Blown Fuse

Thank you.

The part of the state that I come from is, to put it mildly, economically depressed. It's been said that if Eastern North Carolina was cut off from the rest of the state, it would no-contest be the poorest state in the U.S.

Some of those small towns are worse off than others. They try so hard to cling to their Main Street way of life and battle Wal*Mart like the plague when they come prospecting in their open fields. As they should. I hope there are some small towns left when it's time for my kids to make a choice on what kind of life they want to live. North Carolina is becoming a rest stop for Northerners looking for somewhere to escape high taxes, insane property costs, and nipple-exploding cold winters.

I digress.

The problem with being from somewhere like Edenton ("The prettiest little town in the South") is that you have to scramble to get out of there. Else, you'll end up at ECU (nothing wrong with that) or some other close-to-home school and you'll find that after graduation home will become a magnet. You HAVE to go back. The kids who really want to get the hell out of Dodge are out scratching peoples' eyes out for scholarships so that they can get at least an hour and a half further away to the capital where they won't feel the lure of returning.

Those who just don't have the grades end up giving their life to some branch of the U.S. Military long before graduation looms. What else is there to do? Work on Daddy's farm? Make grilled cheese sandwiches at the drug store?

Today, I finally found enough courage to scan the names of North Carolina casualties from the current conflict. I didn't know if I'd be able to bear seeing one of my classmates or community memebers listed in there, but would cross that bridge when I got to it.

Fortunately, I didn't recognize any of the names there. The closest casualty to hit home was from another small town (Hertford) about fifteen minutes away. They must be really reeling from that on days like today, and my heart goes out to them. It takes a special kind of person to enlist at any time, whether it be during peace or war.

As much venom as I may spew (or keep swimming around in my head) about this administration or the feeling of futility I sense in some of our military endeavors, for today I'll just say to those patriots: Thanks.

Chad did a memorial trek this weekend. Pictures are up at his site.

Life is like a box of ... Wisk.

I'm going to do some writing today. Seriously.

I know I haven't made any strides on any of my works-in-process in over a year. Life gets in the way - all you bloggers-cum-novelists know that.

So. I'm going to dust off my zip drive. Find my most inspired work. And. Do the laundry.

Eye give up.

Anyone else out there wearing ProClear (Coopervision) contact lenses?

If so, are yours as crappy as mine?

Traditionally I've worn Cibasoft visitint lenses. I'd worn those with no problems for 8 or 9 years. They're the kinds you keep for a year or so until you need to replace them. They didn't dry out my eyes, they didn't give me blurry vision.

I expressed that to my "Eyecare Professional" when I went in back in September. I told him that when I'd tried disposable lenses I'd found them to be painful as they dried out very quickly and my vision wasn't as sharp.

He again suggested that I try a different brand of disposable lens because it was in general a bad idea for me to only have on pair of lenses with no backup.

I relented, agreeing that not having spare lenses in the past has been an inconvenience. He put me in the Proclear lenses with the same prescription in each eye. My eyes' weaknesses are not equivalent, mind you. He stated that overcompensating in the left eye wouldn't do me any harm and this way I could get away with ordering only one box.

Cool. I'm all for saving a little do-re-mi.

Well. I put them on in the office and found that it was taking far too long for the lenses to settle and for my eyes to focus. My short-range vision was foggy, however I could see things pretty well that were across the room. He assured me that they were fine.

When I went back for my follow-up appointment a week later I expressed that I really didn't like the lenses and that my eyes felt like the surface of a sidewalk on a hot day.

He told me to use eyedrops. I told him I'd been squirting saline by the assload directly into my eyes.

Not once did he suggest I try a different lens. He just said again that these would be better for my eyes because they'd be cleaner.

8 months later these P.O.S. lenses have pushed me over the ledge. After a month of wear, the material of the lenses disintegrate to the point that the ridges in your fringer will leave noticable lumps on the surface of the plastic. God forbid you try to reorder them online through 1-800 Contacts or through lens.com because THEY'RE ALWAYS BACKORDERED BY AT LEAST 4 WEEKS.

Of COURSE they're in stock at the Doctor's office. Of COURSE the doctor marks them up by 25%.

I'm fed-up with the quality of care at the chain of franchises I've been using. I've only been patronizing them this long because I first visited them my senior year of high school and was informed that when I moved to Chapel Hill, there was a facility there where they could merely fax my records over to. Then when I moved to Durham I did the same thing (although they do like charging that new patient fee every time).

I'm through with all that now. I'm going to an independent practitioner this coming week. Sure, I'll have to explain a lengthy history and fill out all those damn forms again, but at least I won't have to put up with people who care more about making a buck than whether I can see or not.

Minimum sanity facility.

Okay, I didn't tell anyone to fuck off today, but I did have a frozen daiquiri with my lunch.

The waiter looked shocked as did many anal-retentives around me.

Ten minutes later people started ordering teas of the Long Island variety.

Okay. Remember some time ago when I ordered the vacuum bottle as my Blue Points prize?

Well, it arrived dented and I sent it back. On such occasions, the fulfillment people are supposed to send you a refund check for the postage cost when they send your replacement. I expected around three bucks back - I had to send it parcel post.

I got my new, undented, bottle today and inside the shipping bag were three one-dollar bills.

How ghetto is that?

When's Friday?

It's official - I'm going to work tomorrow.

I was going to use tomorrow as sort of an unofficial prequel to the long weekend, but decided to save my vacation day for use during a real vacation.

I planned on a drive to Podunk to do some genealogy research. I may still go on Saturday to visit the county library and look at some grave sites, but I won't be able to get my hands on any vital records as planned.

On a semi-related note, we hired some part-time help at the office. BossSon #3. Yes, there are even more BossSons than you thought, huh?

We're still actively seeking an intern as well. Some kid called in yesterday stating that he was looking for an "Unpaid Internship" which made our eyes bulge out in disbelief. Fuck an interview - you're hired, kid!

Jeez, the keys!

My two new "discount" cards. My keychain is getting as junky as a bum's shopping cart.

Feh.

I don't know about all that. As much as I love Star Trek...

Shiested from LeeAnn.

The Tiffany is NOT happy.

Not happy at all.

A couple of weeks ago, I saw an advert in the newspaper coupons for one of those Danbury Mint ornaments.

You know The Danbury Mint, right? They sell "collectibles"? Well, some of it is just corny-ass shit that people buy as gifts that end up being continously regifted.

Anyway, I collect pigs, so I ordered a Chrismas reindeer pig from them many moons ago. It's cute. I take it out every winter.

Well, this time I saw an ad for a 2005 UNC Tar Heels Santa ornament. I wanted it so badly that I almost peed right then and there.

Mind you, in the four years Scott and I have been acquainted, we've never even bought a tree. I figured we'd start this year.

Anyhow. Today, my ornament arrived.

Imagine my pisstivity to open it up and see a purple and gold LSU TIGERS logo on the top.

I'm so pissed that steam is escaping from my ears. How hard is it tell apart a sky blue (the sky is blue because God loves the Tar Heels) ornament from dang-ol' purple one?!?

They're not even in the same conference.

I'm going to bitch them out via email. If this was words, it'd be fightin' ones.

Good thing I haven't paid them yet.

I need a mind eraser.

I'm just wondering if years later, anyone else has this stuck in their head:

"UP, UP, DOWN, DOWN, LEFT, RIGHT, LEFT, RIGHT, B, A, B, A, SELECT, SELECT, START."

Anyone else know what that is?

"Grace and Favour"

I've made it known that I'm a big fan of British comedys. My all-time favorite is "Are You Being Served?" We didn't have cable out in the sticks so we got a lot of our entertainment by means of PBS. I believe I saw my first episode when I was ten or so. Every time I saw a rerun after that, being a bit older I'd pick up on some tawdry jokes that went over my head in the past.

Ah. That's good t.v.

The reprisal series, "Grace and Favour" is much less entertaining, but it was nice to see all the characters again. There were a few very funny moments ("But I'm ha'py!") that I laughed outloud at, but overall I'm disappointed. Back to the Netflix queue it goes.

Starlu

Last night, Scott and I went to dinner at a new(to us) restaurant called Starlu.

It was a nice change from our circuit of casual dining restaurants that serve steak and shrimp cooked to various degrees of deliciousness. Yes, we are fans of Outback.

I get sick of eating at the same damn places again and again and after an almost-disgusting meal at our local Lone Star on Sunday I knew we needed to step out of our comfort zone.

I'd seen Starlu's sign on the side of the building when I was depositing money into the ATM one day. I finally got around to Googling it and saw what it was.

I wouldn't call this place casual dining by any stretch. I's the sort of place where reservations are recommended and white tablecloths are laid out.

Since it was a Wednesday night, there were paper covers on top of the cloth table dressings and there were people in there who were dressed as if they had drove in from the farm for a special night's dinner...with the newborn baby.

The waitstaff was suitably snooty, but the sunflower seed wheat bread was tasty.

I had baby back ribs. Yum.

I'd go again, if nothing else but to figure out what's in the bread.

Lunch

Today we took our new account executive to lunch at one of those Japanese Hibachi restaurants.

Aren't you proud? I'm like that guy in the Sam Adams commercial - I ordered beer and drank it aloofly while the rest of the group drank sweet tea. Ah, sweet lush-ness.

What I think about when I think about things.

I just had a revelation that if Britney Spears weren't famous and had to work a real 9-to-5 job, she'd drive a 1990 Camaro with a Hardee's Star on the antenna and wear button-up blouses that are too tight around the bosom and when she turns at a certain angle you can see her holey, tacky lace bra through the button edge.

Just thought I'd share.

Care to confront?

Some idjut stumbled across an old entry and is spewing nonsense. Care to teach her a lesson about the first amendment?

See this post.

She's not savvy enough to be a troll, so she must have did a Google search for "people who hate sorority girls" and ended up here.

Touché.

A Picture Share!

My coworkers' personal mail magically appeared on my desk overnight. Buy a fucking stamp, whydoncha!

A Picture Share!

Showing scott the magic.

A Picture Share!

Flickr test post

Look at my new phone! *click*

My old cell phone pooted out.

I now have a new one with a camera.

Does anyone else smell "trouble" in the air?

*evil cackle*

Highway Robbery

Do you know how much 12-packs of soda cost at CVS?

$5.69!!!!!

!!!!!

Imagine that those extra exclamation points symbolize me flapping my arms like a bird to gesticulate the absurdity of that price.

Most grocery stores sell them for $4.79 or so when they're not on sale.

Two or three years ago you could get them consistently for 2/$5.00. You still can if you go to the gas station on the right day.

Yes, I just spent $5.69 on one. The only bit of soda in the house is in a special 2005 Tar Heels Coke can and I've been banned from drinking it. I did a bit of research to see which store had soda for the cheapest and ended up at CVS. $2.70 for Coke products.

Most stores realize that Dr Pepper, which the mister drinks, is neither a Coke product nor a Pepsi product, however lump it into the Coke promotions to give people a break.

I didn't realize this until after I got to the register and swiped my card. If I had known that, I would have went straight to the grocery store. I would have spent the exact same. $9.29 on two damn cases.

Zoop zoop zoop.

In case you're just tuning in, here are some things you might have missed (edited on 2/14/07):

Congestion like you wouldn't believe.

Graduation weekend.

UNC, Duke, and NC State are all having commencement ceremonies this weekend.

Stay off I-40, folks.

Heavy.

Need a good heaving cry? Watch Hotel Rwanda.

Jeez. A million people dead. I just can't stomach it.

Dis-R-E-S-P-E-C-T

Some asshole kid just called me a bitch. My natural response was "Excuse me?" to which they replied "bitch" and logged off.

...makes me hate kids. They must not know that if they tried that in person I'd make them feel so small that they'd wet themselves and then drown in it.

Wheeee!!

So. Since Bossman's out of town attending his son's wedding celebrations the office has been a bit lethargic. It's not as if work isn't being done - some is - but no one feels particuarly motivated to step outside their comfort zone.

I left work at 12:15, dropped a check off at the bank (ka-ching) and came home to change my clothes. I then went to Lowes to pick up a free bag of mulch and to see how their perennials looked.

I then came home, watched the rest of "Dead Like Me" Season 1, and spent 30 minutes planting three gallons of something-or-other plants. I contemplated hacking down the ugly-ass nandina bush around my neighbor's mailbox as it now casts a distasteful shade on my whatchamacallits. They don't really trim that thing anyway. At some point I hoped that it was ours just so that we could kill it, but once Scott "accidentally" trimmed it with the weed whacker we saw that it was staked up against the neighbor's pole. *sigh*

And here I am.

I should take more afternoons off.

I care about my pet's health.

I sent off for a quote for pet insurance from Pets Health Care Plan (the policy that advertises with Garfield the cat) and was quoted $284.76 if I paid in quarterly installments. Bodie is a 2 1/2 year old cat with no obvious impediments and she never goes outdoors. She's laying on a towel on the bed behind me right now. Sleeping. Exposing herself.

I don't forsee there being any disasters so I asked for a quote that would pay for yearly shots, but not for things like flea dips and nail trims.

Anybody out there in Blogland have pet insurance? If so, through who? Is it worth it?

Silly Bodie.

My cat just ate a bug.

Ha ha!

My favorite thing are the little grasshopper legs all over the house.

Fucking Re-Makes

Occassionally I'll take a risk and add a British dramedy to my Netflix queue. A few months back Mean Machine came up. I thought it was pretty good. I didn't blow raspberries at it the whole way through, at least.

When I saw that an American remake starring Adam Sandler is coming out I huffed a bit....and Burt Reynolds is in it.

I see now that this is the second reincarnation of this movie. The original starred Burt Reynolds and came out in '74.

Wow, those monkeys they have locked in a room writing scripts must be running out of key combinations.

Talk me down from this ledge.

I've always knew I would adopt a kid. Scott believes this to be more Tiffany crazy-talk.

Seriously. There's a little 7-year-old somewhere in a corner with coke-bottle glasses and holey tennis shoes that no one wants because she's too old to adopt.

"They all have emotional problems," says Scott.

Hell, I have emotional problems. Watch as I go from sensitive human being to crazy-ass bitch in three seconds . . . Good. I'm there. And WHAT?

Scott: "We'll be too busy with our own children."

Huh? A) That would legally be our child. B) How would one more be of any consequence if you're already planning for 3?

Scott: "Grumbledon'twanttobebotheredGrumble."

Jesus loves the little children. Why don't you?

Granted, there are some kids in the "system" that are seriously screwed up. They grow up and do terrible things and blame it on nobody wanting them. Then, there are also those kids who are there because both parents are dead and there was no one else to take them in. They're like those pitiful animals at the shelter that are pressed up against the bars calling you, but you're disgusted because they're so skinny and you want a puppy.

Have a heart, Scott. You won't even have to clean the litter box change any diapers.

There. It's done.

God. I hope my children never are as unmoivated about calling people on birthdays and holidays as I am. I just don't want to be lured into the beartrap that is conversation. My mother always reminds me that I should be attending church. I always admit that I should be and keep tongue firmly tied on the whole agnostic issue - sorry, Momma. Church can't cure that.

Grandma always has some pitiful voice curable only by a visit from certain grand-offspring.

Everyone else, lots of BLAH BLAH BLAH.

*pulls hair*

Scott, call your mother.

Huh.

Jim got it first. I must be guilty by mu.nu association. I found this email in my box this morning:

"We indexed your site in www.spidergay.com's database. We hope your indexation will provide you with a greater number of GLBT Internet surfers and that you will use Spidergay for your own needs. Your site will appear on Spidergay after the next update."

Who am I to deny traffic?

Salvation.

My paycheck for tutoring last month has just arrived. It's small and barely enough to cover the fat check I wrote to the anesthesiologist who drugged me during my laparascopy (and boy did they cash THAT fast), but it's enough to encourage me to wash myself and venture out in search of a new pair of flipflops.

I've just changed my mind. Malls are crowded. I'll shop online and go out later to buy catfood that doesn't smell as bad in the can as it does coming back out.

And ice cream cones.

Being Lazy

I don't feel like doing anything. The cat danced on my head for a couple of hours this morning, annoyed that she hadn't been fed. The audacity! Did she not know it was Saturday and that she gets fed late on Saturday?

I got up and gave her some slop that will, if the past is any guide, inevitably cause her to fart noxious fumes even whle sitting in my lap. I don't have a regal cat. My cat is uncouth as a housekity can get.

I had a weird sinus headache (likely brought on by the cat hair mulch in my sheets and comforter) so I took an Advil and went back to bed for a few hours. The cat decided to lay her [now] fat ass next to me which prevented me from rolling over.

Here, kitty kitty. She's tapping my arm now as I type. I'm sorry, kid. I've got nothing left to give you.

I guess I'll catch up on some laundry and clean some of the tumbling tumbleweeds of dust out of the bedroom. If I get really stagnant in the energy department, I may find myself sitting at the kitchen table with one ear turned to NPR and the other to the cat scratching in her litter box. And doing nothing else.

I thought I'd maybe take myself to an early movie. But I don't feel like dealing with people today. I'm not area-savvy enough to know which theaters are crowded at which times.

I'd go to the mall to get a new pair of shoes for work...but some Grinch called FICA stole my paycheck.

Oh, and Scott's away. Usually anatagonizing him takes up the bulk of my free time during the weekends. I don't feel like being creative.

Team in Training

I want to do this...but I don't want to do it by myself....and I don't foresee myself raising $1500 to participate in it, either. They say that your travel and lodging to the event is free, however I suspect they've already calculated that into the amount of money you need to raise.

Eh. Oh well. Another dream dashed.

Whta is the next model in the series?

On Wednesday night I went to the mall with Scott to help him locate a rugged pair of athletic shoes to take on an upcoming business trip. While in Finish Line I saw a very professional all-business-take-no-shit woman in there helping her husband shop for tennis shoes.

You could just tell by the way she crossed her legs that she was a beyotch. The woman's hair was cut into a perfectly symmetrical pageboy. Who wears pageboys nowadays? It wouldn't have been so bad if it weren't for the fact that length (nape) and the too-straight lines with no layers made her look austere. That poor man looked as if she had carefully laid out his clothes the night before and dictated precisely how tightly his shirt should be tucked in and how high on his waist his pants should be.

She was on her cell phone talking to one of their children, I presume. She had them go into their closet to read the exact model number of Dad's shoe so that he could get the exact pair.

Alas, they didn't have that pair because the very nature of the tennis shoe industry is that most pairs go out of production after a year or so.

The woman turned to the sales associate and began questioning him on the make of the shoe and trying to find out what was the "Next model in this series?" The associate looked flabbergasted.

Mind you, homedude already had a pair on his feet that he looked perfectly content in, however they weren't good enough for her.

I find it hard to believe that people have to have such order in their lives that they have to order the lives of those around them, too.

Le sob, le moan.

This has been a long-ass week. Between trying to catch up on the backlog that forms in my work in-box as soon as I close my eyes to sneeze or go to the bathroom, and taking on other tasks that have "clerical" written all over them, I'm a bit burnt out.

If I had two spare nickels to rub together right now I'd put a deposit on a vacation. I would leave my cell phone at home so that any calls from work from people trying to locate thing in my file drawers would be automatically shunted to voice mail.

*sigh*

I need a meme. Excuse me while I go find a meme.

Shit.

I somehow managed to break the strap on my right Steve Madden "dress" flip-flop. Ladies, you know what I mean - the more professional variety of thong? The bitch just snapped right off on my way from the mailbox.

*sigh*

Bossman will be gone all of next week, so he can't critique me if I wear rubber beach shoes, can he? I can't stand wearing regular shoes when it's warm-weather season. My hypochondria tells me that my feet are swelling.

Kwik-e Koffee

I hate being a nag, really I do, but when you have to depend on your coworkers to bring in coffee supplies when it's their turn there tend to be problems "rememering." I wanted to help them to "remember" so I took matters into my own hands and had a sit-down with the local sales manager of Diamond Springs to arrange for delivery.

So happy I did. We played with the machine all day and by 3 p.m. were so hopped up on caffeine we couldn't sit still. We're still in a trial period, but hopefully nobody will change their mind before Friday and decide they don't want to pay $15/month each for coffee. They're certainly spending a helluva lot more than that at Starbucks every morning.

AwwWWWww

The cat eats my hand with such tenderness. She wraps her little arms around my wrist and draws my hand into her mouth without ever unsheathing her nails. The fact that she's chewing on my skin in the first place is another issue altogether.

Shaking Branches

It's funny that Amanda should mention family name misspellings in the previous comments because I encountered the same thing last night.

I'd been looking for one particuarly elusive family group and knew they were present in a certain town at a certain time. When I finally found them it was because I realized that someone had transcribed the handwritten census roster incorrectly. They turned cursive "n"s into "u"s. You can see where that would be a problem. I especially was really pissed to learn that "Eufield" is North Carolina town that never existed. Feh.

I saw also that they spelled the person I was looking for's last name incorrectly. It wasn't even phonetic, it was just wrong. I know a lot of people make the same mistake in spelling that name, and the person telling the census taker the info didn't know any better because he couldn't read...I'm sure he didn't give a shit anyway - it was only his stepson. Yes, his own biological children's names were spelled weirdishly as well.

Now that I'm back on the trail I plan on taking a fact-finding trip sometime in the next couple of weekends. I'll spend the day in a town the size of a flea gathering vital records from the clerk's office.

I hope they have a McDonald's...or at least a gas station that sells potato wedges and Nehis.