I feel like a winner

I submitted my fuckling entry today and I'm feeling pretty good about it. It was certainly well-received by the folks around here. I noticed, however, that entries may be coming in from all across the nation, so I'm am nervous about that. There are a lot of talented people out there, not to mention the ladies and gentlemen of our local Stitch'n'Bitch. I've done my best. That's all I can do.

I also mastered, sort of, HTML code and updated several company web pages. Woo Hoo! Who says you can't teach an old broad new tricks? It was deceptively simple--monotonous, but simple.

Unfortunately, I didn't get the boss's checklists updated, nor did I make posters for next week. I guess I'll be in early tomorrow. Pooh! I'm leaving early tomorrow to shop for something to wear to Kendra's birthday celebration, although officially I'm leaving early for an "appointment."
[Fans of the Comics Curmudgeon will be interested to know I'm doing my best finger-quoting Margo impression as I type this.]

I'm off to bake a potato and possibly knit--at work--'cause that's how I roll.

A successful waste of time

I have spent pretty much all day changing the template here. I went to a website that let me create a template. I went through all the steps, add a kick-ass graphic, selected colors that I liked and when all was said and done, it was just too boring.

Having no knowledge of HTML, I went back to the Blogger pre-set templates, and just copied and pasted the information I wanted to customize, such as my blogroll and links. The problem, as you can see, is the size of the blogroll. I can't figure out how to get the font smaller. Oh, maybe...a thought just occurred to be. I'll try it when I'm done here, so if the blogroll looks the same as the rest of the sidebar, you'll know I was successful. I also need to change the font color of the footer so you can actually see it.

My other problem is that I have no idea how to add the kick-ass graphic, except to put it in my profile. However, I just put Sheep In The Big City there and I don't want to change it just yet. Plus I think the profile picture is too small to do it justice. Again, we'll see.

If anyone out there is familiar with these things and can help me customize this puppy, give me a holler.

Two years and $3000 away

Being suitably jealous that Kendra has a new kitty, I think I have found a solution. A company called Allerica is in the process of developing an allergen-free cat . It will only cost about $3000, but as they won't be available until 2008, I have time to save my pennies. Anyone want to donate to the "Laurie Ann needs a kitten" fund?

Gratuitous cute kitty pictures available here.

I live there. I will park as long as I want.

I showered late last night so that I wouldn't have to get up too early this morning. I tend to putz in the mornings and that putzing, along with my short attention span, leads to my scrambling to get to work on time. So, today I was refreshed, relaxed, and on time when I left the house.

It was a little chilly this morning (East Coast and Midwest readers: do not laugh) and the back window was foggy. I turned on the car and the rear-window defogger, and of course, the radio.
I was bopping along to a great song and applying lipstick when I heard "beep beep." I turn to see some woman with crazy hair asking me if I'm going to be pulling out soon, with a "this-is-no-place-to-put-your-makeup-on" look. I live here. I pay my $12 a year for a parking permit. I will sit in my car and read War and Peace if I feel like it and no bedheaded beeyotch is going to intimidate me. However, it was time to leave, so I go to pull out of the spot and Crazy Head is still sitting right next to my car giving me the hairy eyeball. Well, Lady, I'd love to give you this parking spot, but you have to BACK THE FUCK UP so I can get OUT of the spot first. (see diagram--that's me in the green car)

I gave her the stink eye and she backed up. Now, I had to do a K-turn, which really pissed off Crazy Head royally. Dang, woman, if you're in such a hurry, then spring for the paid parking up the street.

Damn you, Troll

A while ago, while on the phone with Troll (You know Troll. You met him back here.) and he started singing The Chicken Dance while searching for something. I said, "Oh Great! Now I have The Chicken Dance in my head." He laughed maniacally, as he is wont to do. From that point on, at the end of every email, he would write, "PS. Chicken Dance," or "na na na na na na na." The effect had worn thin, and I told him so. He eventually stopped the reference.

Today, I received a package from Troll's store through interoffice mail. This is what it was:

Bastard!

I hear the sirens call

Damn you, Fall Line Up! I need Tivo, but in order to have that I need cable. Direct TV has been wooing me with their offers of SundayNFL Ticket, but I can't have a dish at my place. Now, I'm pretty adept at setting the VCR and I can tape like a fiend, but I'll be missing either the last two minutes of one show or the first two minutes of the next. And what about when two shows are on at the same time on different networks? I only have one TV and one VCR!! Crap! When did I become a TV addict. Sure, I had my shows, but I was never overly concerned if I missed a few episodes (except Gilmore Girls, or Buffy and Angel back in the day) When did it become so all-important for me to see every show? Oh, when the shows started looking good...and when the WB and UPN combined. Damn it!

Idiot

Yesterday, the driver of a 7-Up truck tried to make the corner by my place of employment and cut it too tight. He ran up onto the curb, with the trailer of his truck wedged up against the lamp post, and his middle tires completely off the ground. I was in a hurry to get to school so I didn't snap a picture, but enjoy this artist's rendering. The yellow and red thing is my place of employment. The truck stayed in this position most of the day and well into the evening.

I just wanted to share something that made me smile. While I'm not quite as accomplished a food photographer as our own Ellen Bloom, is this not the cutest cake ever? It's a burger! It's a cake! (my sister, my daughter, my sister, my daughter) Forget it, Jake, it's...well, it was Ralphs, and not even near Chinatown. Dang.

Regrets--I've had a few

Giddy with the thought of payday and actually being able to buy lunch, I set my sights on Koo Koo Roo. Yummy delicious Turkey Pot Pie and sides that deserve their own star on the Walk of Fame. But what sides should I order? The mac and cheese is always a good choice, but so is the creamed spinach. Wait, what about the recent spinach scare. Should I avoid the spinach? Heck, this stuff is processed and pre-packaged long before this recent batch of bad greens came to light. Ohhhh, whipped squash! And red potatoes, oh how I loved their potatoes.

It doesn't take a genius to figure out that I ate too much food and am now a very uncomfortable girl. (although I shared the potatoes and 86'd the squash). Sigh.

I am hearby declaring that I am rejoining Weight Watchers tomorrow. Feel free to rip bad food out of my hands like that time Fred Flintstone joined a WW type diet organization.

Is it only Thursday?

Prison Counsellor: Why do you say you feel "trapped" in a man's body.

"Trapped" Convict: Well, sometimes I get them menstrual cramps real hard.

Me too, Trapped Convict. Me too.

More conference calls
More notes to type up
More starts and stalls
No more coffee in my cup

This has been the longest week in my life, I swear. I feel like it should be October already the way it's been lingering. And I still have one more day to suffer through before I can bid this week adieu.

No water in the cooler
Another cockroach in the sink
Being stared at by a drooler
Dear Lord, I need a drink.

My office window is tinted, so that I can see out by the outside just looks reflective. This invites many a person to stop, brush their hair, suck in their gut and see how that looks, pick their zits, or in the case of the homeless woman currently in front of my window--drool.

Kooky needs a smack down
Chicken Little's all agog
The drooler's in a night gown
Aren't you glad I have a blog?

Rockstar Super-piece-of-crap

Seriously? Lukas??
Joe Escalante called him "Chaka" this morning, right before he played "Disproportionate Head" in his honor.

I'm disappointed.

Well, my day sucked

Cramps. Endless conference calls and speculation about the company. No lunch.

How about your day? Pour yourself a virtual cocktail and tell me all about it. I'd love to hear that it's not just me.

Apply directly to the forehead

I have a headache. It could be sinus. It could be allergies. It could be from the stupid handsfree headset I wore for three hours worth of conference calls today. The previous administrative assistant bought it for the office and as near as I can tell, she must have had ears like Prince Charles. That, or my ears are just close to my head, which, given all the years I've been tucking my hair behind them and what my mother always said would result from such action, isn't likely. It was painful. Come to think of it...it's probably allergies.

On my way to work this morning, I was listening to a Peter Gabriel CD and the song "Biko" came on. It reminded me of my nephew Roy. In 1994, when Roy was 12, I took him to see Peter Gabriel at the Stabler Arena in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania. It was a great show. Peter ended with "Biko" and the fade out (oh oh ohhhhh) was an audience participation kind of thing. When the CD got to that part, I remembered the look on Roy's face--the exhilaration, singing along, fist in the air--and how much I love that kid, er, man. I was filled with this overwhelming sense of love and I missed him so much in that moment. And I'm sorry if I embarrass you, Roy, but I do love you and miss you, and it was such a thrill to watch you grow and learn and become the man you are today. Coincidentally, Roy ended up attending Lehigh University, the campus on which Stabler Arena is located.

On my way to school today, the CD changed over and I was listening to Crash Test Dummies. This then made me think of my brother Roy, the father of the nephew of the same name, because that song "MMM MMM MMM" drove him nuts. Every time it came on he'd rant about what a dumb song it was, but you know he knew every word.

It struck me how two vastly different pieces of music reminded me of my family and made me so homesick. When I loaded the disc changer last week, I didn't give much thought to the selections. I chose randomly from CDs I hadn't heard in a while and songs I can sing along to as I drive. The other four CDs haven't brought such nostalgia--although the Barry Manilow CD (don't you dare judge me) reminded me of 7th Grade. I need to go home to see my family. I need to see fall colors and hug my mommy and daddy. And I need to see the Roys and Michaels (another brother/ nephew combination).

Well, the boss was just hounding me about taking some vacation before I'm maxed out. Hmmm...

I know, they're just commercials

Before you say anything, I understand that they're commercials, and animation at that, but I find the Air Wick commercials disturbing. How on earth could an elephant be married to a centipede? Or an octopus and a walrus? And the latter couple had a baby. We know the baby has tenticles, but does it also have tusks and whiskers? What kind of ugly ass child is that?

Yes, I have given way too much thought to this subject. I do that sometimes.

On an unrelated note, I googled "jackolantern" with no spaces and was presented with the image of some guy's full frontal. Not sure of the connection.

The girl just invites smacking

There's a gal here (we'll call her Kooky McNutjob) who, while seemingly together, is a study in strangeness. She seems to eat healthily, and yet uses artificial sweeteners in her coffee. She is sloppy in her timeclock habits, but will blow a gasket if she's short an hour (are we supposed to just sense that she worked?) She seems to be a tidy person, overly concerned with shelving and drawers for things, yet she will think nothing of leaving her spilled food all over the toaster oven (which she uses instead of a microwave because of health concerns), and her work space is a mess. Some days I just can't take it and explode on her barely stopping before my hand reaches out to smack her upside the head. Yet other days, I simply shake my head in amusement. Today was the latter.

We went to lunch, a large group of us, to a fancy restaurant which Bossman frequents. I love this restaurant too, as they make an awesome Fish & Chips with sweet potato fries. After our meal, the owner of the restaurant came over to offer us desserts on the house. He does this because we eat here at least once a week and we, the boss and I, usually politely refuse. Kooky McNutjob jumps in with "YES!" before the offer is even off the owners lips. "Something chocolatey," she says. Our server shows us a list of desserts and Kooky immediately wants the brownie sundae. Yum. I agree. We also ordered a pineapple-carrot upside cake, a german chocolate cake, and a blueberry cobbler. George brings the desserts out in a trough, not even kidding, and we all grab our spoons to dig in--except Kooky. "Just dig in, Kook," I say.

"Oh, I don't eat sugar," she replies. "I just want to live vicariously through all of you."

Now, the only reason we even ordered the desserts was because she immediately answered when George made the offer. Bossman would have politely refused and thanked him for the service we receive had she not opened her big, non-sugar-ingesting mouth. While she deserved a smack, I just shook my head and laughed because, well, we were in public, and it was kind of amusing.

My last tether of sanity is leaving.

What do you mean, "what tether?" I have tethers.

There are four men who work in the store next to my office. One, we'll call him Shoeless Joe, is leaving in a week to go on location in Morocco (lucky bastard) to film The Hills Have Eyes 2. I'll miss him. He makes me laugh. The second, we'll call him Potential-Rifle-Toting-Mass-Murderer, has just given his two-week notice. Number Three, we'll call him Annoying McFriendly, says "hey, how you doing" to me every time he sees me, which would be okay if he didn't see me 15 times a day. Also, it's not an upbeat greeting; it's more the way you would greet someone you're visiting in the hospital or who has just lost a loved one--somber and concerned. The last guy, we'll call him Gaylien (draw your own conclusions), is just tolerable. He drops these non-sequitars designed to be funny, but they are NOT funny. Believe me, I know funny.

Those of you who know me will not be surprised when I say that PRTMM is my favorite. He doesn't speak much, but will glance askew with a bemused grin and a cocked eyebrow at the others when they say something stupid. For this, I adore him. But he's leaving me and I'll be stuck with Downer Boy and Not Funny. Do you know how hard it is to carry on a conversation with these guys? Even a simply work-related conversation is an exercise in futility.

I'll miss you, PRTMM, you crazy bastard.

A Day at The Races

Thursday was our annual trip to Del Mar for some fun in the sun where the "turf meets the surf," as Bing said.

There was some swearing and drinking and betting and no one got hurt--well, almost no one. It started on the train down. First, Rick, our resident poet, got things rolling with his "Ode To Del Mar," a poem he writes each year to inspire the trip. Someone, I won't mention any names (Greg), brought pre-mixed Jack & Coke. I tried to be good. Really. I brought some knitting. I was planning to avoid the alcohol until I got to the track. But I got bored. All the fun people were sitting a few seats ahead of me. I went to talk to Chris and Troll, and well, it was all downhill from there.

That's Chris in the hat, and Troll in the glasses. (and Scott doing the Gene Simmons imitation) You can see where I went wrong. Someone had to taste their drinks to assure they weren't being poisoned, right? And those drinks kicked like a mule. Damn, Greg.

After two Del Margaritas (seriously, they made them stronger this year) and a Kamikaze from Jamie (Thanks a lot), I was somewhat impaired. I had a HUGE hot dog with bun-o-plenty to try to soak up the alcohol and fries out the wazoo. It helped a little, but then I kept drinking.

I bet and won and bet and won on the same $20 all day. It's not really about the horse races, you know. One of the highlights was when the guys took over the Information booth and actually gave information to passersby. Also, I heard the best joke:

A pirate walks into a bar with a steering wheel attached to his crotch. The bartender says, "hey, you have a steering wheel coming out of your crotch." The pirate replies, "Arrr, it's driving me nuts."

The train home is always the best part. First, it's packed because this is pretty much the last train to Clarksville. Well, there is one at 9:00, but after the races are over, what are you going to do until 9:00? Second, all the daytrippers and commuters from San Diego are already on the train when it gets to Solana Beach. What do we do? We bum-rush the cars knocking the slow and weak aside. Half of the group goes to the front to commandeer the first semi-empty car they see. The other half rushes the cafe car and wipes out the beer cooler. Here I must give props to one Becky from West Covina. Becky shamelessly used the "Oh, please let me ahead of you. I left my daughter alone at our seats and I have to get back to her," ploy to get to the front of the line where she then secured $110 worth of beer, as well as the scornful looks of everyone who now thinks she's a bad mother (and a drunk). No, Becky's daughter was not with us. The five of us who got the beer now had to do the old Bugs Bunny "pardon me, 'scuse me" all the way back to the seats. Kevin, a rookie, asked "When do we stop?" I told him, "When the people start to look familiar, stop."

Those poor people who got stuck sharing a train car with our group. There was singing, including the much-loved Neil Diamond sing-a-long featuring Steve "Don't call me Maurice" Miller on vocals. There was drinking. There was swearing. There was political arguments with some fellas who just wanted to get home (and who subsequently missed their stop because one of them was deep in discussion with Chris). And boobs were exposed.

The day was capped off with dinner at El Compadre (near Dodger's Stadium, not the one on Sunset). And someone (me) stole a glass. It was for Troll, I swear.