chemaccino good, but not good for you

Tuesday, November 30, 2004
Thought #1: Ha, ha. That stupid VS model is wearing fishnet as some kind of a mask.
Thought #2: Waaaait...... .....Would Beau like that?

Be glad cars don't run on nail polish or insulin
This webpage (via Fark) lists the per-gallon price for a variety of liquids, which ought to make you feel better about gas prices, even if the price they list for unleaded ($1.39) is a bit out-of-date. Be sure to let the photos load; they're cute.

In other news, I seem to have failed in the apparently mandatory "What I'm thankful for" blog post. Tough titties, bitchaz. When I start trying to make lists like that, I either go too big (I'm thankful for our nitrogen-based atmosphere) or too micro (I'm thankful for my new hair clip). Either way, I tend to feel thankful for things each day as I go along. I'm just full of thanks-giving.

UPDATE: I seem to have failed to post the link to the site about comparative prices. And now I just cannot seem to find it at all. I am so sorry. Go listen to the Christmas Tree Song, to get cheered up. There, now. Isn't that better?

Sunday, November 28, 2004
Extra Money to Spare
Beau just mentioned to me that there is apparently someone who has bid $61 for a grilled cheese sandwich with a likeness to Hello Kitty on it. My response was
It sounds like someone has some extra money to spare.
THEN my response was
Wait - was that redundant?
Beau agreed that indeed, 'extra money to spare' would be redundant. But I ultimately decided that it is perfectly appropriate in this instance. If someone just has money to spare, it isn't enough. They'd have to have EXTRA to be spending on a cheese sandwich that bears some likeness to Hello Kitty.

Monday, November 22, 2004
Alice and Wallace: Why are two single, middle-aged people with white-collar jobs living together in a rented apartment?
I cannot even begin to answer any of the other questions until I have established at least one decent reason for them to be living here at all. I mean, they both have steady, decent jobs, so why, at age (approx.) 45, do they have to rent?

Clearly, something has gone terribly wrong. I have a few hypotheses.

Perhaps it's a financial thing.
Alice was living out West with the rest of her family, in Nevada. People are awfully friendly in Nevada, and the cost of living is pretty low. Wallace spent a few months on location for work in the city where she was working, and they fell in love. Alice agreed to move out to the East Coast when his work in town ended, even though she knew her savings wouldn't go very far.
Wallace had initially agreed to work so far off-site because he had to get some distance from his ex-wife. It had been a brief marriage, and it had ended over ten years ago. But there had been an unfortunate accident during the divorce proceedings when he accidently ran over her foot with the car. He hadn't meant to do it, and he still suspects that she engineered the whole thing. However it had happened, her foot never healed, and he's been paying her medical bills ever since.
After only a few months together in Wallace's place back East, Alice was able to get a job as a secretary for a local dentist's office. Feeling pressure to fit in to life in a Big City, she started living larger: hair cut-and-colors, mani-pedi's, and clothing from trendy boutiques. Her secretarial salary was not enough to keep up with her new lifestyle.
Wallace's ex-wife, Lenore, found out Wallace had a new love, and freaked out. She had always harbored a hope they would get back together, despite the fact that she didn't even really like Wallace anymore. Psychotherapy charges were added in with the physical therapy and chiropractic bills Wallace paid every month. Wallace thought it was a load of crap that he pay for her psychotherapy, so he stopped paying the bills altogether. This is always a bad idea. He ended up ruining his credit rating, and he had to pay a hefty fee on a contempt charge Lenore brought against him.


Maybe it's illness-related. I already have a theory about how Wallace's kidneys don't work, and how he has a home-dialysis machine that he hooks himself up to in the evenings. (Which explains that periodic humming machine noise.) But one illness probably isn't enough, and Alice's hair is so bushy and curly, it could easily be a wig.
She only just finished her round of chemo right before we moved in. In a way, she feels like she brought it on herself, smoking so heavily for all those years. In a way, she thinks maybe she is being punished for the sins of her youth; for the way she pressured all those other girls to smoke with her in the junior-high bathroom. It's cool, she'd tell them. Everyone in the Big City smokes just like this. She was the queen of cool; by eighth grade, she had mastered smoke-rings. But it hadn't gotten her very far. Sure, she has an Associate's degree from a secretarial school. Sure, she lives near the Big City now. But she lives there to be close to the good hospitals, and she lives with her second-cousin, Wallace. Wallace is so good to her, like a brother to her, but she wishes she didn't need his help, that she could be out on her own.
She feels guilty of her ingratitude. Wallace has been wonderful, and she knows that she hasn't been the most supportive person when it comes to his kidney failure. She can barely stand to look at him when he's hooked up to his machine. She used to go take the dog out for a walk and grab a smoke, but now she's too tired from her own treatment.

Fresh fodder for the blogfire
Those of you who have been following along know that I've moved a few times this year. Those following closely might be worried that, with the likelihood of an impending job offer, I will no longer be able to write about the workplace, because I would then actually have something to lose by doing so. (Like a job, see?) But remember: I've moved. And I've not yet begun to write about my new neighbors.

I enjoy letting my imagination run rampant when it comes to strangers. Sometimes, if I'm in the car as a passenger and stuck in traffic, I'll make up elaborate stories about the people in the nearby cars. What I'm trying to say is that I have a lot on my mind regarding the couple that live downstairs, and I am looking forward to telling their story to you. My stories. Whatever.

Alice and Wallace
Alice and Wallace live on the first floor, and Beau and I live on the second floor. We share the basement, where we both do laundry. We share a driveway, where they get the left side and we have the right side. (This is important, since we are not allowed to park on the street.) Alice and Wallace have been living in the house for several years, and are unmarried and middle-aged. I don't know what age actually counts as 'middle-aged', but they look middle-aged, so no matter their actual age, that's the way to describe them. They work for the same company, where Wallace is like an investment banker or something, and Alice is in HR.

Here are some of the questions I hope to eventually answer for you:
If they've been living together so long, why aren't they married?
What is that humming noise we sometimes hear when we're sitting on the couch?
Why are there tall stacks of folded clothing on their side of the basement?
Why is there an extensive Hawaiian shirt collection hanging in the basement?
Why is their little rat-dog so very fat?

Stay tuned. I plan to make up answers to most of these.

Thursday, November 18, 2004
You prob'ly think this post is about you, don't you, don't you?
And that would be pretty fair, and consistent with my previous behavior. However, I don't have to be fair and I don't have to be consistent. Do I have to put a comma after 'fair' in that last sentence? because of the 'I' after the 'and'? No, don't answer that.

I got home late, and that the only reason why I have no ability to bitch and snark about this week's Trump Madness, which I'm sure was totally funny, if for no other reason then that two (2!) people were fired. Also, that they were total bitches in the cab. I saw the cab scene. So I wish I had watched, kinda, because then I could talk about it.

Instead, I want talk about what kept me late at the mall. But I can't, because it appears that online, Liz Claiborne is denying the existence of camel-colored Tabitha-style corduroy pants. So, we all lose.

EXCEPT FOR THIS: Something funny happened at work today(shocker!), and I guess I'll spend my precious personal evening time writing about it. (Beer makes me so generous.)
OK, first of all, let me establish some pseudonyms. Henceforth, there shall be Pattie Partner and Annie Associate. Pattie and Annie. This story is about Annie.

Annie gets stressed about preparing for meetings for and/or with a client. She gets hyper-focussed; for example, she blows off other clients when they call to check up on stuff. So. Very focussed. And inattentive to other things.

This afternoon, while making a batch of copies in the Office Supply room (for a client meeting), she distractedly struck up a conversation with me by asking where I was going for Thanksgiving. I told her, and she said,

Is that where your husband.fiancee?boyfriend.husband?boyfriend. Where his family lives?

The absolute best part of all of this is how unaware she was of what she was saying. It was all stream-of-consciousness for her. Even now, at this very moment, she probably doesn't realize she said all those words out loud.

Oh, P.S.: Beau was looking over my shoulder as I edited this last bit, and pointed out that, and I quote, "Focused only has one 's'."
He better not comment on that comma thing from earlier.

Wednesday, November 17, 2004
Tequila is nobody's friend
This has been said before, but it bears repeating. No matter how many evenings you've spiked your Diet Coke with rum, no matter how much you enjoy a good G&T every so often, and no matter how many Cosmos you had on Saturday, ...Nothing. Will Prepare You. For Tequila.

Last night, I had what we will call three margaritas (ontherocksnosalt) at what we will call a popular Mexican restaurant in what we will call a nearby college town.* Then my friend and I engaged in what I will call a tequila-induced eating binge, which you would think would drown some of the alcohols eventual ill effects. You would think that, and you certainly would not think that I would be dizzy the next morning.
What the hell is that about, dizzy? Oohhh, Tequila, you bastard. You are out of the will. I'm going to stick to the alcohols I can manage, like vodka, and gin. And rum, I guess, but rum is like a wine cooler, it's so smooth and mild. Oh, okay, maybe it's like a cigarette, then. Alive with pleasure. Rummy!
*Yeah, I know I'm funny. No spoilers in the comments, please. I'm still nominally anonymous.

Tuesday, November 16, 2004
Here's the Thing
[tangent]In middle school, I had a pad of Post-it notes that said Here's the Thing and had a cartoon of a gross blob next to the words. I probably still have them somewhere - there's not much call for novelty Post-its in middle school. Or ever.[/tangent]

Anyway, the thing is, I started the blob blog because I had a lot to say and a lot of free time to say it. These days, there's still much to say, but this current position is so busy that I have no time during the day to write about it. And when I get home, I don't relish the notion of re-hashing my day in an edited, artistic way. I'm not an 'aspiring writer', and I have no 'discipline' to the 'craft'. Maybe I don't 'bathe regularly'.

It look likely that this job may become permanent, and if that happens, this blog will suffer greatly. In the good news column, Hooray! I might get a real job!
Of course, that means I may never give the appropriate attention to the following topics:

-My New Stapler!
-The 'scoop-style' staple remover that came Free With Stapler
-How all the other secretaries all went out to lunch today and didn't even mention it before-hand and Lisa got pissed because she thought it was rude that they didn't invite me and she told me the juicy tale of the ongoing feud between Us and Them - Us being the partner I work for and her employees, and Them being the other partners and their support staff.
-The extreme measures I go to to make sure nobody steals my scoop-style staple remover
-The disarray of my desk area and how I'm fixing it
-The Horror Of The Accounts That Just Won't Balance

And I won't give them attention now. I'm late to meet up with someone for drinks.
As for not being at the bar last weekend, please understand that I was serving you people, so I hope you all donated some money, since I donate my time. Also please understand that I had A LOT OF VODKA. And I'm still amazed that I escaped with only a headache the next day.

Thursday, November 11, 2004
About Trump

I am so SO glad Chris is gone. If I had to hear the goddam phrase At the end of the day one more goddam time, I would have gone seriously apeshit.

Also, regarding last week, I'm so glad Raj is gone. What a prick.

Sunday, November 07, 2004
He's back! He's back!

Monday, November 01, 2004
My Apologies to Hugo, et al.

On my own,
pretending I'm well-supervised.
All alone,
I work and file until 5.

Without them,
the phone rings much less often,
and all I see is filing and me forever and forever.....

The partner I support has been out in a swing state since the weekend, ready to help voters prepare for possible challenges at the polls. The associate will be in court tomorrow morning, and the law clerk (Lisa) will be staying home to write a paper she's been putting off since she was granted an extension in August.
There will be plenty other people in the office, but none that I report to.
Mwa ha haaa...

And I know it's only a short time
but I'm working by myself and uninterrupted.
And although this job is not (yet) mine,
Still I say...
there's a way...
to that...