision. Two frantic messages from a downtown Oakland bank branch - please call us back ASAP! they say. I call. Say, "hello, this is Macie" and before I can spit out my last name they know who I am. Not a good sign.
The convo went like this (modified a bit because my head was spinning)
Woman: Did you lose your ID?
Me: Yes! On Wednesday night....
Woman: Okay, cause this woman just came into the branch with a wig on, I think she was an impersonator! She was a good one too, looked just like you, caucasion, black wig.... [unrelated side note: my hair is NOT black...give me a break]
Me: What?!!! Are you kidding me?!!!
Woman: Don't worry, we stopped her...and we have your ID!! You can come and get it Monday, oh yeah and she already took out (blank dollars) from your account at another branch in Oakland. Money orders, cash, blah, blah, blah...
(I don't hear anything she is saying cause I am crossing the bridge and can't focus on anything).
Okay. Seriously...there is a woman running (quite literally out of banks) with a wig on trying to be me. I can't handle this. I call a few people to say just that. Fuck.
So now it's Tuesday and it's not over. Yesterday I spent hours at multiple banks, changing things, giving information and worrying a lot. Long story short, I want my identity back. I want my wallet with my Vons card and my gas receipts that I keep for no reason whatsoever. Every time my phone rings I think something worse is going to happen. I guess only 5 to 7 business days will tell.
If you are reading this and in fact are the lady that wore a wig and tried to be me: I hate you! I hate everything you do, you did, and everything you will be! Leave me alone. I hate you.
Every time I reached, it was there.
Okay, so we finish our beers and go our seperate ways and I laugh on the phone all the way to my car as I blab on and on about how awesome things are and how wonderful life is...all this without realizing, noticing, knowing that I had just been had. Shit.
So...fast forward to the next day. Out to lunch with a couple of co-workers (also friends), having a great time, ate a fabulous quesadilla. Rushing to eat our food so that we don't extend our allotted hour-long lunch break, we ask the waiter to bring over our check. It arrives and I casaully reach in my purse. Where is my wallet? I think, still calm. So, I proceed to scour through the dense black hole that is my purse and still...nothing. With words of encouragement, my friends assure me that the wallet is in my car. I look and nothing. Fuck. That is all I can think.
I call Eric to ask if he saw it at home. No. I call my BFF to see if she stole it in jest. No. I call the bar to see if I dropped it and the cleaning guy (or gal) saw it and it's happily sitting behind the bar waiting for my phone call. No.
Shit.
I get home and Eric tells me to stop worrying. Just get on Wii Fit and calm down, he says. Fine. Rhythm Boxing takes me into my happy place and I don't know it yet, but this will be the last happy moment for days....my cell phone rings. It's a recording (which is never good). This is Washington Mutual Fraud Services calling to check on some suspicious account activity for (insert name here). I get connected to a live person and it's not all fun and games. It's verification, questions, account balances. Apparently the culprit had tried to use my debit card at a Champs sports store to buy a $40 pair of fucking shoes. I say this is not me, explain what happened, etc.
And all I can think is...If that's not a sign of a down economy, I don't know what is.
Anyway, all not-that-funny-shouldn't-be-kidding-about jokes aside, this sucks. But at least I know my wallet is stolen and not lost and I sleep okay that night.
Fast forward again to Friday evening. It's 6 p.m. and I am leaving work (yes, a half and hour later that normal, so I am already anxious and ready to get home) and I look down at my cell phone, which I placed in my purse for the last two hours of work so that I would stop looking at it, waiting for another bad phone call. Turns out that was a bad decision. Two frantic messages from a downtown Oakland bank branch - please call us back ASAP! they say. I call. Say, "hello, this is Macie" and before I can spit out my last name they know who I am. Not a good sign.
The convo went like this (modified a bit because my head was spinning)
Woman: Did you lose your ID?
Me: Yes! On Wednesday night....
Woman: Okay, cause this woman just came into the branch with a wig on, I think she was an impersonator! She was a good one too, looked just like you, caucasion, black wig.... [unrelated side note: my hair is NOT black...give me a break]
Me: What?!!! Are you kidding me?!!!
Woman: Don't worry, we stopped her...and we have your ID!! You can come and get it Monday, oh yeah and she already took out (blank dollars) from your account at another branch in Oakland. Money orders, cash, blah, blah, blah...
(I don't hear anything she is saying cause I am crossing the bridge and can't focus on anything).
Okay. Seriously...there is a woman running (quite literally out of banks) with a wig on trying to be me. I can't handle this. I call a few people to say just that. Fuck.
So now it's Tuesday and it's not over. Yesterday I spent hours at multiple banks, changing things, giving information and worrying a lot. Long story short, I want my identity back. I want my wallet with my Vons card and my gas receipts that I keep for no reason whatsoever. Every time my phone rings I think something worse is going to happen. I guess only 5 to 7 business days will tell.
If you are reading this and in fact are the lady that wore a wig and tried to be me: I hate you! I hate everything you do, you did, and everything you will be! Leave me alone. I hate you.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
I love punctuation and am willing to accept the implications
Let me preface this story with “are you kidding me?”
Title of article I read: Its a catastrophe for the apostrophe in Britain
and here is the beginning....
On the streets of Birmingham, the queen's English is now the queens English.
England's second-largest city has decided to drop apostrophes from all its street signs, saying they're confusing and old-fashioned. But some purists are downright possessive about the punctuation mark. It seems that Birmingham officials have been taking a hammer to grammar (fantastic saying!) for years, quietly dropping apostrophes from street signs since the 1950s.
Through the decades, residents have frequently launched spirited campaigns to restore the missing punctuation to signs denoting such places as "St. Pauls Square" or "Acocks Green."
This week, the council made it official, saying it was banning the punctuation mark from signs in a bid to end the dispute once and for all. Councilor Martin Mullaney, who heads the city's transport scrutiny committee, said he decided to act after yet another interminable debate into whether "Kings Heath," a Birmingham suburb, should be rewritten with an apostrophe. "I had to make a final decision on this," he said Friday. "We keep debating apostrophes in meetings and we have other things to do." (seems like a sensible statement)
Mullaney hopes to stop public campaigns to restore the apostrophe that would tell passers-by that "Kings Heath" was once owned by the monarchy. "Apostrophes denote possessions that are no longer accurate, and are not needed," he said. "More importantly, they confuse people. (who do they confuse? I am actually very glad I don't know anyone that is confused by apostrophes) If I want to go to a restaurant, I don't want to have an A-level (high school diploma) in English to find it."
...and my opinion:
What?! Okay, so this made me laugh at first. It's funny. But then I thought about it a bit longer and decided that this is absurd. First of all, being a "writer" I have to admit that the English language is incredibly flawed. That I am not denying. However, since when are you allowed to just make up your own rules and decide there will be no apostrophes on street signs? And really...is it that confusing? I guess I'm okay with it in Britain but I swear...If this ever makes its way to the States I will be the first one with a picket in my hand shaped like a giant exclamation point!
Title of article I read: Its a catastrophe for the apostrophe in Britain
and here is the beginning....
On the streets of Birmingham, the queen's English is now the queens English.
England's second-largest city has decided to drop apostrophes from all its street signs, saying they're confusing and old-fashioned. But some purists are downright possessive about the punctuation mark. It seems that Birmingham officials have been taking a hammer to grammar (fantastic saying!) for years, quietly dropping apostrophes from street signs since the 1950s.
Through the decades, residents have frequently launched spirited campaigns to restore the missing punctuation to signs denoting such places as "St. Pauls Square" or "Acocks Green."
This week, the council made it official, saying it was banning the punctuation mark from signs in a bid to end the dispute once and for all. Councilor Martin Mullaney, who heads the city's transport scrutiny committee, said he decided to act after yet another interminable debate into whether "Kings Heath," a Birmingham suburb, should be rewritten with an apostrophe. "I had to make a final decision on this," he said Friday. "We keep debating apostrophes in meetings and we have other things to do." (seems like a sensible statement)
Mullaney hopes to stop public campaigns to restore the apostrophe that would tell passers-by that "Kings Heath" was once owned by the monarchy. "Apostrophes denote possessions that are no longer accurate, and are not needed," he said. "More importantly, they confuse people. (who do they confuse? I am actually very glad I don't know anyone that is confused by apostrophes) If I want to go to a restaurant, I don't want to have an A-level (high school diploma) in English to find it."
...and my opinion:
What?! Okay, so this made me laugh at first. It's funny. But then I thought about it a bit longer and decided that this is absurd. First of all, being a "writer" I have to admit that the English language is incredibly flawed. That I am not denying. However, since when are you allowed to just make up your own rules and decide there will be no apostrophes on street signs? And really...is it that confusing? I guess I'm okay with it in Britain but I swear...If this ever makes its way to the States I will be the first one with a picket in my hand shaped like a giant exclamation point!
Thursday, February 5, 2009
I know, I know...
This is going to sound weird but sometimes I think that a good song is one I don't notice at first. Especially at work (but it happens in the car and at home when I'm doing awesome things like cleaning dishes and blasting music), but seriously, an annoying song makes me jump to my feet and stop it IMMEDIATELY! Like if it happens to keep playing for one second more it will make my mind melt or something equally dramatic.
Explanation: I am at work and I need to write something. And sometimes writing is hard. If you can believe it or not...however, music helps. Anyway, if I am writing and can write with headphones on that not only means that I am a great writer, but also that great music is playing. Bad music is distracting but a good song I will not even hear. Weird. I know.
But, the best songs, of course will stop you in your tracks and allow you to do nothing else but listen.
Explanation: I am at work and I need to write something. And sometimes writing is hard. If you can believe it or not...however, music helps. Anyway, if I am writing and can write with headphones on that not only means that I am a great writer, but also that great music is playing. Bad music is distracting but a good song I will not even hear. Weird. I know.
But, the best songs, of course will stop you in your tracks and allow you to do nothing else but listen.
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