You're Hot And You're Cold...

Alright, Mother Nature.

You and I, we've been in the ring before. You always win, 'cause you're stronger than me. But I've been working out!

First there was the time that you dumped a Level 3 Snow Emergency on us and kept me from being able to drive to Columbus to see Bon Jovi. I want you to know that I subsequently lost those tickets and we couldn't go to the show they re-scheduled!

I mean that was bad, but then Katrina? And what about Ike? Somehow you managed to shuffle his ass all the way up here. Inland hurricane? What?!

This is just on top of all kinds of other uncontrollable behavior... like the time it snowed in June when I was in elementary school?

I don't know if it's hormones or what, lady (hot flashes?)... but you need to reign it in. It has dropped 10 degrees in the last 12 or so hours?! I can't keep this apartment at a reasonable temperature!

Help a sister out, Mother Nature. Please!

I think yoga is making me a better person.

You know how I know? Because I no longer want to choke the yoga instructor when she tells me to "harness my flow" when I breathe in and out. Harness my flow? Like... use a tampon? Um, I don't understand.

No seriously. I have no idea how- I guess this is what harnessing your flow is supposed to do- but it calms me way down.

No joke! I am actually trying to plug BACK into my anger to be able to write this blog entry. YOGA IS RUINING MY BLOG! DAMNIT! Ok, good, I'm pissed again. phew.

So, when I left you yesterday I was complaining about Michigan drivers and Applebee's and Hillary Duff. Well, gosh. If I thought all of that was bad... I clearly was smokin' some dope- because what the universe had in store for me... it was worse. OH IT WAS SO MUCH WORSE.

So I almost ran off the road. Which is why I stopped for dinner- where I wrote that blog entry. (AT APPLEBEE'S. Yeah, I'm a f*ckin nerd.) So I got back on the road and drove in the dark, in the driving rain to drop off my rental car at the airport. Cool. So I get out of the rental car, and it's still pouring... there's no awning or anything like that. So I return the car, and slog through the parking lot in water higher than my ankles to the bus that is supposed to return me to the airport terminal.

Okay. Sooo my shoes are soaked through, my pants have now absorbed water up to the knees, and I am hauling my crap up onto this bus. The lady driving says "Are you for Northwest?"

In my best "pretending to be cheerful, no seriously, I don't hate everyone in the world" voice, I chirp: "I aaaaam!"

She asks again, "Are you for Northwest?"

"YES! I AM!"

And she looks at me like I just shot a puppy. I felt really bad for a second when I realize she must've thought I said "Ma'am?" like I was asking her to repeat herself. Aww, crap. So I'm sitting there feeling all bad, in my soaking wet misery... and she's "Just a few more minutes and we'll head back to the terminal."

So we get to the terminal- and she says what I am hoping I understand to be "Take the elevator to the 6th floor for check-in."

I ask "The 6th floor?" And she goes, "What?"

I croak out (oh, must've forgotten to add that I was STILL sick and my voice was BARELY audible by the end of this day) "FLOOR 6. IS THAT CORRECT?"

"Oh. Yes."

"Thanks, sorry- I have a cold. My voice is shot."

She just stares at me. So I haul my shit off the bus and tell myself, no worries, you're on your way home.

Yeah. On my way home. So I see, as I arrive on the 6th floor, that Northwest has the little "self-service check-in" machines out in the hallway. Righteous. I run over to one and swipe my AMEX card. It pulls up my reservation, which takes a second, but whatever... I'm on my way home! Oh. Wait. What does that say?

"There are some changes to your itinerary..." and that's when my vision started to blur and I got all faint, and honestly I think I lost a few seconds because when I came to- I saw it.

"One of the flights on your itinerary has been cancelled."

NO. NO NO NO. NO NO NO NO.

We've re-booked you on the next flight to Cincinnati at 8:40am. If these changes are acceptable, click here- to search for new flights click there.

SO I click there, I wholeheartedly click THERE. Yeah. Little machine can't help me. YOU have to go to a ticketing agent, the little machine f*cker informs me. Swell.

So I go. I wait in the line. I look up at the screens in the terminal for departures on Northwest or Delta. OOH! 7:35 to Cincinnati! If I hustle through security, maybe I can make it! So I pull out my phone to check the time. 7:35 exactly.

Shit it's 7:35! I actually said that out loud. I know because the lady in front of me, and the adooorable young man in front of her turned around to look at me. "What time is your flight?" she asks me.

"Apparently never." I pout. The adorable young man looks like he's feeling sorry for me and suddenly I'm feeling better for a second.

That passes quickly.

So I wait, and eventually get to the head of the line. The woman who is managing the line asks if I'm checking a bag. I tell her no. She ushers me to a little self-check in kiosk. I said "No. He can't help me. He already told me. I need to speak to a ticketing agent. A real person. Yeah." She looks at me like I've lost my damn mind, because, well, I HAVE.

So she points me to an agent who's still helping someone else, but looks like she'll free up soon. When the agent is done, I explain my situation to her.

"Well how do you know your flight is cancelled?" she asks.

"Wait, did I miss the part where I told you I tried to check in at one of the kiosks outside? Did I hallucinate telling you that? Cause I mean honestly, I might have. I really might have."

Well, I don't think she appreciated that. So she does a little digging around. Oh, cancelled cause of weather. Yeah, well everyone knows that means the airline gets a free pass on screwing you, they won't even get you a hotel. So I tell her "Look, I will fly somewhere CLOSE to Cincinnati and drive home if I have to."

"What's close to Cincinnati?" Oh sweeeeet LORD, we've got a geography major. Dayton? Indianapolis? Lexington? Louisville?

Oh! We've got a hit on Lexington. So before I tell her to book it, I call Scarlet to see if she's amenable to having a houseguest for the night in case it's too late/I can't get a car. She is. BOOK IT!

So, I'm flying to Lexington. Okay. So I go to get in the security line, and I ask the TSA agent if because I'm Gold Medallion on Delta, can I go through the elite screening line for Northwest. He tells me no. So I wait in the line with the commoners. WHATEVER. Once I get through I see on my ticket that it does indeed say "elite/gold." I could've gotten through.

During all the security wait, I get on the phone with our travel company to secure a car. My options are $96 to drive home tonight, or $65 to wait until tomorrow. I choose tomorrow (which is actually today now that I'm telling the story... are you confused too?) and proceed to try to find gate C30. I go through the tunnel, the weiiiird tunnel with strange flashing crazy lights.

I go up the wrong escalator. So I go up another one, there's a tram and I'm confused. I am so ready to huddle up on the ground in the fetal position at this point. Wait, did I mention that on one of the escalators, my suitcase actually slipped out of my hand and slid all the way down to the bottom? Thank GOD nobody was behind me!!!

Anyhow, I get to gate C30, and sit on the phone and talk for a while, when the screen at the gate flashes: "Gate change for Lexington... C7." That was at the bottom of the first escalator. So I haul it all the way back to C7 and at some point get on a plane and fly to Lexington.

Man, I feel calmer already. I think I just harnessed my flow.

Congratulations, Taylor Swift.

I finally discovered something I hate MORE than you.

MICHIGAN DRIVERS. What the? They're even worse than Ohio drivers, which I didn't even think was POSSIBLE.

Actually, everything about driving in Michigan is insufferable, not just the drivers. Let's start with the potholes. I mean, they had to do a news story on how they're running out of patch for the potholes. Some of them aren't even repairable. SO... I should be home sometime tonight- UNLESS THE F*CKING ROAD SWALLOWS MY RENTAL CAR before I even get to the airport.

Well, if it's not a pothole- it's these weird entrance ramps from the left. OKAY WHAT?! What genius engineer thought of this plan to f*ck up the traffic patterns? Seriously, s/he probably went to Miami. So people are on another highway or something- going fast, but since they're going around a curve, probably NOT as fast as the people in the FAST LANE... RIGHT?!

So I'm driving down I-96 or whatever this is... and I'm in the fast lane, behind a whole bunch of people who are NOT passing, they're just driving in the fast lane- and slamming on their brakes. (DON'T EVEN LET ME GET STARTED ON THAT.) So I'm trying to navigate the melee... when a HUGE BUDGET RENTAL TRUCK comes merrrrging in from the left.

Ol' boy was FLYING- too. I had to slam on my brakes (in the rain, might I add) in order to avoid having my bumper share the space that his back right tire is taking up. He sees me and slams on his brakes too, and starts to swaaaay around in his lane until finally slowing down and switching into the lane next to me.

HOLY CRAP I ALMOST DIED.

I was so agitated and so upset, that I had to stop and get myself some dinner. I chose Applebee's. Trying to be good, I order one of the Weight Watchers meals off the menu... thinking it's chicken, potatoes and veggies- how bad can it be?

I am fairly certain that I have just consumed my entire week's worth of sodium in this meal. It's saltier than McDonald's french fries. It's saltier than Rhianna when Chris Brown went upside her head. OH SNAP!

And I'm sitting next to a Hillary Duff poster. F*ck today.

Maybe NOT so Angry

So I guess it's been a while.

I sort of forgot that I had this little forum for my angry little rants.

I mean, I could've blogged about the Cowboys/Eagles game in which they got the snot beat out of them... instead of drinking my face off and challenging some dude to TWO car bombs... on a Sunday night when I had to work the next day. It was especially fun and embarassing since I gave the guy my number and then saw him again at the very same bar a couple weeks later. I pretended like I didn't remember. That very well could've been plausible. I drank a LOT that night. Crap.

I could've blogged about the AWESOME day where everyone was trying to blame me for things that weren't my fault. But I went to the gym instead. Apparently, I only worked out my right arm, as discovered by one of the many lovely gentlemen I met this weekend in NOLA. He asked me to make a muscle. Let's say it was a sad showing at best. I'm like WAIT! I DO HAVE A MUSCLE! TRY THIS ARM! Sad. Just sad. It very much leaves me to wonder how my right arm got so much stronger... this is curious.

At any rate- this gentleman- and his friend... we'll call them Gus and Shawn- are the reason I am back here blogging today. I'll start by saying we met them at a bar on Decatur Street in New Orleans while watching the Superbowl. That might be the best, most revealing set of details you'll get about this encounter in this blog... because this blog is about being angry. Right?

I can't really remember how it came up that I had blogs (yes, there are 3 of them- but apparently one of them is violating the terms of service. huh.) but as the discussion went on and they promised they were going to come read and comment, (liars) I started to think. You know, I haven't written much of ANYTHING- at any point recently.

HOW did that happen? Writing has always been a fundamental piece of who I thought I was... but with all the busy busy of this job- traveling, report writing... and all of the "extra curricular" activites (drinking and saving the world, that sort of thing) I have just cut writing out of my life altogether.

So the bottom line is- I'm angry at MYSELF- for falling away from the things that I love- letting the rest of my life crowd out what's important to me. Hell, I can't remember when the last time I saw my family was! Except for Sarah, since I got that new TV, she is missing shows just so she can watch them at my place. I know it. ;)

So that's it. No more Ms. Nice Girl (wow, I sound like a douche.)... I'm going to try to be angrier.

E-mail for Dummies

I know you guys totally love reading my rants about work, so here's another one.

How come people with college degrees cannot learn when it is and isn't appropriate to use the "Reply to All" button?

Dude, I know the only way to get in the door at this place is to start here as a temp or to have a college degree. (Seriously, I have a story about that too, it's a good one.) So how is it, that these seemingly educated people cannot figure out that it is NOT A GOOD IDEA to hit reply to all when someone has sent an e-mail to THE ENTIRE COMPANY, or the ENTIRE US division of the company?

5,000 people work for this company. Do you think that we ALL need to know which session you want to attend to learn about how to use expense reporting? No, no, we don't.

The people that REALLY crack me up, though... are the people who reply to all asking everyone not to reply to all. You can also prevent people from replying to all by BCCing everyone you send the message to. That way even if people DO hit reply to all, they're only going to be able to send it to you- and themselves.

The icing on the cake, however, in this most recent situation, was the response e-mail from the initial sender of the e-mail. I have to paste it in here, because it's really too amusing not to share.

Below is the actual text of the e-mail sent to the entire United States division of my company:

Not only am I sitting under an avalanche of RSVP's but now I am under attack with IM's and emails similar to this...
******************************************************************************************************************
T-
Could you please instruct these people to respond ONLY to you and not to the whole (company name here) world. I get enough emails without getting the people telling me that they want to take your concur class. Don't get me wrong, I'm thrilled that they are wanting to take the class, but I don't need to know about it!
Thanks much.
*** Name witheld ***
Help !!!! Show some LOVE !!!

Seriously.

Maybe someone should teach a class on how to use your e-mail.

Upgrade or Clusterf*ck? You decide.

So I know- I do an AWFUL lot of complaining about work for loving my job as much as I do. Seriously, I do ACTUALLY love my job.


There are just some little bitty things about it that infuriate me. Okay, this is beyond infuriating, though.


So- we have this proprietary software that we use to keep track of the work we're doing. Basically, I use it to write reports summing up what I find when I go out to do my job.


Okay, that's really the most important part of my job, because in my job- if it wasn't documented, it wasn't done. So you can imagine how it's important for me to take great notes and complete my reports as close to when I visit as possible.


So this software, while amazing for what it is... probably wasn't the greatest software ever to hit the earth since DOS. (Think Doogie Howser's journal. Haven't we come a long way?) So last weekend, while I was traveling, they upgraded it to version 3.0. OOOOH- 3.0.


So first of all, I'd have been completing these reports while I was on the plane if I could have... but the system was down and any info entered between Friday 11:59pm (March 28) and Monday morning (March 31) was NOT going to be saved.


Okay, you know, no big deal. I got to finish my book on the plane.


But I come in on Monday morning and start trying to write reports. I think maybe I am just slow because I didn't take the course explaining the upgrades to me. So I do that. I took a half day on Monday b/c it was opening day, so I really didn't have more than a couple hours to fight with the thing, so I didn't know how bad it really was.


Tuesday had me feeling like a homicidal maniac. Ok, really I was about to go Office Space on my computer, possibly even throw it out the window from 8 floors up. But then I realized that if it hit someone, I'd be arrested. And I didn't have a baseball bat. So here we are. I've still got my computer, and I can just bitch about it to you guys.

It's really great when you figure that the REASON the d*mned thing didn't work was because of an upgraded spell-check feature. Yes, for years upon years upon years (or at least as long as I've worked here since Dec 2005) this software purported to have a spell-check feature that never once checked my spelling in any manner. BUT IN VERSION 3.0, ohhh in version 3.0, yes- the spell-check now works. WELL, SORT OF.

The spellchecker opens a window in word, and begins checking the spelling and grammar of what you have written- and if it finds anything... you're SCREWED. The beauty of this handy little gadget (and I'm laying on a thick layer of sarcasm, seriously, get out your chisel to pry this one off...) is that it opens the spell-check window BEHIND the window in which you are entering your report.

Well isn't that great? You can't MINIMIZE the window in which you are entering your report. This means, the spell-check window is demanding your attention, yet you literally cannot respond to it. So your report sits there and waits patiently to be corrected... alas, you cannot correct it. SO, what do you DO about this? You can even try to close it. But you can't do that either. You have to go into Windows Task Manager and end the program. Then Task Manager tells you "Windows cannot close this program because it is waiting for a response from you. If you end this program, you will lose unsaved data." So you hit "END NOW" anyway.
AND YOU LOSE HALF OF YOUR F*CKING REPORT AND HAVE TO START THE D*MNED THING OVER AGAIN! AAAAAUUUUGH!

Needless to say, I did this dance of anger for 10 hours before I finished even ONE of the FOUR reports I needed to write. I complained to the support team. They told me they were aware of the problem. I finished the report, I tried to resync my data, and something went wrong.

I couldn't resync. Then somehow I got locked out and it wouldn't change my password. Then the spell-check error was fixed... and I COULDN'T EVEN GET INTO THE SYSTEM! WHAT?!

It took me an ENTIRE WEEK plus two days to finish 4 reports. Normally, one report takes me 3 hours. hahahahahhahahahhahaha, ahahahahahhahaahhahaahahahah, hahahahhahahaha. Do I sound crazy? I feel crazy!

Just to demonstrate- I copied this post over into Word and ran spell-check on it up to this sentence. IT WENT OFF 24 TIMES. I WOULD HAVE LOST THIS POST 24 times.

And my mind... I would have lost my mind.

Things That Make Ya Go Hmm...

Last night I went to a gay bar with 2 of my close friends and some friends of theirs (who are becoming friends of mine).

I met several other people they knew from hanging out at this bar, and I discovered a truth that I was only partially aware of before.

Even gay men love boobs.

Now don't get me wrong- I'm not complaining or offended by any of this- I wouldn't put them out there if I didn't expect people to look...

But gay men are more aggressive about it than straight men, even. They feel free to openly stare, tell you how nice they are, or in some cases, even touch them... they think it's ok, because- Hey! They are gay!

Last night, I had three gay men I'd either never met, or only met briefly before, approach me about my breasts. Granted, they are quite glorious, and I can't say I'm disappointed that somebody noticed them. Three different conversations, that played out something like this:

GM#1: I am about to give you a compliment that will probably offend you-
Me: Oh, I know what you're going to say. *looks down at chest*
GM#1: Haha, you knew what I was going to say- well, your boobs are amazing- they're seriously beautiful. I mean, looking at them, I'm thinking you're like 22.
Me: Aw, I love you.

GM#2: I'm sorry if this offends you, but-
Me: *holding up one hand* I know. My boobs. They're great.
GM#2: They're so voluptuous! *sticks his finger down my cleavage*
Me: Oh my god- what-
GM#2: *leans over to whisper in my ear* If I were straight, I'd so f*** you.
GM#2 walks off at this point.
Me: The feeling is NOT mutual. What just happened here?

GM#3: Wow, you look totally different than when I interviewed you on Monday! You really did a great job- you were very talkative! I hate it when I interview people and they don't talk.
Me: Thanks, I have a degree in journalism. You want to give me a job? Haha, just kidding, I love my job.
GM#3: Okay, don't get mad when I say this but I had NO idea your boobs were this great!
Me: Yeah, I was wearing a crew neck t-shirt on Monday. They were covered up.
GM: Well you look great, they're really phenomenal!
Me: Hey, thanks.

I just... had no idea that even gay men were so enthralled with my chest. The first guy seriously kept talking to me about them all night, and the 3rd guy wagered a guess on the size, and he was pretty close. Then they started talking to each other about them. I was so confused. Never have I gotten so much attention and nobody tried to come home with me.

I think I've just discovered the perfect hangout.

That's assault, brother!

So they moved me off my old floor here at work.

Now that's fine, even though I was surrounded by my friends down there. 3 people that I hang out with almost every weekend were in a radius around me, no more than 2 cubes away... and that was awesome, being around my friends. But I was also around a bunch of people that I didn't care for and vice versa.

So they moved me up, 4 floors, into another department where I know nobody but the guy that sits next to me. He's a CRA, like me, and has nowhere to belong either. All the other CRAs work from home.

This floor. SUCKS.

First of all, we are tucked into this corner of the building, and the women who sit in this room like to SHOUT across the room to each other about the cases they're working on. This is no normal talking through the cube walls. This is stand up on the table, lunchtime poll in the cafeteria- kind of shouting.

I mean, I know that it's a burning question- whether or not "increased urinary tract infection would be coded just urinary tract infection or chronic urinary tract infections?" (Oh, come on- that was funny!) But... do we need to shout about it? And then six people weigh in with their opinion- at which point the original asker says "Okay, that's what I thought." And you know, I could've hugged the person that said "Then why did you ask?"

HAH!

Right now, they're having a loud discussion about how they want to meet Monica, whomever that is.

Wait, wait, wait. I forgot the Thursday girl. She only comes in on Thursdays- and she sits in the cube right next to me. Last week she was practically SCREAMING about her daughter's combination diaper rash/yeast infection. I am throwing up in my mouth as I type this.

Did I mention that it's BLAZING HOT on this floor? Yes, it's as hot as Dante's Inferno in here.

And then there are the smells... someone is CONSTANTLY eating over-ripe bananas. And if there's one thing that grosses me out... it's BANANAS. Oh, they make me sick. I don't even like to be in the same room as one. And to have to sit here and smell one in this little bitty oven of a room where people are talking really loudly... it's just TOO MUCH.

Wait, did I tell you about the day that someone ate an over-ripe banana and then for lunch had some sort of smelly FISH?! Please just kill me now.

Oh, and I forgot to mention- there's a bathroom no more than, say, 15 yards from my cube around the corner? You can just imagine. But you shouldn't.

I have been aurally, olfactorily and tactilely (is that a word?!) assaulted multiple times since I got to this floor. And I miss my friends.

I think I'm being punished.

Tony Rom-Oh, NO.

If you know me- then you know that I'm a Dallas Cowboys fan.

I wear (pretty often) my silver star necklace and write up their record on my dry-erase board in my cube at work. (Along with the glorious and annoyingly long list of everyone they've managed to defeat this year.)

I love the Cowboys. I love Silver and Blue. I love Jason Witten, I love DeMarcus Ware... I looove Tony Romo.

Which is why he makes me so damn upset.

Tony Romo has been rumored to be dating Jessica Simpson. First of all, Jessica Simpson. Why, oh why? You cheated on Carrie Underwood (And I am REALLY pissed about that. Did she smash up your truck with a Louisville Slugger? I hope so.) and then were rumored to be seen with none other than Mega-Skank Britney Spears... Did you want to be a baby daddy?

And then you top it off with Jessica Simpson, who is *NOT* smarter than a 5th grader. Then again, if you watched the game at Texas Stadium last night... you might wonder if Tony is either. He took a couple of hits that might've jarred his brain enough to get on Jessica's level.

And what's more- they kept showing Jessica in the stands wearing her pink #9 jersey. Okay. I've distinctly gotten on the side of my female friends who vehemently rail against pink sports jerseys/etc. It's different for Bengals fans who are forced to wear orange and black and look like a halloween explosion- blue and silver are PRETTY colors. If you are going to "support" your man while he's playing, be decent enough to show up in his team colors!

But the worst part, the worst... was when one of my co-workers this morning said Tony's unremarkable (read: BAD) play in last night's game agaisnt the Eagles-whom the Cowboys have already defeated once this season, according to my list- was attributed to Jessica's mere presence in the stadium.

She went on to say that the Buffalo game (to which I had compared his performance in last night's game) was one that Carrie Underwood attended to watch him. She said that "People were saying he played badly cause his girlfriends were watching."

SERIOUSLY?!

Listen here, Romo- You are not in high school. You're not playing to a stadium of <500 people, and you get nervous cause the head cheerleader is your girl. You get PAID to play football. THOUSANDS UPON THOUSANDS of people watch you play... EVERY SINGLE WEEK. You seriously cannot tell me that just because your pretty blonde girlfriend is sitting in the stadium (up in the freakin press box where you probably can't see her anyway) means you get so rattled you give up major plays.

Not that Terrell Owens (the biggest mouth in football- don't get pissed that I said that, Chad Johnson, your mouth's really big too, just not as big as TO's.) was helping. He couldn't have caught the ball if you'd given him a fishing net.

But seriously? If he plays like that every time one of his girlfriends shows up to a game? They're going to have to stop letting blonde pop stars into football stadiums. I don't remember Aikman ever blowing a game cause his lady showed up...

Pull your shit together, Romo!

Just because your name starts with a T, ends with a Y and is 4 letters long-- doesn't mean you're the greatest thing ever to hit the field in Dallas.

Troy must be so disappointed.

She Puts the Ho in Homepage.

So I'm working on my training here at work, and one of my co-workers sends me an instant message to tell me to check out our company's new homepage.

Now, without telling you what company I work for, I will say that we are involved in research. That's enough to get my point across. I'm sure if you wanted to, this post would give you enough information to find out. I'm just not going to broadcast it, because I don't know what the rules are about this kind of thing, and I like my job. :)

So I go to the homepage, and I see THIS staring back at me:


It contains the tagline "Passion & Data."

UH, WHAT?

Seriously? It looks like a still from the opening scene of a soft-core porn! Hellooooo naughty librarian! Passion & Data. Whoo!

She's giving us this seductive look and they want us to believe that she's looking that way because of data? "There is so much data in these big books I'm carrying I can hardly control myself! Give me a hand with this issue tool, big boy!"

I could hardly believe my eyes, so I started asking my co-workers what they thought about it. Here are some of the responses I got:
"It's Debbie Does Data Management!"
"I want to transfer, what department is SHE in?"

Basically, this office is female dominated. We have a female CEO. Which one of the genius males working in this place put our new webpage together?

!!!

Haverty's changed their commercial! It's correct, it says Sneak Peek now!!! :)

Crackers for Christmas?

So today, my friend Annie sent me an E-vite for her little holiday party she is throwing for our group of girlfriends from the NOLA trip.

Attached to the E-vite is an advertisement featuring Rachael Ray and Nabisco crackers. The tagline on the ad is "Give the gift that never gets returned."

CRACKERS? You want me to give someone CRACKERS for christmas? Okay, or you want someone to give ME crackers for Christmas? Are you kidding? Crackers? As a gift. Do you give someone a gift receipt with that so that they COULD return the crackers if they wanted?

If someone gives me crackers for Christmas, you are right-- I won't return them. I will LAUGH wholeheartedly at the poor schmo who gave them to me. If you give someone crackers for Christmas, you should probably get punched.

The gift that never gets returned. Yah, I'll tell you why they never get returned. It's because NOBODY has big enough balls to walk into Kroger and go up to the customer service counter and say "Hi, I got these Nabisco snack crackers for Christmas, and I think I'd like to return them! See, I have this gift receipt!"

What is the target demographic for the gift of crackers? Certainly not people who are online getting E-vites... I'd say the best person to give crackers to at Christmas might be someone who would otherwise not eat.

Maybe they would be nice to bring to a party you are attending, if you yourself might eat some of the crackers. However, if you wrap the crackers up and present them to your host as a gift- They will probably look at you like you have three heads.

And then if they have the chutzpah to take them back to Kroger and return them?

They either are a really big asshole... or awesome. Maybe both. I haven't decided yet.

To Have or to Haverty's Not...

Okay. I'm sitting here watching TV with my roommate. OK, Best Week Ever is on. I love that show. Those people get PAID to mock other people. What a great job. I get paid WHILE I mock people, normally, but I don't actually get paid to mock people.

So during Best Week Ever, there's this commercial for Haverty's. In case you are not aware, Haverty's sells furniture. So they have this holiday commercial (don't let me get back onto that...) that basically chops the "Have" off their name and uses it in sentence fragments.

Well, the first one is "Have a sneak peak."

Um. What? A sneak peak?

As in the peak of a mountain? Not a sneak peek? As in a preview? Um. Maybe you should proofread your copy before you run it in a national ad campaign. Seriously.

I should probably add that during the portion of the commercial where this copy is featured, there is a young boy peeking into a hutch or something like that... I can't remember what those things are called.

Clearly peek, and not peak. Sneak Peak. "We're going to climb a mountain, but shhh! don't tell anyone!"

The Rockboy Haircuts

So there's this band. If you listen to popular radio, you've probably heard their "famous" song... "Pictures of You."

They're called "The Last Goodnight." Okay, first of all, their band name SUCKS. The Last Goodnight? Who are we saying Goodnight to? And why won't you get to say goodnight to them anymore? Or should it really be "The Last Good Night?" Because is someone getting married? Or paralyzed? Or put to death? (I know, I know, they're really all the same thing.)

"This is your last good night! Better have fun while you can!"

I saw them live- opening for Rocco DeLuca and the Burden. Unimpressive. Their sound is not cohesive in any way, they sound like 7 guys just up on a stage TRYING to play the same song. I think there are 7 of them... there were so many, once I got past 5, I stopped counting. And the lead singer looks like he's seizing when he sings, because he's moving so jerkily and strangely. Maybe that's what the name is about. Remembering the last good night he had before the seizures started. They all have these "rock boy haircuts" too.

This is a term that I have coined, actually from looking at the men in this band. I was trying to type their band name and I SERIOUSLY couldn't remember it because I just called them the Rockboy Haircuts. If you need photographic evidence of what a rockboy haircut is, here are examples:

I don't know what any of their names are, but the lead singer kind of looks like this guy I know, Aaron. So I will call him that. Seriously, though, Aaron, mad props. It takes all kinds of balls (and a lot of styling product, I'm sure) to carry off a mohawk.

Unfortunately, I think you spent more time on your hair than you did writing your songs and/or rehearsing them. Sad... because the song "Pictures of You," is actually a pretty catchy tune! I find myself singing along with it when I watch the video. The video in which you lip synch to it worse than Ashlee Simpson... worse than the dubbing for a bad Japanese horror movie.

The thing that kills me about these lyrics though... is this line right here: "There is a drug that cures it all, blocked by the governmental wall, we are the scientists inside the lab, waiting for the call..."

SERIOUSLY? Does this man know ANYTHING about how drugs are approved/created? Well you better believe that I. DO. Let me start by saying, "Buddy- that governmental wall is there to make sure your ass doesn't die from some "drug that cures it all" that doesn't ACTUALLY work, or worse yet, is TOXIC. We don't do research on these drugs for fun, we do it to save you and your stupid haircut."

Not to mention, I'm pretty sure that the scientists that develop these drugs are not just sitting around WAITING for a call from the FDA to ask them to create "a drug that cures it all." Not to mention that one drug to cure everything is totally impossible. What about contraindications? *sigh*

Anyway... I think my real beef here is that this band (and any band like them *AHEM: COLBIE CALLAIT*) is getting attention for music that is fair, but not all that great, when there are TONS AND TONS of really really awesome musicians (Sara Bareilles and the Alternate Routes to name 2 examples) that don't get quite as much attention.

I mean, okay- I can concede somewhat. The Alternate Routes is a dumb name for a band too... but at least they can all play on the same downbeat.

What the hell happened to Thanksgiving?

Today, (and it was like 7:15am, too. Don't let me get started on Mornings.) I was riding in the elevator from the parking garage. It's me and one other woman, and the doors sliiiiide open at like, floor 7, and a bunch of people get in. Not only do a bunch of people get in the elevator to annoy me, but there is some LOUD MUSIC playing.

Oh, and this is not just any old loud music, no.

It's FREAKING "Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas."

WHAT?! OH MY GOD, It's November 15th, people. WHAT HAPPENED TO THANKSGIVING?

You know, in like a month, I might want to be told to have myself a merry little christmas. But first I think I would like to have myself a tasty little Thanksgiving! So at this point, everyone in the elevator is complaining... and I'm thinking, "WHO is this music FOR?" I seem to have a lot of friends and family (and obviously some complete strangers in an elevator) that agree with me when I say: "Christmas is AFTER Thanksgiving. Let's keep it there."

Even the people who I know that loooove Christmas (my roommate- OMG Christmas throws up on our apartment every year- mere minutes after Thanksgiving has passed) think it's a little bit ludicrous for stores to begin hanging Christmas decorations in OCTOBER.

BEFORE HALLOWEEN?! COME ON! It's like, why don't we just start hanging christmas decorations up over the bathing suit displays in July or August? I'm worried, friends. I'm worried that Christmas is going to eat ALL THE OTHER HOLIDAYS.

Happy Independence Day! Here's an ornament!

Now, I know some people leave their Christmas lights up all year long. Don't believe me? Take a drive through Price Hill. That, I almost understand. Laziness appeals to me on a fundamental level. But the actual assembly of huge Christmas displays and blaring of obnoxious Christmas tunes before Thanksgiving is just too much for me. Come on, people of America, let's unite and tell those retail whores that are grubbing for our money: NO CHRISTMAS BEFORE THANKSGIVING! HELL NO! WE WON'T GO! Or something...

I'll tell you what I'm giving thanks for this Thanksgiving... that it's not Christmas yet!

There's always a place for the Angry Young Man...

Well, fine. But I want a place too.

The other day I was helping my friend Kevin paint his house. I kept ranting about different things, songs on the radio, commercials, etc. And I don't know who said it, probably me-- that I was a little angry. Okay, well I've never thought of myself as being an angry person. But Billy Joel says "There's always a place for the Angry Young Man, with his working class ties and his radical plans..." And I thought. "I'm just an 'Angry Young Woman!' There should be a place for me!" And, sometimes, I can be kind of funny when I start ranting about something.

So, because I don't want to be angry (or seem angry) in my life, I've decided I need a place to be an Angry Young Woman.

So here we are. And I have something to rant about right away. I know you're excited.