Just Random Shit

On the Big Spin this past Saturday (no, I don't have a life, thank you very much), a woman from Downey was asked what she did for a living. "I'm a libarian". Yes, she said lie-berry-an. I feel sad for the kids, really.

Warning in the booklet enclosed in my new hair straightening iron--"Ceramic plates are hot. Contact with skin or eyes could cause injury." In what context would you be putting a straightening iron on your eyes? Did some fool try to straighten her eyelashes? Oh, and then there's the usual "Do not use while sleeping."

The Book of Daniel was cancelled after three episodes. The disclaimer on Friday (see above comment about lack of life) said "Book of Daniel can be seen in its entirety on NBC.com. Now here's Law & Order". It was as if they were trying to placate us. "Don't cry...here's your Law & Order" I actually kind of liked Book of Daniel, even if it was a little heavy handed sometimes. I guess even Jesus can't save a show.

Mr. Grassie can't spellie.

On sale at Ralphs--Old Yeller Dog Food. Um, didn't Old Yeller have to be put down because of rabies? Is he really the best dog to name food after? Was Rin Tin Tin or Lassie already taken? What about Benji? Everyone loves Benji.

Dumb Parents--The big news item on Sunday was this 20-year-old mother who left her three-month-old son with a sitter whom she only knew as "Denise". What a surprise when "Denise" took off with her kid. The young mom, when asked about why she left her son with someone whose last name she didn't even know, said "I told her 'you better not hurt my baby. When I come back, nuthin better be wrong with him'". Yeah, if you have to warn the sitter, she's probably not the best person to be caring for your child. So, finally, Denise got tired of the baby and approached police officers saying "I've been babysitting this kid since yesterday and I'm tired of him". After mother and child were reunited, the idiot mom had this to say "my stomach don't hurt no more." Huh? At no point did she seem truly upset about this vagrant disappearing with her child or appear worried for his safety.

Saddam Hussein trial--Doesn't the new judge look like Ben Kingsley? And what's with the giant play pens that the defendents stand in. AND, in what court can the defendent get away with yelling obscenities at the judge, and then walk out. I don't care if he did used to rule the land, he's still a prisoner.

I'm Audi.

While the Cat's away...

I had errands to run today and I told the boss so yesterday. He cannot complain about this day.
When I walked out to the car this morning, a bird, who had obviously eaten at Panda Express before he perched in our Magnolia tree, had left his calling card on my poor little Jamie. I thought, "it's a nice day. I'll wash the car after I run around".
So, first stop is Bank of America. Signs everywhere in the parking garage say "30 minutes with validation", yet I never found the little machine that dispenses tickets to validate. Nor did I see a parking attendent, though there was a little podium, stool, and fan suggesting his existence. Shrugging my shoulders, I proceed to the bank floor where I waited for a short time to deposit my hefty (right) student loan check. I asked the teller if they had any check book registers, you know, the books that go in your checkbook wallet so you can right down all your transactions? She gave me this little booklet the size of a credit card that is for people who don't use checks and only use their debit cards for everything. I guess it'll do until I order new checks.
Next up, the post office to apply for a passport. The man at the first window I visited told me to wait for the woman on the end. She was in charge of passport applications. Okay, I had everything with me, so I figured it would be a snap. The postal employee in charge of passports was coincidentally already handling a passport application from a young lady who clearly didn't understand the meaning of efficiency. (have your shit ready is all I'm saying) I, meanwhile, have let three people go past me because I've been told to wait for the woman on the end. Little Miss Scatterbrain finally signs her application and "Oh, I have a package to pick up too." ARRGH! Still, I patiently wait for the woman on the end. Finally, it's my turn and the woman on the end puts a WINDOW CLOSED sign up. Ah, hell no! "WAIT! I have a passport application and I was told to come to you". Woman on the end gets all uppity with me and says, "well, I have a lunch break, so you'll just have to go to someone else." I was ready to, pardon the pun, go postal on her, when a lovely woman who had been straightening up the lobby area told me to wait at her window and she'd be right in to take care of me. She was sweet. Her granddaughter has the same birthday as me, and her son's birthday is the same as Randy, Roy and The German. $97 later, I was out the door and on my way to destination #3.
The parking bureau is always a treat. I don't know where they find such a friendly staff. While I was waiting at the bulletproof window for Miss If-I-Smiled-My-Face-Would-Crack to process my parking permit, some old geezer toddled up behind me, pressed himself right up against me and shouted to the non-existent clerk "What do I have to do now?" I turned my head and said, "well first of all, you have to back up. I don't need to count the change in your pocket". Geezer who was deaf as well as blind and just stared blankly as I shifted out from under his gross old man flesh.
After all of this, I decided that I deserved to sit back and let someone else wash my car, and that Jamie Jetta deserved some pampering. I chose the hand wash, Armorall and "mystic mist" whatever the hell that is. They asked me what scent: vanilla, cherry, banana, citrus or new car. I laughed and said,"Um, new car, I guess". As Jamie was entering the wash tunnel, it suddenly occured to be that I forgot to remove the Jack ball from the antenna. Oops! Amazingly, my Jack ball not only stayed on throughout the whole process, but remained in tact, without so much as a piece of glitter (it's the New Year ball) falling off. A Jaguar in front of Jamie must have had those rain-sensor wipers because they started off on intermittant and by the time it got to the rinse cycle they were going like gangbusters. Speaking of the Jag, there I stood in my tattered overalls, hair in disarray, faux Louis Vuitton bag at my side, waiting for my humble Volkswagen, while a steady parade of Mercedes, BMW, Lexus, Cadillac, and Porshe spewed out of the wash tunnel. I felt like an interloper. My detailer, Victor, took his time and really did a great job on my car. I felt bad not being able to tip him more, but dude, I'm driving a Volkswagen.
After such a tough day, the only thing a girl can do is relax in the chair at her favorite hair salon while the lovely Maria trims those nasty split ends. Me? Work? Heavens no. Okay, I'm at work now, but it's really just to send out a few work-related emails and use the computer.

A little fun thanks to Miss Kendra

Ten Top Trivia Tips about Laurie!

1. If you chew gum while peeling Laurie then it will stop you from crying.
2. Every day in the UK, four people die putting Laurie on.
3. Humans have 46 chromosomes, peas have 14, and Laurie has 7.
4. Snow White's coffin was made of Laurie.
5. Laurie is 984 feet tall.
6. Laurie cannot jump!
7. Laurie never said 'Play it again, Sam'.
8. Laurie is actually a fruit, not a vegetable!
9. Three seagulls flying overhead are a warning that Laurie is near.
10. Michelangelo finished his great statue of Laurie in 1504, after eighteen months work.

http://thesurrealist.co.uk/trivia.pl" method="get" style="background-color:#5F5F42;color:#CFCF95;padding:4px;text-align:center">I am interested in - do tell me aboutherhimitthem

Swimming Pools, Movie Stars

Last night I accompanied my friend Kelli to an award function for employees of the City of Beverly Hills which was held at the Beverly Hills Hotel. Kelli was receiving an award for 15 years of service and invited me. Our plan was to stalk celebrities and possibly lounge by the pool (so what if it's January and 50 degrees outside). During the cocktail hour on only our second Gin & Tonic, we set out to explore the grounds and discovered that there are too many trees to see in the rooms, the bungalows are gated, there's cameras in them thar trees and where the hell is the pool?
It should be noted early on here that I was a) wearing a skirt, hose and belly-binder, b) wearing heels that I had no business wearing, and c) still shorter than Kelli in her heels (dang, girl, you's tall).
Minutes into our third Gin & Tonic, dinner was served. Dinner was great. I didn't save the program for the menu, but the salad plate was a leafy affair with carmelized red onions on the side, main course was beef tenderloin with horseradish and mustard something on top, asparagus, carrots and green beans, and tiny potato slices. I'm drooling thinking of that tenderloin. So Tasty. The main course seemed to go quickly, probably because the overly-efficient waiter kept trying to steal Kelli's plate. There were two desserts--an apple tart thingy with a tiny little cup of cinnamon ice cream on top, and a milk chocolate mousse with a wild berry center topped in a hard dark chocolate shell. Rather than give you a choice, they just served one or the other to every other person--apple thingy, chocolate thingy, apple thingy, chocolate thingy, etc, so everyone ended up sharing with their companion. Both were enchanting. And we had party favors--a lovely pen and chocolates shaped like the seal of the city.


Then came the awards...Oh, wait, there was some dancing before that. We at the bad table (you'll see) didn't dance. So, awards...first the mayor did some talking and some awarding, then the funniest man, Jimmy Delshad, did some awarding. He was the Jewish Roberto Benigni, and kept us laughing but his stint was over too soon. Then some other guy gets up, who has no sense of humor, and Ilene, a woman at the table, fake sneezes "jimmy". This guy called boy Rene "she" and then called up Gabrielle when it should have been Gabriel. We giggled a lot. Possibly too much. Maybe you had to be there. Maybe it was the Gin. We kept wanting someone to thank the Hollywood Foreign Press. Kelli even tried to coerce a man at the next table. No one was having it. Finally, in an effort to get things wrapped up, Ilene went around and got the awardees of the police department, the last ones, to line up so we didn't have to wait for each person to clunk across the dance floor to get his or her award. And there were some clunkers, let me tell you.

After the banquet, Kelli and I found the pool!!! Success! My toes were cramped up at this point and I was hobbling like an old lady. Why did I think I could go from never wearing heels to 2-inchers right off the bat? Baby steps, Laurie. We tried our best but could not find a way into the pool area. So, we went to the Polo Lounge for another drink instead. We ordered our Gin & Tonics (did he not hear the tonic part, because whoa nelly, that was a drink) and they brought out snacks--spicy crispy something (it was dark), various olives (oh, yeah), and spicy walnuts. Had I brought a larger handbag, I'd have a darling set of silver serving dishes, but alas no. We talked, well, I talked and told Kelli all about my crazy family (and she's still speaking to me).
No celebrities in the Polo Lounge, just some weird couple who made out and gave each other hand jobs under the table (I'd have pointed it out, Kelli, but the girlfriend kept giving me the evil eye), and some high-class cross dressers (again, sorry Kelli, I couldn't point and laugh. It's a classy place). Then we got the valet to take our picture, took his picture and left.

I'd like to thank everyone who made this evening possible: Kelli, for inviting me and forcing me to show my inner girly side; Sears, for having a nice skirt on sale and in my size, Timothy, for helping me choose which necklace to wear; Marat, for carrying the big mirror into my office so I could do my hair; Bossman, for not being here so I could put make-up on and plug in the straightening iron without repercussion; the valet who helped me out of the car, and Marc (he seemed like a Marc with a c to me) who took our picture; the librarian dressed like a Scottish Highland Dancer, for making me feel more comfortable in my attire; and the Hollywood Foreign Press, because you haven't been thanked nearly enough this week.

To suffer fools

SUFFER
Main Entry: suf' fer
Function: verb Inflected Form: suf'fered ; suf'fer'ing
Etymology: Middle English suffren, from Anglo-French suffrir, from Vulgar Latin *sufferire, from Latin sufferre, from sub- up + ferre to bear
transitive verb
1 a : to submit to or be forced to endure "suffer martyrdom" b : to feel keenly : labor under "suffer thirst"2 : UNDERGO, EXPERIENCE
3 : to put up with especially as inevitable or unavoidable (This one is mine, kids)
4 : to allow especially by reason of indifference "the eagle suffers little birds to sing" — Shakespeare

I'm sure you've all heard the biblical quote (II Corinthians, something) about suffering fools and the more common phrase about one who doesn't "suffer fools lightly". The latter is me. I admit it. I have little-to-no patience for people who cannot think for themselves, who cannot just quit whining and get 'er done (that's for you, Larry) or who cannot visualize the outcome of their stupid actions fast enough to stop themselves from acting. Mostly, I just hate having to explain the same thing to the same person over and over, day after day, ad infinitum. So, I found it particularly troublesome that two different horoscopes today said that I would be faced with these fools all week and that I just need to learn to deal with them.
I am practicing my Zen-like approach to such individuals as we speak. I did not raise my voice or sigh in frustration as I explained for the umpteenth time that, no, you cannot forward fifteen emails to the same person in one fell swoop. Nor did I scream when I had to explain that I was not copied on the Hybrid Super Audio email, and that, though it was mentioned yesterday, I have not been told what I'm supposed to be doing with the information that I do not have. I resisted the urge to throw the letter opener into the back of this same man as he asked me the exact same question as he asked yesterday, using the exact same words, choosing instead to patiently answer him that I am still in the gathering phase of this project which I realize is due Thursday and will have it completed by tomorrow morning.

Now I realize I am by no means an angel here. I can try the patience of Job. The difference, you see, is that I don't have to deal with me. I have to deal with them. And it's going to take a whole lot of patience and a few night caps to get through this week if I'm already at my wit's end by Tuesday. I see a large bottle of London Dry Gin in my future.

Did you say sleds? We got sleds...

The helpful folks at GMail offer website suggestions based on email content. For instance, a recent email to my gals at school mentioned the Flexible Flyer sled. On the sidebar of my Gmail, were no less than five websites where I might purchase a new sled, plus a quote of the day regarding sleds (not Rosebud, though). At first, I thought it was neat, kind of like HAL was reading my thoughts and anticipating my needs. Then, it became kind of creepy. I mean, what if I was discussing a feminine itch. Am I going to get a list of websites for purveyors of Monistat? Now I find it downright invasive and annoying. Yo, G, quit reading my emails! I'm not funding a terrorist group or planning any sorts of civil disobedience. I'm talking about studying for my English final and eating lunch. Oooo...saucy stuff, G. Get a life and read your own damn emails.

And a side note to G's buddies at Netflix: Just because I occasionally like a weepy romantic comedy does not mean I want to see EVERY romantic comedy. I know what I want to watch and I don't need your friendly recommendations, thanks.


This blog needs more pictures. I need to get a power cord and add more visual aids. Until then, enjoy this photo of an angry cat. Doesn't it remind you of the martian in Bugs Bunny cartoons?

The joy of a predominantly male workplace

As previously mentioned, there are drawbacks to being one of three women in an predominantly male workplace. The first, of course, is the sharing of a bathroom. Aside from the pee on the toilet seat (which has ceased since Eric quit), there is the empty toilet paper roll, the odor, the inability to put a paper towel in the trash can, etc, etc. What gene are men lacking that prevents them from having the basic motor functions required to change a roll of toilet paper? They all say "it's not me" and yet every time I go into the bathroom the roll is empty and there's an unwrapped roll of TP on the tank lid. Three women, 15 men--do the math.

The second drawback is, well, no matter how hard the HR department tries to prevent these things...there's porn. I'm not shy when it comes to nudity, but really, do I need to see women in various poses having you-don't-want-to-know done to them every time I go downstairs? It's not like I'm offended as a woman or feel that it's objectifying us or any of that feminist crap; it's just not something I need to see at 9:00 in the morning. And that's just the straight porn. We gots the gay porn too. Name a fetish, it's fully represented here.

Next, and this one is just universal, you can't be in a bad mood without it being "that time of the month". No, it's not that time of the month. It's the fact that I have to babysit all y'all that puts me in a bad mood every day.

Of course, it's not all bad. At least I never have to change the water cooler bottle.

How I Stole My Own Car

One night back in Pennsyltucky I was at a bar on Main Street in Stroudsburg with my boyfriend. We got into an argument (big surprise) and drove off together in his car to talk it out, leaving my car parked in front of The Chop House.
Now, there is no parking on Main Street after 3:00 am, and they had started towing cars by the time Jon and I got things straightened out. We drove back to Main Street to find my car gone and the guy from the tow company loading another car onto the rollback. I asked the guy if I could get my car right then, but he said I'd have to go to the impound lot in the morning and pay $40 to get it back.
I was already upset because of the aforementioned fight, so I was not in the mood to have Toothless Ted tell me I'd have to pay $40 to get my car. Jon suggested we drive by the impound lot to see if we could talk to the boss. Well, at 3:45 am, Toothless Ted was the only one around, and he was busy with up on Main Street. The lot gate was wide open. The temptation great. My blood alcohol level way past the legal limit.
I got out of Jon's car and slowly approached the open gate, glancing nervously around for a guard dog. Seeing none and hearing no barking, I entered the impound lot. My poor little Chevy Sprint was sitting all by itself under the lone spotlight with nothing impeding its drivability. (no boot, no chains, nothing). I guess T.T. was going to get all the cars in the lot before securing things for the night. I looked at Jon with a "Should I?" and he gave me an emphatic nod. I hopped in, and quickly drove off the lot, thus saving myself $40 in towing fees, plus whatever else they would have charged me for storage, and only paid the $8 parking ticket.
Yes, I drove drunk, but it was only over the interborough bridge at nearly 4am in a podunk town with virtually no traffic. All's well that ends well.

Stay tuned for my tales of my misspent youth...

Really Vivid Sex Dream

I don't know if it was the sinus medication or what, but last night I was getting busy with a man, who shall remain nameless, and it was goooood. So you can imagine my disappointment when I woke up this morning fully expecting to find him next to me only to realize it was a dream. Dang! It was so realistic, and SO good. And hung like a Clydesdale. Why I dreamt of this man, whom I have not slept with in real life, by the way, I do not know, but if I ever do get the chance, let me tell you, I will jump on and ride him like I'm going somewhere. If he's even 1/4 as good as the dream, shoot, it'll still be great. Of course he's probably a jerk in the sack and hung like a squirrel.

On a totally unrelated note, Mr. Man just handed me a newspaper clipping about the postal rate increase and said "The price of stamps went up. We'll need to buy some 2-centers". Apparently I was raised by wolves, live in a cave and am too stupid to watch a newscast. Good thing I have him here to keep me informed.
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So that's what happened to my pink bra

Good Ol' What's His Name

Three times today I was talking with someone and could not for the life of me think of that person's name. The first was a Label guy who'd popped in to see the boss. I deal with this man all the time. We talk, we laugh, and every damn time I wait for someone else to call him by name because I cannot think of it. You can get away with it if you're speaking one-on-one, but then he asked me to forward an email to him. I said, "oh, sure", and then struggled to recall his name for 30 minutes until he left the offices and I asked the boss.
Next, a friend of the boss called and said, "Hey Laurie, Happy New Year. Is he in?" I put Mr. Friend on hold and told the boss, "um, someone whose voice I recognize in on the phone for you". Yep, that's me. I'm a professional.
Lastly, a man who used to work at a label, I think, or maybe at a store, maybe...I don't know, but he looked familiar and he acted like he knew me and said, "oh Hi. Haven't seen you in a while. How's it going?" so I had to stop and talk to him and pretend I knew him and cared about what's been going on in his life. I asked around. No one recognized this guy. I'm thinking he got me confused with someone else. Don't you wish you could be honest in these situations and say, "I'm sorry, who are you?" without hurting that person's feelings?

That reminds me of a story. A former roommate and minion of Satan told me an anecdote about her run-in with a certain rock star who, up until she tried to take his picture without asking, had been very friendly to her. She was a waitress at Canter's and this man was a frequent customer. Anywho, she tried to take his picture, he got pissed and the next time he came in she said, "Hey ****, How's it going?" and he looked her straight in the eye and said, "Do I know you?". This story still gives me chills because I can totally imagine this guy doing it with this look in his eyes that said "you screwed up, lady. We could've been friends." And I kind of wish I had that kind of nerve and that kind of clout, because only the truly famous and/or incredibly good looking can get away with that level of coldness.

And that reminds me of a conversation I was having once with Jill Mrakovcich, yes, I'm naming names, on our way back from a school choir concert. I was trying to describe the feeling of hitting the highest note in the Hallelujah chorus from The Messiah at the Stabler Arena where bands like Soundgarden have played (it's a choir thing) and the beyotch looked at me and said, "I think I'd understand it better if you just shut up". Now, let me tell you, Jill was not famous or incredibly good looking, but she got away with it because I was too stunned to fight back. I mean, seriously. That is just cold. I can handle a lot of insults, but someone says "Shut up" and I'm defenseless as a newt. Oh, now I'm mad. If any of the other Mraks are reading, like they would be, y'all are cool, but not Jill.

(this post has no meaning, just words and a tune--paraphased from Elton John)

Another year, Another opportunity missed

First, let me just quote an email from Bossman on Monday, after he specifically told me on Friday that he wasn't coming in and neither should I. "are you in?" Seriously.

So, this was the first year in several that I wasn't at the theater on New Year's Eve. I should have called to see what was happening? Was anyone there? Was there drinks to be had? No, instead I sat like a lump on the sofa trying desperately to find something decent on TV, then falling asleep with my knitting in my lap. Am I 80? Good God, save me from myself.

I'm blaming the rainy weather and PMS for my lethargy. I'm hoping the new year and the sunshine will lighten my mood.
Here are some things I would like to do this year (but don't call them resolutions because that sounds so, well, resolute).

• Save money. Aside from a trip I plan to take, I have additional expenses now and I need to stop spending frivolously. With two "three-check" months this year, I plan to put at least one whole paycheck away in my super-secret savings account.
• Move into an apartment that has heat, laundry facilities on the premises, a landlord/building manager who isn't a pain to deal with.
• Get a pet. Yes, I have allergies, but I've always had allergies and I've spent my life with pets. The only reason I didn't have them here was because I worked two jobs. I don't now, so maybe a kitten? Dare I dream for a pooch? Hell, I'd settle for a guinea pig. (I promise I won't kill it this time)
• Go out and meet new friends. I love my boys but let's face it, I'm older than all of them, girlfriends don't trust the single, old, chubster hanging around, and it's not like we do a lot anyway. I will join something. I will make things happen.
• See some live shows. I haven't seen a band live in, well, I can't tell you how long. I work in the music industry. You'd think I'd at least see a band now and then. (like the Neighborhood Bullies, with that cute fella who keeps giving me fliers and asking me to come).
• Send birthday gifts on time. My poor nieces and nephews have been so patient for so long.
• Eat better and that's all I'm saying.
• Spend my birthday with friends or family or someone I love, but certainly not alone. (it's Thanksgiving this year, too)
• Ditto for Christmas
• Have someone to kiss next New Year's Eve

So, that's it for me. How about you?