So I was a little bored this morning and was playing with my cell phone because I had nothing better to do. I noticed, for the first time, a tiny little image just above the pound sign in the bottom right corner of the phone. It’s a little tiny lock. I think….cool….I can lock my phone. I’d been wondering about this (because I had let my niece play with my phone a few weeks ago and I was looking for a way to keep her from dialing 911…or an ex or something).
So I got so excited, I pressed the button – held it down – and locked up my cell phone. Sweet. It works. Know what else? It requires a pass code to unlock it. Ain’t security great? Wait. What? Pass code? I don’t have a pass code? I dial up every single pass code I’ve every used in my life – from my ATM code, my voicemail code, my social security number, my birth year, everything. Nothing. I find my owner’s manual (which is a miracle I still have) and find that the default code is 0000. Whheeeww. Crisis averted. I punch in the default and I get…..nothing. Still locked. Dammit.
I can fix this, I think. I can go online. I surf up the Verizon.com website and type in [what I think is] my user name and password and get nothing. I try again. Nothing. I’ve got 25 different user names and 10 passwords for 40 online accounts. None of them work. I’m getting ready to lock up my Verizon account. So I click the forget password? Link. It sends it to my email. Great. But wait, no email. Oh yeah, I use my work email. Now I have to go to work and get my damn password to log on to my account so I can try and find out why they let stupid people have cell phones. Dammit.
Okay. Think… What’s that weirdo think next to the computer that allows me to slowly connect to this damn internet….oh yeah….a real phone. An ancient artifact that’s become something like an 8-track in our technologically advanced society. They probably have one at the Smithsonian – right next to the hot-rollers and the Walkman. Fortunately for me, the non-technological mutant, I still have one. I not only have one but depend on it for my connections. For once having something old fashioned has saved me from complete embarrassment (which it would have been for me to drive down to the Verizon store and tell the cute guy behind the counter that I had somehow managed to lock myself out of my phone. So I look for a number. Need help, it asks? Just dial *89 on your cell phone. That helps. Dammit
So after 15 minutes of searching I find a 1800 number. When I call it, I'm given a series of choices…press 1 for billing, 2 for technical service, 3 for blueberries and other fruit and snacks, 4 for blah blah nano blah something pods, 5 for yadayada vcast something music players, blah blah....I press 2. It’s a technical problem. Then I'm connected to another list of choices. I don’t understand any of them. I don’t have any of these problems. Where is the default choice for “all other technical issues a.k.a. stupid people”. I randomly pick a number. I wait another 15 minutes for a kind woman who was gracious enough to tell me that, oh yeah, it’s just the last four numbers of my phone number. Sure. Yeah. Thanks. Dammit.
Moral to the story? #26 on my list ….Catch up with Technology before I lock myself out of society.
Saturday, August 26, 2006
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
Gurrrlll, You Got Some Stinky-ass Feet
I inherited many things from my father, including his work ethic of a mule, sneezes that echo for miles, giant eye balls, a fondness of home brew, and, apparently, his stinky-ass feet. Yesterday I made my annual visit to that doctor that all women must eventually see. Bleh. Its not that I dislike going to my doctor – but nobody likes to get naked, lay on a board for several hours draped in a paper dress and have someone take a bright light and metal poker to their nether regions. But we must all do it – it’s just plain good for ya.
So on this day, I make the mistake of wearing my favorite shoes – a pair of Sketchers that are like a cross between a mountain climber shoe and slipper. They are very comfortable. The only problem with these shoes is that, since I have to wear them without socks, they tend to make my feet smell horrid. And by horrid, I mean knock the wind out of you horrid. This is esp. true when I’ve worn them for a few days in a row without washing the insoles. I didn’t really think about it until I step into that little pre-game room where they take your vitals, blood, etc. The nurse instructs me to take off my shoes so that she can weigh me and I think….Oh Holy God…what have I done? I slowly slip them off and quickly jump on the scale, looking nervously at the lady. As she takes my weight (good news – I lost 5 pounds!!) and height, I start to catch a whiff of the scent. I’m absolutely horrified!! As soon as she is done, I put the bloody things back on and notice she’s rubbing her nose. I’ve nearly killed the nurse with the stench of my dad’s hand me down feet.
I’m completely panicked by the time I get to my actual room because I realize – my feet are going to be propped up RIGHT NEXT TO my doctor’s head. All you ladies out there know what I’m talking about. How ridiculous would it be for me to keep my shoes on – when the rest of me is buck naked wrapped up in a large, moo moo shaped paper towel? What to do, what to do…..I search the room for anything that can help and it occurs to me – the room has a sink! So, as quickly and neatly as possible – I lift my big, nasty feet up to the sterile counter and start washin. When I’m done – I’ve left a huge puddle all over the floor that has to be mopped up with about 30 paper towels. I had just finished cleaning up my mess when I hear the knock on the door. Safe. I take my place on the gyno-throne and get ready for party time. It wasn’t until a few minutes later that I realized I had thrown my paper towel mess into the garment-only bucket. Oh well, by the time they clean that thing out, I’ll have been long gone.
P.S. Those who know me may not question why I have troubles keeping a boyfriend – with conversations such as this. But hey – I’m woman enough to admit when my shit stinks…
So on this day, I make the mistake of wearing my favorite shoes – a pair of Sketchers that are like a cross between a mountain climber shoe and slipper. They are very comfortable. The only problem with these shoes is that, since I have to wear them without socks, they tend to make my feet smell horrid. And by horrid, I mean knock the wind out of you horrid. This is esp. true when I’ve worn them for a few days in a row without washing the insoles. I didn’t really think about it until I step into that little pre-game room where they take your vitals, blood, etc. The nurse instructs me to take off my shoes so that she can weigh me and I think….Oh Holy God…what have I done? I slowly slip them off and quickly jump on the scale, looking nervously at the lady. As she takes my weight (good news – I lost 5 pounds!!) and height, I start to catch a whiff of the scent. I’m absolutely horrified!! As soon as she is done, I put the bloody things back on and notice she’s rubbing her nose. I’ve nearly killed the nurse with the stench of my dad’s hand me down feet.
I’m completely panicked by the time I get to my actual room because I realize – my feet are going to be propped up RIGHT NEXT TO my doctor’s head. All you ladies out there know what I’m talking about. How ridiculous would it be for me to keep my shoes on – when the rest of me is buck naked wrapped up in a large, moo moo shaped paper towel? What to do, what to do…..I search the room for anything that can help and it occurs to me – the room has a sink! So, as quickly and neatly as possible – I lift my big, nasty feet up to the sterile counter and start washin. When I’m done – I’ve left a huge puddle all over the floor that has to be mopped up with about 30 paper towels. I had just finished cleaning up my mess when I hear the knock on the door. Safe. I take my place on the gyno-throne and get ready for party time. It wasn’t until a few minutes later that I realized I had thrown my paper towel mess into the garment-only bucket. Oh well, by the time they clean that thing out, I’ll have been long gone.
P.S. Those who know me may not question why I have troubles keeping a boyfriend – with conversations such as this. But hey – I’m woman enough to admit when my shit stinks…
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
Stupid people make me smile...
I love photos like this.I was having a craphole day and someone sent me this picture.
I don't know if its real or not - but its an example of how stupid people were put on this earth to make us laugh.
Hope everyone is having a great day =)
Monday, August 21, 2006
No More Visits to the Crack House Kids
I have, just now, finally mowed my yard. This was a stupendous feat for me – given its current condition and my ginormous fear of the big dirty spiders that like to lurk in the tall grasses. My dad loaned me one of his spare mowers (he has a thing about collecting them). Its funny because this mower has some serious horsepower compared to my old Yardman and I nearly took out a bush and ran the thing off into the road a few times it was so powerful. My “self propelled” button on the old one barely got the thing in motion. My dad’s mower could quite possible pull a sled. So an hour and a half after I begin, I have the lawn short, the edges trimmed, and the big milkweed cacti removed. I have a giant, manly sized blister on the palm of my hand to remind me not to wait so long to take care of my yard again. My yard is, once again, halfway presentable. It no longer looks like the home of a crack ho.
I also sprayed down the black widow on the front porch. I was too afraid to step on it (I have this fear that it will eject a web onto the soul of my foot as I move towards it – swing around just before the stomp, and run up into my pant leg. I know it’s just sitting there plotting my murder as I stare it down – trying to figure out the best way to dispose of it. Luckily I found this bug spray that will squirt out a fairly good stream of pure poison from distances of up to 6 feet away. I can keep a safe distance and destroy the bastard in one fell swoop. As I sprayed him down, he ran up into a crack – but I sprayed the crack for a solid 10 minutes. I feel confident I’ll have a dead black widow carcass on my stoop in the morning. Dirty mother %&*@!!!….
Cool thing is – apparently one cure for a burned out, grassless yard is to just let it run wild for a few months. Lots of weeds and shit growing in there, but hell, its green, I’ll take it. Uncool thing – I discovered a wasp’s nest on my side garage door. Apparently it’s been there awhile cause it’s about the size of a downtown condo building. I have no idea how to dispose of these little nasties – other then pour gasoline on them and set em on fire. This might be a bad idea, though, me not having any fire protection coverage and all. I guess I’ll have to think of something else.
Goodnight kids!
I also sprayed down the black widow on the front porch. I was too afraid to step on it (I have this fear that it will eject a web onto the soul of my foot as I move towards it – swing around just before the stomp, and run up into my pant leg. I know it’s just sitting there plotting my murder as I stare it down – trying to figure out the best way to dispose of it. Luckily I found this bug spray that will squirt out a fairly good stream of pure poison from distances of up to 6 feet away. I can keep a safe distance and destroy the bastard in one fell swoop. As I sprayed him down, he ran up into a crack – but I sprayed the crack for a solid 10 minutes. I feel confident I’ll have a dead black widow carcass on my stoop in the morning. Dirty mother %&*@!!!….
Cool thing is – apparently one cure for a burned out, grassless yard is to just let it run wild for a few months. Lots of weeds and shit growing in there, but hell, its green, I’ll take it. Uncool thing – I discovered a wasp’s nest on my side garage door. Apparently it’s been there awhile cause it’s about the size of a downtown condo building. I have no idea how to dispose of these little nasties – other then pour gasoline on them and set em on fire. This might be a bad idea, though, me not having any fire protection coverage and all. I guess I’ll have to think of something else.
Goodnight kids!
Friday, August 18, 2006
Welcome to my Jungle said the Spider
Picture a hot, sunny desert-like plain rich in red clay and asphalt with small, shoebox shaped houses tightly bound across the surface. In the midst of this setting - there is one shoebox that sits above all others. And by "above" I do not mean quality. The "grassy lawn" surrounding this shoebox is thick with small budding cedar trees, luscious crab grass, and unidentifiable milkweed-typed cacti growing in the shapes of small Christmas trees. In the midst of the "lawn" there are very large, brown, bastard spiders running wild and free amongst the luscious weeds and its nourishing canine shit. Black widow spiders have come in search of peace and quiet, june bugs, and empty cigarette butt-filled flower pots to drape their homes. It’s a harmonious little woodland to all the most hideous creatures of the world.
What the F you say? Its been a long week and I've just come home to the yard from hell. My lawnmower broke about 2 months ago and my once crap-hole, grassless yard has become a huge jungle of weeds. My neighbors drive by yelling obscenities and throw trash at me. I've become the crazy lady down the street, with my unkempt yard, a house full of dirty animals and minimal sitings of me outside the humble abode. They wonder…."what is that crazy lady doing in her house? Is it true that she's running a meth lab?"
About a month ago I hired an Elvis impersonator to mow it - but he charged too much money and gave me a small lecture on letting my grass get too out of control, so I've been hesitant to call him. Last week I was on vacation and when I got back I realized black widow spiders were living on my front porch and some crazy new weeds are sprouting up in the front yard. The aphids and beetles have completely eaten all the bushes and trees in the back yard. Its reached maximum trashiness. I'm certain my neighbors hate me. Where is my tall handsome man-servent when I need him?
What the F you say? Its been a long week and I've just come home to the yard from hell. My lawnmower broke about 2 months ago and my once crap-hole, grassless yard has become a huge jungle of weeds. My neighbors drive by yelling obscenities and throw trash at me. I've become the crazy lady down the street, with my unkempt yard, a house full of dirty animals and minimal sitings of me outside the humble abode. They wonder…."what is that crazy lady doing in her house? Is it true that she's running a meth lab?"
About a month ago I hired an Elvis impersonator to mow it - but he charged too much money and gave me a small lecture on letting my grass get too out of control, so I've been hesitant to call him. Last week I was on vacation and when I got back I realized black widow spiders were living on my front porch and some crazy new weeds are sprouting up in the front yard. The aphids and beetles have completely eaten all the bushes and trees in the back yard. Its reached maximum trashiness. I'm certain my neighbors hate me. Where is my tall handsome man-servent when I need him?
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
Twenty Five things I must do before I die…
I’ve been in a rut lately and haven’t been accomplishing much so I decided to set some goals for myself for things I want to do in the upcoming months. My list got carried away and became more of a lifetime goal project. This list is by no means laminated and can be altered at any time. In no particular order….These are the things that I would like to do before I die:
1. Learn to dance
2. Fly first class
3. Join a book club
4. Ride a Harley
5. Get a tiny tattoo (with meaning)
6. Publish something
7. Go Kayaking
8. Run a half marathon
9. Take a camping/road trip out west
10. Learn to cook like a professional
11. Spend a few days at a spa
12. Move to a new town
13. Learn different types of wine
14. Go to Tahiti
15. Buy a pair of Jimmy Choo shoes
16. Travel around Europe
17. Buy an old house and fix it up
18. Travel around South America
19. Buy a Cabin in the mountains
20. Fall in Love
21. Go to Australia
22. Move into a retirement village with Serrabee!!
23. Own a swimming pool
24. Get a puppy and name him Fuggle
25. Get UT Football Season Tickets
On the flipside - Fifteen Things I probably WON’T do before I die…
1. Visit Olduvai Gorge in Africa (where they found a lot of hominid fossils…)
2. Have children
3. Own an Hummer
4. Live in a downtown apt. in a big city
5. Star in a movie
6. Meet Ewan McGregor
7. Read all the books I own
8. Learn to Surf
9. Bungee jump or jump out of a plane
10. Win a pie eating contest
11. Sing well
12. Own my own horse
13. Have a hot pool boy (although maybe I shouldn't count this one out...)
14. Marry Andrew DanJumbo
15. Get UT Season Tickets
1. Learn to dance
2. Fly first class
3. Join a book club
4. Ride a Harley
5. Get a tiny tattoo (with meaning)
6. Publish something
7. Go Kayaking
8. Run a half marathon
9. Take a camping/road trip out west
10. Learn to cook like a professional
11. Spend a few days at a spa
12. Move to a new town
13. Learn different types of wine
14. Go to Tahiti
15. Buy a pair of Jimmy Choo shoes
16. Travel around Europe
17. Buy an old house and fix it up
18. Travel around South America
19. Buy a Cabin in the mountains
20. Fall in Love
21. Go to Australia
22. Move into a retirement village with Serrabee!!
23. Own a swimming pool
24. Get a puppy and name him Fuggle
25. Get UT Football Season Tickets
On the flipside - Fifteen Things I probably WON’T do before I die…
1. Visit Olduvai Gorge in Africa (where they found a lot of hominid fossils…)
2. Have children
3. Own an Hummer
4. Live in a downtown apt. in a big city
5. Star in a movie
6. Meet Ewan McGregor
7. Read all the books I own
8. Learn to Surf
9. Bungee jump or jump out of a plane
10. Win a pie eating contest
11. Sing well
12. Own my own horse
13. Have a hot pool boy (although maybe I shouldn't count this one out...)
14. Marry Andrew DanJumbo
15. Get UT Season Tickets
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
Brittany and the Big Burp of Society
What the hell is wrong with our culture? I was sitting at my computer this reading CNN.com as I usually do while I drink coffee and pretend to be working in the mornings when I see in the top news stories that Brittany spears burps and talks stupid shit on a home video clip. This is on the breaking news clips. Everyone is going nuts about this video. People are in shock. NEWS BULLETIN: Brittany Spears is kinda dumb. I know some of you might think this news shocking. Leave the idiot woman alone, people! She has not become famous for her scholarly nature or her ladylike manners. She has become famous for being blonde, half naked with an acceptable singing voice and "daring" dance moves. And besides, who doesn't believe you can time travel in a Delorean fueled by a head of cabbage. Hello? Give her a break now. I think people just miss her half naked music videos. But relax big fans - I hear she is back in the studios recording.
I just can't believe that this made it as one of the top news stories on CNN. I fear I'm going to have to switch to the conservative based Fox News (as much as I hate it - they don't have quite as much crap on their site). The problem is that when I start reading the news - I get distracted by all the bs articles on celebrity woes - that I forget to read the actual news. I'm becoming one of them - the superstar obsessed American who wants to know all the intimate details of every big star out there. Our role models have become rich, outspoken, and fame obsessed dumb asses that surround the world of Hollywood. Why?Why?Why?
I just can't believe that this made it as one of the top news stories on CNN. I fear I'm going to have to switch to the conservative based Fox News (as much as I hate it - they don't have quite as much crap on their site). The problem is that when I start reading the news - I get distracted by all the bs articles on celebrity woes - that I forget to read the actual news. I'm becoming one of them - the superstar obsessed American who wants to know all the intimate details of every big star out there. Our role models have become rich, outspoken, and fame obsessed dumb asses that surround the world of Hollywood. Why?Why?Why?
Monday, August 14, 2006
A Fuggle Full of Mullets with a Side of Mustache Please
After another brief hiatus I am back to share more daily thoughts. I spent the last week on vacation in Arkansas (visiting family) and spent my weekends in Memphis hsnging out with my good friend Serrabee.
On my first weekend in Memphis, I ate at a really neat restaurant in Midtown called Dish where we ate tapas in a bed (so Sex in the City). It was great! Then we went and had drinks at an old beauty shop turned bar down the street. Midtown is a great place to hang out!
I spent the week taking care of my sister’s four sweet children while she went back to work. I was really nervous about this at first – feeling confident that I had lost all traces of any maternal gene that may have resided in my system. I was terrified that I was going to lose one of them somewhere, catch the house on fire, or something else horrible whereby I could never forgive myself. No fear, I turned into Nanny McPhee (only I hope slightly better looking) and whipped the little kiddos into shape. I didn’t even end up getting tired. Guess me and kids aren’t so bad together after all. Who knew?
The next weekend I was back in Midtown. Saturday night we went to a couple of really great bars in downtown Memphis (including Blue Fin and Automatic Slims Tonga Club), meeting cool new people and listening to local bands perform. It was good times….excellent people watching with reminiscing about the good ole days. We drank some beer made from “Fuggles and Kent Goldings English hops” and had some lively discussions about mullets and their intentions in society.
Afterwards, we headed back to Midtown and hit the local Karaoke bar where it was “frat daddy and his drunk bitchy ho night.” Why is it that whenever I go out – I always end up in a Karaoke bar? I’m going to do an anthropological study where I go to different cities and study the types of clientele that visit the local karaoke bars. I wonder if it differs by region. It’s these things that keep me up at night. Anyway, I was driving so I didn’t have much to drink and after a few rounds of some seriously bad renditions of Nancy Sinatra, Madonna, and Grease Lightening – I made a vow to myself to never, ever do drunk-karaoke again. I know I’ve done it …many…many times, but…no more.
I had a good time on my trip. I learned about things like Blumpkin, ironic wife beaters and “Old School Country Revival” bands and I will never think the same about mustaches again. It was great. Good friends. Good times.
So now I’m back with some good blog ideas and I will return soon with more totally random daily Rockgirl thoughts…
On my first weekend in Memphis, I ate at a really neat restaurant in Midtown called Dish where we ate tapas in a bed (so Sex in the City). It was great! Then we went and had drinks at an old beauty shop turned bar down the street. Midtown is a great place to hang out!
I spent the week taking care of my sister’s four sweet children while she went back to work. I was really nervous about this at first – feeling confident that I had lost all traces of any maternal gene that may have resided in my system. I was terrified that I was going to lose one of them somewhere, catch the house on fire, or something else horrible whereby I could never forgive myself. No fear, I turned into Nanny McPhee (only I hope slightly better looking) and whipped the little kiddos into shape. I didn’t even end up getting tired. Guess me and kids aren’t so bad together after all. Who knew?
The next weekend I was back in Midtown. Saturday night we went to a couple of really great bars in downtown Memphis (including Blue Fin and Automatic Slims Tonga Club), meeting cool new people and listening to local bands perform. It was good times….excellent people watching with reminiscing about the good ole days. We drank some beer made from “Fuggles and Kent Goldings English hops” and had some lively discussions about mullets and their intentions in society.
Afterwards, we headed back to Midtown and hit the local Karaoke bar where it was “frat daddy and his drunk bitchy ho night.” Why is it that whenever I go out – I always end up in a Karaoke bar? I’m going to do an anthropological study where I go to different cities and study the types of clientele that visit the local karaoke bars. I wonder if it differs by region. It’s these things that keep me up at night. Anyway, I was driving so I didn’t have much to drink and after a few rounds of some seriously bad renditions of Nancy Sinatra, Madonna, and Grease Lightening – I made a vow to myself to never, ever do drunk-karaoke again. I know I’ve done it …many…many times, but…no more.
I had a good time on my trip. I learned about things like Blumpkin, ironic wife beaters and “Old School Country Revival” bands and I will never think the same about mustaches again. It was great. Good friends. Good times.
So now I’m back with some good blog ideas and I will return soon with more totally random daily Rockgirl thoughts…
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