I'm not quite Ivory Soap

I went with some almost friends to see The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy last night. I read the book within the last 2-3 weeks. It's the only movie I've seen wherein the book was NOT better than the movie. In fact, I'm not sure why the book was "highly celebrated" (according to the dust cover or something else I read about it) because his writing style really sucked. It reminded me of some kid who wrote a crappy story and then sprinkled big words in at random ass places by using a thesaurus. But then again, Douglas Adams was British so that might explain something. Except Sophie Kinsella's British based book didn't sound that way. And that's chick lit for gosh sake. And I only read her book because supposedly Kate Hudson will be in the movie version except the status has been stuck on "unknown" for a long while. They'd better make it into a movie, that's all I'm gonna say.


So, I'm reading Amanda's blog from beginning to end. Amanda is Maggie's sister. And two years ago she took the purity test. Here are her results. Here are mine:

I scored 68% on the classic 400 Point Purity Test!

Take the test here!

Good gosh! I thought I was...well not a 68%. YOU need to take it and post your results in the comments section. And be honest, too. I'm quite curious about some of you. It's really long-400 questions.

Moose head

Roommate situation/redneck moment of the week collide:

Last week at the gym this woman that works out there often (and who looks a LOT like my aunt Donna) told me that her daughter was looking for a roommate. It was a freakish coincidence because I've never been asked out of the blue like that before. So, I met potential roommate last night. She's a very chic girl and one of those people that made me feel eternally nerdy. She looks a whole lot like Kirsten Dunst plus a 5 years. She has a boxer named Moose and she's long-term babysitting her brother's Corgi/Lab mix, Webster. Webster is a great dog name. Webster looks like a polar bear. I find it odd that the dog's name is Moose because last Saturday I dropped off my friend Jason at the mall and when I was leaving to go back to my apartment, this truck was in front of me. It's another classic redneck moment in history. And Dad, DON'T get any bright ideas!

ABC

Despite what I may complain about on here and the rudeness many of you presume I have, I really do try to think positive and happy thoughts. I'm also a good, nice person. So, in light of my credit card fraud/potential identity theft situation, I had to think of something positive about the whole ordeal. I have no idea how Mr. Stealer chooses his victims. Yeah, I'm calling Mr. Stealer a guy...because I don't want to blame it on a woman. I'm going to go on the assumption that Mr. Stealer has some kind of criteria for choosing his victims, though. And I've decided that Mr. Stealer thought I had a high credit card limit of like $1 million or something. In the very least, he probably didn't think I was trailer trash with one of those prepaid $500 credit limit cards. So at least I don't look completely cheap, I guess. I'm going to have to think of something better than that.
~~~~~~
We get a lot of catalogs at my work. Most of them are normal. It never fails that ABC Distributing has something to sell that is totally useless, redneck in nature, or just a bad idea. So from this catalog, here are the two items that stood out as "OMG, you SOOO need to buy this for me because it's so funny":

I prefer Spongebob, but Dora would be acceptable.

This needs to be in every home in America.

Credit cards suck!

Have you ever noticed that when you really really need to talk to a friend, no one is ever available on the phone?

I swear if I ever find out who did this, I will rip their balls out (male or female--oh, I'll find them alright!), boil them, and make them eat them. I think it's justified.

I was supposed to go over to see a house in Brookside to live in so I called the girl and left a message. I decided to take a nap until she called. But what happened? I got a phone call at 7:45 from Brian in Phoenix, AZ, with Discover Card. Mind you for about the first 5 minutes when I wake up, I'm in sort of a haze and I'm not sure what's real and what's not. And because I'm really really bad at memorizing people's voices that sound generic, I figured he was just some guy playing a joke. Here's the important parts of what I remember, though:

B: Rachel, this is Brian from [blah blah] and we need to know the last place you've used your credit card.
Me: What? Who is this?
B: Like I said, this is Brian from Discover Card here in Phoeniz, AZ. Did you use your credit card today at Quik Trip, Triangle Car Rental, Walmart or Sam's Club, and....(can't remember).
Me: Quik Trip yes, but that's all.
B: Well, someone is using your card number to make purchases in North and South Carolina.
Me: (finally waking up and realizing the acute crappiness of this situation) oh my holy....oh dear
B: So, on this account ending in 0701 I'm going to read you a list of charges and you tell me if you used it there or not, ok?


Moral of the story, multi-thousands of dollars are being spend on a credit card that doesn't even have my name on the front. Some like J Wilson or something. Brian said it'll take 90 (!!!!) days for the fraud department to work things out but what probably happened was that they stole it when I was at a restaurant or at an online site I've recently used. The only online place I've used in the last...4 months is roommates.com and sbc.com. And I just really doubt it's from there. Which means...some bastard of a waiter/waitress took my card away and stole my information. Now I'm trying to think of everyplace I've been in the last 30 days eating out and where it could have been. BKDotCom...I really think you might have dodged a bullet here. Cause Tim just had that look, right? Where else? IHOP? They scan the card in front of you and I would have noticed. I can't even log into my account to see where else I've eaten 'cause it's all deactivated, darn it. I don't even remember where I ate before that. ugh.

I realize I'm only liable for up to $50, but I also listen to Clark Howard. And I now need to get a copy of my credit reports to find out if osmething more ominous is happening here. Like hopefully someone didn't use my social security number or anything to say...I dunno, destroy my very high 700 score. Credit bureaus are notorious to be crappy about fixing things. So, I get off of the phone and call my dad back (who called 2-3 times during the call to Discover) all crying and upset. Then I try to call 8 of my friends, NONE of which picked up. You guys suck. I'll keep you updated on what happenes and who gets the guillotine to their privates.

I really want some ice cream, but I'm all puffy-faced. Why don't I have any in my apartment?

10 Things I Hate about Spring

I love spring, it's my favorite time of year. It means the icky coldness is over. However, there are some things about warmer weather that drive me insane-er:

• About three times/year, I will quickly open up my shower curtain to take a shower and a huge legged spider will be waiting for me in there spider in there that will make me jump and yelp. It's not that I'm terribly afraid of spiders, it's just an unexpected thing to see and scares the bejesus out of me. Mr. Spider has never made an appearance in the shower during winter.
• Modesty seems to be thrown out the window. Specifically what irks me are the 350 pound women that seem to think it is perfectly appropriate to show off 4 inches of midriff while being nowhere near water. Ditto on 7 year olds of any body type/size who are allowed to do the same. Not MY child!
• The return of silverfish. Usually seen in conjuction with me picking up a towel or an article of clothing on the floor. Occasionally found an hour after putting on said clothing item. "Why is my leg itching SO much?" shake shake...OMG!!!, it was in my leg this whole time! ewyuckgrosssick!
• Blonde/red hair, blue eyed women with a history of deadly skin cancer in the family constantly tanning. DON'T come complaining to me when you get melanoma in 20 years. It will be harder for me to feel sorry for you.
  
• Self-tanners. I can't figure it out! Neither can the editors at Allure accoring to this issue I just read. And the ones I have figured out make my skin smell really odd for a week.
• Eating outside. Too many bugs, but everyone always seems up for a picnic. I much prefer the non-mosquitoness of my kitchen. But you'll never hear me complain about going to a picnic because I enjoy the banter and the food. So, invite me to your BBQ, please!
• My inability to style my hair UP into anything that looks good AND keeps my neck cool. I can barely manage a simple ponytail. I'm going to blame this one on being a lefty. Yeah.
• TV. Nothing but reruns galore and shows that look good on the commercials, but end up sucking (e.g., The Hamptons)
• The superoverproduction of oil on my face. It's bad enough in winter, being oily AND flaky, but in the summer I use these things as often as toilet paper.
• Flip flops=good. Stupid women in Wal-Mart, Target, EVERY PLACE running over my freshly pedicured toes with their carts, heels=makes Rachel want to slap 'em. This never happens in winter for some reason when I'm wearing my clodhoppers.

Another potential rubber?

For some reason emails like this freak me out in much the same way email/IMs from guys that want to randomly rub me do. I think it might be the rose at the end of the email? And the thing about this is that I have a link to my blog on my profile. IF I was to look up people and send them random emails that included roses on email #2, I would darn sure click on his or her "homepage" link to see what the person was about. And he would have had to read what? two posts to see that I would automatically post this. Start at the bottom and work your way back up.

Date:	Tue, 26 Apr 2005 08:24:38 -0700 (PDT)
From:	simplemanok@yahoo.com Add to Address Book
Subject:	Re: Hi
To:	reharden@yahoo.com

Rachel,

Hello again. I was just out looking for some new friends and thought I would say hello. I will tell you a little about myself. I am 30, 5'9", brown hair, blue eyes, and about 200 lbs. I am divorced and have one son who lives with me full time (he is six). I have a degree in chemistry and work as an environmental chemist in the OKC area. I like the usual things, like movies, music, dining out, sports, camping, anything outdoors and meeting new people.

Would you like to know more? I would love to talk some more. Hope to hear from you soon,

Eric

"Rachel E. Harden" wrote:

Umm...I guess. What brings you my way?

Rachel

--- simplemanok@yahoo.com wrote:
> Hi,
>
> I saw your Yahoo profile and wondered if you
> wanted to correspond via email. If interested, write
> back. I would love to hear from you.
>
>
> __________________________________________________
> Do You Yahoo!?
> Tired of spam? Yahoo! Mail has the best spam
> protection around
> http://mail.yahoo.com

__________________________________________________
Do You Yahoo!?
Tired of spam? Yahoo! Mail has the best spam protection around
http://mail.yahoo.com

The HTML graphics in this message have been displayed. [Edit Preferences - What's This?]

The Upside of Fast Food Nation (safe to read)

So, tomorrow is Secretary's Day...excuse me "Administrative Professionals Day." What did YOUR company give you? A card? An email? Nothing? Well, all the girls at MY company all got $25 gift certificates to Bath & Body Works. And when I bought them last week, I promptly mentally spent mine on this. It's some really good scentage. And ET sent me a coupon so that with a $10 purchase I get this for free. Ahh..the luxuries of working for a teeny tiny company with a nice president and nice management.

Oddity: None of the women who work at my company are really secretaries but we all get something.
~~~~~~~~
You can read this one regardless of your love of meat but you might not want to be eating when you read it. :)

So, on page 195 of Fast Food Nation a man is described as the "head of the Foodborne and Diarrheal Diseases Branch at the CDC." In case you're really not up on things, CDC is the Centers for Disease Control. I think that might possibly be one of the WORST sounding job titles I've ever come across. Can you imagine being at some gala and introducing your husband/wife with that job title. "What do you do?" "Why, I look at liquid poop under a microscope all day long."

I said STOP RUBBING ME

I guess I should stop hinting about what my next posts are going to be because something almost always happens that causes them to be pushed back a few days. So, to Mr. or Ms. Anonymous Can't Eat my sausage croissant person, I promise there's better parts of Fast Food Nation. And..you WERE warned so stop complaining!

I don't understand guys or some women, depending on how you read this conversation that took place Sunday, April 24, on Yahoo Messenger. This stuff happens so frequently I think I'll have to post it everytime. I'm curious if it happens to other women lots of if I have some "talk semi-dirty to me" post-it note on my forehead/online profile. I have had only one previous conversation with this person. The colors were added later for readability and red is something that added by me after the fact for reader clarity:

(16:38:23) warwicktulsa: hey sexy
(16:38:25) warwicktulsa: how are you
(16:38:49) reharden: good good
(16:38:50) reharden: u?
(16:39:00) warwicktulsa: pretty good
(16:39:04) warwicktulsa: you havin fun
(16:39:27) reharden: today's my lazy day, but yeah
(16:39:57) warwicktulsa: are you doing anything
(16:40:26) reharden: about to watch Big Fish
(16:40:55) warwicktulsa: nice
(16:41:04) warwicktulsa: how would you like a nice long massage
(16:45:32) warwicktulsa: ....??
(16:47:17) reharden: Unless you are an R.M.T., I won't be requiring your services thank you very much
(16:55:26) reharden: Can I ask you something?
(16:55:56) reharden: Have you ever asked someone you've talked to only once on the internet to give them a rubdown and they've said yes? I mean, I'm just curious here.
(16:56:08) warwicktulsa: yeah
(16:56:26) reharden: Do please explain
(16:56:36) reharden: I'm just wondering what kind of woman would do that is all
(16:56:59) warwicktulsa: usually lonely or sore
(16:57:14) warwicktulsa: and its only after asking some personal question that they agree
(16:57:47) reharden: Give me an example here. Because I'm pretty sure that when we talked last time nothing personal was mentioned
(16:57:54) reharden: Then again, my memory is fuzzy sometime
(16:58:15) warwicktulsa: i ask a couple and then they do
(16:58:51) reharden: after you ask to rub them? I'm confused here
(16:59:11) warwicktulsa: no that usually comes before
(17:00:09) reharden: Ok...so let me get this straight: You said "I want to rub you" then she asks one or two personal questions and then you're over them (there) rubbin' away?
(17:00:22) warwicktulsa: yeah
(17:00:47) reharden: That...seems...perfectly reasonable?
(17:00:52) warwicktulsa: lol
(17:00:53) warwicktulsa: yep
(17:01:53) warwicktulsa: i'm pretty good at massages
(17:01:55) reharden: I am constantly sore, but not lonely and I have a sneaking suspicion that a) you couldn't do it how I would want it and b) you'd want something of yours rubbed and if neither one of these two things are true then maybe you're the lonely one?
(17:02:30) warwicktulsa: bored not so much lonely ... and i actually like giving massages
(17:03:20) reharden: Well, I'm amused by this no more. I'm off to watch Big Fish
(17:03:24) reharden: and to blog you


Hmm. I wonder if he knows what blog means because if someone told me that I would totally try to talk them out of it. And let me be clear here so you don't think I'm some vindictive meanie girl. I would never intentionally blast someone I knew on the internet. Or if I did, the name would be changed. Like if I had met this guy even once, I wouldn't blog it. But doesn't it read very similar to this guys conversation? And imagine that...he just stopped talking to me cold. If you're a guy reading this, stop doing this to women. We generally don't find it sexy, just way too upfront and snake-like. And if you're a women reading this, FOR GOD'S SAKE don't let an unknown guy just come over and rub you. It seems like a good way to get raped. I realize he's probably lying and no one has ever actually just said, "Yeah, come on over and RUB ME DOWN." But there's always that possibility. Maybe I might have a different outlook on sensual massages if I'd ever been given one. As it stands, the only massages I've had were from a man in his mid-50s that was a registered massage therapist and an R.N. He would tote his massage chair or table around once a month or so to the school I worked at last year. He would talk during the whole 30-45 minute session. I really just wanted to sit there and veg, though. I was fully clothed. Anyway, these experiences with the older guy have made it very difficult for me to see massage in a sexual way. Now that I think about it...he did always rub my butt cheeks. Is that normal during a massage? I really hope so because if it's not, then my skin will be crawling.

I'll play fox; you be hound

I have a feeling that BKDotCom did this just to see if I would blog it or not, but it's bloggable no less. Even if it was done for shock value. We went on a non-date to the newish Fox & Hound. 95% of the time when I eat at a restaurant, I'll want to go wash my hands before I start eating anything. I'm not a germ-phobic person per se, but it just seems like common sense to wash them when your hands smell like anything less than soap. And I also find that restaurants will try to make something about their peeing facilities spiffy. So that other people will use it? Or it gets talked about and creates a P.R. vibe? I dunno. The Fox & Hound's bathroom claim to fame: the toilets are black (which is just weird to use) and they have mouthwash dispensable into tiny Solo cups. As a joke, I thought it would be funny to take it back to the table and tell B.K. he really needed some. Except he totally 1-upped me. He took the minty fresh Scope and put it in his iced, slightly sweetened tea. This, of course, makes my mouth open, mainly because he's over the age of 30 & did something that reminded me of things once done in 2nd grade at the lunch table.

Oddity: 20 oz. of iced tea tastes pretty good with ¼ oz. of Scope in it. I think you should market it, B.K.

And...it was gulped on by B.K. during the duration of dinner.

The Sunday Penis Parade (4/4)

Welcome to the fourth and final installment of The Sunday Penis Parade--helping you glide through the boring day of the week.

Mr. Clown finally makes this amusing hat:

3/23/2005

Look closer at the end:

Is it JUST me or does that look very much like this, this, and this SEX TOY?

The funny part of this is that I didn't even see anything remotely dirrty about any of these balloons until my co-worker Cindy pointed it out. Then, the mind--it goed wild.

My conclusion: Mr. Clown is a pervert!

I ♥ you, too, baby!

I'll talk about the Upside to Fast Food Nation after the final edition of the S.P.P. tomorrow and this moment in redneck history:

Friday I get a phone call at work from Daddy at 4:15 saying "Meet us at Cafe Olé when you get off work." Free meal at a new (to me) place in Tulsa? Absolutely! So, I make my way north through traffic and for three miles I'm behind this Dodge 4x4 truck. It has two exhaust pipe-looking thingies coming out of either side near the front of the truck bed, behind the cab. I really have no clue if that's what they are, but that's what they look like. The guy driving the Dodge was...well...he looked like he could have used a shave, a shower, and a change into clean clothes. So, I'm driving behind him and what do I see? Not one, but TWO bumper stickers on either side of his license plate that say "I ♥ My Wife." I could understand if it was on a teeny car and the guy looked like less of a burly man, but on a 4x4 with a manly man at the wheel? And TWO bumper stickers? Is the wife really that insecure? Or do you (and/or wifey) think that your fugly truck will attract SOOOO many women that you decide to announce to the world that you're taken before any bright ideas pop into our heads? Because my thoughts when I saw the stickers after seeing the guy were NOT, "Darn it! He's not single!" And how about the Mrs.? Maybe this was the guy's idea to put these stickers on? I'm trying to picture my imaginary redneck husband (that I wouldn't be with because he was a redneck but work with me here) coming in and saying "Honey (pick nose, scratch crotch) I luvvv ya so much I done decided to 'nounce it to tha world. Come and look at my perty truck now!"

The Downside of Fast Food Nation

Cross your fingers for me. I have a giant, hard bump on my arm that looks like a zit but I think it really a spider bite. And as many times as my daddy has had fiddleback spider bites, I always get a little scared when I see hard red bumps on my body.

So since no one else will read this book, I really have no place to discuss any parts of it. This will have to temporarily suffice to get my feelings out until I force (feed) someone else to read it. If you are squeemish and like to eat meat, stop reading this now. Seriously! I don't want to be responsible for ruining your hamburger this evening. You see, Maggie swore to me that I would still be able to eat at McDonald's after I read Fast Food Nation. And I can...err...sort of. The problem is that I'm having a really hard time eating anything at all after reading this book. Or at least having a hard time ENJOYING what I choke down. Why? Because Rachel's mind did a terrible thing. It took a few sentences in the book and extrapolated what was intended to be for just ground beef to ALL foods. Not a good thing. Here were the two sentences in the book that really did me in.

On page 197: "The medical literature on the causes of food poisoning is full of euphemisms and dry scientific terms: coliform levels, aerobic plate counts, sorbitol, MacConkey agar, and so on. Behind them lies a simple explanation for why eating a hamburger can now make you seriously ill: There is shit in the meat."

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!!!! I didn't particularly enjoy the description of how it takes quite the skilled hand to degut the cow without spilling any intestinal/stomach contents into the meat, either. Anyway, I ate some sausage the other day and I just couldn't get into it. I actually gave most of it to Mr. Trash. Didn't even give it to Shelby. Next:

pg 204 "A single fast food hamburger now contains meat from dozens or even hundreds of differnet cattle."

So essentially when I eat a burger now, in my mind I'm picturing a living cow that is divided up into 1 inch square sections and each section is a different colour or texture or something. And throughout the tiled cow, there are icky disease-laided whelps, warts, etc. that would afflict the skin. Then the cow sort of melts and looks even more mutilated. Yeah, I know this is not a normal reaction to have. Fact is, that sentence is much grossness! Having said all of this, the breakfast burrito at Sonic that contains sausage is pretty darn good. And cheap.

What's in Rachel's underwear?

I've never heard anyone else talk about this, but it has to happen to other people, too.

You ever found anything in your underwear? Stop being perverted; I'm being serious here. I mean stuff that really shouldn't be there. I guess such occurrences only happen to me about once every 9 months or so, but when they do occur, it really weirds me out. Take yesterday for instance. I'm at work and I take a potty break. While doing my business, I look down and notice a sliver of clipped fingernail. WHA? How did THAT get there? I could begin to understand if I had been clipping my nails at my desk right before, but the last time I clipped my nails, finger or toe, was Saturday. I could also begin to understand how this happened if I was wearing a skirt and my undies touched the chair I was sitting in...not a common happening, but it could happen like that. I was wearing pants yesterday, though. I can't really see how residual fingernail could be left after going through the washer and dryer. Or if it did, why wouldn't it fall out when I was putting them on? I'm completely baffled at how something so bizarre like this can happened. Then there's always the disgusting possibility that it wasn't even MY fingernail clippings. Ick!

Other things Rachel has found in her undies while doing her business:

1. When I was teaching in Houston, I found a sticker from my classroom
2. A staple...scary!
3. Floss

I'm wearing the shoes today for the first time. Did I mention I've never had shoes with pointy heels before? We'll see how many times I fall. If I make it through the day, I think it'll open up more options for me in shoe world.

Jerk Professor

ET said...
Rachel, okay...now you're just torturing me. It's not enough that no one in Oklahoma (except the size zero girl in your accounting class) cares a rat's ass that we have NO shopping here, but now you're wearing shoes from FAMOUS FOOTWEAR? Where have I gone wrong?
Tue Apr 19, 06:33:43 PM CDT

ET said... I'm right here. But I am NOT shopping for you in a consignment store. = )
Tue Apr 19, 06:29:05 PM CDT

Yeah, I'd be one of those that care ½ a rat's ass that we have NO shopping here. I'm not particularly a fan of shopping. I would totally live in Cuddl Duds if it were up to me. And, OMG!, Famous Footwear? Yeah, their system allows for efficiency. Guess what? I also own shoes from Wal-Mart, Old Navy, Dillard's, and Nine West, so I'm all over the low-brow board here. And, on the issue of consignment. SOME of us have parents that are teachers, NOT the head radiologist at a major hospital. =) What was once a needed thing from youth is now just fun. However, I won't buy shoes from a consignment store.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Today at work I had to write a check to a guy named Zandy. Add that to my mental list of "names to never name my child."

And yippie skippy, I got a 91% on my crap financial accounting test that I took on Monday, so that means that I could skip out on the final and still make a 71% in the class. I have to make a 31% 29% on the final to get a B and a 68% 66% to get an A. I like being in this situation. AND my business communications professor wrote an email saying "Due to time constraints, I have made the difficult decision to drop Project #5. Though it is a project that I have spent a lot of time preparing for you, I feel you will be best benefited by focusing on Project #6." This is good news becaue I didn't even understand how to do project #5 (it's an online course) and when I sent him an email telling him I didn't fully understand project #3, the parts I didn't get, and why it was confusing, this is part of the email that was sent back: "Rachel, Have you contacted the placement office concerning this yet? This should be very easy. If you have really read the brochure on Marketing Yourself then how did you miss pages 14-19?"

I then called him to explain that his wording on the assignment page was confusing and he actually said, "Aren't you the girl that already has a degree?"
Me: Yes
Prof.: You should be able to figure this out! What's your degree in?
Me: Elementary education and a minor in psychology
Him: Education? Oh, well THAT expalins it.
Me: mouth wide open in astonishment that he said something so stupid

I was HIGHLY offended, but he shamed me enough to not want to ask him about project #5. I could just see him rolling his eyes "it's that stupid teacher person again." Not an image I like too much, especially considering that it's not true in most cases. And I like to think I'm at least of average intelligence. Blackborad shows that the average on project #3 was a 65% 83%, and I got 100% so apparently I wasn't the only one that didn't understand understood it more than some of my classmates. Let's put you in a room full of screaming whiny tired 4 year olds. Or would the room full of 7th graders whose hormones are raging suit you better? My guess is that with your patience and lack of understanding, you'd last about 2 minutes. IF that! Jerk professor!

Consignment

You just can't trust people to get things right, I guess. I got to checking online on my car loan transactions and there was a $4.40 on 3/31 for "payment protection." That would be $4.40 ADDED into my loan--not in my favor. I had no clue what it is. Turns out, they had accidentally checked that I wanted the insurance so that if I die my car isn't repossessed. I figure that if I die, daddy can just use the other monies I have to pay it off and it would be no big deal. $4.40 isn't a lot per month but over the life of the loan it would add up to about 1.5 times my regular monthly car payment. Gotta check up on those things, ya know.

And in other news, I may have found a roommate. She's a med school student. That means she's probably pretty calm and dependable and I figure the worst that could happen is I end up getting cut into little pieces and then put in a black trash bag. Not so bad. Only problem is that she needs a place by like mid-May and my lease isn't up until July 23. Keeping my fingers crossed that things will work out.

I'd say probably 15-30% of the clothes in my closet are from consignment stores. I probably hit them up once every two months or so. When I'm done wearing a particular item, I take it to a particular consignment store in Broken Arrow, which also happens to be my favorite one to shop at. And EVERY time I'm there this scenario takes place:

tra la la looking through the shirts...la la la

Who would wear that?...flip, granny shirt...flip, too big...flip OH OH OH! I like THAT shirt. And then I take it off the rack to perform a thorough inspection of said article. Wait. That used to BE my shirt. Doh! WAIT A MINUTE!!! I LOVED that shirt when I had it, but it just didn't fit right anymore. And it's been HERE for a month and no one else has fallen in love with it? What's wrong with the people that shop here??? Or was I the only one that really liked it and everyone else is laughing at it? Where's my personal shopper when I need her?

Stiletto Embarrassment

What is it with guys that work at radio station being jerks? Or guys in general but more so at radio stations/anything that is more public. I work on the 2nd floor and nearly always take the stairs but today I was carrying my purse, a pitcher (to make lemonade in), and my backpack that is really heavy today because I put a book and my lunch in it. I didn't think I could open up the door to the stairs and the elevator was open, so I took it. I'm in there and the two other people say floor 5 and I say 2. The guy standing next to me, who's in his 50s, HITS my arm HARD and says, "Two? You're lazy. Get your ass off here and take the stairs." I glared back at him and opened my mouth as if to say "you just hit me you jerk." That's not what I said, though. "I can't open the door with all of this stuff and it's MY CHOICE IF I WANT TO TAKE THE ELEVATOR OR NOT."

I thought that I was going to be all non-social this weekend and I was anything but. I ended up spending Saturday afternoon with my mommy. We went to the Habitat for Humanity Re-Store, where I THOUGHT I had finally found some finials for my nekkid curtain rods for just $6, but they didn't fit so I'm out the money. Oh well. We then went to get her nails done and I went to Merritt's Bakery where I had my first ever petit four. It was sinfully good, but I have to admit that I chose it only because it was pretty and because I like the name petit four. Then we went and spent my accrued money at my favorite consignment store in Broken Arrow. More on consignment tomorrow, though.

Then Sunday Kim called and asked me to go to Old Navy with her. Let's see...I have an accounting test Monday that I haven't even read the book for, I have a whopping $60 in my savings account, I'm tired, I'm sleepy. The only logical and rational thing to do here is S-H-O-P! I end up seeing two girls I graduated from high school with, Kenda W. and Ashley L. Both don't notice me, which is fine because they didn't really notice me in high school, either. Then I run into Jake M., a guy that graduated with me, too. He's WORKING at Old Navy. He dropped out of college. I don't like to hear these things because he was pretty smart. He looks exactly the same. Then again, so do I. Ok...+10 pounds, but whatever. Kim and I then go to Famous Footwear where I buy the most ridiculous shoes of my life on total impulse:

Aren't they cute? So, I get home with the loot. I put on above shoes because they're cute but mainly because I need practice walking around in a heel that pointy. At this point I'm wearing swooshy shorts and a ripped up, bleach-stained T-shirt. Just walking around the house trying not twist my ankle. Because that's what would happen in public if I don't practice at home. I walk on the balcony to get my barking dog. Hell gets stuck in balcony floor; I don't notice this, though. Cute guy I've never seen before walking his? dog sees me. I trip trip on shoe as I try to take a step and fall onto railing. Make VERY loud clang noise. In heeled shoes. Wearing ripped T-shirt and workout bottoms. Cute guy looks and laughs asks if I'm hurt. I say "only my dignity." Grace I am not. Next time I stay inside with the blinds all closed up, holding the wall for support.

The Sunday Penis Parade (3/4)

Welcome to the 3rd installment of "The Sunday Penis Parade"--helping you glide through the boring day of the week.

How about the end of this phone receiver he made?:

The top end is looking very wrong to me, only in a female sort of way.

Sick Rebound

"At Fri Apr 15, 04:23:13 PM CDT, Chris A said...

...Lots of ugly people, even sexy people without talent, make it in the business..."

Uh-huh, but we're voting on this one, that's what makes it different than some executive finding some ugly guy on the street. Unless you think the votes are rigged, too? I don't care too much. So, Chris, since you're unwilling to post a profile or email, will you at least tell me what state you live in?

At Fri Apr 15, 04:35:44 PM CDT, Merovingianne said...

You're joking, right?
Actually, I don't blame you, I blame the media and BS shows like ER that make the medical procedures seem risk-free. You don't want to experience pain? Just imagine how you will feel after someone has cut through your body, layer by layer. At least the pain of childbirth is over after the kid pops out!

BTW, the bladder control issues tend to even themselves out in the long run. But don't take my word for it!

Umm...the whole point in the matter is that she was told she could have an epidural for the duration of the pregnancy and then the bait and switch happened. If, at month 2, I found out that I couldn't have a epidural or whatever, I'd be fine with that because I'd have 7 months to prepare myself and whatnot. Anyway, ET and Merovingiannne, it is NOT the pain of actually giving birth, regardless of if it's vaginal or C-section, that frightens me. I mean, it would be NICE if either one of those situations could occurs pain free like we're led to believe in whatever show I don't watch. Because, honestly, watching Birth Day episodes (NOT a regular basis, but if they're on...I'll watch out of the corner of my eye) makes me never want to have one because they make it seem like all pregnancies are undesired. Anyway, I found this article on either WebMD or Mayoclinic that talked about how like 10% (or a number high enough to make me cringe) have issues from vaginal birth that are NEVER resolved. MOST involved bladder issues, but some involved bowel issues, scar issues from the cut, doctor screwups, and a few other things I can't remember. The point was that I KNOW I'm a low luck person, and so I'd be the one that something like that would happen. Anyway, it's pointless since I can't find the article. And your description of the cutting through my body layer by layer doesn't really gross me out at all. I've had a couple of elective surgeries and some tests that people apparently seem to think are worse than giving birth and it just did nothing for me. I'm a tough gal, I just want to be able to pee when I want to when I'm 50. :)
~~~~~~~~~~~
The scene: Rachel's apartment, Friday night, movie on TV (Blues Brothers)
The player: Rachel
The action: Rachel decides ½ way through the movie that she HAS to go to sleep at 10:10 on a FRIDAY night because she is way tired. Thus, she does, wakes up at 6:00 am and is back at her apartment after walking her dog on a the brisk trail for 5 miles in time for most normal people to just be getting out of bed.
The verdict: Rachel is a LOSER (or is recovering from being sick and shouldn't feel bad about herself for falling asleep at 10:10 on a Friday night)

So, I'm on the phone this morning with the vet trying to get Shelby's yearly shot/exam/whatever they do scheduled. And the receptionist asks me if she had her DHP or her DHHTP or something like that and I said I had NO clue. She replies, "Well, let me pull her chart for you." Like she's a human and I'm the mommy. Good stuff.

I hate getting sick. Even more than that, though, is the refueling period after getting sick. What do you talk? Ok...so I weigh myself every week and chart it. Just because I can. And since I got sick starting Tuesday morning and my weigh-in day is Monday, I had something to work with. During the days of not eating, sleeping, being sick I lost a total of 6 pounds. Wonderful? Not at all! Because I know that means my body will go into overdrive. And it has! My body is trying to make me drink and eat all of that 6 pounds at ONCE! Voracious appetties and heavy fluid drinking habits are just painful. I wouldn't/don't make a very good binge eater or drinker.

On Giving Birth

Calm down, I'm not pregnant or anything!

On March 24 a co-worker that I see like 5 times/year because she's in another office but talk to quite often had her first baby. It was a scary time. She got married last year and was expecting a few months later. Then her husband got shipped off to Iraq. We were worried! He made it back to Oklahoma the day after the baby was born. Such a relief!

Much more scary to me, though, if the fact that she couldn't have an epidural because she has a tatoo on the part of the back they like to put them in. They tried to do it in another part of her back with no success. I have no idea why having a tat means you can't get a needle poke there, but whatever. Now, I have no body art nor do I have any intentions of ever getting any, but let's look at the bigger issue here.

When it comes to pain in general, I put a LOT of faith in the medical community. I don't want any situation like hers to happen to me-ever. Yes, I am woman hear me roar blah blah blah, but I really have no intentions to want to experience natural anything. But let's dig even deeper for a moment. You see, I have very mixed feelings on wanting to give birth. I mean, I want kids (at some point) and I want to be experience pregnancy (like...when I'm much older), but the actual birth part. Not so much.

Cindy, another co-worker said, "You know that's a little bit of a problem, right?"

No kidding.

And it's not the pain issue. It really isn't. There are a lot of things I've read/seen/heard that suggest that there are a lot of things that happen post-birth that are just never discussed. And that nearly every woman has some kind of unresolved physical issue resulting from the actual birth process, usually in the form of bladder control issues. And there's only so much Mr. Kegel can do for you. And that's just the beginning.

Now, I know I'm going to get a lot of email about "but I've have 20 children and everything is just fine and dandy" but lemme tell ya, because my luck isn't high, I will be one of the ones with long-term unresolved issues.

My friend A. said, "But you don't want to have a C-section. It leaves a scar below your hairline and it just looks really weird. My sister showed it to me. And it takes a lot longer to recover." Yeah, because I'm totally concerned about a scar that only my [non-existent] husband and maybe a few doctors will ever see. And, it might take longer to recover but I won't ever have the other issues.

Maybe I should just take it all out now so me and Mr. Right have to adopt and then I'll never be faced with this issue. That seems reasonable, right?

Z-packs and candy bodies

I'm making an appearance at work today. By appearance I mean I showed up 45 minutes late (I called) and I'm not sure I'll be able to make it through the day, even if I just sit in this chair until 5:00. On the way to work, I went to the evil McDonald's this morning. I don't think anything else would have calmed my tummy more than a hash brown. Odd, I know. It cost $1 for just a hash brown; it also costs $1 for a sausage biscuit AND a hash brown.

Just a whole day of weirdness for me yesterday:
I go to my doctor who gave me a happy Z-pak for my current bug affliction. During the writing of the script, I say something along the lines of "must be all of the Tylenol making me say loopy things." Dr. B. said, "Well, if Tylenol does that to you, you'd be a cheap drunk, then. I know some guys that would love to take you out if you're that cheap." I realize he was just kidding, but I think that was a highly inappropriate thing for a doctor to say. Then again, maybe it's the Tylenol making me think it's inappropriate?

I waited until what I THOUGHT was the last day to get my tag for my new car. Turns out, though, the tag acency goes by the date on the invoice (i.e., when the car was purchased) rather than the date on the temp. tag on the windsheild (i.e., the date I took the car home). The Honda place could have at least told me that! I had to pay an extra $25 because I was unknowningly a day late. Bastard car salesmen!

I then take the script to Walgreens where I had about 15 minutes to meander around the aisles looking at crap I don't need. I stumble upon Jessica Simpson's new line of stuff and I'll have to admit, it appeals to me a LOT. I've thought flavors such as these would be a fantastic thing ever since middle school when I had some cotton candy body splash and some yummy bubble gum lip balm that I wanted to eat. Well, this is what I put on my arm to test out. It was much too sickly sweet smelling, but I had serious thoughts about licking my forearm for hours after. Verdict while doped up on Tylenol: probably won't be buying it anytime soon.

I then go over to my parents' house because I do not own the requisite equipment to put on the overpriced car tag. They've been buying new furniture for the whole house. Our garage is converted into a family/media room and so there are two t.v. locations. They chose to get the exact same entertainment center for both the living room and the family room. And they fail to see why this is odd. It's totally like something they would do. At least I like them.

After being on the "sick diet" (soup, liquids, and crackers) for two days, I want to know: who actually eats saltines on a regular basis? They really aren't all that good. And I'll have to find something to do with the other ½ of this box. For some reason, chili doesn't seem appealing to me at the moment.

And what wife beaters and ugly people out there keep voting for Scott Savol on American Idol??? Maybe he can sing, but he does NOT have the stage presence needed. And since he's the least attractive of the group, it has to be ugly people, wife beaters, and people that live in Ohio (Ohioans?) voting for him. I'm all for rooting for the ugly underdog, but he's too much. It takes more than an arm going up and down and some scrunched up lips for me, I guess. It's also possible that the knowledge of him being a beater jades my opinion, too. And this is the first season of American Idol I'm somewhat actively watching and it's only because there's an Oklahoma girl on it.

In other odd news unrelated to me wanting to lick my arm: Shelby is sick. She's puking and she peed 3 healthy times in a 25 minutes last night. Maybe she needs some of that Detrol stuff or something? Gotta go, gotta go, gotta go right now....argh!

Cake the Mascara

M was here Saturday night after watching a play in which a fellow Glenpool graduate was starring. Since we were on our way to a bar* to meet a guy for her, she decided to put on some makeup and fix her hair. Reasonable thing to do. Except she used my makeup. It's something that I can let a person do, but I just have to not think about it. Sharing makeup is sort of like sharing toothbrushes to me. Just eww! Well, with the exception of lipstick/gloss. Otherwise, ewww! IF you are going to use my makeup and not tell me about, could you please at least leave it in the state it was when you found it? I went to put on mascara for my date Sunday night and somehow my dry mascara became almost like baby oil. I had NO idea how this transformation took place. Turns out, M put water in my waterproof mascara. Yes, it made it last longer, but now it's all gooky and makes my lashes stick together and frankly I look like a clown with 12 inch eyelashes now.

*I can count the number of times I've been in a bar on my toes. We never made it to the bar but instead spend a majority of the night with people we didn't know playing board games. I laughed; she did not. I had a much better time meeting new people and playing games than I would have at a bar.

P&T B.S

At Mon Apr 11, 08:03:59 PM CDT, ET said... Great...according to your criteria now we're not even friends?! "Essentially all are married and under 30." Hmmph. I am hurt.

...(I think he means YAY)"

All I'm saying is that MOST of my friends are under the age of 30 and married. It was a generalization. Really most of my group of friends are under 25 and married. Read that more as "everyone and their dog is trying to force me into marrying someone I'm not supposed to marry" or "my friends have unwarranted pity parties for me."
Chris could have even meant yea?
~~~~~~~~~~~
I'm at home sick today. No, not a mental health holiday. I really am sick. I can't even remember the last time I was genuinely sick. I usually stay home when I have a bad case on insomnia that induces sickness on me, but this time I have a fever and my throat hurts hella bad. And I don't have tonsils, so there's my oddity for the day. Let's see...got a flu shot in October, then the times I went to the doctor before that were for annuals. And before that I don't know. I don't even own a thermometer. I have no idea how that happened. I woke up today at 11:45 with Shelby IN my shirt. But I didn't realize what it was at first. I just knew I rolled over and had a 6 pound tumor on my back that didn't want to come out of the shirt. It was kind of funny for the brief moment I didn't realize what it was. "Holy moly, what grew on me during the night!? Oh, a dog. Whew! Thought I was really screwed there for a moment."

I'm super stoked about the upcoming season of Penn & Teller: B.S. Official site. It's basically a show where the famous Penn & Teller discuss debated, generally non-political issues. Just look at the list and you'll see what I mean. They present their arguements/evidence in a crass, no b.s. way that is hilarious. It's been an addictive watch for me. And while I think that they provide some interesting viewpoints, I'm fully aware of the fact that it's a TV show. So, no I don't base my opinions on everything they say, but it at least gives me someting to think about if I want to pursue the issues further. The only one so far that really caught me off guard was the one about recycling. I really really really wanted to believe recycling was a happy thing to do until I watched this. Now I'm not so sure. But, I'm a non-recycler anyway, so nothing doing there. Well, this season should be really great because there are a couple of episodes already on the list that I think I might have issues with. For instance, the Family Values episode: they're really going to have to do some hard research and fast magic tricks to convince me that a child growing up without BOTH mommy & daddy turns out ok as an adult. And the circumsicion one: who cares if it's bad for the guy, etc. (I don't really think this but just sayin'), they just look much better with it DONE! Err...and my only knowledge of this is from textbooks, Daddy and aunt Becky. :)

Our anniversary

"ET said...
...In fact, my neighbors keep asking me if I am sure I'm not really a lesbian (just because I have a really cool tool bag that generally sits in my living room)
....NO Sunday Penis Parade! I thought we had established that I need more penis on Sunday...what gives?"

I believe the term is lipstick lesbian, and the S.P.P. will be continued next Sunday. I'm "extending the pleasure." And I thought the coffee table was a little more timely. And, if you look really hard maybe you might be able to see a penis in the coffee table picture. I don't, but you're the one wantin' more here.

chris a said...
lift the lid of the large box. What is the name of the maker? should be a stamp right under the lid. Look for any numbers too. And are they the same on both boxes. Looks to me that they where made at the same place, but then again all I am seeing is pictures.

Geee, most the time im bloging around to make jokes, but today you have hit on somthing I know a little about. haha"

No name or numbers to be found on the trunks. Unless it's on the bottom or someplace obscure. And whadda ya mean "blogging around"? I thought I was the only one, Chris!!! Now I just feel cheap and used. :)

~~~~~~~~~~
It's officially been exactly one year since I've been graced with Shelby. She's finally getting to the point of being able to hold the tennis ball in her mouth so she can fetch an object bouncing off walls. This amuses me a lot. About two months after getting Shelby, I had serious doubts as to whether I could spend 14 years with her. And that I didn't feel like I was bonding as much as I should/wanted to. Kavon said, "Let me know what you think in a year; I think you'll be inseparable." You were absolutely correct! The training helped out a whole lot! This is what she looked like the week before I got her (she's the bigger one):

I was talking with a married Houston friend two weeks ago and she made said to me, "Can you imagine how different your life would be if you had made a different decision this time last year? I mean, you could be married right now with a baby on the way. Just think, that might have been your only chance."
I didn't even know how to respond do that except to say, "Yeah, and I know I would have been completely miserable and I'm quite sure the a much better opportunity will present itself and if not, then I'll be perfectly happy with that, too." My friends (who are essentially all married and under 30) don't really understand this concept. But it brings me to a much larger issues that I generally don't dwell on.
What would it have been like if...

• I had chose to go to a "real" college, like OU or OSU?
• decided my freshman year that I probably shouldn't get into teaching?
• actually had the nerve to apply to UNLV's Ph.D. program? I came so close...I might grow the balls one day
  
• went to the "real" college and never met the people I met at NSU and ECU?
• decided to not come back to Tulsa but instead room with a guy from roommates.com named Pradhan and waitressed until I took the GRE's and applied the OU/OSU's graduate studies program?
• chose to take the 7th grade science teaching position in Wills Point, TX, instead of the crappy 3rd grade position I got at SBISD?
• never moved to Houston and met Rodolfo, Wendy D, Belinda, Wendy T., Wendy H., or Cecilia? or GASP, never got my dog?
  
• actually stayed with my loser high school sweetheart?
• decided to get a teaching position in Vegas?

Do I regret anything? Really just 1 and 3, but I gained many other things because I chose not to do those things, too. At least for now. Maybe one day I'll get the nerve to go back and really have no what ifs. What I do know about my life now is that I am happy and stress-free. And that's generally all that matters, right?
Stress-free except: how do I get Shelby to stop barking at people on the trail? I'm pretty amazed at myself for the things I've taught her how to do, but that one really bugs me.

Coffee table switch

This is the coffee table that Kim gave me in May 2003. She sold it to me for $35.

It got sold for $10 at my parents' garage sale yesterday. Amy says of this coffee table: "Rachel it is absolultely HIDEOUS and looks like cheesy 80s stuff!" Well, it was only $35 and it has served as a great footrest in Tulsa and TV/stereo stand in Houston. My parents are buying all new furniture throughout the whole house. So, they gave me an old coffee table/trunk and an end table thingy:

Now, I know they're not perfect, but they're at least a step up, right? And they were f-r-e-e; I dig that a LOT! Where's Amy to tell me how to sand and stain it, though? Rachel could use a lot of help in that arena, too. Toe polish and stain knowledge just aren't the same thing.

Labeeb M

Chris, you could TOTALLY write cheesy dance music that I would love. I was thinking the Labeeb M would be like some kind of rap scat stuff in the background, but you made it work in your own way. The lyrics are far more poignant than other songs...let's see... Shiny Disco Balls by Who Da Funk (which I love; hear a crappy clip here), Barbie Girl (which I loved at the TIME, but despise now), and anything by Fun Factory, or Bucci Bag by Andrea Doria (which I also adore!).

And yes, ET, he did. Hunting him down is not needed, though. I'm sure the mainly mental hell he is in is far worse than the wrath of you. And if memory serves me correctly, it was at like 3 am in the parking lot of a Med-X, also typical. Given the circumstances, I doubt he would even remember. Drugs be bad, even those with a prescription.

The Ex-Factor

"Southern Chaos said...
Where I used to work we had a doctor named Labeeb Labeeb, actually it was Labeeb M. Labeeb. Why the M. wasn't the first name I have no idea.
Fri Apr 08, 12:19:54 PM CDT"

If you say Labeeb M really fast over and over again, it could make a nice beat for a cheesy dance song that I might enjoy.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Uh-oh. Jake has discovered my email address from the class Blackboard site. It's just a matter of time before he discovers the blog. Rachel will be brave and not edit posts or delete them. Any of them. Ever. I decided in the infancy of Maggie's blog that anything I posted had to be stuff that I wouldn't be afraid to tell them face to face. The shaming part is that I've learned he stopped smoking mid February. Oops!

So the Glenpool city wide garage sale was today. That's where my parents live. Since I live in an apartment, this was the perfect opportunity for me to get rid of some junk. I started with the coat closet, the reservoir for consignment bound items. I found a leather jacket from an ex (yes, ET, A.T.M.). We broke up 4 YEARS ago. How it didn't get thrown away in the process of moving twice, I have no idea. Maybe I wasn't the one to hang it up? Anyway, I have to point out that even though I was the person to break up with a majority of the guys I've dated, I honestly have no bad feelings toward any of them because the happy times far outweighed the not so good times. Except this one. The good times were about 5% of the time. I was younger, what can I say? I was in a difficult time in my life (as was he) physically and emotionally and I feel like I wasted what was could have been the most carefree 2 ½ years with a guy that was an ABSOLUTE ass to me. And I kept thinking, "Oh, it'll get better. Because it can't get much worse, right?" I guess that's what I learned from him. Guys with narcissistic personality disorder (honestly) don't turn into nice ones. Ever.

So, I go through the pockets of this leather jacket. I find two sticks of Trident and a roller ball pen. Typical vestiges. And the bad memories started to flow. My point here, though is to you guys out there: if a girl accidentally sits on a roller ball and breaks it in your 3 year old car, please don't yell and belittle her and raise your hand to slap her.

On the positive side, I got my first "professional" pedicure yesterday. That, for me, is the unofficial beginning of flip flop season and warm weather. And I've learned that it doesn't matter how sucky things are in your life (not for me now, though) if you can look down at your feet and they're pretty, you've at least got that. And it'll make you happier. I went with a pale pink this time instead of my darker pink/hoochie momma red (bright red) because I read in Allure that you're suppose to either go nude or pale pink for the spring. I'm learnin'. Slowly, but surely.

Tea time anyone?

So here's a perfect example of me being an idiot, proof of me being able to make fun of myself, and also slight evidence that I'm able to take what I dish out (stupid anonymous email people):

I have never played a round of golf before and I think I've played put-put twice in my life. Thus, I know little to nothing about golf, but I do like to make fun of people that watch it on TV. It just seems silly to watch it on TV. I have aspirations of playing a round at some point in my life. I think I might need to find some left-handed clubs, though. I'm not even sure about that one. So stop laughing at me if it doesn't work that way. I've worked at the same phone company non-consecutively for a total of 3 ½ years. The co-workers get together to golf occasionally. This summer there's a convention in Vail (that I don't get to attend...boo!) and I heard my boss making a tee time. I've heard this phrase MANY times around the office, but didn't realize until JUST yesterday that this was a golf thing and not the frou-frou English gathering where people got together and drank tea and had scones, crumpets, etc. I am SO embarrased at/for myself. How could I NOT know? Moreover, how could I think for even the tiniest second that a few of the very manly co-workers would willingly participate in an event like high tea?

These two people got a marriage license in Tulsa this week:

Jennifer McLane, 32, of Glenpool; Hasan Hasan, 25

You think that was his birth name? Or maybe some cultural traditional thing? Because why would someone name their kid with the same first and last name? "Well, Velma, let's simplify things. Since I like our surname so much, let's give the kid that for his first name, too." Hopefully someday one of these two people will want to pacify their egos, search for their names online, and answer this question some day for me.

Blame it on the sound waves, sure

I had one of those evenings where I came home, worked out for an hour (from 5:45-7:00, driving time included), watched 45 minutes of Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason then was on the phone for LITERALLY the rest of the evening to 6 different people. We're talking 4 ½ hours of phone time here. None of the calls were initiated by me, either. Background...this is the first conversation I've ever had with this person on the phone or otherwise. D's job includes driving all day delivering stuff, sometimes as far away as Parsons, Kansas:

D: Sometimes I get real bored when I'm on the road and so I listen to the radio and I'm always trying to win stuff on there.
Me: Oh yeah, how many times have you been successful?
D: None
Me: Well, that sucks
D: Yeah, but I think I know why.
Me: Because cell phones aren't as fast and easy to dial as landlines?
D: No, because think about it. If I'm far away then it takes a few MINUTES for that radio wave to hit me and so I'm slower to call in.
Me: Yeah, yeah blame it on the radio waves. (Dead silence for about 3 seconds) Oh, are you serious?
D: Well, it makes sense, don't it?
Me: Ummm...I really don't think it works that way.
D: Then why sometimes am I on the phone and I hear someone's TV on the same station as mine and there's a delay.
Me: Well, that would depend on if you two were both using cable, antenna, or satellite. Because the time delay happens at my parents' house when one TV is on antenna and the other sattellite. There's 5 second or so delay. MAS annoying.
D: You're one of those people that has to be right about everything, aren't you?
Me: Uhh...well, when I know I'm right, I guess. But I have no problem with being wrong and being proven wrong about things and in fact I welcome being proven wrong. It keeps the ego in check and makes me analyze things closer. Makes me smarter.

That's the general gist of things here. I became very concenred after this conversation, thinking that I had somehow missed an important principle in high school and college (wait...not college, no science of substance take there, save astronomy) and that I was about to have some massive paradigm shift. Like completely change the underlying principles I base the world on. So I do some research. From this site, let's assume it's an average 60˚ F. At that temperature, the speed of sound in air is 764 miles/hour. Parsons, Kansas, the farthest he said he travels for work, is 112 miles away from Tulsa. I doubt Tulsa signals are that strong at that distance. But I'm going to be extremely liberal on the math calculations here and let's just say that it takes 2-3 seconds for the air waves from Tulsa to reach Parsons. Yes, I know this is way off. Put all of the other assumptions aside, I doubt very seriously that 2-3 seconds time delay can be any of the reason for not winning stuff.

And let me just say that button up shirts do not look good on me. I'm wearing a company button up and it's like 2 sizes too big, I can't tuck it in, and the back is all puffy. I'm so uncomfortable in it. It looks like I stole my (non-existent) boyfriend's business shirt and decided to wear it around all day. This didn't stop me from wearing it, though. It's that weird time of year when I don't want to wear heavy stuff but the short-sleeve weather isn't here yet.

I saw the creature finally!

"At Tue Apr 05, 03:47:31 PM CDT, Chris A said...

...Because there is no way im sitting in an apartment with multiple people somking. I might as well sit in a gas chamber."

~Rachel says: Funny thing about smoking is that I don't so much mind being in clouds of it. I don't enjoy it, but it's something I can live with temporarily. When it comes, however, to "eating" it from a Dr. Pepper bottle, that's a different story.

At Tue Apr 05, 04:25:37 PM CDT, Chris A said...

...(Okay, 'A' for effort, but I want an 'A+' for having to revert to childish like behavior)

~Rachel says: You mean childlike in that you won't make your profile public? See, if I don't obviously know the person writing the message, just leaving a random name is almost like posting as anonymous :)
~~~~~~~~~~~~
This is the different view from the balcony of my 2nd floor apartment.

Don't come stalk me (unless you're Kavon) because I have a KILLER dog! Is like...a retention-like pond/marsh/something. There is a steep hill going down to it and I've slid/fallen on my butt multiple times because Old Navy likes to make slick bottom flip-flops. I took Shelby out for her nightly peepeepoopoo stroll and I saw something in said marsh that looked a whole helluva lot like a big snake head. I'm talking like 9 inch diameter here. My friend Kelly had just sent me a picture of a supposed snake caught in Oklahoma that was h-u-g-e. I checked on Snopes-there was nothing, so that means that it is potentially true. And I'm not snake phobic, but I don't want to be around snakes too much. It took me about 3 minutes of watching this thing to finally decide that it was in fact the beaver that has made a dam in the marsh. Then I was a little bit excited because I've never seen a beaver in the wild before. I wonder what else lives there. The beaver leaves about 2 minutes after Shelby and me watched it. Then this guy on the 3rd floor who I see smoking on his balcony but we've never talked says in a very suggestive voice down to me, "You know, I love beaver." I scoffed and "snaked" on back to my apartment.

Throwing god around

"At Sun Apr 03, 03:34:01 PM CDT, ET said...

Rachel, I think this whole envisioning of everything as a penis is very telling, don't you?"

Yes! It's telling that:

a) I have a dirrrty mind
b) The clown guy does, too
c) Cindy, my co-worker, had one first
d) Balloons are evil
e) I probably need to dig out that % off coupon

But...not everything is a penis, Freud...I mean ET. Some things are pink elephants.

"At Sun Apr 03, 03:45:43 PM CDT, Christopher A said...
This is your upstairs neighbor! That is what I would like to be called too. Nothing else, unless you want thr throw the word god in there somewhere.

Bring me cookies tomorrow night. Wear somthing cute and maybe just maybe ill let you have a bite of my mac and cheese!

At Sun Apr 03, 10:46:41 PM CDT, Christopher A said...

This is your upstairs neighbor again! Look I have to tell you this. I stole the trampoline. Thats right it was me. I found that it works well when I throw my trash out the window. Catches it quite nicely."

Alright, I'm going to try to cover all that in one statement: Good god, you can throw your trash on the trampoline a long way to my parents' house, but while you're doing that I will be barfing up the mac & cheese you made while wearing my sweaty non cute gym clothes.
That didn't quite work, but oh well. I tried. A for effort? And, I don't think I know a Christopher A from real life? Sorry if I do and I'm having a brain fart.

Weird Class & Oh Daddy

Two stories, one post.

Last night at crap financial accounting:

There's a guy that sits next to me in class whose name is Jake. I really don't know him well at all. I mean, I throw in the random comment, but it's just so hard to carry on a conversation because he smokes and the smell bothers me a lot. Petty, I know. He didn't buy a book at the beginning of the semester so he just looks off of mine. Anyway, I decided to forego my usual chicken potato burrito (sans lettuce) from Taco Bueno and just have a boatload of caffeine in the form of a 20 oz. Dr. Pepper. 20 minutes later and 80% less DP, I'm furiously taking notes and trying to understand the double-declining depreciation method. Jake leans over and apparently says, "Can I have a sip?" I say apparently becuase I really wasn't paying attention to what I thought was probably just another smart ass remark that is so inclined to mumble. "Uh-huh" And so he took a sip. Do you do this to people generally? Because it seemed REALLY out there. I then offer for him to just have the rest because I figured I was all done. OK, I was really thinking that the bottle was going to smell Jake-y and he said "No, I don't really like DP, it's too sweet." WHA? Did he just ask to see if I WOULD let him have a sip or someting? It makes zero sense to me. I managed to choke down the rest of the pop (excuse me, Houstonians--SODA) and will remember to NOT have one in the for the rest of the class.

Eviction:

So there's a guy named Dre that lives two doors down from me. He has an eviction letter on his door. Which is sad because he seemed like a really nice guy. Before M moved out next door, we would go to the apartment gym and workout together. One time we were coming back, and Dre was apparently being "really nice" with a female in his apartment living room. There were a couple of "Oh daddy"ies yelled out. M and I listened for a good 30 seconds and then she actually went up and KNOCKED ON THE DOOR! Then we ran away. I told her not to do it. No real connection here except I guess the stud will be leaving the neighborhood. And I can't really look at him and NOT think of the voice of the woman. heh

Dentist & the family

I went to get my 6 month teeth scraping today. I go to the dentist that is in my hometown even though it's like a 12 mile drive. I just like the guy so much. He's very gentle. But there's a few things that annoying me a LOT about the place. Starting with the hygenist wanting to chitty chat with me DURING the scraping part. Everytime I go in there, she immediately says, "How's that mini pin doing?" Ugh, if you're going to use the shortened version of the breed of my dog, the generally accepted term is MIN pin NOT MINI pin. Before the dog, it was "so, when you graduating from college?" Now, I know that she sees all of my family there (parents & two brothers) but I KNOW that there's no way she can remember intricate details like my dog's name from only seeing me twice a year. Or the fact that I taught in Houston for year and didn't see her during that time (and umm...didn't have my teeth cleaned for a year, either. hee hee) So this means she probably writes down this information on my chart. It's how she knows I want bubble gum flavoured polishing sandpaper stuff instead of the mint ick. And there's never enough time to snoop through my chart when my X-rays are being taken. But it makes me wonder what kind of subjective stuff could be on there. "likes to close her eyes throughout the whole procedure" or "always manages to kick the tray of equipment as she get up." Just please clean my teeth and don't make me laugh while that pokey thing is between my tooth and gum!

But then the really uncomfortable part comes. The dentist comes in and the first thing he says to me is either
"How is your dad?" (great, but you realize I'm not my dad, right? and that I don't live with him, right? It says it in my chart)
"I can't believe how much you look like your family?" (yeah, that's what generally happens when people combine genes, ya know; I would be worried if I looked nothing like any of the four of them),

or the ultimate in humiliation, "So you're STILL not going back to teaching?" As if to say, "I knew since I was in the womb I wanted to stick my hands in people's mouths, and YOU couldn't figure out that teaching wasn't for you before you wasted your dad's/the state's money?" ok ok, I made a big mistake by majoring in education and yes, I sort of kind of knew it when I was IN college. But not until 3 ½ years into it! OK FINE MR. DENTIST! But wow, you are great with your cavity filling skillz and you have such a soothing voice. I can't not go to him. Especially after the time I cheated on my densit and got something filled that I'm pretty sure was done just to get insurance money. Or at least I think that's what the hygenist said.

Trampoline woes

A sad day in the house of the parental units. My dad writes:
"somebody stole the trampoline. well, the black fiber thing that you jump on and all the springs.josh is very sad. daddy is very mad. not to mention, disenchanted.
dad"

In our backyard that has a 6 foot privacy fence, no less! I have some really good memories on that thing, including once when I was with my boyfriend in high school and it broke. Just flat out ripped down the whole center. It also means that someone was probably back there for a good 15 minutes or so because trampolines aren't the quickest thing to take apart.

So, I went to see Guess Who tonight. It did not resemble the original Guess Who's Coming to Dinner, though. It was more like Meet the Parents. I really liked it, though.

The Sunday Penis Parade (2/4)

Welcome to the 2nd installment of "The Sunday Penis Parade"--helping you glide through the boring day of the week.

Clown guy then makes this thing:

You can hold the base and then play it like a banjo. He could even play a song on it. Nifty--but looking like a penis to me. Especially the end of it.

Hot & steamy (& Replies)

At Fri Apr 01, 07:10:16 PM CST, ET said...
Maybe you should TAKE him some cookies...he might stop being a prick and you could eventually get married or something. Oh, and throwing trash off the balcony violates the Landlord-Tenant Act re santitary conditions. We had a neighbor who threw her leftover food and garbage (of an edible -- and I use the term loosely -- variety) off her balcony into the courtyard daily. Have I mentioned the joys of home ownership?


Sorry, ET, the fact that someone would actually throw trash over the balcony is SO unattractive to me that I couldn't end up married to him. And it reminds me of the stories I heard in the err..some other centrury where they'd throw bedpan stuff into the streets from balconies. And the joy of home ownership includes much stuff I'm not ready for, once again! Just rememer I'm a tad bit younger than you AND single. :)

At Fri Apr 01, 11:05:39 PM CST, BKDotCom said...
yup, squabbles between home neighbors always end with cookies.

When I lived with my parents, a squabble of another neighbor actually ended with the neighbor in the receiving end of the squabble (and the one we liked) earning a tract of land about 5 feet wide. And if you watch Desperate Housewives they'll have you believe that squabbles should end with sex or death.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I own this. (Does that look too light to be tea or is it just me? eww!) I use this as my P.W.J., or personal water jug. Meaning, no one else drinks out of it because it is Rachel contaminated. On the 29th, I washed my hands in very hot water to get off raw hamburger meat germs, lightly dried my hands, and went immediately to the PWJ for a drink. My hands and/or the jug steamed like you see dry ice doing. I just never thought about doing it like that. I could totally use that to scare the young cousins when they come to visit from Dallas again.

Jerky neighbor

I officially met my upstairs neighbor last night. He told me to turn my stereo down in a very rude and threatening voice. Keep in mind that this was the first time I've ever seen this man's face. Sure, I will! But only if you'll stop throwing Corona bottles, cigars, cigarette butts, and what looks to be barf off your 3rd floor balcony. While you're at it, how about not having sex in your living room so loudly that I get embarrased when a guy I barely know (or one I know fairly well) is over here. Or my teenage brothers. I have a hard time explaining that one. How about not running from the bedroom to the kitchen? Your mac & cheese won't burn that fast, I promise. How about not bouncing a basketball in the kitchen while you're in there checking your mac & cheese? And lastly, stop flicking your cigarette/cigar/pot/whatever sparks down the little holes on the balcony floor that make my dog yelp. Asshole. The concerning part, though, is that when he asked me, the stereo was on 10, which is generally the lowest I ever put it. That means that he's probably wanted to complain for a while now and just hasn't. And he didn't even say "my name is Bob" it was just "neighbor from upstairs". Doesn't he realize that showering someone with kindness is generally a good way to be on someone's good side and a first step in getting what you want from a person when there's a conflict involved? Because if he HAD at least told me his name, I would feel much less compelled to say mean things about the tub o' lard on my blog. :)

For the record, I generally pride myself in being a good neighbor. I try to be quiet, don't leave my trash on the balcony or outside the door, just general things. And I would have gladly been very apologetic and offered him some of my fresh baked cookies if he would have just told me his name and asked in a nice voice. But when you come at me with your guns cocked, it's a different story.