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Friday, November 07, 2008

Bad Dream or Comedy Sketch?

I've been quiet these past few days since the election because whatever I say would come across as lame, like, "we won, yay!" Lame. I feel very proud of someone I know who voted for Obama, who I was uncertain of how she would vote throughout the season. I also feel a great sense of disappointment with someone else who voted for McPain because of ONE ISSUE. ONE FREAKIN' ISSUE (it's all about the fetus). He risked the possibility of having a geographically-challenged megalomaniac prima donna in the white house just because abortion makes the baby Jesus cry. I thought he would go for Obama in the past few weeks...he looked like he'd be doing the right thing...he couldn't STAND Palin, he really couldn't. But I think I know why he ended up voting for McCain. He, this person I know, has this invincibility about himself--he is old and falling apart--and doesn't see himself as frail or disabled. He shouldn't be driving, but he does. He should use a walker, but he won't. So naturally, since he sees himself as more able and strong and healthy than he is, naturally he'd view McCain, someone who is a few years his junior, the same way. Nevermind the deadly skin cancer history. To him, there was no risk of Palin becoming THE WORST PRESIDENT EVER because it would never happen. McCain would see out a full four years in office, and then Palin, who would've been THE WORST VICE PRESIDENT EVER AFTER DICK CHENEY, would retire safely back to Alaska where she could enjoy a whole new brood of non-aborted grandchildren.

Okay, It could've been worse. He could've not voted for Obama for racist reasons, and I'm pretty sure that is not why he didn't vote for him. I know this person very well, and he's pretty much driven by one issue since 1972. It's the whole Asperger kind of thing where you're stuck and fixated. There's no hope for the guy, so I never should've had any to begin with because I just end up getting very disappointed with the outcome.

But Holy Superlatives, Batman, the things we are finding out now about Palin...unbelievable. Words do not express...I thought she was running for VICE PRESIDENT, not SKANK RESIDENT. And the Africa thing...I am speechless! How can ANYONE not know Africa is a continent consisting of many countries? Did she confuse Africa with Australia? That's not even "stuff you should've learned in school" that's just "stuff you should just plain know, stupid." I mean, what was she thinking when she would hear about Obama's father coming from Kenya? What did she think Kenya was, a city? A region? Even if the word "Kenya" elicited a "huh? what's that?" response from her, wouldn't she even TRY THE GOOGLE? No, because as many have pointed out before all this, she has no interest in the world around her. And maybe that's ok if you want to be a small town hockey mom. But it's not ok if you have high ambitions. It shouldn't even be ok if you want to be Mayor, let alone Governor. Not even Saturday Night Live could've thought this stuff up.

What I hated hearing throughout this campaign were statements like "we don't want someone with lots of education (like Obama), we want someone we can relate to, like us." Huh? I certainly don't want someone like "us" in that office--and I even have a lot of education, but not in the political area. I'm fine for what I do, but I'd be ill-fitted for any political office, and so would the people who "want someone just like myself in office." People just like you is exactly the WRONG kind of people to have in office. You want the best and the brightest in a position like that....especially after the last 8 years.

As of today, Obama has 364 electoral votes and McCain has 163 (Missouri is still uncalled). All I can say is thank goodness it wasn't a close one.

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Wednesday, February 27, 2008

If it ain't fixed, don't break it.

Well, I got my ibook back today. Seemed fine in the store. What they were supposed to fixed got fixed. Of course weirdness never shows up right away. Now there's another user account, "apple". I can't seem to delete it because it's an admin account. Also, somehow my HP printer driver disappeared, and my Alien Skin filters wouldn't work. I'll have to look into reinstalling the printer stuff tomorrow. I Installed the Alien Skins and they seem fine now, but in the process I realized I had no record of my Human Software plugins serial numbers (that has nothing to do with the apple repair problem, that was just my own negligence). Then I couldn't find the disks they came on. This sent me into a panic, which explains why I am up at 11:30 at night.

Oh yeah, and Stan is sick, which means guess who's next in line?

I really wish I had a secretary and a maid. Hell, I wish I had STAFF. Put a geek on the payroll as well.

My static speakers was not a speaker problem, but a mic problem. And it wasn't even a hardware issue, it was software weirdness, some firmware causing a feedback loop. Well, I'll be. A big old WTF. Didn't see that coming.

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Tuesday, January 29, 2008

You Can't Be Too Old to be Pissed Of by the Rock and Roll Illiterate

I know there are bigger things to be pissed off by in this world, and believe me, I am. But I've been a big music fan all my life, and when someone misattributes an almost incredibly obvious lyric, it just totally chaps my hide until it is in severe pain.

Look, I don't care if you're not a music fan, or don't care about lyrics, but to PRETEND you know something when it is so obvbiously WRONG, why quote it at all?

On a message board today, someone wrote this:

"Meet the new boss
Same as the old boss"
The Byrds


The Byrds? The Freakin' BYRDS? Everyone knows it was The Who (specifically, Pete Townsend's words).

Who is this person? I mean, I don't expect people like my parents to know any better, but they wouldn't go around misquoting and misattributing lyrics in a genre they didn't know anything about either.

I mean this is one of the most famous lyrics in rock, I just find it hard to believe that anyone who would CARE to quote it, would also MISATTRIBUTE the band.

Yeah, it takes all kinds.

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Wednesday, January 16, 2008

Crap You Find Online

They actually SELL Mugwort? People are allergic to this's a common allergan that shows up on those allergy tests that they poke your arm for!

Who'd they get to harvest this crap anyway? Some cackling DisneyWitch with no known allergies that laughs at people who sneeze when they get next to her sneezebag of spells, no doubt.


Friday, January 04, 2008

OK, was it just Stan and me or what?

As I alluded to in my previous post, Stan and I stayed up (staying up is 'til 10:30 pm since Stan has to get up to go to work at 4:45 am) to watch the Iowa Caucus coverage on MSNBC.

What is up with Chuck Norris's head? I mean the thing was HUGE! Absolutely GIGANTIC! It was like this jumbo-sized carved wooden puppet with unnaturally glaring white teeth, looming behind and completely dwarfing/detracting from Huckabee. As we were watching this, we were both in stitches. It was like we were college students on pot, laughing at the tv news. Except we were completely sober. It was such a bizarre sight.

I could tell Keith Olbermann wanted to comment about it last night, but smirked and bit his lip. Let's see if he says something on his show tonight.

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DREAM: Mitt Romney's Irish-American Family Vacation

It's 5 am, I'm half asleep, my nails are long and in the way of my keyboard, but I have to write this silly dream down before I forget it.

First, some background. Stayed up to watch the Iowa caucus speeches on MSNBC...Edwards, Clinton, Obama, Huckabee (along with Chuck Norris's enormous head), not Romney, however, noooo...that comes later. But speaking of Romney, it's my opinion, and maybe mine alone, that he reminds me a little physically of Jack Shephard's father, Christian Shephard, you know, alcoholic father and the corpse in the coffin on doomed flight 815? And you've heard PETA-enraging tales of Romney's Griswoldesque American Family Vacation with the dog in the box on the top of the car? Yes, all these things must have played into the formulation of:


So I'm like in...Ireland or something. WTF. I'm at the country home of some family whose mother has died. She had some young children. She lived next door to her parents who are both still living. Her mother, the kid's grandmother, comes out to talk to people who are with me. We go into the house. The dead mother is displayed in the parlor. They are having a green funeral, probably to be buried in the green hills of Ireland? WroNG! No, this corpse is coming with us, back to Madison, in a van being driven by Mitt Romney! As we're leaving, Mitt or somoene asks, "Doesn't this women have parents who live next door?" but I guess I was the only one who saw them. I didn't say anything, because I figure there's a reason her parents didn't want to be seen by the others.

This whole thing was surreal, like I was halfway participating in the dream, but also halfway watching it on tv. It especially got tv-esque when someone was worrying about the dead woman's toes curling up as she hardens, so someone whips out some booties and demonstrates how to pull a string in the booties which causes the toes to straighten and not curl. Beauty secrets for the dead. WTF.

Anyway, we're driving along highways (probably hwy 151 traveling eastward) in Wisconsin going towards Madison. I think Stan is in the van too, along with me, some orphaned Irish kids, and a corpse wrapped in plastic. We're also hauling a boat behind us. There is no backseat in the van, similar to the way ours is frequently when we've had large paintings to haul. I'm finding it hard not to sit on the corpse due to lack of space and the way Mitt is driving, which is rather erratic. I'm also rather puzzled what we're going to do with the corpse once we get to's not like we can have a green funeral in Madison (which is the problem I have with this whole green funeral movement really need to land (read: money) to do them, and what about the multitudes of urban poor, or just plain urban without a plot of green to their name unless they have ancestral land in the country (read: family money)'s just another politically correct trendy fad that is extremely impractical for those who are disenfranchised. Yet I digress. So I ask Mitt The Driver, "we can't bury the body normally in the ground, can we?" To which he responds that we will have to sneakily bury it vertically down a hole. Flashing back to my corpse in an underground gas tank dream from a few weeks ago. I'm bobbing around in the back of the van trying to avoid sitting on the shifting corpse, and Mitt says to watch out for the cop. There was a policeman behind us, so we all try to act like nothng was abnormal.

We're getting close to home, we're on Johnson St. and First St. where Johnson continues to the right and veers off on the left merging onto...Aberg? (I've lived here over 18 years and I'm still confused by the streets). At this fork in the road, Mitt is not paying attention, he's babbling to the passengers in the van and drives up onto the strip of median. Then the van stops. We get out. I wonder why he doesn't just drive back onto the road, but Stan tells me that the power steering must have gone out, which was why he steered into the median and couldn't steer out of it. I wonder how we'll get out of this one...what will we do with the corpse? How can we hide the corpse from the towing company? Should I walk home and get a blanket to cover it? We walk over to a nearby business which is also a car repair place (which doesn't exist in that area IRL), where Mitt is inside talking to people. Stan's hair is very long and very blond. He makes a weird gesture at a young mechanic who seemed like he was making a weird gesture at me. And then I woke up. I assume Stan and I walked home at this point, leaving the problem to Mitt Romney. After all, it was his idea. Heh.

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Tuesday, November 06, 2007

Weird, Weird Stuff

Friday Stan and I took a drive down to southern Wisconsin to go to a greenhouse and see some scenery. Coming back on a two-lane highway, a rock was flicked from an oncoming pickup onto our (newly replaced this past spring) windshield, making one of the loudest rock hits I've ever heard. We've gotten dings before, but this one was loud. When we got home, we examined the damage. The vertical crack was a little more than an inch long. I felt it, and could feel the crack penetrate the windshield. Stan contacted Auto Glass Specialists (they're the guys in the little red truck...if you've got one in your area) and they said they can repair cracks up to 6 inches long. After Stan came home from work yesterday, he took the car in. I stayed home because I was busy. Shortly thereafter, much more shortly than one could possibly imagine a windshield even being looked at, let alone repaired, Stan returned. Thinking that perhaps they couldn't repair our hopeless ding, or that they were too busy to work on it, Stan said that they looked and looked and neither he nor the repair guy could find a crack. Thinking "typical male incompetence" (sorry, Stan, but you'd do the same), I went outside to examine it.

There was no crack. I could not find a crack.


Cue Twilight Zone music.

There was a crack there. Then there wasn't. WTF.

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Monday, October 01, 2007

Potted Spiced Ham and other Treats

OK, I got comment spam in the entry below this morning, not an offensive spam for p*rn or predatory lending (although the spam did mention the name Ad*m Sm*th which, if one could extrapolate, one could assume he certainly wouldn't be *against* predatory lending, being the father of the free market and all that capitalist libertarian BS...yet I digress--I'm not an economic historian so I don't know what he really would've thought of such a thing.

No, this spam was from some bloody clueless guy promoting his site and authorship, and his soon-to-be famous name. Did it have anything to do with my dog or my pet situation? Or a story about his dog? No. It was just blatant self-promotion and completely off topic. But it was so cluelessly off topic that it was rather amusing. I thought for a short while, I'll just leave it, with my own snarky comment about spam.

But then I realized this guy isn't quite as clueless as I thought. This is the whole point behind comment spam: it doesn't matter if the comment doesn't fit the subject...comment spam isn't supposed to be sneaky...finding people's blogs on a similar subject as your own and then slyly infiltrating them with your URL on relevant on topic discussions so actual interested parties will visit your site. No, comment spam is war...spam as much anywhere and everywhere because sooner or later, search engines will pick up the keywords in your comment and your URL and then you'll get hits...except he didn't really leave a URL. The only link was to his Blogger ID, so you had to go there to find his blog. Not exactly "direct" marketing.

I mean if you're gonna spam, SPAM!!!

So I deleted it. despite the humor involved (yes, admittedly, humor laughing at someone else's cluelessness), I still don't want my blog being used as a podium to promote spamming, or someone's site that has nothing to do with the subjects I discuss here.


This weekend we went to some pet shops to look for a kitty condo, and half-heartedly look at kittens. We bought the kitty condo for Caligula (and future kitten). He liked it, but he is too fat to jump up on the first ledge (we feed that cat the absolute bare minimum prescribed by the vet and we never give must be genetic). So then we had to get a shorter condo so he could jump up on that first. He now loves his condo, and I feel incredibly guilty for not having gotten one sooner. We've had cats for what...22 years? Yes, they are expensive, and yes, we live in a small house with not much room for such things. We have to keep it in the hallway where it hides some of our nice staircase because there is no room elsewhere.

Up until this weekend, I honestly didn't even feel ready to get a kitten. Having seen kittens at the various pet stores (and Stan, Animart's kittens are rescues...I looked it up), I feel I am now ready emotionally. Financially (especially after the kitty condo purchase) is another thing. Timewise is another thing as well, which is why we probably won't do anything until Stan's vacation time when he can help with this.

I don't know if Noah's Ark (pet store in town) kittens are rescues, but they are the best socialized. I assume they are unwanted kittens from litters, as opposed to "bred" kittens. They aren't kept in cages, they are free-range (a good word for everything except human children) so they are well-socialized. Noah's Ark is where we got Persephone 16 years ago.


This morning I was heating up some hot water and the tea kettle made a squeak that sounded like when Persephone was in the back room and would scratch on the door to tell us she wanted out. For a millisecond, that's what I thought it was.

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Monday, August 27, 2007

Odd DREAM with Dick Smothers (sort of...maybe)

Here's a weird dream for you. I might not have had any dream at all or of any significance last night, as has been the case lately, except for these series of events that caused deep sleep and odd dreams.

This is not the dream...this is what happened yesterday. Stan and I went to Pug Play. Not too many people there because it was still so wet/end of summer lethargy/who knows. Lots of weeds growing around the park, too wet to mow, I would guess. Stan picks up a weed to examine its flower structure...such a nerd. Upon plucking evil weed, I see it release a cloud of pollen. Oh, just terrific. I could've strangled him. Shortly thereafter I start experiencing extreme throat itching and then, sneezing. I'm pretty miserable, and I'm not armed with any equipment like facial tissue, after all, I was FINE in the morning. Usually if I have allergies during the day, I pretty much wake up with them at home, not acquire them because some nerdboy picks up a wafting weed in my presence. After we left and I went back home, I downed a Claritin. Claritin does help clear up my allergies quite well, unfortunately, it also leaves a host of side effects...tiredness, jitteriness, dizziness, weakness, depression, spacyness, sleepiness, insomnia. Yes, I know sleepiness and insomnia seem mutually exclusive, but it's true. Just read this consumer review on Claritin-D. I've experienced all those symptoms when taking Clairitin except for severe diarrhea, which, I honestly don't know how someone could have that happen since Claritin dries you out like an Arizona sponge. Claritin is pretty much a last resort measure. If my sneezing is so bad that I can't do anything because I'm constantly holding tissue to nose, then I'll take a Claritin, because if I won't be productive anyway, I might as well not be productive and not sneezing as well. If I'm still able to function with the allergies, I do not take Claritin. It's just not worth it except under extreme symptoms. So, I'm pretty much a vedge...physical and mental...for the rest of the day, unable to go for a bike ride (next time, Stan, don't waft the weed, ok?). I'm pretty much unable to work on much for fear that I'll make some dumb mistake due to my absent mental acuity. Because the inability to sleep from taking Claritin, I fortunately have an old and running out prescription for Lorazepam (before the health care provider switch...hope they'll renew that) which was prescribed for taking with Claritin for exactly that reason. Lorazepam is allows me to sleep. Hard. It even allows me to get back to sleep if I wake up, which I seldom can under normal conditions.

So here's the dream, caused by the somnorific effects of the Lorazepam:

Somehow I was caught up with a bunch of Stan's relatives...cousins and the like, but also with people I used to work with. IRL, I really DID work with someone, back in the old Fort Collins Stinko's days, who married a 2nd cousin (or something like that...) of Stan's. Let's see, Stan and his cousin shared the same...grandparent? Except for her they were great grandparents ('cause her mother would actually be the cousin of Stan? Would that make them second cousins once removed or what? I have no idea, since I have no relatives at all, I never learned that secret code. So she marries this guy I work with and I marry Stan...That's too small town...that's too odd, too close for comfort. It's not that we were all close or anything, we weren't...we were just acquainted. But Fort Collins is like that...everyone knows everyone. That's when I knew it was time to leave. Yet I digress.

I don't really know the plot of this dream, but it was a lighthearted, fun dream. I'm with the husband of Stan's 2nd cousin (as mentioned above), and I'm with a supervisor I had at Depression's...two different co-workers, from two different times in two different states. We're in a car, and another one of Stan's cousins is driving (the cousin who we frequently visit when we go out west). It sort of looks like him, but it also looks like Dick Smothers. Yes, Dick Smothers, I kid you not. When you think about it, though, he has a younger brother who would be Tom Smothers, the dorkier one, and this cousin of Stan's would definitely be Dick, the straight man. The Smothers Brothers? WTF? So we're driving around in a car and the supervisor from Depressions and I are joking and in a jovial way I am putting her in her place for suspecting I was a bad worker or bad seed or something. I don't know if this was in fact true for this person, but it was in the dream. She also looked nothing like she did IRL. In the dream she looked like the wife of of a mob boss. This dream seemed to last a long time, and when I woke up, I was listening to the radio and they announced the name of the guest they had been talking to. Now here's the weird part. The name of the guest was the SAME NAME of the father of Stan's cousin who married the guy I worked with at Stinko's. Sure, it's a common name (like Mike Jones...not Mike Jones, but similarly common), but still. WEIRD. I also know that this could not have influenced my dream because the show hadn't been going on as long as my dream had. My dream had started much sooner than that show.

"A lot o' people don't realize what's really going on. They view life as a bunch o' unconnected incidents 'n things. They don't realize that there's this, like, lattice o' coincidence that lays on top o' everything. Give you an example; show you what I mean: suppose you're thinkin' about a plate o' shrimp. Suddenly someone'll say, like, plate, or shrimp, or plate o' shrimp out of the blue, no explanation. No point in lookin' for one, either. It's all part of a cosmic unconciousness." -Miller in Repo Man

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Tuesday, August 14, 2007

DREAM: Hurricane House, Kittensnails and Stallone Vocal Appearance

I was in a house that seemed to have been in a natural disaster like a tornado or hurricane. I didn't recognize this place as anywhere I've lived. I was talking on the phone to some woman, and then someone else comes on the line, and it's Sylvester Stallone. WTF. He says how he likes listening to her program, and then I realize I'm talking on some talk show.

Sylvester Stallone? WTF?!?!?!?!??! Yuck! Dreamwriters and directors, get someone decent in here, will you? What, you say I don't have the budget for Eastwood or DeNiro? Oh yeah, blame it on the producer.

The dream continues...I go outside and there are these large snails/small mollusks that are hopping around in pools outside. I never knew mollusks could hop (they can't). Some of them look like kittens...10 week old brownish-ginger-colored kittens. They're really cute, so I pick one up and go back in the house to show people. It's very hard to handle and seems much more feral than any kitten I've held. It's pawing and biting and trying to get away. I'm trying to keep it away from the other cats in the house. I'm talking to someone--I don't know who it is--but I'm trying to convince them that I don't want to KEEP the kittensnail, I just want to show it to them because it's so unusual that a snail looks like a kitten.

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Wednesday, August 01, 2007


Typical University of Wisconsin cancellation of schedules, Typical United States Health Care, Typical Bullshit.

Stan and I had to switch healthcare providers at the beginning of the year because his job changed it for union employees. I had to schedule two yearly exams, one for eyes, one for...the other thing. On the day of my eye appointment, they called in the morning to reschedule because the doctor had a meeting to go to. Today, they called to reschedule my...other...appointment, which was more than a month away. While they were on the phone, I told them that I thought they only had to do the pap smear every three years or so if you're over 40 and had a negative result history. After all, I had just recently received something in the mail from them that stated that. Unfortunately, I threw the info away. They STRONGLY denied that and said I had to have one every year. My previous healthcare provider had switched to doing it every 3 years, but no, not UW healthcare.

Here is proof, however, direct from the horse's mouth, posted on UW Health's own site:

AGE 40 - 65
• Women should have a yearly pelvic exam and Pap smear done to check for cervical cancer and other disorders. If your Pap smears are negative for 3 years in a row, have your Pap smear done every 2 - 3 years.

Well, mine's been negative for freakin-ever.

Typical administration not telling the doctors or nurses or receptionists or whoever is in charge of telling ME what their correct procedures are.

I'm printing out that sheet and bringing it in with me whenever I see them. I'll probably have to cancel and reschedule a few times before then, and by then, it will be three years anyway. Typical bullshit.

I hate the UW. My and Stan's experiences there as grad students don't bode well for my future experiences there with their health care system.

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Tuesday, July 31, 2007

I Learned a New Fashion Accessory Today

There's this building not too far from where I live that has gone through different ownership recently. I think it used to be a shoe repair shop, then maybe it sold guitars, and then it was vacant...I can't really remember. Or maybe I'm confusing it with something else. Who knows, I didn't really NOTICE it until recently because as of late it's acquired new ownership and a new business and a graffiti-art sign. I think it says "Uptown Grillz" or "Urban Grillz". I don't know which, I really wasn't paying attention. At first I thought it is a new bar...grilled food, even though it seemed really small. Maybe it was takeout food. Then I thought maybe they sell custom grills, you know, for your car. Then I saw something on the news about how some 7-year-old sprog swallowed some rhinestone grillz (almost a Darwin award for this sprog who got his genes from his mommee who bought him such a brilliant gift (at a freakin' FLEA MARKET no less....ewwww...used...yelch)). So I decided to Google "Grillz" and now I know what they sell there.

Holy Crap. Fashion has hit an all time low in beauty and comfort. For someone who had to wear braces for over two years as a teenager and a retainer for even more years after that, why the hell would anyone want to have that crap in their mouth? Metal in your mouth is the most unpleasant feeling. But what the hell is wrong with a culture that on one hand cannot tolerate natural discoloration/yellowing or any slight imperfection that no one would give a second thought to in other Western civilized cultures ("English Teeth" simply do not phase me one way or another...they're just natural teeth), and on the other hand creates this sort of fashion abomination?

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Wednesday, May 23, 2007

An Odd Pair of DREAMs

DREAM 1, before Stan left: I was at the home (looked like a bungalow from California...lots of yellow color on the walls) of some guy who was in a washed-up hair farmer band from the 80s. I have no idea who it was, probably just invented for the dream. Other people were at the house as well, including his (former) bandmates. I think this guy was the vocalist. He had long wavy brown hair, maybe about 5'9" and pretty non-descript. A few of his other bandmates had bleached blond hair. I HATE 80s HAIRFARMER BANDS. Why the hell was I dreaming about this? The odd thing was, is that most hair bands from the 80s are probably around my age now, but this guy seemed younger, like he was in his 30s. Despite the fact he was a lead singer for a hairfarmer band, he seemed like a pretty nice guy without the usual pretensions I would expect out of someone like that. Call me prejudiced. These guys wives were there too, but they were off doing wife things, like chatting in another room away from the rest of us. They seemed like plastic professional offices types, not what I would expect to be married to hairband rockstars (OK, here I go with the prejudice again). We all went into a very large dark room with a large screen on the wall. We sat around in a circle while images were projected on the screen. The images were rather artfully done, digitally produced with lots of blacks, greys, whites and maroon-toned colors. It's hard to explain, but one person discussed something from one of the images, and then chose another person in the room to continue along the same lines. This game went back and forth between the people in the room, but I didn't understand the concept of this game, so I was hoping I never got a turn at this.

DREAM 2, after Stan left: I dreamt I went up to Canada with Stan. We were standing around in a very dark public area, like a bar at a restaurant. One of Stan's current coworkers, a young guy who is also an artist, was there, except it didn't look like him. The guy in the dream was shorter, wore glasses, had a weird crew cut with dark hair and grey hair that was balding on the top, and just generally looked goofy. A waitress/hostess/bartender started talking to us about marijuana and said that it's legal here in Canada. I thought it would be fun to get some and take it back to our hotel. I can't remember if we actually acquired some or not. Then I started thinking, "that can't be can't be legal for recreational use." And then I started thinking that if we got caught with it, I'd tell them I have some sort of medical condition. Then I was freaking out about thinking what would happen to an American getting caught with drugs in a foreign country. I can't remember what else happened, other than I started feeling really strange, but I think it was just that feeling you sometimes get when you're trying to wake up.

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Monday, May 21, 2007

Anger Managemental Illness

Sometimes the urge to say "Re-check your records, you senile old bat" is overwhelming.

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Wednesday, April 25, 2007

Canadian Denied Entry to the absurd reason why

I first heard of this incident on "As it Happens" on the radio this morning, so I fished it out on the web.

Simply unbelievable.

LSD is not a narcotic.

The man took these drugs 30 plus years ago (which would exempt George Bush from entering the US, no?)

While the border guards are wasting their time on this professor, who knows what really could be passing under their noses? Maybe nothing, but how would they know taking up their time with him?

I want to go to Canada again some day, but who knows if I'll be able to return if the US border guards google my name and happen to find something they don't like.

It just makes me want to scream.

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Sunday, April 08, 2007

Route 66, Day 7 DREAM: What were we doing there, looking for Sawyer?

This has to be one of the most WTF?!?!? dreams I've had in maybe forever. I was in a small western town somewhere and went into a small bar/music hall with Stan (as if). Hurley, yes, big Hugo from LOST was there and it was like we knew eachother. But that is not the WTF part of it. See, I *watch* LOST so characters from the show might pop up in a dream or two. The thing is, the only other dream I had with a character on LOST was with HURLEY! Why? I have no clue. Personally, I'd like to have a dream with Desmond because then it would probably be very weird with seeing into the future and weird dejavus and things. Plus, he's from the British Isles. Yet I digress.

So we're sitting there and this typical western southern-styled band is playing, something like you'd hear in one of the Olde Towne saloons in Fort Collins back in the 80s, something that kept Stan and I away from places like that in droves (well, I don't think two people count as a drove, but you get the picture). This guy comes on stage and someone announces something about Dicky Betts and that he had played with the Allman Brothers.

OK, first of all, I know practically nothing about the Allman Brothers, I don't listen to them, I don't hate them, but they're not my kind of music. But Dicky Betts? How did I even KNOW in waking life that Dicky Betts was in the Allman Brothers let alone while dreaming?

So back to the dream, Hurley is sitting in front of us, and I lean over and tap him on the shoulder and say, "Is that Dicky Betts?" Hurley says yes, and we both concur, "what is he doing here, isn't he more well known to be playing some hole in the wall somewhere?"

So then I "wake up" from the dream, but not really, I only wake up in so far as that I wake into another dream, but I think I'm awake, and I'm going online to verify who on earth Dicky Betts is, and if indeed he played for the Allman Brothers. I find pictures online, and yup, sure enough, that's the guy who was in the other dream.

(I also had a dream later that night about my mom being mad at me about something or other.)

Then when I actually truly do wake up from my dream, (I really am awake at this point), I do go online to check out who this Dicky Betts fellow is (thank goodness my hotel has wireless or I'd be puzzling about this for days), and sure enough, that was the guy in my dream, and yes, he did play with the Allman Brothers.

W. T. F.

The only thing I can think of was that I was "lost" in the dream and really it should've been Sawyer in my place because it was like the kind of music he would listen to.

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Friday, April 06, 2007

Route 66 Day 5 Weird DREAMs

Weird Dreams from Last Night

Dream 1: Stan and I were talking to Bill and he had to leave. he was in a small import car that might have been electric. As he left us, we saw him exiting an on-ramp to an interstate. The car was not running, so he took it out of gear and let it coast down the incline to the interstate. Somehow this was supposed to charge it to make the motor start, but it didn't work in his case because he only coasted to a stop. I saw his car, stationary at the bottom of the onramp. It looked like a police car came to help him out, but I also walked down to ask him if he was ok and if I could help.

Dream 2: This is really odd one. Stan and I needed to move a dresser or some large piece of furniture that was in my parent's basement. We couldn't do it by ourselves, and we needed someone else to help us. For some reason, in our twisted dream minds, the only person that we knew of who could help us was someone I knew only very briefly from Graduate School, D*v*d K*e*s. He was really reluctant to help us, but he did so anyway, and said something like, "It's always good to help out the homeless". Then I felt bad because he must've thought the looks of my parents basement was so meager that it made us look like homeless people squatting there.

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Tuesday, March 13, 2007

The New Word for The Day is: UNBELIEVABULLSHIT

Every person I am dealing with today is a damn moron.

1) The "Well, they're new, so it's forgivable, but still how can you be so Stupid?" Moron:

I check my ebay feedback and find positive feedback from a name I don't recognize having dealt with. Why? Because they just WON THE ITEM A FEW MINUTES AGO! You're supposed to leave feedback AFTER you receive the item! OK, now I realize that sometimes people accidentally leave feedback for something they haven't received yet. This is an honest mistake. But that's not the case in this instance. How do I know that? Because their feedback says:

"cant wait to get them"


Oooh, but here's the best one yet:

3) The "Most Pathetic Scammer in the History of eBay" Moron:

I get a customer who purchased some widgets recently. I sent her an invoice yesterday. She emailed me this along with the invoice I sent her:

Please send me back a note to let me know that you got this email from me. I'll send you a money order shortly and please wrap them in lots of bubble wrap and mail them insured to:
(her address)

I wrote back to her and told her some additional info (who to make out the MO to, etc.) and:

"If you want to have them insured, please remember to ADD THE OPTIONAL INSURANCE OF $1.35 ON TO THE TOTAL, otherwise I can't insure them."

She emailed me back to tell me she had changed the total to include insurance, including a new quoted invoice along with my previous email. I couldn't believe my eyes...she had CHANGED my email to read "ADD THE OPTIONAL INSURANCE OF $1.30 ON TO THE TOTAL"! She had changed $1.35 in my email to read $1.30! Also, on the invoice that she was including, she had added $1.30 right next to the little space on the invoice where it says "Shipping insurance (Optional US $1.35):".

A Nickel? She's trying to cheat me out of a Nickel!?! I've had customers not include the correct amount of postage before (and I just wait for them to send the rest of it before I relinquish their widgets), but to GO BACK INTO MY EMAIL and CHANGE what I had written, and then try and sneak it past me as if that is what I had actually told her the insurance was so she has some kind of "proof" or something? Unbelievabullshit!

I know I am being more than kind in what I wrote back:

"I just noticed that you changed the $1.35 to $1.30. I just checked my sent email to see if it was a typo on my part, but I did INDEED write $1.35 for the insurance, anyway that is also what it says on the invoice (as an optional additional charge for the insurance.)

Just want to make sure you know that it is $1.35, not $1.30."

After that exchange, I have not heard from her. I hope she is embarrassed that she got caught trying to cheat on her insurance.

I guess no one can accuse me of having bitchy customer service. Maybe I shouldn't have been so nice, I don't know. Maybe I really should've called her on it. I just really want to deal with some competent (and honest) people for a change.

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Friday, February 09, 2007

The Weird File

Customer writes (typos unedited): ..."Could you please tell me whay the INTERIOR diameter of the widget is, ie 6mm 0r 5mm or?
Thank y9ou,

OK, I admit I read it quickly because I was a bit frazzled (you'll read why later) and then got really confused. Why is she asking me why the interior is a certain size? How does she know the interior widget size since I don't mention it in the listing? I really didn't know what she was asking, so I responded that I didn't understand her question and asked her if she was wondering what the size was. Upon reflection, I realize she wasn't asking WHY the interior was a certain size, but WHAT the diameter is (WHAY?). Damnit people, can't you fix your damn typos that obscure the meaning of your questions? There's this new line of thought that says "if people understand it, it doesn't matter if it's spelled right." Yeah, but if it's not spelled right, how do you know if people are going to understand it? Damn.

But here's the really annoying thing that I got in the mail: A notice of an unpaid parking ticket. In Beloit. Yes, Beloit. Seems that someone with our license plate was parked on the 1700 block of Summit Avenue in Beloit on January 18, 2007 at 1:57 AM. WE WERE IN BED. ASLEEP. AT HOME. IN MADISON. 50 some miles away from Beloit. Hell, we haven't even BEEN through Beloit since sometime in 2003 or early 2004, and then it was just a drive around town to see if they had any decent greenhouses, which they didn't. I don't think we EVER parked in Beloit in our life. Seems like we're being assessed a penalty because the first ticket wasn't paid. Well, it wasn't paid, because we didn't GET a ticket, and we didn't GET a ticket because we weren't parked on 1700 Summit in Beloit in the middle of the fucking night!

So I called the number on the letter. I told the woman I spoke to my story (sans emotion and cusswords). She fiddled through some papers and told me she would get back with me and mentioned something about having problems with that ticket. WTF?!? Trouble with that ticket? Yea, there's trouble with that ticket allright, like it's NOT OURS!?

Ya think that just maybe because it was in the middle of the night that the ticket cop could've *possibly* misread the license plate, mistaken a 2 for a Z or a 6 for an 8? Ya think?

They haven't called back yet. I don't want to wait too long since it's a Friday afternoon, and on Friday afternoons employees like that scatter like roaches in a floodlight.

I just called again. I got a pre-recorded message. Aaaarrgh.

Edited to add:

Premise for creepy movie:

Someone gets a parking ticket for their car being parked overnight in some city where they didn't live, plus, it was at night when they were at home asleep, and so was their car. But they decide to do a little research to find out just what they were doing that day or the following day, so they go to their diary and find out they had recorded a dream from that night, and in that dream, they had a dream where they were driving and walking around a strange city. Then they have to go fight the ticket in the city where they got it (I hope this doesn't happen to us...what a waste of resources and time!), and when they get there, they realize they have been there before, even though they haven't! Then they realize, they've been there in their dream. Don't know what happens's just a premise.

Edited to add:

Yay! She called back and said I could disregard it and that they were going to void the ticket because they had initially entered it for a Mercury (which we don't have) but that didn't give the correct license or match anything, so then they re-entered the information and then it...oh hell, I don't know what it was exactly she said, mumbojumbo, but something like that. Anyway, she said if we receive it again, then they'll have to look into it deeper. WTF. I hope it's settled.


Tuesday, January 16, 2007

Black Velvet Karl Rove

On Ebay.

It's painted by the artist Ramirez. (inside Ann and Stan joke). Heh.


Thursday, January 04, 2007

Oh Freakin' Hell. Again.

Just great. No, not a normal morning after last night at all. Seemed to start out normal and all as I was laying in bed this morning trying to wake up, except for the distant sound of a very large truck. Hmmm...what sorts of large trucks come into our neighborhood? Why, moving vans, of course. Could it be the neighbors moving? Yes, their day is here today. OK, no big whoop. See, that house has a weird curse on it that all the inhabitants stay for no more than about 3 years...usually around 2...and it's not a rental...these are ALL homeowners. The owners of the houses on either side have been here forever...we've been here going on 17, and Lyle and Anne have been here...god, 25 or something massively stable like that.

I remember the only time Stan and I hired a moving van company was when we moved cross-country. Other times it was just moving things by car or rent-a-truck because it was in-town. Our moving van, Northern, I believe, was operated by a husband and wife team, which in a very strange way I romanticize...working with your spouse and driving cross country...what could be more romantic. Oh yeah, there's the heavy lifting...yeah, maybe not that romantic.

No efficient husband and wife team today, unfortunately. Just LOUD PEOPLE. I'm not sure how many young males are on this crew, but it's as noisy as a city high school bus stop, one of which happens to be right in front of our other next door neighbor's house. But this is much worse because it is RIGHT NEXT TO US. (Only a few feet separates our house from these neighbor's) Yes, it is that loud and obnoxious. Just move the damn furniture. Yeah, that testosterone-fuelled cackle is really necessary. What could be so fucking funny about our neighbor's possessions. These guys are all on crack. Note to self...don't hire American van lines out of Madison if you don't want cackling crackpots moving your stuff.

The upside is that the house is only 1200 square feet, they moved in 2.5 years ago, and it's just two adults and a baby. That means they can't have that much stuff to move, so hopefully this will not last too long.

Or you can just shoot me now. Again.


Wednesday, January 03, 2007

WTF--Must be the Full Moon

Go to the post office. Stan can't find his wallet, and it turns out it's in my bag of pakages I need to mail. I wave it at him through the window in the building, so he comes in, but not soon enough because he gets separated in line from me by two VERY EXTREMELY TALL WOMEN who weren't even there together but just happened to separate us, making it extremely hard to carry on a conversation with him while we're standing in line. It was just odd, but not as weird as what was to come.

Decided to try the horrible Willy Street Co-Op--yes, attention Trust Fund Eastsiders, I hate your fucking store! It sucks, its clientelle suck, they are rude, and the only thing nice about it was the fact there was a small Seafood Center (Seafood Cove) branch there that I just found out about, which was a reason to check it out (I was searching some major sushi porn on the web last night trying to find out where to get fresh seafood in Madison, so I came upon it that way). The employee working at the The Cove was friendly and helpful, which was probably the only thing stopping me from running out of there screaming like a madwoman.

First of all, it's a very small parking lot, so we were waiting down a narrow parking alley on the side of the store for someone to pull out when this little teen/20s bitch pulls up alongside our van and pulls ahead in front of us! Now, it'd be one thing if she could exit out the other side, but NO, there is no exit, so what she did was essentially cut in front of us to get to a vacating spot faster. As we pulled into our spot (finally) she was walking toward the store past our van so we pulled our windows down. I gave her a good long stare and Stan asked her "Hey, what were you trying to do pulling ahead of us like that? We were waiting in line for a spot just like you!" She sort of shrugged her shoulders and continued walking like nothing was apology, nothing. Bitch. I wanted to egg her car.

So we found the Seafood Cove and were waiting for the people before us to finish. I feel a very strange thing on the top of my head, like someone touched me, or perhaps wafts of drafty air. I turn around and there's this woman so close that she's breathing down the top of my head! Since she was so close, and since I didn't realize someone was behind me, as I'm turning around I manage to slightly bump her with my arms, and she still continues to breathe down my hair. Mind you, this was not some deranged greasy-haired moomoo-wearing smelly baglady with no concept of personal space, although I wished I was because that would assure I wouldn't have some snooty bleached blond middle-aged pushy yuppie breathing on me. No, from all appearances, this was someone who seemed like she should have a good understanding of personal space requirements, but I guess she was absent that day at school when that subject was covered. It's not like there were equally pushy hair-breathers behind *her* forcing her into me or anything. WTF. But then, and I swear, it's something in the food at Willy's that make people think they're the only humans on earth and every one else is just a holographic projection...these little kids start running up by the seafood glass case right in front of me (and I'm standing RIGHT UP AGAINST the glass case). I mean they are crashing into me, making my purse swing and hit them, and there were NO PARENTS, I repeat NO PARENTS around. Not too soon they flew off in another direction (not without first knocking into me again several times) to a different part of the store where they were probably going to partake in more of the hallucinogens that makes them think they are the only people on earth and everyone else is a holographic projection.

And what about the very pregnant woman whose stomach was totally oozing out of her pants up nort here in the beginning of January?!? WTF? Yes, I know it's warm for January (if you call 45 degrees warm, which I do because it is Wisconsin) but STILL!!!! It's freakin' WINTER! It's like wearing white after Labour Day, but worse because it involves bare flesh. Now I could see if it was summer, ok, I can take a little naked mommy belly bulge. Or if she was a 400 lb trailer mama, yeah, I could understand it's sort of hard to find maternity clothes or afford them. But no, she was like a 110 lbs. soaking wet *AND* pregnant urban hipster trust fund breeder with goofy student deadhead granola 100% all-bran clothes, and I guess she was just so enamored with her whole wheat designer pants that she couldn't dare to part with them during the pregnancy and buy some very untrendy but comfortable maternity pants at Target because she had her granola duds unzipped and her next of kin was bulging out down there. Yuk. I'm not a prude, but some flesh fashions are just gross.

Oh, but wait, the day's not over yet.

We returned home to what I was hoping would be a peaceful evening, until I discovered the calendar my parents sent to us for Xmas was for 2006.

Just. Shoot. Me. Now.


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