Archive for December 29, 2005

These People Need to Get Out of My Head!

December 29, 2005

Team_colors Today at work, FOUR of us wore the same exact colors, and only those colors. Burgundy and black. I mean, it’s not like we wear these colors every day. I, for one, haven’t worn the shirt I wore literally in years, because I had lost it and recently found it in the back of my closet. Creeeepy. In this picture, it looks like my shirt is black b/c of my crappy camera phone, but it’s burgundy.

Green_whiteOH, and not too long ago three of us all wore jeans and green/white shirt/jacket combos. Try to pretend this is a flattering picture of me, and that I don’t look like I have a stubby midget torso, a hunchback and two black eyes. Just use your imagination.

Spooky, huh?

In other news, a muscle in my thigh has been twitching all day, causing me annoyance. Also, I’m leaving tomorrow morning for San Francisco, where I’ll spend New Year’s Eve for the second year running. Yippee!

This is likely my last post in 2005, so see you next year!

Porcelain Devils, or “Bowls of Evil”

December 14, 2005

Automatic-flush toilets were sent here from hell, to remind us of the punishment that may await us if we’re not careful.  I hate them, with every fiber of my being.

I’ll tell you, I like the automatic faucets — easy, saves water, and as a germaphobe, I appreciate not having to touch bacteria-infested surfaces more than necessary.  I see the point of that.  Also, I can completely stand behind automatic paper-towel dispensers.  Waving my hand in front of them and paper towels coming out like magic makes me feel like I’m living in the future.  But the toilets… The Toilets. 

I guess they’re an OK invention — good intentions and all — but they just plain do not work.  They flush when you don’t want them to, and don’t when you do.  I once had an automatic toilet flush seven times during a short bathroom visit, but as soon as I got up to leave, NOTHING.  The whole time I was trying to pee, my butt was getting splattered with water as it churned below, but when I stood up and the toilet should have flushed, it just sat there.  I waved my hand in front of it, backed against the wall so it would think I had left, even actually left the stall and waited nearby, and it just freaking sat there.  And that was just one instance.  I cannot count the number of tricks I have tried to con the toilet into thinking I’ve left so I can make sure it actually will flush, or the times I’ve had to go back into the stall and push the little button to manually flush the toilet.  At least with the old-school toilets I could flush them with my foot — but these, I have to press directly on that little button with my finger, and it grosses the hell out of me.

Another infurating thing about them is when they flush repeatedly before I’m even sitting down.  I lean over and put down the toilet seat cover, stand up, turn around, get all ready to sit down and — flush. There goes the seat cover, sucked right in.  Repeat steps 1-4.  At my last job we had a particularly ornery toilet that did that every time.  I finally worked out a system whereby I had my pants down before putting the seat cover down, then put it down, held it down with my hands while I spun around and jammed my butt down on it before it had a chance to flush away.  It worked pretty well, but sometimes it made me dizzy.

I know I’m not the only one experiencing this.  Otherwise, how do you explain the sheer multitude of unflushed toilets?  Before, we were all responsible for flushing our own toilet.  Sure, there was the odd person-raised-in-a-barn who never flushed, but that person was shunned by society and therefore was the exception rather than the rule.  For the most part, people flushed and you didn’t think much about it.  Now we’re being trained not to even think about whether our toilet has flushed.  We just leave the stall and expect it to be done for us.  What’s next? Toys that pick themselves up?  Toothbrushes that march merrily into our rooms at night, dive into our mouths, and brush our teeth for us? (Actually, that wouldn’t be so bad… )  But really, how is anyone supposed to learn any responsibility with all this automation?  And even if it isn’t damaging society, it doesn’t work!  The toilets only flush when you don’t want them to!  Please, let’s just go back to good old-fashioned manual-flush toilets — and send these devils back to hell where they belong!

Pinky the Retarded Clown, At Your Service

December 9, 2005

Last night I had a lapse of judgement so extreme it resulted in a full-fledged early-morning outfit crisis.

I had carefully picked out the following ensemble and placed it on the chair by my bed:  A long, strapless dark pink flowy top.  On top of that I planned to wear a short, black 3/4" sleeve black shirt.  Cropped jeans that I planned to wear rolled up to just below the kneee.  Converse high-tops — 3 different shades of pink — and calf-length white socks with two dark pink stripes at the top, pulled up. 

One question maybe you can help me with:  What in Pete’s name was I thinking??????  When I put it on this morning and looked in the mirror, I actually burst out laughing.  I looked like Porky Pig, or a five year old, or a circus clown named Pinky.  All I needed was a little pink cap with a pinwheel on top.  I tried to find a picture on the Internet to show you the image that came to mind when I saw myself.  I pictured a fat, chipper little slightly retarded boy going, "Wheeeeee!"  I couldn’t find a picture, so I drew one:Fatboy_cropped

Also, I am including a great shot of Porky Pig, since he and I were clearly on the same type of drug when we chose our look.  If only I had taken a photo of myself.  You would have laughed and laughed.

What ensued next was a frantic pulling-out of everything in my closet.  Another question for you: Why is it that I seem to have more clothes than Imelda Marcos has shoes, and yet nothing matches anything else?  Clearly I have a Porkyshopping handicap.  Put me in a store and I’m like a crow, just going after shiny objects with no real purpose.

So here I am, wearing the most boring thing in my closet because at that point it was all I trusted myself to put on, and I’m supposed to meet friends for drinks after work.  Damn.

As a side note, my co-worker saw me drawing that picture and said, "Oh, are you drawing something?" She came closer, and I don’t think I even need to tell you her reaction.  OK, I will.  Laughter to the point of tears, and a little fear, I think.  I mean, we’re sitting at work, answering phones, editing things, being professional, and all the while I am carefully drawing a picture of a chubby retarded boy with a pinwheel hat. 

December 8

December 6, 2005

On this day three years ago, my mom and I crossed over the California state line, the temperature immediately increased by about 20 degrees, and I began shedding layers until I was down to jeans and my spanking new "La Jolla Youth Sports League" t-shirt, which I had bought in anticipation of living at my new house on La Jolla Avenue.  Three years later I’m still here and still feel giddy when I look outside and see palm trees.

To commemorate my three-year anniversary as a Carolina-turned-California girl, I encourage you to visit the California tourism website. Enjoy the welcoming comments from our governator and governatress, or governatrix — your choice.

Sunny_caIn addition, I am adding a picture of the weather widget from my computer desktop.  This is my rude and insensitive way of bragging to the rest of the country — although it has actually been quite chilly lately — highs in the upper sixties and partly cloudy! Brrrr!

In conclusion, I want you all to move to California if you do not already live here.  After three years in the mildest climate ever, I am far too wimpy to move back to where they have "seasons." Plus, there’s a lot to love about California, but no matter how sunny or beautiful a place is, what really makes me happy is being around the people I love.  (Awww, I really cut to the heart on that one, didn’t I?  Are you wiping a tear from your eye?  Good.  My work here is done).