Spring is being very naughty this year. What with the snow, and the cold, and the yuck and the ick, I've told spring to go to its room and think about what it's done.
The problem is, I think Spring has an xbox in there or something, because it doesn't seem to be making any moves towards coming out...
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I learned a new IT term the other day: PEBKAC. It's used to define the majority of the errors that come into the helpdesk at work. It's a very technical term -- an acronym, as you may have guessed. It stands for Problem Exists Between Keyboard and Chair.
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On my way home, I have to change trains from the express to the local three stops away from my house. When I got on the local last night, everything was fine and dandy until just before the first stop, when the conductor came over the loudspeaker to accuse me of our first stop.
"UNION!" he shouted, angry at all of us for existing.
It was so startling I actually dropped my book.
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I got a new moisturizer recently that claims to be a "Natural Beauty Perfector" which blends "modern micro diffusers [i.e. glittery bits] with an herbal formula dating from the Ming Dynasty." Frightened by what I might actually be rubbing into my skin, I checked out the ingredients and found "Salvia Miltiorrhiza Root Extract" (which, after doing some research, I realized is Chinese Sage Root Extract).
I was just glad to discover it wasn't Saliva Extract, as it was when I first read it.
(Can you imagine having that job? Chief Drooler? And the opening's a really small target to aim for.)
------------------------------
Fernando has been talking a lot lately about Coconut Yoo Hoo. Personally, just the idea makes me want to ralph.
------------------------------
In the fridge at work, I recently discovered a La Yogurt that was past its prime. And we all know that yogurt is one of those things that can last frighteningly longer than it should. But the fact that this particular cup had expired in NOVEMBER OF 2008 forced me to call it "La Yuckgurt." (And then dare Fernando to open it.)
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Tiffany got a new secretary!
(I know it doesn't make much sense, but the post title is an inside joke for anyone who came to my improv show last night. Which will teach the rest of you to ignore my invitations, won't it??)
I wish that I could more suavely weave my observations together, but I've come to understand that's not what you pay me for.
So, without further ado:
1. I ripped my favorite shirt today. I was just wearing it and I leaned forward in a not-even-funny-kind-of-way, and two big rips opened up in the sleeve. In an effort to see the silver lining, I told myself that this means that things that used to seem so perfect and wonderful are no longer fitting me. That change is on its way, and it's time to start embracing it, and leaving old paradigms behind.
Or, possibly, I'm turning into the Hulk.
2. I was at a fancy-pants college event tonight and spent about an hour chatting with a very good looking actor-turned-lawyer from the class of 1992. Annoyingly, it wasn't until about 45 minutes into the conversation that he first mentioned his girlfriend.
Has nobody told him? If there's no ring on your finger, you're obligated to mention your ladyfriend in the first fifteen minutes of conversation. It's a rule.
3. I think I'm getting old. On my date this weekend, the guy I was out with asked me if I had a black eye. I almost gave him one in return.
4. This disturbs me. A lot.
5. We all know Justin Timberlake brought sexy back. I would like to say that I, too, have brought sexy back, but alas, all I seem to be able to bring back is my mouse. (There was a rodential glimpse in the bathroom this weekend, making it much more difficult to shower than it usually is on a weekend. None of this helps my social life. Unless I reconsider inter-species friendships...)
I wish that I could more suavely weave my observations together, but I've come to understand that's not what you pay me for.
So, without further ado:
1. I ripped my favorite shirt today. I was just wearing it and I leaned forward in a not-even-funny-kind-of-way, and two big rips opened up in the sleeve. In an effort to see the silver lining, I told myself that this means that things that used to seem so perfect and wonderful are no longer fitting me. That change is on its way, and it's time to start embracing it, and leaving old paradigms behind.
Or, possibly, I'm turning into the Hulk.
2. I was at a fancy-pants college event tonight and spent about an hour chatting with a very good looking actor-turned-lawyer from the class of 1992. Annoyingly, it wasn't until about 45 minutes into the conversation that he first mentioned his girlfriend.
Has nobody told him? If there's no ring on your finger, you're obligated to mention your ladyfriend in the first fifteen minutes of conversation. It's a rule.
3. I think I'm getting old. On my date this weekend, the guy I was out with asked me if I had a black eye. I almost gave him one in return.
4. This disturbs me. A lot.
5. We all know Justin Timberlake brought sexy back. I would like to say that I, too, have brought sexy back, but alas, all I seem to be able to bring back is my mouse. (There was a rodential glimpse in the bathroom this weekend, making it much more difficult to shower than it usually is on a weekend. None of this helps my social life. Unless I reconsider inter-species friendships...)
Thursday, March 19, 2009
[insert witty post title here]
I've been busy lately. Forgive me for leaving you here all alone. (I'll buy you a pony later.)
Getting right to it:
A. the threatening elevator
You know how some elevators ding on the inside of the elevator and also on each floor as you go past? I was in one the other day that, when you combined the inner ding and the outer ding, you got the theme song from Jaws. Which would have been considerably less scary if I weren't on my way to the therapist.
B. the height police
My friend Jamie is all of 5 feet tall, and recently told me that she's not attracted to men who are under six feet. I got out my protractor, did some math (with accompaning graphs) and discovered that, when you hold your head at the angle required for that kind of height difference, it cuts off circulation to the logic centers of your brain, and any tall guy becomes attractive. So let that be a warning to you, short gals. Stick to the 5'8" and under crowd!
[this message brought to you by STALK: Single Tall Adorable Ladies'll Killyou]
C. the book of face
I was going to write the other day about how some people take facebook way too seriously, but then I became a victim of that myself, just today. Originally, I had been chatting with a guy who I didn't really speak to in college, hung out with a bit at the five year reunion, and haven't seen since. (Thanks, Facebook!) He seemed very depressed, and I tried to cheer him up over IM. My wit and utter charm must not have conveyed itself clearly, though, because our "conversation" ended by him telling me I had offended him and that all our classmates were assholes and anybody who has ever made money is an asshole, asshole, asshole, asshole.
"Sheesh!" I thought as I shut down my computer. "That guy takes Facebook way too seriously!"
Then, this afternoon, I stumbled across a series of pictures of women I used to be quite close with, all at a party together. A party to which I hadn't even been invited. And it stung, I'll be honest.
D. the good news
I started working with my coach again, and in the course of our conversation, he told me that I was "exceedingly normal." Even if it's not a legitimate turn of phrase, it's totally comforting.
E. the bad news
My favorite black cords are about to bust open in the seat.
F. the bad news redux
While in Boston, my sister and I were watching a 5K race go by her house. At one point, a guy came up to the stoop, blood pouring down the side of his face, and asked, "Just how badly am I bleeding?"
Polly tried not to blanche, balanced her brand new iphone on top of her coffee cup and popped inside to get him a wet paper towel. While she was gone, however, her phone rang -- well, vibrated really -- and went for a swim in her coffee.
It has yet to recover.
G. the good news redux
As difficult as the last year and a half has been for me in terms of dating and being alone, and wanting to be part of a relationship, this week I had an opportunity to see just how far I've come. And it's a lot longer than a Virginia Slims ad.
Getting right to it:
A. the threatening elevator
You know how some elevators ding on the inside of the elevator and also on each floor as you go past? I was in one the other day that, when you combined the inner ding and the outer ding, you got the theme song from Jaws. Which would have been considerably less scary if I weren't on my way to the therapist.
B. the height police
My friend Jamie is all of 5 feet tall, and recently told me that she's not attracted to men who are under six feet. I got out my protractor, did some math (with accompaning graphs) and discovered that, when you hold your head at the angle required for that kind of height difference, it cuts off circulation to the logic centers of your brain, and any tall guy becomes attractive. So let that be a warning to you, short gals. Stick to the 5'8" and under crowd!
[this message brought to you by STALK: Single Tall Adorable Ladies'll Killyou]
C. the book of face
I was going to write the other day about how some people take facebook way too seriously, but then I became a victim of that myself, just today. Originally, I had been chatting with a guy who I didn't really speak to in college, hung out with a bit at the five year reunion, and haven't seen since. (Thanks, Facebook!) He seemed very depressed, and I tried to cheer him up over IM. My wit and utter charm must not have conveyed itself clearly, though, because our "conversation" ended by him telling me I had offended him and that all our classmates were assholes and anybody who has ever made money is an asshole, asshole, asshole, asshole.
"Sheesh!" I thought as I shut down my computer. "That guy takes Facebook way too seriously!"
Then, this afternoon, I stumbled across a series of pictures of women I used to be quite close with, all at a party together. A party to which I hadn't even been invited. And it stung, I'll be honest.
D. the good news
I started working with my coach again, and in the course of our conversation, he told me that I was "exceedingly normal." Even if it's not a legitimate turn of phrase, it's totally comforting.
E. the bad news
My favorite black cords are about to bust open in the seat.
F. the bad news redux
While in Boston, my sister and I were watching a 5K race go by her house. At one point, a guy came up to the stoop, blood pouring down the side of his face, and asked, "Just how badly am I bleeding?"
Polly tried not to blanche, balanced her brand new iphone on top of her coffee cup and popped inside to get him a wet paper towel. While she was gone, however, her phone rang -- well, vibrated really -- and went for a swim in her coffee.
It has yet to recover.
G. the good news redux
As difficult as the last year and a half has been for me in terms of dating and being alone, and wanting to be part of a relationship, this week I had an opportunity to see just how far I've come. And it's a lot longer than a Virginia Slims ad.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
a pocket full of...
kryptonite:
Or, in my world, peanut butter. I actually flushed 1/3 of a jar of it down the toilet tonight to save myself from Accidentally Eating It. While an effective way of permanently disposing of a mouth-watering treat, I don't really recommend this method, mostly because now I have a nutty spot in the toilet, and that disturbs me on several levels.
gold:
On the way to the subway this morning, I saw an earring on the ground. And I really, REALLY hate losing one earring. Because then it's over. Sure, you still have one, but what's one without the other? Nothing. So when I saw the lost earring, I actually said out loud, "Bummer!" But then I saw how ugly the earring was -- one of those enormous, cheap-looking, heart-shaped monster earrings the size of the palm of your hand -- and I thought, "hmm, maybe not!"
sunshine:
Have you seen those ads for the Waffle Breakfast Sandwich from Dunkin Donuts? Their tagline is all about "Homemade Taste to Go." And what I'm wondering is... whose home did these things come from??
posies:
I noticed the label in my underwear while in the bathroom today. It says "Do Not Iron." Who on god's green earth irons their underwear?
Or, in my world, peanut butter. I actually flushed 1/3 of a jar of it down the toilet tonight to save myself from Accidentally Eating It. While an effective way of permanently disposing of a mouth-watering treat, I don't really recommend this method, mostly because now I have a nutty spot in the toilet, and that disturbs me on several levels.
gold:
On the way to the subway this morning, I saw an earring on the ground. And I really, REALLY hate losing one earring. Because then it's over. Sure, you still have one, but what's one without the other? Nothing. So when I saw the lost earring, I actually said out loud, "Bummer!" But then I saw how ugly the earring was -- one of those enormous, cheap-looking, heart-shaped monster earrings the size of the palm of your hand -- and I thought, "hmm, maybe not!"
sunshine:
Have you seen those ads for the Waffle Breakfast Sandwich from Dunkin Donuts? Their tagline is all about "Homemade Taste to Go." And what I'm wondering is... whose home did these things come from??
posies:
I noticed the label in my underwear while in the bathroom today. It says "Do Not Iron." Who on god's green earth irons their underwear?
Monday, March 9, 2009
thought dustbunnies
Why is it (I often ask myself) that there is a vent on the front of my vacuum cleaner? I mean, I get it, it's a vacuum, so the air on the inside needs to go somewhere else so an actual vacuum is created, but why send air out the front of the vacuum, towards the dust I am trying to suck up inside the vacuum, invariably sending the dust into the far reaches of my apartment where the vacuum has not the power to reach?
[I'm thinking of this post as that vent. Scattering my thought dustbunnies all over the page.]
I walked into work the other day, carrying my Shitty Nine West Bag That Looks Nice On The Outside But On The Inside It's Armageddon, and the girl in front of me was carrying the exact same bag! Impressive, since I bought the bag 100 years ago. (The lining fell out about 50 years ago.) I wanted to ask the girl if her lining fell out, too, but it was too early in the morning for my brain to process more than "Look! Twin bag!"
It was snowy in New York the other day, and I took that as an opportunity to wear my new galoshes. May I make a recommendation? Don't wear galoshes in the snow. They're cold. They're very cold. Because they're rubber. And not remotely insulating. However, wearing them is like wearing lead weights on your ankles, so at least you get a workout, which, unfortunately, does nothing to warm up your feet.
Yesterday I was walking to the subway behind this guy who was Totally Manly. Just big, burly, leather-jacket wearing, sunglassed, Totally Cool Guy. And the scent wake he left behind him was just screaming Johnson's Baby Lotion.
I've decided on a name for my autobiography/dating book: 600 Alpha Males Later. Think it'll sell?
And a question to ponder: when is it acceptable to call someone "baby"? I'm not entirely sure I know the answer, but I do know that it's not "at the end of the first date."
[I'm thinking of this post as that vent. Scattering my thought dustbunnies all over the page.]
I walked into work the other day, carrying my Shitty Nine West Bag That Looks Nice On The Outside But On The Inside It's Armageddon, and the girl in front of me was carrying the exact same bag! Impressive, since I bought the bag 100 years ago. (The lining fell out about 50 years ago.) I wanted to ask the girl if her lining fell out, too, but it was too early in the morning for my brain to process more than "Look! Twin bag!"
It was snowy in New York the other day, and I took that as an opportunity to wear my new galoshes. May I make a recommendation? Don't wear galoshes in the snow. They're cold. They're very cold. Because they're rubber. And not remotely insulating. However, wearing them is like wearing lead weights on your ankles, so at least you get a workout, which, unfortunately, does nothing to warm up your feet.
Yesterday I was walking to the subway behind this guy who was Totally Manly. Just big, burly, leather-jacket wearing, sunglassed, Totally Cool Guy. And the scent wake he left behind him was just screaming Johnson's Baby Lotion.
I've decided on a name for my autobiography/dating book: 600 Alpha Males Later. Think it'll sell?
And a question to ponder: when is it acceptable to call someone "baby"? I'm not entirely sure I know the answer, but I do know that it's not "at the end of the first date."
Monday, March 2, 2009
the adventures of dad's suitcase
My parents recently took a trip to Arizona, in the middle of which my dad was scheduled to fly to California for a business meeting. They packed their bags, toted them to the airport and flew, problem-free to Arizona.
At which point, the airline told them they didn't have my dad's suitcase.
There were several problems with this:
1. My dad wasn't wearing his most attractive outfit
2. My dad had a business meeting in two days
3. My dad had packed into his suitcase the hostess gift for the family they were visiting, which he had brought back from England
4. The hostess gift was a wheel of Stilton cheese.
The next day, Dad still didn't have his suitcase. So he somehow managed to twist Mom's arm and make her drag him to a store to buy articles of clothing that were Not On Sale. (This goes against everything we in the Surgeon family believe.) Dapper Dick then went off to wow 'em in CA. Lois accidentally bought a few more things that were Not On Sale, since she had been forced into it.
The suitcase never actually showed up. Maybe Homeland Security thought the wheel of cheese was an exotic explosive device, or maybe they just hogged the snack for themselves. Personally, I prefer to think that his suitcase fell off of the luggage trolley on the tarmac in Arizona and in mere moments turned itselft into Stilton-Fannypants Soup.
At which point, the airline told them they didn't have my dad's suitcase.
There were several problems with this:
1. My dad wasn't wearing his most attractive outfit
2. My dad had a business meeting in two days
3. My dad had packed into his suitcase the hostess gift for the family they were visiting, which he had brought back from England
4. The hostess gift was a wheel of Stilton cheese.
The next day, Dad still didn't have his suitcase. So he somehow managed to twist Mom's arm and make her drag him to a store to buy articles of clothing that were Not On Sale. (This goes against everything we in the Surgeon family believe.) Dapper Dick then went off to wow 'em in CA. Lois accidentally bought a few more things that were Not On Sale, since she had been forced into it.
The suitcase never actually showed up. Maybe Homeland Security thought the wheel of cheese was an exotic explosive device, or maybe they just hogged the snack for themselves. Personally, I prefer to think that his suitcase fell off of the luggage trolley on the tarmac in Arizona and in mere moments turned itselft into Stilton-Fannypants Soup.
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