Some Blog

The Day I Accidentally Brow Beat The Vietnamese Tailor

Monday, April 30, 2007

I have been applying to jobs with a reckless abandon, but without abandoning my standards. Last night I prepared four envelopes that needed mailing labels and made a promise that I would hit up Target for labels today. Unfortunately one of the types of labels I needed were not to be had, but the Target Triangle is still in action. I went in for $10 of merchandise and left with $150 of things I just had to have. A pair of pants for work (I tell myself that having new clothing is key because I like new things, also I find myself saying “I HAVE NOTHING TO WEAR” frequently these days), two dresses (one for casual garden work and one for going out, both very appropriate for Texas in June when it will be like I set myself on fire and the flames were doused with hot sauce), four tops (because they fit over my tatas) and some labels. Right, can’t forget the labels.

The pants, remember the work pants, were too long so on the way home I stopped at the tailor for hemming. When the clerk was filling out the form I heard* her ask “what day?” To which I replied “Wednesday.” Unfortunately what she really said was “Thursday.” As she re-dated the ticket to reflect Wednesday, I quickly said, “Or Thursday, whatever.” I guess it’s not like I need the pants for work (have I mentioned that I am still not working? because, I’m not). So that was the highlight of my day.

*I have a genetic predisposition to lose my hearing before the age of 40. I often repeat what I think I hear Bruce say in question format. Like “You just locked a monkey in the bathroom?” This keeps conversations around the hacienda interesting.

Sweet Home

Saturday, April 21, 2007

Chicago.

Back next week.

Fun With My InBox

Friday, April 20, 2007

I bet you thought this was a missive about a bikini wax. Well, that will come later, I’ve got a new place lined up and these experiences need to be shared, at least in my opinion.

I’ve been getting this weird Spam that isn’t even sent to my email address. Normally the spelling is atrocious and I have to kind of make up the words in the middle because the “Russian” “female” “writing” the email has learned how to talk from the Teletubbies. Notice my dramatic use of air-quotes. But the last few letters have had a different air to it. In fact this last email was almost poetic. Almost.

from Tatty

April Showers Bring Mayflowers, But What Do Mayflowers Bring?

Thursday, April 19, 2007

I suppose the evolution of my days began when the weather turned. Speaking to my flowers in the afternoon while the sun beats down makes me feel more productive. Bruce is quick to point out that productivity is in the eyes of the beholder, or in this case, the only one making any money.

But take today, for instance, I wandered into the bathroom around the time Bruce left, wandered out to the patio to say good morning to the plants, went to pay a bill, got my nails did, talked to Bruce, ate lunch, wandered home, talked to Bruce, spoke to a head hunter, applied to a few or seven jobs (but who’s counting), talked to Bruce, read the Internet, made plans to see my cousin’s girlfriend next week, watched Animal Precinct (one of my favorite shows ever) and now I will nap.

Sure, most people would be able to add a “productive” activity to that list but these activities have taxed me significantly. More importantly, whether it’s just in my own mind or not, I feel productive. I swear, it’s all about talking to the flowers. 

Mythbuster Quote of the Day

Wednesday, April 18, 2007

“Okay, escape plan same as last time. If the boat’s coming at you, run.”

OMG OMG OMG

Monday, April 16, 2007

So like my blog broke and junk and then the people at the help place were like, um what? and I was like HELP. But then I went online and like fixed it myself. But it was like OMG HELP.

I think all is well now, pray for me. I am like going to log out and I might not be able to log back in ever again, for like ever. If that’s the case, I just want you all to know how much I care for each and every one of you. I also would like to say that I leave all of my junk to Bruce. My junk mostly consists of bills so really the rest of you should be glad that I am bequeathing my stuff to him. And it’s not like I can give you guys my funny bone, ‘cause I don’t even think that’s where my funny comes from. No, my kind of funny comes from a fucked up family and liberal use of drugs.

Why Some Girl Is Not Allowed to Operate Heavy Machinery

Monday, April 09, 2007

“If I had a boat and Green Peace were in front of me, I would totally steer into them.”

You Want What I Got

Bruce has his funny looks. Like the look he gave me when we were eating sushi and I said, “yeah, like the time that girl kissed me.” Apparently I had not told him that story. Oddly, that funny look was similar to the look he gave me on Friday when I told him that I cut my own hair. I always cut my own bangs to minimize the number of times I pay someone to cut off .25 an inch of hair. He said he was just surprised because it looked good, and also, “I’ve only ever cut my hair accidentally.” Which leads me to ask, how does one accidentally cut ones own hair?

Bruce has his moments. He can be exceedingly funny. But usually in the privacy of the car. I get on him for being selectively funny. My family and friends would stop being befuddled by our relationship if he were as funny with them as he is with me. Bruce maintains that he’s just a little shy and doesn’t like the big groups. I maintain that he’s just trying to torture me and make me look insane. Of course, the insane part, that’s probably all my own doing. But I blame him for that as a matter of course.

Bruce has his charm and good looks. I say this so that people will think I think nice things about Bruce, because often I tell you all about the other stuff. Also, Bruce will then feel like a sexy beast. You know, I don’t know why people complain about having to edit what they write on their blogs because of who reads. I never experience that. Like just the other day, when Bruce was doing his pilates and I was laughing at him. I know, you thought there was going to be more, but no, that’s it. He was doing pilates and I was laughing. But charm and good looks!

Bruce has his happy place. I don’t know if you’ve picked this up yet, but I’m not necessarily an easy person with whom to live. Seriously, I am kind of demanding and shit. Also, some might call me a bitch. I don’t know who exactly, but some. When I start picking on things that are driving me nuts, Bruce drops out of the conversation. He adds a well placed, “uh huh” and “mmmmm” but really I could be plotting out a plan to rob Fort Knox and he would be all uh huh’ing me to death. I think that it’s good for him to act like he’s acknowledging my crazy plan or the jihad of the moment but he never really engages it. When my mom asked how he puts up with me, Bruce replied, “Oh, I just go to my happy place.” I imagine there are lots of video games and shiny things in Bruce’s happy place.

Bruce has his stuff. No really, not possessions (he has those too) but STUFF. I know that on paper I would come off as the materialistic whore that I am, but when you start piling shit up, Bruce has hella crazy mountains of stuff. Just yesterday he was wearing pants that totally didn’t fit. And by didn’t fit, I mean they hurt his midriff being way too tight. Bruce has a closet full of clothes. But he only wears about a third of the pants and half the shirts. The man is a pack rat. Me, I am a totally unsentimental bitch that throws away pretty much everything. The last 28 years of keepsakes fit into two storage containers that combine to about a foot cubed.

Bruce has his teddy bear. To be fair it’s the one I sent to him with a bunch of balloons via FTD. The bear was just holding the balloons together. The bear made the arduous journey from the office to the apartment and now is part of the family. The bear has been named Mediator and is called up to do a variety of things. For example, we’ve asked Mediator to switch the laundry to the drier, taste some food, go to the market, get a job, make some calls and vacuum. Mediator has pretty much refused to do all of it. Bruce doesn’t care that Mediator is one lazy ass bear, he hangs out with Mediator and plays games with him. I tend to hide Mediator in odd places and mock Bruce when he can’t find him. I’ve stopped doing that since the time where I forgot that I put Mediator in the dish washer and left him there for a very long time. Thankfully no teddy bears were harmed in the writing of this blog.

Bruce has his faith. He’s a believer in things that people sometimes don’t. I think it’s good that one of us believes in God considering that I might need it one day. No really, I hear God does good things. There are miracles and the such. We have some pretty good conversation because I know things and he believes things. I never try to talk him out of his faith, as I am sure my family will try one day. I never question his faith. I never mock his faith. Faith is some pretty strong shit and I know not to mess with that mojo.

I Don’t Regret Anything, But…

Sunday, April 08, 2007

I wish I had an afro.
I wish they would call about the job.
I wish I took that opportunity that one time.
I wish that Disney dreams did come true.
I wish I had majored in interior design.
I wish I could figure out the manual settings on the camera.
I wish I had stayed in touch with all the people to whom I swore I would stay in touch.
I wish I was more dedicated to blogging.
I wish I didn’t still desire a cigarette every time I smell someone else smoking.
I wish that the bottle of champange I drank for lunch on Thursday had made me drunk.
I wish that taxes were easier to compete.
I wish for peace on earth and goodwill towards humankind.
I wish you knew when I was being snarky.
I wish someone would invent a self cleaning toilet.
I wish they had those shoes in my size.

Gone Fishin’

Sunday, April 01, 2007

Happy Passover.