Blown Fuse

Question for the ladies...

...avert ye eyes, gentlemen.

Anyone else ever recall taking birth control pills and as a side effect been woken up with terrible pangs of starvation? And then you eat and are still grumbly?

This is weird. I feel like I'm wasting away.

Am I a bad shopper?

Scott and I went to the mall. *shudders visibly*

I went in with the intention of snagging some dress pants on sale, and didn't find any stores that weren't having sales. There was just the two issues of a) they weren't on sale enough or b) they were too long. I'm pretty durn short.

I found a decent-looking pair at Gap that I'm either going to have to roll up at the cuffs of or have hemmed.

I've also been looking for a pair of black pumps for a while and checked out a few stores for a pair that didn't look like they fell out of Sarah Jessica Parker's reject stash. Finding nothing I was willing to spend money on, I gave up. I guess I'll try web-shoeing tomorrow. *sigh*

I had a $15 Pottery Barn gift card from the office gift swap of last week. Let me tell you: $15 bucks doesn't get you very far at Pottery Barn, so my options were pretty limited considering I'm not in need of discounted placemats and Santa-patterned napkins. I spotted at the front a galvanized bin of paperwhite narcissis bulbs that were discounted 50% to $4.49 per bag. I bought three. I fully suspect that very few of the bulbs are viable as some of them upon inspection felt sort of soft, but I may get a few sprays of flowers out of them.

We went into Williams Sonoma to see if they carried travel mugs (no). Does anyone else feel like they need to make reservations and wear a jacket and tie to go into that store?

My feet hurt. I think I have blisters. That's what I get for wearing three-inch heels for 13 hours.

I'll send what I can, but not because it's being demanded.

Okay, see, I don't really like Dubya, but Pam has a point. Why does everyone start jumping down our throats as soon as a disaster occurs?

Not to be insensitive here (I'm very sensitive, mind you. So sensitive that I bleed butterflies and moonbeams), but the U.S. has been plagued by all sorts of natural disasters over its history. The Southeast rarely goes a year without torrential rainfall and devastating hurricane winds. Entire towns in coastal communities have been evaucated for weeks at a time because of flooding.

The West Coast has its ingrained fear of earthquakes, fires, and mudslides. Remember all those people who lost their homes in California a couple of years ago.

Midwest: hello tornadoes?

I could go on, but it's pointless. Granted, our death tolls have never reached close to 100,000 at once, but let's consider population density. Had a tsunami hit mainland China, or even Long Island (heh), we'd be dealing with the same phenomenon. I'll resist making any jokes about overcrowded countries.

You see, flawed that we may be as a country--we deal with our own shit on a state level. If a state (i.e. Florida) needs additional help, well the feds will step in. Or maybe not. There are still some poor hicks out in the boonies of NC that never got disaster relief after that trio of storms hit the mountains over the summer.

I can understand sending some money for food and water, but it's not our responsibility to help them rebuild their entire coastlines. Isn't that what the UN is for? I can't believe I actually heard some Indian man on the news (in translation) saying "America will help us. America should send money now."

It's a funny thing being hated and needed at the same time. We must be the Mafia-Country. Next thing you know we'll be leaving horse heads on foreign ambassadors' beds.

Nappy

I used to have a pretty tough time staying awake in certain places, namely church and class. As soon as the temperature dropped below 68 or went over 75, I was out like a light.

One day when I was in high school, I believe it was physics *retch* class, I fell asleep. Mr. Karl was kind of boring on those days we weren't out on the football field shooting potato guns, so I just nodded off.

There were only about twelve students in the class and I was sitting at the table right in front of his podium. When I woke up, I heard him say, "Let's all stand up and stretch for a couple of minutes."

I looked around and everyone was standing up, looking nonchalant, so I did too...or, tried to.

You see, the class thought it'd be a good idea to tie my ankles to my chair while I slept.

Hardee har har har. How they laughed to see such sport.

Didn't stop me from sleeping in there.

"Yeah, tell him 'Happy Birthday' and blah blah blah"

So, yesterday was my half-brother's thirteenth birthday. Note that I indicate the "half"ness as a means to show that we ain't close.

I remembered that it was his birthday at around noon and plotted ways to get around calling. I plotted not calling at all, seeing as how he didn't call me on my birthday. Then my aunt called and left a message on my phone saying something along the lines of "In case you forgot..., today is your brother's birthday and call him." Whatthefuckever. I haven't even called my sister in two weeks and we actually have much to discuss....like the results of "America's Next Top Model."

It's one of those situations where if you call the house for one thing, you get hooked into thirty minute awkward conversations with everyone there. Having to go back to work yesterday, I wasn't in the mood by the time my free cell phone minutes came up.

Fortunately, when I called everyone had left for dinner. I left a message, thereby relinquishing myself from further responsibility.

I do believe I'm turning into a prick.

*kicks your shin with my heel*

Dear Husband:

I realize you are on vacation this week. That's cool. I, however, am not and will be therefore quite cranky as a result.

Please respect the little people and not set your alarm clock for two hours before you have have any reason to get up.

You know I take great pleasure in my last twenty minutes of sleep. Your VERY VERY VERY loud alarm clock going off for NO REASON every eight minutes is not my ideal way to start the day.

Thank you,

The management.

The Life Cycle of a "Giddy"

With me being Miss Suzy Sunshine and all, I rarely get excited about anything. I can always find the "hair in the soup." Because I look for such things.

I made the mistake of being excited over my "bonus." Folks, I was almost giddy. So giddy that I was looking through the King Arthur Flour Bakers Catalogue for goodies. And then I remembered, "Oh yeah. You have bills to catch up on."

As I'm the administrative assistant/payroll administrator/human resources/technical support/travel agency of the office, I'm the one that gets to see the paychecks a week early.

Damn tax mosquitos done sucked the blood right out of that glee.

Oh well.

Recycling

I've just deleted all of my images files from my blownfuse.us space and have them safely *crosses fingers* stored on my D:/ partition (stupid partition. could have used that space for Sims expansion packs...)

It took a while, but it gave me a chance to see all the crap I've uploaded over the past year. I'm embarrassed for me.

Look what I found from my last visit to the dentist (novacaine face-freeze):

*sigh*

I shouldn't be allowed a camera.

More from the pile

From a couple in which the husband has a wedding band made from part of a shotgun barrel:

So dastardly...

...I wish I'd thought of it myself. From our card pile (information omitted to protect the underage):

Just in case.

In case I get pissy drunk distracted, Merry Christmas to all, and to all a day filled with blog-fodder!

I haven't had my coffee yet

I need your opinion. Not that it would make any difference whatsoever, but it may possibly salve my conscience. I'm feeling particuarly evil.

Do you think I should have to mail my officemates' personal mail items? Specifically items that are stamped and ready to be mailed? The mail box is on their way out the complex. Why would they want to make me walk all the way over there in the morning to put their shit in? They think they're doing me a favor by running it through the meter themselves, but it reality if they don't post date it, I have to go IN THE MORNING to mail shit instead of waiting until the afternoon and making one trip when I pick up the incoming mail. Do they not have a mailbox at their house?

I don't use office supplies (i.e. postage meter and envelopes) to mail my bills. Even if I were a relative of Bossman, I'd be uncomfortable using office supplies and leaving them on the administrative assistant's desk to ship out.

More Commentary on Pick-up Lines

I rarely go out to lunch with my coworkers as I have to phone sit during that time, however sometimes I miss interesting events. For example, today BossSon (the eternally single 20-year-old) made a pass at the hostess at the restaurant they went to. Fortunately for him, she didn't smack the hell out of him.

I sort of wonder what sort of women respond to pick-up lines. I'm not one of them. I expressed to the boys earlier that in my opinion the best way to pick up a woman (that you want to keep) is to approach her with a smile and say "Hi, my name is..." and to look at her like she was the cutest thing you've ever seen--not a greasy, "OOooooOOoh baby I like your breasts in that shirt" look.

They rebutted: "But we're shy. We think we're going to get rejected."

I responded: "And you will get rejected if you think pick-up lines give you courage."

The line BossSon happened to use was "There's only one thing in here that's better looking than the hamburgers."

Alllllllllllrightie then. The line he was going to use (and was advised against) was "You're not wearing any panties."

You see, the unwitting/dumb chick would respond "But, I am wearing panties!" Then the pick-up line shmuck would say, "Oh, sorry. I was seeing ten minutes into the future."

Gag me.

Here's a tip I gave. Shy guys would greatly benefit from asking women for their help. We're always right to start with, so when someone asks our opinion we're flattered. I told Hat Guy to go to Total Wine or some such place and to skulk around until an attractive, successful woman came by. Then he should say something like, "You look like you have good taste. Would this bottle go well with a steak dinner?"

The prey certainly wouldn't smack him for being fresh, and if anything they'd have a conversation.

I'm curious to know what my female readers believe to be the best tactics for snaring us. Some of you single men could benefit.

"C" is for "Cookie:

The office "party" got bumped to tomorrow because New Chick had to bounce early today to attend a funeral. It's going to be a beer (yes, at 3 p.m.) and pizza kind of thing and we'll do the gift thing, and then I have to bounce.

Scott's office has also planned their event for tomorrow afternoon, so I'll have to drive cross county to attend that for the sole purpose of snapping a few pictures before Scott bids them farewell.

I'm making cookies. Holiday cookies. Except without all the food coloring and sprinkly little candies. These will be very boring holiday cookies. Adult cookies. I'll cut them into little stars and let them nibble them while the morning coffee brews.

I have a pretty good ginger cookie recipe (if I can find it), and I'll do some tried-and-true sugar cookies of course. Maybe some gingerbread if I can keep my eyelids up long enough. I want to do something different.

Any ideas?

Sell-out.

Tomorrw is Scott's last day of work. Forever. ...well, at the place that he works now, anyway.

I have mixed feelings about the situation. He went there when it was just a start-up agency with no hope of profit in sight because he wanted to do "cool work."

Well, he got lured away by green and bling bling. He's going "corporate." I gave him a good verbal thrashing about it, but I admit that I myself am looking forward to being able to go to the grocery store and not have to peek in my check register to see how many pennies in either direction I can go.

But then again, art is art, and corporate art is no fun.

Have you ever sold out to buy your wife shoes feed your family?

Chad's home...

I don't even know which one to start with. While this is kind of kooky, I think I should be more concerned with this or perhaps even this.

I think he needs time to adjust.

Chevy

I'm already a day behind in casting on for the Rogue Knit-along but seeing as how there's a slight prospect of me finishing this camisole, washing it, blocking it, and mailing it for Christmas Eve arrival--it'll have to take precedence.

It makes me feel better to know that the nightmares I had last night about slacking off on Rogue will keep me on my toes.

Anyhoo...

I got the back of the chevron vest completed and am about to cast on for the front. I really like this pattern. It's tastefully simple and has some nice ribs in it. I think I'll make one for myself when I'm done with...other things.

Aw, fooey.

You Are a Losing Lottery Ticket!

Full of hope and promise. But in the end, a cheap letdown.

Jacked from LeeAnn.

Netflix Digest #2

Some thoughts on the past week's Netflix rentals:

Bill me for your being wrong, whydoncha.

I went to the optometrist back in September to get a new contact lens prescription. As I had moved since the last time I'd had a check-up, I had all my files faxed over to the franchise that's closer to my house.

You can typically tell that they don't even bother to look at your file when they ask for answers that are perfectly transparent just by looking at your records. For example, "How long have you been wearing glasses?"

"That's a shame," is not an appropriate response that that answer, by the way. I'm perfectly knowledgable of the fact that I'm blind as a bat.

Anyhoo, the new doc had me try some monthly disposable lenses. When I went back two weeks later for a fitting evaluation I told him that it felt like the lenses were trying to fall out of my eyes and were shifting around a lot. He told me that I would be hard-pressed to get a better fit on a soft lens because my eye is so steep.

I found that hard to believe. I've been wearing soft lenses for *counts on fingers* close to ten years and have never had a problem. I had always worn the ones you keep for a year. I tried the dailies a couple of times and they always seemed to dry my eyes out. I expressed that again to the doc and he asked if I had been using drops.

Drops? Of course not. Who spends $4 on an itty bitty bottle of saline when I never needed it before?

He told me to use the drops.

Fine, so here I am with lenses that are causing eye strain. I spent $30 on the box of lenses, and you know you can't really return them for a refund once they've been opened. I figured I'd use this box and if I still had issues, go back and complain when done.

Well, today I called to complain. The biggest problem with these lenses is that while I can see things that are at a distance clearly, stuff that's close up is sort of out of focus. I'm nearsided, so that's ass-backwards. No, I don't need bifocals. Everything is peachy-keen in my glasses, so it's definately the contacts.

I just hate it when you tell a doctor that something is wrong and they don't believe you.

...oh-tay

Left on my voicemail by my sister:

"Hi, it's Davoya. I see you haven't called me. Hmm. Why not? I haven't called you because I have so many damn kids. Bye."

Overachieving

I mentioned last month that I was working on a blue blankie for my nephew. I got it done in time for Thanksgiving and immediately started on a pink one for some friends that are going to pop any day now. I finished it yesterday, and it is now drying on what used to be my beach towel.

I have a pink ribbon left over from my beer birthday present that I'll affix to it.

I can barely get one project done before I realize I was supposed to have another one done. I was going to knit my friend a fabulous hooded sweater and then realized that due to the late date she wouldn't see it until...oh....February, if I'm really trucking. I downsized the project to the rib tank I found at Interweave Knits. She's an itty bitty thing, so I hope I can finish this quickly.

Tomorrow, the Rogue knit-along starts, so I'll be working two projects at once. Let the fuck-ups being.

Memories

I once had a female friend who informed me that she liked the smell of her boyfriend's shit.

I kid you not.

This very same person also had a habit of asking people in her dorm suite to come in the bathroom to talk to her while she took a crap.

Putting a bad taste in their mouths for next year.

Since I was sort of miffed about that whole $15 gift thing, I decided to get the most tasteless collection of tripe possible.

My problem is that we're not doing the tried-and-true secret Santa thing, but are turning the gifting into a little game. I'll explain.

All who are participating draw a number. The person who draws "1" gets to select whichever item they're fond of.

The person who draws "2" gets to select a gift from what's left or take number 1's gift. Number 3 can take what's left or take what they want from person 1 or 2....and on and on.

The way I see it, the only way to make everyone happy in a situation like that would be if everyone bought the same exact thing, say a $15 gift card to wherever.

Being that I have more imagination packed into my little finger than most people have in their entire bodies, I said "Fuck it." Last night as I haunted A.C. Moore for project yarn, I spotted, yes--you guessed it, the kiddy crafts.

So, whoever has the misfortune of drawing #1 will likely be stuck with:

1.
A book of action hero tattoos, value $1.00.

2.
A four-pack of play-doh in the usual colors, value $1.42.

3.
A Magic Rocks kit with crashed UFO, value $6.99.

Now then. I guess I can steal some sharpies from the supply closet to make up the other $5. Someone remind me to take the camera to work on Tuesday.

Crass Haiku (avert your eyes)

Chili

Spicy chili burns
On the way back out.
I need Pepto NOW.

Weird coinkydink...

Yesterday, I tried submitting a new order for home phone service and got another e-mail today stating that they couldn't validate my address. I called Bell South to find out why in the hell I couldn't get the site to work and was told that Bell South doesn't cover my service area.

Yes, they service Chapel Hill....but not Durham. Mm hmm.

The service rep told me to ask my neighbors who their phone company is. I didn't want to have to because I tend to avoid awkward half-assed efforts at conversation.

Guess what was in my mailbox when I got home?

My neighbors' misdelivered phone bill.

How handy. Looks like I know who my phone company is supposed to be.

HeeHeeHeeHeeHeeHeeHeeHeeHeeHeeHeeHee!

Look what I found on the doorstep when I came home:

Two boxes of Cow Tales courtesy of my dear, dear, dear, dear husband.

I love early Christmas presents.

Temptation.

Radio of smokers to non-smokers in my office: 4:2.

They're like Satan trying to get me to sell my soul. Thankfully, I have a strong will and after 9 1/2 months of being smoke-free, I'm not going to give up so easily...besides, I don't have $100.

Do I look innocent enough successful?

I just added this picture to my UNC alumni directory profile. I don't know why I bother.

The fact of the matter is that during my five years (shut up) at UNC, everyone on campus had seen me at least once. It's a pretty big school, but given the relatively low proportion of minorities, you tend to remember difference. I'd estimate that three out of every five UNC grads from the past five or so years that I come across have claimed to have met me. I doubt it, however if they ever sat behind me in class they sure met my hair.

Screwy.

As I stated earlier, I signed up for local phone service and was awaiting for a confirmation e-mail with the phone number and all that good stuff.

Well, a few minutes ago I got an e-mail stating that my request was cancelled because they could not validate my address.

???

Just on a whim, I tried to get it to validate on the AT&T site, too, and it couldn't find our address under Durham. It suggested the same address under Chapel Hill and Garner, and while we're close enough to either to fudge it, as far as I know this subdivision has always been in Durham.

Damn it. If I actually have to use my cellular minutes to call these fuckers during the daytime I'm going to be very miffed.

*counts on fingers...*

I just got one of those explanation of benefits things from my health terrorists insurance company.

If I figure this right...my crotch doctor bills approximately $714/hour.

....

That explains all that italian leather she was wearing.

"Can you hear me now? Shit."

More than a year after moving into our house, I finally ordered a home phone line.

We had been doing the cell-phone only thing where we'd count our minutes as if they were beans and make all of our out-of-network calls after 9 p.m.

Well, after my car window got blown out during that lawnmower fiasco and I had to file an insurance claim, I knew that enough was enough. We've been using SprintPCS for a cellular service from the get-go, and for whatever reason there never seem to be enough towers around where we live to get an adequate signal from home. We drop calls from the house constantly, yet if we drive east ten miles we'll have 5 or 6 service bars.

Anyhow, getting back to my story, I called in an insurance claim to have my window replaced and knowing that I wouldn't be able to find reception indoors, I went into the back yard. The woman still couldn't hear me. I walked in circles through the swarms of gnats through knee-high weeds to find a reception pocket, but couldn't.

I ended up in a corner of the bedroom crouched down by the floor. That's where they can all hear me from.

So, enough's enough. I want to be able to order a pizza without having to hang from the chandelier in some yoga contortion.

Those trusting fools!

Well, now. Looks like my WUNC/NPR pledge gift arrived today. I'll wear it this winter and show people what a dork I really am!

Oh...yes, the hair has reverted back to its Ronald McDonald state. My scalp itched this morning and so I washed my hair. I didn't have the requisite hour to blowdry it.

In a nutshell.

I've been a bit slack in spewing remarks concerning my Netflix views recently, so here's the past couple of weeks in a nutshell.

Nice try, bub.

Seen on the bumper sticker of a beater Mazda 323 DX this morning: "Driver carries NO CASH. DRIVER IS MARRIED."

Oh, please. The resourceful wife knows how to link hubby's bank account to hers....

Hack! Cough!

I always found people who take handfulls of vitamins and pills strange. I wondered how they could possibly shove all that crap down their throats and not choke on it.

I've learned that if you pretend you're saying "Ahhhhhhh!" and toss them down with fluid they go down pretty painlessly. And the nasty ones don't even have to touch your tongue.

Let that be your "The more you know" for the weekend.

Well, well.

So, they finally got me to to Munu after months of pleading. One would think that certain people (*ahem*) went undercover as a online poker-selling comment spammer to get me to give up my host once and for all.

Well.

If that's all it took, why didn't you do it before?

I'll be moving what's left of my archives over as I have time this weekend.

You can stop holding your breath now--the snark hath returneth.

Lunch:

Three-day old (hard) hamburger patty and leftover rice.

I used to be really gung ho about getting my stuff together for work the night before. Now I find myself going to bed without preparing and waking up one or two minutes later each day.

I need either an extra hour in the day or an energy shot at around 7 p.m.

Pander me this, pander me that.

Anyone who's been reading Blown Fuse for a while knows that I rarely discuss politics. Occasionally, some things occur that make me want to throw my clogs right at someone's dumb forehead. For example, this news item that I've been following for the past few months kind of sets my rage a'boilin'. I can't stand pandering.

Granted, Chapel Hill has had its share of roads and edifices named after some really bigoted people: North Campus at UNC as an example. Not only have black students tolerated these icons there for fifty or so years, however most accepted the fact that true, "I live in a dorm named after a racist asshole. However, racist asshole or not, he did contribute an obscene amount of money to make the University what it is. I chose to attend this school." Those racist assholes would be turning in their graves to see how liberal the school has become. Not liberal enough for my taste, but whaddayagonnado?

I'm not saying it's okay for racist assholes (subsequently referenced as RAs) to forever live in infamy, however it's not doing anyone any good by purging history and changing names and places. What happened still occurred. We need to talk about that as much as what Dr. King did. The road name that would be affected is Airport Road, which is named after a municipal airport that used to be active down there. As far as I know, there's nothing contentious about the airport that would require a renaming of the street it's on.

Another issue in this that particuarly bothers me is that there are already at least two throughfares in the Durham-Chapel Hill area that are named after Dr. King. One, unfortunately, is a short street in a residential area populated by minorities. That obviously falls into the stereotype that "only black people live on streets named after Martin Luther King," and under most circumstances should be reconciled by an effort of everyone concerned.

HOWEVER, not only does Durham have one long and parkway named after King, I'm sure many other surrounding counties do as well. The county seat in Chowan, where I'm from, as one of the oldest towns in colonial America has always had a pair of parallel roads named Queen and King street. Quite obviously, they were named that because of the pre-Revolutionary War history of the area. So tell me what asshole decided that by re-naming King Street Martin Luther King Street a few years ago? I drove down 17S one day and saw that the name had been changed and was uncomfortably pissed off at the idea. Edenton has had it's share of race riots in the high school, but Jesus Christ, you can't slap a BandAid on it thirty years later.

Dr. King isn't the only black person that comes to mind that did something for race relations. Odd that you never hear big hoo-ha made about roads named after white Freedom Riders. The fact that Dr. King wasn't from Orange County further detracts from any arguments for the situation. As far as I know, he's never even been near here. Do correct me if I'm wrong.

Nobody owes the black community anything. That's the same thing the black community will be saying regarding the Latino community now that they've become the minority of choice. "They have to pay their dues," they'll say. No white person is going to run and hug every black person they see just because another road has been named after King. In fact, those that live on Airport Road will probably shun discussion of it at all.

The NAACP's scare tactics just don't do it for me. There have to be better ways to get people to discuss their thoughts than rubberstamping Martin Luther King's namesake on every county in the country.

People need to stop being so concerned with retribution and use that energy finding ways to move on.

Interesting how they disguise it as junk mail.

I got a mail item today in a plain white envelope
that had "Important Information Enclosed" printed on it. In the return
address window I saw that it was from "Credit Card Center."

I didn't recognzied the address so I naturally thought it was junk
mail. I opened it for the hell of it and saw it was one of those
privacy notices creditors send you every year or so to find out whether
you want to be taken off the address lists that they sell to "Related
Third Parties."

It asks whether you'd like to:

1. Limit the personal information about me that you disclose to nonaffiliated third parties.

2. Limit the personal information about me that you share with Citigroup affiliates.

3. Remove my name from your personal mailing lists used for promotional offers.

4. Remove my name from you relemarketing lists used for promotional offers.

You select which choices you want and then provide them with your full account number.

Uh huh. Well, frankly, they shouldn't be selling my shit to start with.
Second, they haven't had a valid phone number for me in about three
years, so ain't no body calling me.

All the same, I'll spend $0.37 of my own cents to return this to that
the floodgate of Mom & Pop company catalogues don't start up.

Interesting how they make it look like something you don't need to bother to read, though.

Realization.

I had been unsure of where our property ended and where our neighbors' begins. The little pink flag that someone tied to a tree branch to mark the property line has quite obviously moved during the past few years of growth. I, of course, didn't want to be ghetto and sneak out at night with a tape measure, either. I really don't want to risk humilation by asking them, either. The only reason I wondered in the first place was because there is a raised flower bed in the area of contention, as well as some ugly-ass saplings that I want to cut down. They just look so messy there.

Looks like Slicky Ricky next door has been out having fun with his leaf blower. Everything that had been in his driveway and surrounds is now in the daffodil run separating his driveway from our yard. It's about three feet wide and runs from the ditch to the chain link fence that separates our front yard from the back.

I guess the daffodil run is ours. This is process of elimination: he did the same thing last fall and they never got raked up, so the assumption is that it's our property. Leaves make pretty crappy mulch and don't add much to clay soil, so Ms. Green Thumb next door wouldn't have left them there if it was thiers.

I'm not petty...I just want those beds for my evil plans of world domination to plant stuff.

Mm hmm.

A-HA! I was right. All three allotted movies in my Netflix queue arrived at the same time. Since my distribution center is an hour and a half from here, there's was absolutely no excuse for them taking that long. They're all pretty recent movies, so they're pretty sure to be in stock just about anywhere.

Technically speaking, one should have arrived Tuesday, and then two on Wednesday. Then we would have returned those and had one more on Thursday, and one more on Friday (if they processed on Saturdays, the next one would arrive the following Monday). That's how the system works when it's at its best, but of course Netflix will try to make some money out of it--by slowing down their service, they think you'll upgrade to more discs per month for a higher rate.

Not so much.

I'll keep logging the ins and outs this and next month. If it becomes obvious that their service degraded along with their price decrease, I might have to take my biddness to the Loss Leader. Even though their name must not be mentioned out loud....

"I got a lot of money."

I understand that I might be unapproachable. The scowl on my face warns strangers to "STAY AWAY!" Most heed that.

Others, namely men, find new and what they believe are innovative ways of hitting on you.

Yesterday I was in the gas station trying to find myself a mid-afternoon snack. As I perused the aisle of candy I could overhear a group of guys ("men" wouldn't be an apt description here) commenting on someone. I assume it was me because the only other person in the store was the cashier.

I heard one guy say, "Go tell her you're rich. Tell her you have a lot of money."

I wondered at that point why I didn't have my cell phone with me. At least I could pretend I was talking to someone and they'd leave me alone.

Anyway, it turned out that the subject was a punk anyway and his end action turned out to be a slow walk past the aisle and a mumble of "I'm rich."

Oh yeah. That totally turned me on.

I wonder...

How long do you have to strain your neck looking backwards into a mirror to have an ass like that?

Blockbuster tempts me.

What in the heck is up with Netflix? We haven't gotten anything new since Monday, which we promptly watched and returned. We're on the "Three" plan, so it's kind of annoying that they're not cycling faster than they are, especially since they don't process returns and mail disks on Saturdays.

I want to get my money's worth, so for $17.99/month, I'd better be getting at least as many discs as I could get at a traditional video rental store. For the month of November we got 11 discs: one had to be returned for exchange because it was unplayable. That earmarks an okay deal. The month before that, we had 19 I think. I think that disparity in number is ridiculous. We watch the movies as they come in, so it's not like we're hoarding them for the weekend.

Watch: tomorrow we'll get all three discs at once.

Stains stains everywhere.

Stains stains everywhere.

When I was in elementary school, there wasn't a day that went by that I didn't get off the school bus in the afternoon without fresh stains on my clothing. It could be mustard from the hotdogs served in the cafegymtorium for lunch, grass on my pants from recess, or even chocolate milk.

I think I'm reverting back to that.

On Monday, I spilled the tomato sauce from my ravioli on my shirt and pants. Yesterday I developed a mystery laceration on my thumb while driving to lunch and got blood on my pants. Today I cut myself shaving and failed to wait for it to clot before I put my pants on, so now there's yet another blood stain on my pants.

If I were me, I wouldn't do my own laundry.

Might as well make it unembarrassing.

In preparation for today's visit to the crotch doctor, I did the following: