My cat likes it too. She's pretending to ignore me while she chases a gold gift bow around the kitchen, but I can tell that deep down, she enjoys having me around.
It's an important package. So important that I need it today. So important that it's being shipped through Express Mail®. (An example of the prestige of Express Mail®: it is the only type of mail that ships on federal holidays. Not that that does me any good, because I don't need this package on a federal holiday; I need it today.)
Recipients of Express Mail® have to sign for it, which is why I am sitting in my living room/moving box storage facility when I could be getting my oil changed, buying my sister's Christmas present, continuing to move things out of Leigh's house, or any of a number of other things that would require me to be elsewhere. Because I need that goddamn package today.
I'll let you know if I got it.
UPDATE. I got it! I got it! Oh, and I didn't have to sign for it - I found the precious package crammed into my mailbox with my Cinergy bill and the new Cincinnati Magazine. La-ame. But at least I was able to give my steady Eddie the gift of lower-deck Bengals tickets.
- Unpack in new apartment
- Get last traces of stuff out of Leigh's house
- Run w/ dad (again)
- Catch up on pile of magazines (Real Simple, Esquire, Cincinnati Magazine, mental_floss)
- Catch up on pile of books lent by Edmund, bought on whim at Enquirer book sale
- Catch up on pile of unwatched DVDs
- Work on pile of underplayed video games
- Finish Strength of Body, Strength of Mind
- Do Christmas shopping
- Buy light bulbs for currently darkened kitchen
- Find out more about having currently darkened TV repaired
This must all happen sometime in between these scheduled events:
- Wed. afternoon: Lunch with mom and sister, possible shopping
- Wed. evening: Harry Potter party in Amelia
- Thurs. morning: Breakfast with Neil
- Thurs. evening: Running with dad; probable family dinner
- Fri. evening (possible): Movie in Dayton with Stacie, Chele, etc.
- Sat. all day: Various Christmas Eve activities
- Sun. through Mon.: Christmas in Milford and Bloomington
I forsee a week of paralysis in front of the computer, punctuated by bursts of frenzied shopping.
Yes, I'm in Cleveland again, and I am again using the hotel's wireless Internet for my own nefarious purposes.
And let me just say that the Radisson is freakin' sweet. I chose it because it was supposedly within walking distance to the arena where the concert was. Um, yes. The arena is close - so close, in fact, that the hotel's Web site includes a picture of it in its little slideshow of "here's the exterior, here's the lobby, here are the rooms with Sleep Number beds, and here's the arena which we couldn't actually fit inside the hotel, so we did the best we could." If our room were across the hall, we could probably see the tour bus or private jet or whatever U2 uses to exeunt venues. As I footed it back to the hotel afterward, darting between the participants in the traffic snarl that entangled the arena and listening to an irate prisoner in a parking garage lean on his horn, I congratulated myself on a fine choice.
Although I really should congratulate Eileen, who picked it first.
- Unpack in new apartment
- Catch up on pile of magazines (Real Simple, Esquire, Cincinnati Magazine, mental_floss)
- Finish Strength of Body, Strength of Mind
UPDATE: Look how much I accomplished!
Mr. Wufflekins came home yesterday. We hugged for about 16 hours.
PUMPKIN UPDATE: Four cups down; something like 10 to go. I've frozen most of it; the Internet told me it will keep that way "for a short time." How short is "short"?
Edmund is gone for the week. He is spending Thanksgiving with his family in North Carolina.
It's sort of fun being a single girl again for a week. I get to sit around and veg out on the computer for hours and pack up T-shirts and kitchenware ... OK, it doesn't sound like a lot of fun. But it's kinda relaxing.
But when I get takeout for dinner by myself, I don't get showered with compliments about how I'm the best girlfriend ever for bringing over Indian food. I miss that.
Also, the kissing is nice.
It occurs to me that perhaps I should think up some sort of alias for Edmund. It seems to be the thing to do on blogs; preserving the anonymity of your significant other, regardless of whether you yourself are anonymous. Wes has Jawa Girl; Josh has Natalie Portman; Jen has Mr. Man; emma has her gentleman caller - which is what my family called Edmund before we were officially an "item," but I guess she took it first. Drat.
(I wonder if all those sites' proprietors will see that I linked to them and drop by for a visit. Hello, fellow typists!)
Anyway, I welcome any and all suggestions for an alias - preferably an embarassing one. "Mr. Wufflekins," "Schnoogy Bear" and "Honey Poo-poo Head" are front-runners right now.
I never got around to carving my Halloween pumpkin, so it has sat on the porch for several weeks as a more general "harvest" symbol. Its physical as well as symbolic longevity was improved by remaining intact, it seems, for it was still hale and hearty when I took it in this afternoon. Inspired by stories of Indians who would fill pumpkins with milk and spices and then roast them, I decided that I, too, would make something of my curcurbit.
So I cut it up into bits and stuck it in the oven at 375. When it's done, I'll puree it and ... I'm not sure what. Maybe I'll make cookies, or possibly muffins. Perhaps both; I think I'll wind up with quite a bit of pumpkin puree. After putting the pumpkin in the oven, I went to the store to pick up some ingredients that might go well with such things (chocolate chips, dried cranberries, apples, etc.), so I have several options. There's something appealing about making pumpkin apple walnut muffins. (Apples, "a-peel-ing"? Oh, dear - pun ABSOLUTELY not intended.) Anyway, if you have suggestions (requests?), do let me know.
My group took up half a row in our theater. We got there THREE BLOODY HOURS early; once we had our coats on the seats we could pretty much come and go as we pleased, so we kept making small-group excursions to Barnes & Noble.
It turns out that our idea of making customized shirts was nowhere near unique; we expected a few costumes, but nearly everyone in the show was decked out in anything from a simple striped scarf to full Hogwarts regalia. (One kid dressed as a ninja. Um, OK.) Two guys dressed as Harry and Draco staged a duel in front of the screen.
I think our theater was the first (of eight screens!) to open for ticket sales, meaning all the superfans were in with us. These kids clapped when the lights dimmed and again when the black curtain rolled down to make the screen wider. They clapped for the previews (until it became abundantly clear that the previews sucked hardcore). They clapped for the Warner Bros. logo, and again 10 seconds later for the title screen.
They screamed when Harry took his shirt off.
When I got home I was too pumped up to go right to sleep. I should have curled up with The Inferno or something else that requires enough concentration to tire me out, but no. Instead, I stayed up until 5 sodding a.m. reading Harry Potter fan fiction! (A hex on you, emma blog, for planting the idea in my head!) I got four hours of sleep; if not for my cat's plaintative mewing outside my door, I might have drowsed all day to the tune of my CD alarm clock's current selection, the not-at-all-rousing Garden State soundtrack.
And here's the interesting thing. Cassie Claire's excellent fanfic left me feeling more satisfied than did the movie. Is this a testament to C.C.'s spot-on depiction and expansion of the Harry Potter universe – or even the triumph of written over audiovisual media? (Nah; I probably just like the bits with the snogging.)
Meanwhile, my cat looks just like Mrs. Norris - except for the red eyes. Anyone know of a good feline cantact lens dealer?
There is a large group of us. We will be wearing customized T-shirts and not causing a spectacle at all, oh no.
I think I heard Stacie pull up - gotta go!
DO NOT get your black-and-white photos processed at Meijer.
Meijer does not have the equipment to process B&W (gee, in my high school's darkroom you just had to make sure all the color dials were set to 0. Or 100. Whichever. It was like 8 years ago), so they send the photos off-site. This means they take like 10 days to come back - and when they do, you will be charged $15 for a single set of prints.
Learn from my mistakes.
Of course, Popsugar also reports that she thought Church's mid-'90s sitcom Ned and Stacey was horrible. Gasp!
Of course it was horrible, dear Pop! All sitcoms are horrible - it's part of their nature. There are only so many witty observations you can tell about three to six people who hang out in one house, one restaurant and one office before the jokes become stale. The test of a sitcom's quality is if it can rise above its inherent predictability and genuinely surprise the audience.
Seinfeld did it with its almost stream-of-consciousness sensibility. Arrested Development does it with a complex, intertwining plot. And Ned and Stacey did it – albiet somewhat less consistently than the first two examples – with its absurdist humor. If the show had taken a chance and forgone the predictable "let's make ironic comments about extramarital sex" jokes in favor of the completely off-the-wall lines usually delivered by Church or seen in the closing credits, the show would have been an unqualified success.
Wow. It's way too early for Media Theory 101. Maybe I'll come back to this post later with some of my favorite lines from Ned and Stacey, or perhaps more THC love.
UPDATE: It's been brought to my attention that the letters THC, besides being the initials for, like, the bestest actor EVER*, are also the initials for a chemical found in something called "mari-juana." If you thought I was making a drug reference before - shame on you! My love for THC is pure and unsullied by any of your human addictions.
*OK, that was hyperbole, but he's still awesome.
I looked through the shelves for used copies of Beyond Good and Evil (did it even come out for the GameCube?) but didn't see it. I wondered if Dance Dance Revolution: Mario Mix comes bundled with the dance pads. I actually picked up Harvest Moon: A Wonderful Life.
And then I put it down. How can I spend even $20 on a video game when I've played maybe once in the last month? How can I start a new game when I have 8 or 9 unfinished ones?
It's odd to think of having to "make time" for video games, as though they're an old friend or an improving activity. But it's a hobby I enjoy. I don't want to give it up, but I feel I can't justify continuing to invest in it when I devote so little of my time to it anymore.
So it's 12:30 a.m. I ought to go to bed. But I think I'll spend a few minutes doing odd jobs in Animal Crossing first. Maybe once I pay off my house, I can invest in Harvest Moon.
My mother had twisted around in her captain's seat so she could look at me. Next to me, a block of dry ice was quickly chilling the three large pizzas we were bringing to Indiana; by the time we reached Bloomington, the pizza closest to the ice would have frozen solid.
My mind raced. Curse Girl? OK, so my mother found something where I curse. What was it??? She didn't sound mad - there was that over-the-top joke-yelling tone in her voice where I've done something she doesn't approve of but isn't truly upset, like if I stay out until 3 a.m. when I have to get up at 7 - so at least I wasn't in any real trouble ...
She answered her own question. "I found your blog!"
Whew. The image of some repository of filthy words attributed to me evaporated. "I've cursed, like, twice on there!" (Wow, I'm getting sick of saying the word "curse.") "How did you find my blog?"
"I Googled you, and there it was. There are a lot of Kelly Hudsons, but you're, like, the second result that comes up!"
"That's because I'm the most famous." Most of the other Kelly Hudsons in the world are college students. "Except for that Kelly Hudson who's a TV anchor in Columbus." Funny story; I attended an SPJ banquet where the other K.H. received an award. I almost stood up myself to collect it.
"I read about your trip to Kings Island, and I saw a picture of your cat."
So the cursing is bad, but the updates on my life are good! I'm starting to see where this is going.
The upshot is, my mom reads this now, so perhaps I'd better keep it down to a PG-rated roar. Hi, Mommy!
I said, "Do you want to go?"
"No -" *hack hack hack hack hack wheeze* "- I'm having fun!" *hack koff koff gasp*
Which, to me, was the best part of the evening - seeing that my delightful boyfriend likes my friends so much that he will brave poisonous dander-filled conditions to spend some time with them.
I would also like to point out that the highlight of Eileen's evening was - yeah, baby! - meeting my man. That makes me happy. So happy, in fact, that I'm allowing some chicken that's sauteing in the kitchen to burn because it's way more interesting to type this than go turn it over.
Aw, crud, I can smell it burning. Be right back.
I can tell you without even asking that the highlight of Edmund's evening was Anne Elisabeth telling him how much she likes the Web site he writes for. He couldn't stop grinning the whole way home.
Would you like to see pictures of the zombie party, taken by my very own boss-man Beryl? Of course you would. If you have questions about the you-had-to-be-there captions, do ask.
(Oh, yeah - did I mention? I have a boyfriend now. More on this story as events warrant.)
... and a $15-per-night charge to park in its garage.
Oh, well. Nothing's perfect.
Kari and I are heading to the American Copy Editors Society's Ohio workshop today. We'll learn about cutlines, headlines and the problems small papers face - and I'll be participating in something called Grammar Smackdown! (The exclamation point is part of the title, not an expression of my excitememt over the workshop.)
But I am excited. I've been feeling kinda burnt out lately, and ACES events tend to recharge my copy-editing batteries and get me excited about my job again.
Also, Ohio's foliage is at its peak, so the drive back should be purty.
Well, just a little one, to get back in the swing of things.
DVDs in my big damn "To Watch" pile:
- Ned & Stacey
- Gilmore Girls
- Sex and the City
- Arrested Development
- Jesus, don't I watch any movies anymore?
Modern doodads I'm thinking of getting (advice, please!):
Things on my mind lately:
- Calling 80 restaurants in three days for our dining guide (half of them think you're selling something and hang up on you)
- The American Copy Editors Society's Ohio workshop this weekend (gotta make that hotel reservation)
- Looking for an apartment (why an application fee? shouldn't they be courting me and not the other way around?)
- The OSU/Indiana game next weekend
- Flag football schedules
- Halloween costumes
- Considering taking a few days off and just relaxing for a while
Sometimes I do this - a song just reaches out and grabs me by my psychic necktie and pulls me in for a long, deep kiss. And I fall into a passionate love affair with the song, and I can do nothing but eat, sleep and breathe that song for days.
Eventually I settle into a more temperate, healthy relationship with the song, which is good, because a flame which burns so brightly can only last so long.
Did I mention that I've had, like, three hours' sleep?
(UPDATED with more appropriate song lyric as post title. The previous one - "Andrew Jackson, all I'm askin' ..." - what was that about?)
It's 3:09 a.m.
Gotta be at work in six hours.
So now I'm lying here staring at the clock, watching the numbers tick slowly upward and obsessing about how even if I fall asleep RIGHT THIS GODDAMN SECOND, I'll still get only four hours and 51 minutes of sleep.
Four hours, 50 minutes now.
And we've got early deadlines this week.
I'm gonna die.
I've been trying to figure out why my favorite scene in the movie (discounting the "Age of Aquarius" sequence, of course) is probably the one where Paul Rudd and Seth Rogan are sitting around playing Soul Calibur and insulting each other - aka the "You know how I know you're gay?" scene.
I'm thinking it's partly because it felt so natural - just two guys sitting around, playing video games and BSing. ("Oh, see what I'm doing? I just totally took your head off. Oh - oh, and now I'm throwing it at your body. Yeah, take that, bitch.") But it also fit in so well with the overall theme of the movie. Here are these guys who are basically overgrown teenagers - seeking sex wherever they can get it and trying to convince their friend to do the same - and they're acting like teenagers, with their video games and their gay jokes and their baggy pants and their rap music. And then Steve Carell comes in, seeking advice about the real, adult woman who's on her way over right that second, and the guys can't break out of their teenage mentality long enough to help him out. The message: While Steve Carell's character might have the trappings of a nerdy, overgrown boy, it's really his friends who need to grow up.
Or maybe I just really appreciate a well-tuned gay joke. Whatever.
Another great, really natural-feeling scene: the "hot grandma" conversation between Andy and Cal. I've been looking for snippets of it online, with no luck so far. (FUN FACT: Googling "hot grandma" is a dangerous business.)
And of course there was the chest-waxing. You've heard about the chest waxing - the real wax, the five cameras for a one-take shot, the actual blood welling up from Carell's chest. Go see the movie, man.
- I still have the name of a song written on my arm. (I said I liked the song that was playing; Kari found out what it was. Ain't she sweet?)
- The same homeless woman accosted us three times at three different places.
- I have a vague memory of someone humping the Bockfest goat outside Kaldi's.
- At Designsmith Gallery, you can get a stylish wooden ice bucket for only $95.
- 1 crocheted cupcake = 1 beer.
- We saw Justin Jeffre on the way back to the car. (When I say "we," I mean "people who care more than I do.")
- The Dealer guys stormed the DJ booth at alchemize.
- If I were a guy, and the girls I was with all kept going to the bathroom together, I'd be frightened. Thanks for keeping your terror under wraps.
- The guy at Inktank is the best salesman ever.
- "Get Down Tonight" is a serious contender for best disco song ever.
I remember avoiding KI like the plague on weekends when I was in high school and had a season pass. "Feh," I'd say dismissively, "weekends are when the unwashed masses get in their RVs and drive 500 miles just to stand in line for the Racer for six hours. I shall go only on Wednesdays, when the park is empty and I can ride on the Beast five times in a row!"
So yes, we had to wait in line for quite a bit longer than I'm used to. But seeing as how I haven't taken a real trip to the park in a few years, my tolerance for that sort of thing was built up; I found I had no problem waiting half an hour for Face/Off, a coaster which takes about a minute and a half. These waits were much improved by the TV screens showing music videos (introduced by cats performing "I Love Rock 'n' Roll" and that song that goes "Hey! Ho! Let's go!") and clips from Napoleon Dynamite. (Eileen, I can't believe you didn't mention the kitty music videos! I thought it was your second favorite part of the day!)
Here's what we rode:
- The Italian Job Stunt Track (hella fun, but I'm betting in 10 years people will be asking what this "Italian Job" is)
- Vortex (eek!)
- Beast (jolting as always, but so, SO woth the wait)
- White Water Canyon (where I got more soaked than I ever have on that ride)
- Tomb Raider: The Ride (feh - wouldn't go on it again unless there was no wait)
- SpongeBob SquarePants in 3-D (possibly my favorite ride of the day, if only because of its uniqueness)
- Flight of Fear (pretty cool, but, um, Paramount - why did you have to strip the ride of all its relation to The Outer Limits? Changing all the Outer Limits dialogue to generic higher-power-alien-speak was a bad, bad move.)
- The Racer (backwards; classic)
- Face/Off (fun; probably not worth the wait)
- Son of Beast (at some point, I pretty much thought every part of me was gonna break)
- Drop Zone (SCARY!)
- Delirium (good old-fashioned carnival fun; picture the Tilt-A-Whirl crossed with the Viking ship)
- Top Gun (nighttime made it slightly less lame)
The thing I noticed most about KI? Whenever there's a surface people can't reach, they throw pennies at it. What kind of sense does that make? "I just bought a 20-oz Coke for $3 - hey, an exposed two-by-four!" Sometimes there were even quarters! We decided the quarters were thrown by high-school students with no concept of doing their own laundry.
Ehh, you can kinda see what I mean.
This is Thursday (as in Thursday Next), although I probably call her Kitty Fantastico more often.
Thursday's owner lived in my parents' neighborhood, but he moved away and left her behind. (He had like 10 cats and - no kidding - a peacock.) She lived under a neighbor's porch for a few weeks and would come to visit my family whenever we were out by the pool (probably hoping for some scraps). When I learned she was a stray - and saw how cute and affectionate she was - I decided to take her home.
I've never had a cat before, so any advice you cat people have would be greatly appreciated.
P.S. If you knew either of those references without clicking the links, you should probably add a few points to your geek score.
Self, take the Geek Test when you have some time. Report back when finished.
UPDATE. 34.91124%! Geekier than thou! I win! I win at nerd! (Of course, when it asked me if I lied to score better, I clicked "yes" ... then went back and checked a couple boxes I'd considered checking, but decided didn't really apply to me.)
UPDATE 2. OK, went back and unchecked everything that was not completely, entirely true and unexaggerated. New level of geekery: 31.36095%. Still pretty damn geeky. (If they had put some damn Harry Potter questions in there, I woulda totally kicked ass.)
UPDATE 3. Oh, my - I have committed a grievous breach of netiquette! I found this fun test through Melissa's blog. Go there, young traveler, and learn of rust and ranches.
- Slow, slow riverboat shuttle to ...
- Bengals game (an hour late, thanks to shuttle)
- Parents leave; alone for second half. Odd, but not entirely unpleasant.
- Supposed to meet @ Kari's house. Walk back to dock w/ 5 minutes left in game.
- I hate stupid, stupid too-full, slow riverboat shuttle. New curse words invented.
- Poor deserted seafood festival
- Traffic, traffic, traffic
- Drunk guy in parking lot offers to kill self. I give him advice.
- Give up on getting to Clifton. Change in Levee bathroom.
- Cold Stone
- Picked up
- Party. Only sober-ish ones there. Fun!
- Scrounge for ice
- Ronson mocks my love of string cheese
- Home; bed
- Wake up early for run w/ dad
- Dad reschedules for afternoon - cool! Time for breakfast.
- Check Weather Channel; heat index is 120! IM dad; reschedule run for tomorrow.
- IMing with Neil - offers day pass at his gym
- Workout - YAY healthy Kelly!
- Softball emergency - must sub for mom
- Rain :(
- Rainbow! YAY!
- Beer! YAY!
- Games begin. Am known on team for skipping, being happy
- Back to parents'
- Decide to adopt stray cat
- Wake up uber-early
- Run w/ dad
- Farm market w/ parents - how wholesome!
- Mom insane - has written out itinerary for impending week-long visit from grandparents
- Dad insane, too - has cooked two huge logs of sausage to make one omelet
- Aloha, grandparents!
- Lunch @ Mio's w/ Katy
- Movie - penguins v. adorable
- Shopping: champagne, coffee filters, cat litter
- Pick up cat - v. docile
- Introduce cat to house-
` SWDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD Z
- That was the cat
The Cincinnati Dealer, known mainly for poking fun at local bloggers and City Council members, ran a story that some have speculated could be about Hudson's recent spate of car accidents.
This story, if it is actually about Hudson, is expected to make her far more famous among people who already know her, know about her accidents, are regular readers of the Dealer, and are told, "Hey, that story's about Kelly!" The number of people who fit all these criteria is estimated at between 2 and 5.
Hudson, 24 - who describes her notoriety in words like "nonexistent" and "Nota-what?" - had mixed feelings about her newfound slight-lack-of-complete-unheard-of-ness.
"Are you sure that story's about me?" Hudson said. "I don't know - I've never even eaten at a Waffle House. And who's this Dealer guy, anyway? He reminds me of this guy Harold I used to see, but I broke up with that loser. He was such a tool."
Had nightmares last night about craving McDonald's food but not being able to bring myself to eat it. (OK, maybe "nightmare" is a strong word. But I so rarely dream at all anymore, and it seems like whenever I do, the dreams have an unpleasant subtext.)
Might have to spend the rest of my life eating vegan organic food. (It's a shame - I abhor tofu.)
Actually, one of the things Morgan Spurlock talked about - McDonald's food as a drug - rang especially true for me. McDonald's is my favorite fast-food place. I've noticed that I can go a long time without eating there, but if I do go (say, I'm in a hurry or taking a trip or whatever), I'm much more likely to eat there again soon. Eventually, I'm back to my once- or twice-a-week habit that I had when I was in college and the McD's was a block away ... until I go on some new health kick and try to drop the fast food.
I haven't noticed this effect with any other fast-food restaurants, but then again, no other fast-food restaurants have those delicious, crispy fries. Mmmm ... fries ...
| You scored as:|
Your Harry Potter Alter Ego Is...?
created with QuizFarm.com
You really enjoy getting high. Even though it's often a lot of work, the
view from the top is almost always worth the effort. Your distance from others makes
your relationship with them rather rocky at times, but they do look up to you. Be very
careful around schools. And stop being quite so focused on the number 5,280!
Take the State Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.
Incidentally, if anyone knows of a site or sites where I could read Thurber's "Fables For Our Time," do let me know. Those are my favorites.
Here is a Harry Potter-related story to keep you busy until I finish reading the book and go into hyper-plot-analysis/when-the-hell-is-the-next-one-being-released mode:
I went to the release party at Barnes & Noble with Stacie and Stephanie. We got there about 11 (it would have been earlier, but the guy ahead of us at the McDonald's drive-through ordered seven Crispy Chicken McSomething-Or-Others, and it was one of those inescapable single-lane-surrounded-by-a-wall-and-a-moat drive-throughs, so we spent probably 20 minutes sitting behind this minivan breathing in carbon monoxide. At one point, I suggested to Stacie that the fumes were making me high. She thought I was being serious - which I so wasn't - and launched into a long tirade about how no one who says they're high is ever actually high. Perhaps she was high).
The store was, of course, full of kids in costumes and adults (mostly) without costumes. We saw a guy walking to the bathroom with what really, really looked like a live tarantula crawling up his shoulder, but when we saw him on his way out from the bathroom, it had gone. My favorite costumes were worm by two adults who had dressed in the sort of outlandishly inappropriate clothing wizards would wear if they were trying to pass for Muggles. Bloody brilliant, I say.
In case you're wondering about the look I went for, I wound up dressing in "none of the above" - black tank top, black capris, gold beaded slippers.
Oh, and just who is that guy with the kinda floppy brown hair who works in the cafe? He's adorable!
We had a line number, and the manager was having us line up 25 at a time. When our turn came, we made our way to the line and asked an employee if we were supposed to go in order of our number (we were near the front of our group) or just go to the end of the line. They said, "End of the line." Stacie said, "Are you sure? Because I thought I heard them say something about lining up in order of your number." They said the end of the line was fine.
So we're standing there, and the manager starts asking where specific numbers are. We speak up, and he says, "Come up here." And then he's rude to us! "You need to be listening when we make these announcements." Stacie said "We did listen - to your employees who told us to get in the back of the line!" But I don't think he was listening.
Then we got up to the cash register, and the cashier was all freaked out that the three of us wanted three books, but Stacie was paying for two of them (she bought Stephanie's book as a birthday present). The cashier said, "Well then, who's paying for the third one?" I raised my hand and tried not to roll my eyes. When the transaction was complete, I thanked her for staying late for us.
And as we walked back past the employees who had told us to get in the back of the line, Stacie explained to them that their mistake had gotten us in trouble with the manager. They suggested we should have punched him in the face. I considered punching them in the face. I was about ready to kill everyone who's ever worked for a Barnes & Noble. Except the coffee guy. He can live.
But the point is, we got out relatively unscathed with books in hand. So now I think I'll go begin Chapter Three. Hopefully I can finish the book before I am inadvertantly exposed to any spoilers.
For a few months now, my favorite song has been "Destiny" by Zero 7. Lately, though, I've been getting a little tired of it, even beginning to think the instrumentals are a little cheesy.
Turns out, my rental car's speakers just sucked.
I just heard it on my headphones at work, and I was transported. I fell in love with that song all over again. I listened to it three or four times in a row.
It's amazing what a good set of speakers can do to up your enjoyment of music. I really should invest in some for my car and laptop.
I Hate Gin
Mardi Gras (or, Whack-a-Frat-Boy)
"No Parties on Sunday"
Nine Freshmen, One Nissan
I Have No Gaydar
"All About the C---" (most readers will be familiar with this one)
The body shop still has my car. For those of you at home keeping track, we are now in the middle of Week Four of my car's surgery. You'd think it had been totaled instead of just dented. When I called last week, they said it was up on the rack "right now" and I'd get it back next week. I called again today and was told they were "waiting for a rack" to put it up on and I'd get it back NEXT week.
Perhaps this body shop simply has a high broken-car-to-rack ratio. Like, 17,000 cars and one rack that they can only work if Duane is in, because there's a trick to this rack, see, and Duane knows how to work it. But Duane's been out a lot, what with his mama being sick and all ... But with all due respect to Duane's mother, I'd really like to drive the car I own sometime before the warranty expires, you know?
So I did the only thing I could think of: I tattled to the insurance company. "Um, hi, this is claim number 87-Y203-6849? I'm calling because I've been in this rental car for, like, three and a half weeks now, and I'm beginning to get worried that you guys won't pay for it much longer ..." They said they'd look into it.
My network connection at work today was severed. I couldn't go online, check e-mail, access our servers, print, or pretty much do anything that required my computer to talk to another one.
Now, keep in mind that this is the second time this week that this has happened - the first being Monday, our production day, when accessing those outside sources is of vital importance. When I called IT on Monday, I moved to another computer and kept an ear out for my phone. Twenty minutes later, I found a voice mail (left in the last five minutes) from a tech saying it was really hard for them to fix my problem if I wasn't going to be at my desk. I returned the call, apologized for working at another desk, and explained the problem again: "I'm on a Mac, and -"
"A Mac? Ohhh, I can't help you. I'll log your complaint with someone else."
Five minutes later: a call from a much more helpful tech - who, ironically, could not help me. After we tried a few things, she said she'd have to send someone down.
And in another half hour, the person she sent arrived. He fiddled around in the dark, scary server room and pronounced me all better. When I asked him if there was anything I could do myself in case this happened again, he told me the only things he'd recommend would involve hammers. (Later, I found out that's his "solution" to the problem of Macintosh computers' existence.)
That was Monday. Today's episode was much less complicated, but infinitely more frustrating. I have no connection; I call IT; no one calls back for two hours. I return from grabbing takeout to find a message from a friendly IT tech asking me if anyone's helped me yet. I call back and leave a message: no, no one has helped me, and the problem has not gone away. Two hours later, having heard no response, I call again. Finally, he comes in, fiddles around, pronounces me all better. Hurrah.
(Mike, if you're reading this, I used your computer while mine was down, so I apologize if I inadvertantly screwed around with any of your settings. And sorry about replacing your entire iTunes music library with Nickelback songs - that was my bad.)
Our flag football team is only two games into the season, and we already seem pretty demoralized. In the very first game, our quarterback did something to his knee that has required him to drop out for the season. Last night, one of our players hit his head hard - I think he might have a concussion. I have these nightmare visions of the entire team being carried out on stretchers, one by one.
And, as usual, I have WAY too much work to do tomorrow.
Of course I cannot wear the capes, false scars and broken glasses that will no doubt be the uniform for the youngsters in attendence. That would make me creepy. I have a long-sleeved T-shirt with the Hogwarts crest on it (part of my uniform when I worked at the WB store), but a) that's a little bit obvious, don't you think? and b) it's freakin' July.
So right now I have a few options. I can:
- dress in the colors of my favorite House (which could be tough, as Ravenclaw's colors are blue and bronze, and I have no bronze)
- display a reference to another shibboleth of geekery (Superman, Buffy, etc.). You know, just to let people know I belong there.
- go goth. Goth is fun - and kinda witchy.
My grandmother told us that when she dies, she wants to will her gold teeth and fillings to her grandchildren, so we can make a necklace out of gold teeth. I can't tell if she's joking.
More on my weekend later, perhaps, including:
- My 15-year-old cousin's newfound love of Jesus (in the form of a 27-year-old fundamentalist Christian/male model), including her baptism at a water park
- How we Rollerbladed through the chapel where my parents were married 26 years ago
- Is my mom crazy? Quite possibly, but we wuv her anyway.
I've been thinking a lot this weekend about age - which is funny, because in general I don't. At all.
On the one hand, I've learned things about people older than me which suddenly and momentarily made me feel the full gap in our ages. C.S. Lewis wrote about a woman who measured age in experience; whenever she learned something new about the world, she would say that she had been made older. So, when I learn of something, you know, intensely grown-up about someone (say, they've got a kid, or they're having a house built to their specifications), it's as if, in my mind, they've been made older by the revelation. (However, learning these things also teaches me that you can be the kind of person who has a kid or builds a house, and you can still be the same person who has the ability to befriend li'l me; in other words, I am "made older" as well. But still, I feel much younger than the person with the experience.)
On the other hand, I tried to clean out my closet at my parents', which made me feel as though I've lived forever (or that I'm a hopeless packrat). Look at all these years upon interminable years, straining against the white-painted wooden doors, threatening to break them with the sheer mass of stored, forgotten stuff, the very chaff of my living! (Perhaps I should have added "overblown prose" to the warning at the top.) It seems obvious to say that I'm the oldest I've ever been, but sifting through the papers and clothes and cassette tapes and hand-glazed ceramic ducks of my youth made me feel it. (Even the tennis racket from the abortive attempt at gym class senior year in college is already more than two years old.)
All this thinking has served to convince me of what I already knew: that age means pretty much jack.
Watch out ... there's an awkward segue coming up.
This weekend, fate decided that since my car was such a great audience for the accident I was in, she'd repeat it ... but from the point of view of the car doing the hitting.
(I rear-ended another car - get it?)
See, I was driving home from flag football, and there's this part where you merge from Beechmont Circle onto Beechmont proper; you have to yield. The woman in front of me was stopped, but there was a big gap in traffic, so she was going. I looked behind me to see when I would be able to go, too. I turned back around ...
Nope. She hadn't gone.
THUNK. (I wrote CRASH for the last one; it somehow sounds different when you know it's coming. Plus, I was going much slower than the girl who hit me was going.)
No one was hurt.
Carrie and Melvin were there, and they stopped and stayed with me - which really meant a lot to me. Thanks, guys. :)
The woman was extra-nice; I was a wreck. (That pun is unintentional, and I mean that - unklike the people who giggle "pun not intended" but do intend it, oh do they ever intend it.) She called the police, who said they would be an extra-long time coming and why don't we just exchange information and file the reports on our own? (When I called District 2 an hour later, the officer said we really should have waited for them to show up. Thanks, guys. Good help.)
Her car (a sensible beige 1998 Camry) might not even be damaged - it could have scratches, but all I saw at the time was that the paint from my Columbia Hyundai license-plate frame had managed to transfer itself onto her rear bumper, making a bright blue mirror image on the pale paint. She might not bother to have it repaired, if it even needs to be repaired.
My car's front bumper and grille are dented inward ever so slightly, making it look as though the hood has an overbite. It would be cute if it were Jon Heder and not a Hyundai hatchback.
The silver lining is that I already have an appointment with the body shop to get the back of my car fixed, so I called them up today, told them my funny, funny story and set it up so the whole thing will be fixed at once. Two birds, one rental car.
The only question is how to keep my rates from skyrocketing...
It's probably because I clicked "Strongly agree" to "I would hate to fall into a volcano ... again."
Which Revenge of the Sith Character are you?
created with QuizFarm.com
The reason "pirate," "interrupting" and "anti-corporate-radio" are in quotes is because some people on the WOXY message boards snooped around and discovered the "pirate" Web site was in fact owned by Clear Channel. It's some sort of guerilla marketing scheme, I guess. Which is kind of lame and disheartning.
Now the WOXY members have taken up residence at the Radio Free Ohio message boards (which have been delinked from the site but are still active) and send periodic messages to the effect of, "We know what you're up to, Clear Channel, and we're WAY too indie to let you get away with it! We are soooo cool and awesome, we have nothing better to do than hang out on message boards congratulating ourselves." Which is also kind of lame and disheartening.
UPDATE. Links fixed/added.
The verdict? Tonnes of fun. I might have to go back tomorrow to try some of the stuff I missed (like the Best Damn Dish, that soup from Arloi Dee. I'm not going to attempt to spell it). But here's a rundown of what I did sample:
- Black and bleu tuna salad (Indigo): This was a delicious blend of tuna chunks, bleu cheese, lettuce and some sort of vinaigrette. It was pretty small for the price, but I kinda prefer it that way, so I don't fill up on just one dish.
- Pineapple fritters (Ron's Roost): Deliciously greasy! I think I gained half a pound with each bite.
- Reuben wonton (Holy Grail): Great - like an eggroll, but filled with corned beef and sauerkraut. Mmmm ... salty. The Holy Grail guy told me they hand-wrap them - as if there's someplace where Reuben wontons are sold in bulk.
- Chicken and teriyaki steak (Melting Pot): I always love the Melting Pot, and this was no exception. Eating just a bite of their little fondue bits made me want to go there again, which I guess is the point. I was explaining to Jeff (friend, Enquirer-mate, fellow foodie) how Melting Pot meals work: how each table has a built-in hot-plate, and each course is a different fondue, and you cook your meat in boiling water (or chicken stock, or simmering wine) right there at the table. Awesome.
- Water (Cincinnati Water Works): Ahhh. Water. Four billion years old, yet still so refreshing. And this particular water was free, free, free!
- Meatball on a stick (Bella Luna): The flavor was fine, but I gotta say, I've had better meatballs. The texture was what got me on this one: I'm used to ground-beef meatballs that my teeth slice through easily. This meatball was tough, kind of like sausage. I don't think I'd order it.
- Raspberry cloud cake (Courtyard Cafe): $3 got Jeff a hefty slice of this vanilla-ice-cream-raspberry-sorbet-Oreo-crust confection, so I generously offered to help him eat it. I'm so selfless.
Oh, yeah, the bands were rockin', too. More on that later, maybe.
So imagine my joy to discover (via That Really Chaps My Ass!) the incredible Weatherpixie.com. See, this little Java thingy searches the latest weather data for your area and represents it graphically. So you get a little picture that shows what kind of weather you're having, plus (and this is the awesome part) the type of clothing you'll probably want to wear. I of course added one to my sidebar immediately.
My pixie is subject to change - she may go goth. Goth is fun.
* In college, I dated a guy whose roommate would "relax" by watching the Weather Channel on mute with classical music blaring on the stereo. My then-boyfriend described this fellow as being "wound pretty tight."
I'm talking with my friend Neil on the phone, and he's on his way from Columbus to Indianapolis for a date, because I guess he was just like, "Hmm. Well, I've finished studying for finals. Guess I'll go to Indy for a few hours." This isn't relevant either.
I'm on Fifth, and I've already been stuck behind this crazy bus, and the light in front of me is turning yellow. "Crap, red light," I say and slow to a stop, thinking that I might need to call my dad to tell him that I'm going to be late, which is too bad, because I'm always late and I hate disappointing -
The phone is knocked from my hand. I scream.
I don't seem to be hurt. What the hell; I scream again.
The car is still running. I get out and walk over to the automobile that has popped the cherry of my very first car, ruined its pristine surface. I am shaking. I've had to buy gasoline only twice.
The driver of the other car is a girl, possibly Indian, not much older than me. On autopilot, I shake her hand and tell her that I bought my car four weeks ago. She asks me if I'm OK. I am - at least in the way she means.
People on the sidewalk are staring, yelling something about my Hyundai. Later, I will imagine they are yelling compliments - saying how well my little hatchback (which has only a dented bumper) fared against the other girl's big Ford sedan (whose hood is bent and whose front end seems pretty banged-up). This will comfort me later. Right now, I can't think.
The girl suggests we pull off the road and exchange information. I agree and walk back to my car. The people on the sidewalk scream, "DON'T DO IT!" I look over; a man with a grey beard explains: "If you move, then it's like it never happened! You gotta get the cops here!"
"The cops" - first an officer on a bicycle, then one on a motorcycle - arrive almost as soon as the man finishes speaking. They ask what happened. I tell them I stopped for a red light, and next thing I knew ... They can see the rest.
They direct us to a spot at the side of the road, where I give the motorcycle cop (the bike cop seems to have moved on to other matters) my papers. I think to myself, "Thank God I registered on Saturday. Thank God I have current insurance!" When the officer asks me if my car is a 2005 model, I tell him I bought it a month ago.
I call my dad. We cancel our running plans.
The officer hands me back my license and papers and tells me I can wait for the police report to get the girl's information, or I can exchange it with her on my own. I'd prefer to get it done now. I write down anything I can think of that she might want.
The cop is still talking to the other girl, so I call Neil - who is understandably terrified - to say, "I'm fine, I'm not hurt, I'll call you back."
"OK, you should call your parents -"
"I already did." Click.
The cop finally finishes talking to the other girl (she was being cited, I think), and I go over and give her my information. She suggests I come sit in her car. She seems like a nice person (other than the whole rear-ending thing), but I am uncomfortable sitting in her car. She almost doesn't give me her insurance information. While we are sitting in her car I see a Jeep in the next lane slam on its brakes and stop inches from the car in front of it.
We are finally finished, and I go to the policeman to see what we need to do. He explains about the Hall of Records, tells me I should be fine to drive (and tells the other girl to take it slow and maybe not drive on highways because of her bent-up hood), and says we can both go.
I don't really have an ending to this story, except that my parents bought me dinner, which was nice of them.