Oh, the humiliation

I should have known something was up. My mascara worked, there was a cute boy at the grocery store, light traffic, boss in a good mood...and then it came...and I was totally unprepared because it's early. About four days early. I usually have something in my desk, but for some reason, all I have in there are useless pantiliners. In case you haven't guessed yet (boys, avert your eyes), I got my period and I didn't have nary a tampon or pad. I quickly checked with the three other female types in this place and no one was packing.

I have, excuse me, had $4 in my pocket. That's it until payday. The pads at the liquor store next door cost $4.99 + tax. Do you have any idea how humiliating it was to bargain with the Middle Eastern liquor store owner? "I'll gladly pay you Tuesday for a maxi pad today". Fortunately, I've worked here for years and he knows I'm good for the $1.40 that I now owe him. I'm sure my face turned a thousand shades of red. It's a good thing I'm charming...and have a nice rack.

Happy Fuzz Nuts Day!

Okay, it's really Fastnachts, which are delicious doughnuts made from mashed potatoes. I know, I know...it sounds gross, but they are soooo good. Some people eat them with syrup, but at the German bakery where I worked for six years, we just put powdered sugar on them. Simple, yet yummy. Fastnacht is German for Fast Night, so Fastnacht Day is the German equivalent to Mardi Gras, Shrove Tuesday, or whatever you call it in your country. I grew up in a large concentration of Pennsylvania Dutch, so I'm kind of homesick for these treats.
I was unable to find Fastnachts here in LA, although to be fair I went to a supermarket in the Fairfax district, not exactly a hot bed for Catholic traditions. So, instead I'm having pryanik, which are kind of hard to explain, but kind of a puffy Russian cookie, with a sugary coating. Hardly a Fat Tuesday treat, but I'm improvising.

Oh, you know what else is in season? Hot Cross Buns. Which leads to my favorite joke (next to my St. Paddy's joke which I'm saving for March 17th)--What do you get when you pour hot water down a rabbit hole? HOT CROSS BUNNIES!! (hee hee hee--I crack me up).

And, CADBURY EGGS ARE BACK, BABY!! Yes Sir, the bain of any diet are in stores now!!
Thanks Easter Bunny!!! Don't waste your time with the Cadbury Minis or the caramel. No, go straight to the pure sugar rush of the original with its delicious fake yolk center. Bite off the end, suck out the creamy "yolk" and savor the chocolate shell. It'll cure what ails ya.

I really enjoy the Lenten season more than the Christmas season. Does that make me a sick person? I mean, the Lenten/Easter season is about death and the Christmas Season is about birth. Although, actually, Easter is about rebirth, so it's not that morbid...unless you're talking Zombies...Oh, I'm going to hell for sacrilege.

Anyway, Happy Fuzz Nuts, Mardi Gras, or whatever day!!! Eat up!!

Holy Crap, my head hurts

I was standing for seven hours yesterday while playing MixMaster Lo for our quarterly product presentation and my back is killing me. All things being connected in the body, the rest of me doesn't feel so hot either. And, it's 7:18pm and I haven't eaten but a Trix cereal and milk doodad since 10am. Oh, I lied. There was that ham sandwich at 1:00. I'm hungry, and dehydrated, and my head freakin' hurts.

So, despite efforts to be a good employee and make Mr. Man forget that I snapped at him in front of THE ENTIRE REGION OF MANAGERS yesterday, I just haven't been able to muster the enthusiasm needed to complete anything today. I did, however, spend about an hour here . Go on. Have some fun. Me? I'm going home to whip up some tasty Ramen noodles and down some serious pain killers.

The Intimates Sounds of A Complete Stranger

The walls of my apartment are pretty thin, at least the one separating my apartment from the one next door, particularly in the bedroom. My neighbor is fairly new. The previous tenant, Seth, lived there before I moved in and was relatively quiet. Maybe our schedules were just opposite. I worked two jobs back then, so he may have been loud as the dickens while I was away. But the most I ever heard from Seth was the occasional Sunday morning phone call to his buds about his Saturday Night conquests (and this only because both our windows were open).
Not so for the new guy.
I have never met my neighbor, not formally anyway. I have seen him in profile as he walked from his truck and up the stairs to his apartment, but I don't believe I've ever seen him head on. He has curly blond hair and seems like he'd be kind of handsome. I don't know his name, but I know that he listens to KROQ in the morning as his alarm. I know he drives a big truck and his girlfriend drives a silver Ford Focus. I know that his girlfriend sounds like a dolphin when she's, um, satisfied. And as of last night, I know that he snores. Yes, snores like a sawmill. Snores with a rhythm usually reserved for factory assembly line machines. And when he wakes from his snoring he sounds like he swallowed a toad. zzzzzzzzzzGAGcoughcoughGACK. This all occured at about 2:30am.
As I lay there waiting to see if I should call the paramedics for the poor guy, I began thinking about the close proximity of a complete stranger...in bed...possibly naked. He is naked and just two feet away from me at least once a day. And when I'm in my room naked, there's a strange man just on the other side of the paper thin wall. If I can hear all his most intimate sounds, what does he hear from me? My alarm clock when I don't catch it? Sure. Does he hear me, uh, playing with my toys? Do I sing out loud? Does he hear my TV when I watch cheesy shows and movies? When I cry at night, which I do at times, does he hear me and wonder what's wrong? Do I snore??? Does my coughing when I'm sick keep him awake? Is he as freaked out by this as I am?
Phew. Fortunately, sleep came and I forgot about him..until now. Aw, now I'm thinking about it and getting freaked out again.

I hate being cold.

Outside it's sweatshirt cold. In my office it's shearing-lined parka cold, and don't forget the mittens. I have opted for the ceramic mug over my usual travel mug just so I can thaw my fingers by holding it. My rings are falling off my fingers. I am cold to my core and typing is a difficult task. I hate being this cold. I need a space heater or something. I hate to sound like a wuss to my Midwest and East Coast family, but it's seriously cold in here.

I hate being ma'amed to death. There's an assistant who is constantly saying "yes, ma'am" after everything I say. "I need you to fax that." "yes, ma'am" "and email me the spreadsheet" "yes, ma'am" "and quit calling me ma'am" "yes, ma'am". I realize he was in the military and it's meant to be respectful, but it drives me up the wall. Especially since I'm only five years older than this guy. I actually dread getting this guy on the phone because I know I'm going to have to wade through a sea of ma'ams to get to the point. It's like that friend who can't say a sentence without adding "ya know". After a while, you get used to the ya knows and you mentally filter them out. Well, ma'am is just so grating that I have a hard time filtering it out.

I found myself in the pet food aisle in the grocery store this weekend pricing food and accessories and working through my budget to see if I could realistically afford a pet. I want a kitty. I know, allergies, but I really think I could work through that. I want a dog too, but I know I don't have time for a dog and it wouldn't be fair to him/her. It doesn't help that a label guy sent out an email about "who wants to adopt a puppy?" with pictures attached. Could you resist these guys?


Dallas
a Rhodesian Ridgeback/Dachshund mix

and a basket full of Golden Retrievers

Can you stand how freaking adorable they are? I mean, six pups in a basket. It's greeting card cute. and Dallas? I just want to pet his little head and nuzzle him to pieces. I can feel his fuzzy, puppy warmness right through the screen.

I have to clean my apartment first and pay off another credit card. Then, maybe, I'll see about a pet.

Setting myself up for failure

I promised you witty and I'm afraid I won't live up to your expectations, but here goes:

I still have not done one thing that has piled up on my desk. So far today, the only work related things I've done are:

1. made a time schedule for next week's presentation and emailed it to appropriate parties (time lapsed: 5 minutes)
2. secured breakfast for said presentation. (time: 3.5 seconds)
3. made donation to charity for Mr. Man (time: 10 minutes ish)
4. gathered various faxes and paper clipped or stapled them, then set them aside for future use (time: 30 minutes)
5. answered questions from the field about a project due today (time: 1 hour)
6. calculated payroll for all my department people (time: 5 minutes)

So, that's not quite 2 hours of work.

Things I've done today that are NOT work related:

1. walked to Duke's for a ham and cheese omelet, which was actually a cheese omelet with grilled deli slices on the side (but the waiter is beautiful) (Time lapsed: 20 minutes)
2. drank some coffee and shot the shit with Russell until Howard (attention span of a newt) came in and interrupted our witty repartee. (time: 45 minutes)
3. emailed my friends from non-work email account (time: all day long)
4. laughed with boys in Classical store and insisted they play "The Vienna Boys Choir Goes Pop" so that I could hear prepubescent boys sing Metallica's "Nothing Else Matters" and The Bangles' "Eternal Flame". It was disappointing, but the visual image of exploding Viennese youth was worth it. (time: @1 hour)
5. went to video store to pick out rentals for weekend (time: 40 minutes because I was following the cutest little French boy around to listen to him speak...restraining order pending)
6. shopped for luggage for my upcoming vacation because I don't want to look like poor relations. (time: 1 hour, 20 minutes)
7. ran to liquor store for Diet Coke and Corn Nuts (time: 10 minutes)
8. flirted with redneck boy buying 2 twelve packs of Heineken (time: 1 minute..I work fast)
9. Sent DVD of the 117th Annual Tournament of Roses parade to my mother, who was supposed to be here to see it in person (time: 5 minutes)
10. Read other blogs and commented (because it's nice and people like comments--hint hint) (time: 30 minutes or more)

That's over 9 hours of goofing off to 2 hours of work. If you subract goofing off pay from actual work pay, I owe the company $112. So, I am going to clock out now and stay late to finish up some things. Because I'm like that.

My desk is a mess and the boss will be back any minute. I have wasted my morning reading OPB (other people's blogs) and generally not doing what I'm getting paid for. Entertain yourselves and I'll be witty tomorrow. And Tina, there is no point to these. They're just fun.

Have Fun with this:

Laurie Ann -- [adjective]: Smells like teen spirit 'How" will you be defined in the dictionary?' at QuizGalaxy.com

Laurie Ann will have to write on the chalk board:
I will not wear a clove of garlic around my neck to ward against vampires
'What will you have to write on the chalk board?' at QuizGalaxy.com

My epitaph.

Thanks to Miss Kendra for the link.

Now, really, I have to get this stuff done.

The results are in

Neither of those mascaras (see yesterday's post) is worth a damn. I should learn my lesson that I will never have long, fringy eye lashes and no amount of mascara will change this.
That being said, Maybelline's Full and Soft does make them just that--full and soft. And Bourjois has a great mascara (it comes in a black tube with a pinkish top) that makes me look like I have some semblance of lashdom.

While I'm at it, let me give you my opinion of the new Tide To Go stain remover stick. Yesterday, I dripped tomato soup on my boob. No surprise here. These appendages are the reason I stopped wearing white shirts. I busted out my handy Tide To Go stick. Here are the results.




before and after





While the stain is gone, I now have a slight white spot on my shirt, which is better than a big red one, I suppose. However, for the price and usefulness, I have found that simple Wet Ones (and only Wet Ones, not the cheap store brand) will have pretty much the same effect on food spillage. Save your money. Buy Wet Ones. You'll use them for so many other things.

Let me know if you'd like my consumer test results on any other products

Conference Call Hell

I have been on conference calls since 10:30 this morning, and each one has repeated the same thing. Naturally, I'm bored silly. So I read some blogs, and now I'm, well I'm writing this, but before this I was browsing the web. While checking out this site www.parishotelboutique.com I found the most hideous painting, supposedly of an Italian greyhound, that will give you nightmares. Is this just a bad artist or was there actually such a man-faced dog in existence?
I'm hungry. And I have to pee. and I'm not paying any attention to the current conference call so I'll be up the creek when it comes time to actually print up these notes for Mr. Man. I just can't listen to him anymore. Isn't four hours of listening to your boss cruel and unusual punishment? Is this my punishment for pointing and laughing at those less fortunate or fashion challenged?

Oh, this has nothing to do with my conference call hell, but I have to share. I stopped at Rite Aid last night on my way home in my neverending quest for a mascara that will magically transform my puny lashes into something truly bat-worthy, only to land smack dab in the middle of unruly monster central. Now I realize that parenting techniques have changed since the middle ages when I was raised, but if my siblings and I had acted even 1/8th as bad as these kids acted, my mother would have beaten us in public. You know those scenes in movies where the main character is standing still and everyone and everything around them is moving in superspeed? That's what I felt like while waiting in line. A bojangle of brats (yes, that's the official name) ran hither and yon screaming "mama, mama...can I get these? I need this. I want ice cream." and whatever else. Some thing in front of me had some sonic ray gun type toy that made this obnoxious space gun sound (oh, don't act like you don't know what sound I'm talking about) and he kept his finger on the trigger for, like, five full minutes. I had to laugh because it was such a Dennis the Menace moment. And, this being Rite Aid (formerly Thrifty), the clerks only have one speed and no sense of urgency when the lines stretch from the front of the store to Pharmacy. A guy in a motorcycle helmet walked in the door, said "Holy Shit!" and walked back out. I just shook my head and thought, yeah, that's the right idea.
I bought the new Maybelline comb-brush mascara and the CoverGirl mascara with the rubber brush. I'll let you know which one is better. So far I'm not impressed with the CoverGirl.

Hollywood to Downtown in 3 hours (or Thank God for AC)

It was so gorgeous this weekend that I felt like getting in my cute little car and driving around, but I had nowhere to go. When in doubt, go to the library...yeah, 'cause that's the height of excitement. I have never driven downtown. Of course, I have never driven in most neighborhoods in LA, but that's beside the point. Driving downtown...it's practically an oxymoron. First of all, I get lost every time I go downtown in a car, except with Roger who knows where he's going. Susan and I got lost on our way to MOCA once and ended up surrounded by some rather unsavory looking characters. A quick call to the German got us back on track. Tami and I, well, didn't get lost on our way to the Grand theater, but we got, shall we say, sidetracked by a few blocks. Yeah, that's it.
I have an excellent sense of direction. Don't laugh, I do. I've proved it time and time again. However, every freakin' street in downtown LA is one way (or so it seems) and they all go the one way that I DON'T need to go. I know the parking entrance is on Flower. I was kind of following the bus down Sunset (Cesar Chavez) and the bus turns on Grand, then Temple, then Hill. I thought I was smarter than the MTA. I thought I could circumvent this roundabout route and just take Hill (you can't) or Broadway. Somehow, I ended up where Susan and I ended up, somewhere near the river. I made a right on 7th and was finally heading in the right direction, but then traffic stopped. Traffic stopped dead for three light changes because a) about 100 people decided to cross the street, b) an Escalade was attempting to make a right turn but had to wait for all 100 people to cross the street, and c) some ass in a Cutlass Supreme (can we build one for you?) was trying to inch his way out of a parking space and into the far left lane. It was hot, Hades hot. And as I looked around, I realized I was in the same area where Randy and I once saw someone selling crack in broad daylight. Forgive me as I sound like the country bumpkin that I am, I wound the windows up tight, closed the sunroof, and turned on the AC. Phew! Safe from the crackheads and car jackers, and cool all the same.
Okay, so onward and upward, look here's Hope (as in the street). I know Hope is somewhere near the library. Yep, it surely is...only it dead ends right in front of the library and the only parking is $5-$10, because it's for The Standard. Turn around. Crap, 6th is one way. Go down to Grand, turn right. Go up Wilshire. There's Flower! Crap, it's one way too. Up to Figeroa, drive in bus lane, right onto 6th. Pass same construction workers who laughed at you earlier for making the "wha?" face. See Pershing Square. Realize you know where you're going now. Left on Olive. Left on 5th. Left on Flower. Park. Breathe deeply. Laugh at yourself for not knowing what the hell you were doing. (see map reference and follow along) Google Local - 118 East 6th Street, Los Angeles (the address is Cole's Pacific Electric Buffet...I recommend the french dip).
I was in the library less than an hour. Seriously, I picked up a set of language tapes, and just for giggles, "How to marry the man of your choice", because at my age, I am not above seeking assistance. Back out to my car, where I had to put a $1 parking fee on my debit card, and heading home. Fortunately, this time I knew where I was going. I made it home in 15 minutes.
You see people??? THIS is why I rode public transportation for so long. Had I taken the train I'd have been there in 15 minutes (each way), and had enjoyed the beautiful weather and an invigorating walk up 5th Street, instead of sitting with my foot on a clutch for three hours.

Spiders and other creepy crawlies

I don't mind spiders for the most part and tend to leave them be when I see them around my house. However, when the spider decides to crawl on me all bets are off. Sunday night I was sitting on the sofa finishing up the white scarf when I felt something tickling my arm. Out of the corner of my eye I saw what appeared to be white fuzz. I went to pick it off my arm and IT CRAWLED ACROSS MY HAND!! I screamed like the chick I am and leapt, yes, leapt off the sofa shaking violently. I then did the Heebie Jeebie dance to brush off any of his fellow spiders who may have had designs on me.
Then, yesterday morning, I'm driving along, singing badly, with the sunroof open when one of those nearly transparent spiders descends from the open roof onto my shifting arm. Thank God for side streets with little traffic, because you should have seen the contortions I performed trying to catch this sucker before he crawled away. I'm pretty spry for a fat chick.
And again, last night, during a pivotal scene in LOST, another dang spider decided it was a good idea to crawl on me. This one was IN MY HAIR. (excuse me while I shudder with a case of the willies).
What is up with the freakin' spiders? I thought parachute season was early fall. Unless these things start spelling out compliments in their webs I'm waging all out war. Stock quotes and movie reviews would also be welcome.

Bugs I will kill on sight:
Cockroaches--out live me, will ya? We'll see about that.
Ants--only inside the house where they invade my cupboard and form the Superhighway from the sink to the window. Outside we have no issues.
Unidentifyable bugs--I'd rather look up a dead bug online than to have it roam free while I figure out what it is.
Potato Bugs--not that I ever see them, but I want to know if they really do scream when you step on them, as I was told at Pete's funeral (see December posts).
Tent Catapillars--although they gave us plenty of entertainment during the May Crowning ceremony when one tried to crawl up Sister Holly's habit, they're kind of gross and the tenting on all the trees is bad.
Those big mosquitos--You know, I think they're the males. We don't see them in LA, but they were the bane of my existence in Pennsyltucky. Harmless, sure, but not very asthetically pleasing.
Cicadas--Thank God they only come around every seven years. Red eyes! 'nuf said.

I need a good...(fill in the blank)

The Work-Hospital-School routine is taking its toll on me. I yelled at my boss the day before he is to write my review. Guess I can kiss that raise goodbye. Great! The man had it coming, though. Seriously, how many times have I told him to do a print preview before he hits the button. He knows better. But no, I have to stand next to the printer hitting "job cancel" for 20 minutes because he just hit "print" all willy nilly on a 30 tab, 95 page Excel workbook. Idiot!

If Saturday's boob extravaganza has taught me anything it's this: I need bras. Everyone else's looked so much better than mine. Dang!

Here's the scarf I knitted while waiting at the hospital during Tami's surgery. It's a little thicker than it probably should be, but I like it. Yes, I block on the back of my ugly ass sofa (it was free).
It's a wool/ alpaca blend, in case you're wondering about the yarn.

Having nothing else to say and no energy to remain in this building, I bid you all good day. Au revoir. A bientot.

The Gnome doors

I am having a hard time about adding pictures to a previous post.
Here is photographic proof of the gnome doors in my apartment.

In the bathroom

In the ceiling

On the outside wall of my closet.

Note the boxes and such piled in front of the door to keep creatures from entering my apartment thusly and scaring the bejeebus out of me in the still of the night.

Oh, the crazy whirlwind of a weekend

FRIDAY
Tami had surgery. I took her to Cedars at 5:00am for her 7:15am surgery. I left briefly to shower and grab something to eat, then sat my arse in the 8th floor lobby for 8 hours. There was free coffee and a convenient restroom, and after 12:00, entertainment.
Two funny old volunteers, who declined to be photographed, named Bud and Shelly were manning the front desk. Shelly had his dog, Isis, with him. She's a therapy dog and had her own name tag. It was too cute. Isis is a white standard poodle. Bud and Shel were like the old men in the balcony on The Muppet Show. Sample conversations:
Shel: I wonder how many people are in emergency today (looking on the computer)
Bud: Dascha said it was slow.
Shel: Dascha? That oracle? You'd believe her? The computer says 176.
Bud: Well, that's kind of slow.
Shel: Ah, you don't know from slow.

At 5:30, Tami's doctor finally came out and told me she was still alive and in the ICU overnight. Good. I'm going home to eat, sleep and block this scarf.





SATURDAY
Tami got kicked out of ICU for screaming at the nurse. To be fair, the nurse did seem a little incompetent, but still...
She's all doped up and full of tubing. We spent an hour straightening her hair on Thursday night so it wouldn't get so matted this time around, only to have it go right back to curly from the sweat and whatnot. (Those are tubes coming out of her in this artist's rendition of Tami, as photographing her would result in my immediate death)

I got a new phone, with camera, so I can now surrepticiously photograph freaks without fear of an ass-whoopin'.

Later...Note to self: Don't drink with Tina when she has her camera. You will end up exposing your bosom for all the world, not to mention all the men at Dimples. Not that I mind, really, as my bosom is ample and needs to be shared with the world. Several karaoke mishaps, a girl-on-girl kiss, and six or more drinks later, we ended up at Bob's Big Boy, where Tina did this (see right photo) and Gary (the future Mr. Tina) did this (left photo--it's balancing on two grains of salt)









SUNDAY
Watched the Super Bowl at the hospital with Tami. Since she was hopped up on the goofballs, it was not exactly exciting. I got kind of choked up during the MVP acknowledgements. I remember all those guys from when I was a kid. Speaking of kids...Harrison Ford, you're not one. Lose the earring. Oh, and Mick Jagger, lift more weights. You arm flab was waving like a Union Jack in gale force winds.

MONDAY
Sure, when I fail a speed test, they correct it right away, but when I pass and want to move up to the next level, well, it just sits and sits. CORRECT MY FREAKIN' TEST ALREADY. (sigh) All better now.
Tami is still cranky and sore, but she's got the strength to text message so she must be feeling better. Cedars-Sinai being a mecca for ailing celebrities, I find this sign in the elevators very amusing.
I'm a rebel. Yep, I rode up and down until I was alone in the elevator to take this shot...with my camera, not my phone!

Mr & Mrs Pidgeonton make the gnomes seem welcome.

There's a menagerie living in and around the eaves of my home.
From the day I moved in six years ago, there have been gnomes. The landlord, or whoever designed the apartment, was even kind enough to supply the gnomes with special doors, one in the bathroom, one in the ceiling, and one in the back of my bedroom closet. Sure, there are naysayers who claim these doors are for plumbing repairs, attic access and the third is still a mystery (seriously, it's on an outside wall), but I know they were installed to give the gnomes free rein. How else do you explain the footsteps I hear every night above my ceiling when my apartment is the top floor? Squirrels, or cats, or rats, you say? Bah! It's gnomes. They've even jacked into my electricity (to power their plasma TV, no doubt), which explains why my bill is so high even though I'm not home half the time.
At first, they were kind of quiet. Occasionally I'd hear a thud (knocked over his mug of ale) and have to say "hey, pipe down", but for the most part, the fellas and I have co-existed quite peacefully.
But now, they're getting restless.
I'd say for the past six months or so, the noise level above the ceiling has increased significantly. There's the thuds, lots of thuds, and walking, yes friends, walking. Not to mention the fact that my hall light no longer works (did someone cut the wire and splice it for his own personal use?). Yep, I've been getting a little annoyed with my upstairs neighbors. That is, until the new neighbors moved in.

Well, now the Pidgeontons have moved in under the eaves of the sunroom. The Pidgeontons are loud and dirty. I can hear them cooing (sure, it's pretty at first but an hour later? ARRGH) from my bedroom, which is two rooms and a hallway away. And the mess? There is a pile of pidgeon poop ten inches high under their roost, as well as on my trash can and those of my neighbors. The Pidgeontons are not afraid of owls either. Nope. They just pooped all over the plastic owl MariaElena nailed to her back porch railing. Frankly, I get the willies every time I have to touch the trash can. I fear their feathery retribution for my brazen photo excursion last night. It's only a matter of time before they aim for my head next time I take out the trash.
My landlady, Helen of Oy (aka Frau Fixit), won't have it cleaned up and none of us want to touch disgusting pidgeon feces, so I'm afraid we're stuck with it. Blech!

On this day in Laurie History...

nothing happened.
Seriously, this has been the most non-eventful day. I suppose I shouldn't complain.
Oh, Stinky McGappyshorts (so named for his lovely BO and shorts that show his manhood) smelled like Love's Baby Soft perfume today, thus solidifying my belief that he is gay and his wife is a beard.

While you're here, map yourself. I want to feel part of the global community.

http://www.frappr.com/onthebuswithlaurie

And because I lack things to say (and am mildly asthmatic now because of the S.McG.), here's a picture of a puppy. Yep, slow news day.