Aunt Day!
and Grandma and Grandpa day....and Birth Day....and Mom and Dad day!
Welcome my new nephews!
Notice mom and dad are last. It's all about me! And then my parents. Sis and bro-in-law have all the time in the world to be mom and dad.
Thursday, September 29, 2005
Wednesday, September 28, 2005
Flushing
Is it considered rude to flush the toilet when people are having a conversation when doing their business, or is it rude that they're having a conversation loudly, in public and not including everyone in the stalls?
Tuesday, September 27, 2005
AdSense
I'm really tempted to put AdSense ads on my blog (see to the left -- it ain't real). Cause I get money if I do. But only if someone goes to the site that's being advertised. And probably some other hidden thing that I don't know about because I didn't read the user's agreement although I did agree to it (probably signed my life and blog entries away and don't even know it).
But I just don't like looking at web pages that have those ads all over them.
So I'll wait and think about it. Maybe when my husband and I start eating top ramen every night due to lack of funds, then I will strongly consider it.
Sleeping.
Seems the sleeping bug caught someone else today. And I didn't do a thing about it.
There's a lady that also has a Translink card and so we've become smiling friendly until the time she stole my parking spot and then almost caused me to kill myself and others while driving.
She lives somewhere near me, and one day she was behind me until we turned onto whatever street is near the BART station. She got in the other turn lane, and as soon as the light turned green, she floored it to get in front of me -- knowing full well that we like to park in the same spots most of the time. This was when there were few open parking spots in the front side parking lot at BART. Now there aren't any except on Fridays. Stupid people learning my secrets!
So she sped, got in front of me and got the last front parking spot.
Before this incident, there was the almost killing everyone incident. She was in front of me leaving the BART parking lot, and we were both turning left. We didn't have our own left turn light, so we had to do the "right of way" thing. There was someone walking across the intersection, but the timing was right so that she and I could have gone through without scaring the poor pedestrian or bashing into each other. She pulled into the intersection, and since I felt there was enough time and most people take the opportunity of time in these situations, I pulled out at the same speed as her. Little did I know she was going to just stop right in the middle of the intersection and wait for the person to walk across. So I had to steer to the left to sorta get in the other lane without crossing the crosswalk and killing the pedestrian. It was either that or bashing into her truck and killing myself. I saw her eyeballing in her rear view mirror. That was when I decided I didn't like her anymore.
She would get hers, oh yes she would. I didn't know how or when, but her days were numbered.
She gets off at Embarcadero, the stop before mine. To add more salt to my drippy wound, she could have been one of the people to wake me up when it looked like I was totally passed out the day I visited Civic Center and 16th Street. But she didn't. I was having a really good snooze today (I'm still reading Dostoyevsky's The Idiot, and it puts me to sleep all the time now. Man those Russians like to yammer on about stuff.), but I managed to wake myself up before we pulled into the Embarcadero station. As I was gathering my stuff together to get out at Montgomery, I noticed her.
She was sitting with her headphones on, head totally dipped forward towards her chest and looking oh so very peaceful. She was knocked out. I thought about waking her up. I was really close to tapping her shoulder as I walked passed her, but then I thought: Why should I? And really, how do I know she doesn't need to go to Civic Center or the airport or even just Powell Street? Hey, she stole my parking spot the day she decided she was a speed demon and almost killed me the day she decided to drive like a grandma.
Let her sleep. If I knew she was going to the ocean, I would even cliche the situation to say, Let her sleep with the fishes.
There's a lady that also has a Translink card and so we've become smiling friendly until the time she stole my parking spot and then almost caused me to kill myself and others while driving.
She lives somewhere near me, and one day she was behind me until we turned onto whatever street is near the BART station. She got in the other turn lane, and as soon as the light turned green, she floored it to get in front of me -- knowing full well that we like to park in the same spots most of the time. This was when there were few open parking spots in the front side parking lot at BART. Now there aren't any except on Fridays. Stupid people learning my secrets!
So she sped, got in front of me and got the last front parking spot.
Before this incident, there was the almost killing everyone incident. She was in front of me leaving the BART parking lot, and we were both turning left. We didn't have our own left turn light, so we had to do the "right of way" thing. There was someone walking across the intersection, but the timing was right so that she and I could have gone through without scaring the poor pedestrian or bashing into each other. She pulled into the intersection, and since I felt there was enough time and most people take the opportunity of time in these situations, I pulled out at the same speed as her. Little did I know she was going to just stop right in the middle of the intersection and wait for the person to walk across. So I had to steer to the left to sorta get in the other lane without crossing the crosswalk and killing the pedestrian. It was either that or bashing into her truck and killing myself. I saw her eyeballing in her rear view mirror. That was when I decided I didn't like her anymore.
She would get hers, oh yes she would. I didn't know how or when, but her days were numbered.
She gets off at Embarcadero, the stop before mine. To add more salt to my drippy wound, she could have been one of the people to wake me up when it looked like I was totally passed out the day I visited Civic Center and 16th Street. But she didn't. I was having a really good snooze today (I'm still reading Dostoyevsky's The Idiot, and it puts me to sleep all the time now. Man those Russians like to yammer on about stuff.), but I managed to wake myself up before we pulled into the Embarcadero station. As I was gathering my stuff together to get out at Montgomery, I noticed her.
She was sitting with her headphones on, head totally dipped forward towards her chest and looking oh so very peaceful. She was knocked out. I thought about waking her up. I was really close to tapping her shoulder as I walked passed her, but then I thought: Why should I? And really, how do I know she doesn't need to go to Civic Center or the airport or even just Powell Street? Hey, she stole my parking spot the day she decided she was a speed demon and almost killed me the day she decided to drive like a grandma.
Let her sleep. If I knew she was going to the ocean, I would even cliche the situation to say, Let her sleep with the fishes.
Sunday, September 25, 2005
Hi!
I'm generally not a "hi" person when I see people I know or slightly know or know just a tiny bit. You'll hardly catch me greeting all those I know with a friendly "HI!!!!" I would much rather say something snotty to those I know instead of "Hi," so if you ever catch me saying it, it's probably because I feel like I have to.
Today I was feeling in a particularly "Hi" sort of mood, and as I was walking towards someone I only knew a tiny bit, I thought I'd be friendly and say "hi" to him. It was either that or ignoring him by looking downwards, which is what I do most of the time. That just seems to be full proof -- I don't have to initiate the weirdness (if any) and I get to be the one approached (uh, same thing -- that's if I am). It seemed like he was eyeballing me too, so I figured I should take a chance and say "hi."
"Hi!" I said as I walked closer to him.
He didn't stop walking, but he paused a bit. There was an air of confusion in his eyes, like he was flipping through his memory book of all the people he's met recently to see if my face fits anyone he knows and whether he should be nice to me or not. Or perhaps I had something weird stuck to my face or green things between my teeth, but I am one of those people who have things stuck to them a lot. One morning my husband sloppy-kissed me goodbye before going to work (he's not allowed to do that anymore), and he got spit all over my face. I thought I wiped it all off, but apparently I didn't. I rode BART, went to Starbucks and then went to my office. I had an itch on my face, so I scratched it and dry flakes fell off my face. I took my mirror out and looked. His dried spit was surrounding my lips.
Oh, and get me to change an ink cartridge, then it's a guaranty that I'll be walking around with black streak marks on my face until I go to the bathroom and notice or someone tells (which hardly happens - it's way more fun watching someone walk around all day looking like a coal miner).
He didn't even smile. At least I smile at weirdos who say "hi" to me.
"Hello."
We passed each other. I did what I needed to do and headed back in the direction I came. There I go. That's what I get for trying to be friendly to people. Now I'll never know if I should bother with him again because I shall see him again, oh yes, I shall. I can say "hello." as good as the next person.
Luckily, two other people said "hi" to me as I was walking back. That lifted my spirits a bit. Funny enough, the first of the two got a cocky "hi" from me (that whole snotty thing) and the second person got the same sort of "hello" I just received, but not for the same reason. It was more because she was walking quickly past me, and I'm always surprised when she acknowledges me. I bet I'd get a good response if I had a tree branch stuck between my front teeth.
Today I was feeling in a particularly "Hi" sort of mood, and as I was walking towards someone I only knew a tiny bit, I thought I'd be friendly and say "hi" to him. It was either that or ignoring him by looking downwards, which is what I do most of the time. That just seems to be full proof -- I don't have to initiate the weirdness (if any) and I get to be the one approached (uh, same thing -- that's if I am). It seemed like he was eyeballing me too, so I figured I should take a chance and say "hi."
"Hi!" I said as I walked closer to him.
He didn't stop walking, but he paused a bit. There was an air of confusion in his eyes, like he was flipping through his memory book of all the people he's met recently to see if my face fits anyone he knows and whether he should be nice to me or not. Or perhaps I had something weird stuck to my face or green things between my teeth, but I am one of those people who have things stuck to them a lot. One morning my husband sloppy-kissed me goodbye before going to work (he's not allowed to do that anymore), and he got spit all over my face. I thought I wiped it all off, but apparently I didn't. I rode BART, went to Starbucks and then went to my office. I had an itch on my face, so I scratched it and dry flakes fell off my face. I took my mirror out and looked. His dried spit was surrounding my lips.
Oh, and get me to change an ink cartridge, then it's a guaranty that I'll be walking around with black streak marks on my face until I go to the bathroom and notice or someone tells (which hardly happens - it's way more fun watching someone walk around all day looking like a coal miner).
He didn't even smile. At least I smile at weirdos who say "hi" to me.
"Hello."
We passed each other. I did what I needed to do and headed back in the direction I came. There I go. That's what I get for trying to be friendly to people. Now I'll never know if I should bother with him again because I shall see him again, oh yes, I shall. I can say "hello." as good as the next person.
Luckily, two other people said "hi" to me as I was walking back. That lifted my spirits a bit. Funny enough, the first of the two got a cocky "hi" from me (that whole snotty thing) and the second person got the same sort of "hello" I just received, but not for the same reason. It was more because she was walking quickly past me, and I'm always surprised when she acknowledges me. I bet I'd get a good response if I had a tree branch stuck between my front teeth.
Thursday, September 22, 2005
Pink is the new black.
I overheard this in a conversation today:
"Pink is the new black."
The other guy said something in response, but I didn't catch that.
The thing that struck me was this -- The guy saying "pink is the new black" was a white guy. He was saying it to a black guy, who was wearing pink.
That's like me saying to my husband, "See-through pale skin is the new brown."
Or even better (you can cross two lines with this one), me saying to a female, "BMW is the new Mercedes." (I'm just picking any cars here since I know nothing about cars except mine keeps getting hit by other cars in the BART parking lot.)
"Pink is the new black."
The other guy said something in response, but I didn't catch that.
The thing that struck me was this -- The guy saying "pink is the new black" was a white guy. He was saying it to a black guy, who was wearing pink.
That's like me saying to my husband, "See-through pale skin is the new brown."
Or even better (you can cross two lines with this one), me saying to a female, "BMW is the new Mercedes." (I'm just picking any cars here since I know nothing about cars except mine keeps getting hit by other cars in the BART parking lot.)
Feral Children
I admit it freely: I love watching documentaries and reading stories about weird things. Like feral children.
Let me back track. Before getting our Comcast DVR (I believe what I'm going to tell you actually sealed the deal for me since I was never interested in recording things up until this point), we had no means to record shows. So I would watch my favorite shows as I came upon them. I hardly knew when certain shows were on. I would call myself a casual TV watcher.
One day I was in our bedroom doing something while watching one of those fun home improvement shows on TLC, when TLC had a commercial for an hour documentary on, yup, you guessed it, Feral Children.
I screamed, "Nooooooooooooooooooo!"
I heard my husband say from another room, "What?!"
I continued, "Nooooooooooooooooooo!"
He came in. I was all a-flutter. I rambled on about the feral children and how I so wanted to watch the show but it was going to be on at 10pm (I must be asleep before 10pm, if I can help it) and I couldn't watch it and I would have to have my mom record it and I couldn't wait and feral children are the best!
He didn't know what I was talking about. Duh. Come on. Kids raised in the wild? Haven't we all heard of this? Don't we all find this interesting?
I saw my mom later on that day at a baby shower. At some point a couple hours in, I remembered about the feral children show, so I told her she had to record the feral children show for me. This was in front of other people. Someone asked me what I was talking about. No one else seemed to think this was a great show to watch. My husband told me the next day he thought everyone who heard me thought I was a nut.
It took a couple of weeks, but I did watch the Feral Children show (thanks, mom), and while it was interesting, it was a bit disappointing. I couldn't tell real feral from re-enacting feral. I wanted to see the real deal. And I just checked TLC's web site -- it's on again tonight at 9pm! Now everyone can watch.
So today I was perusing SF Gate's blog and what do I find? Another person who enjoys the feral children.
In honor of feral children everywhere, I shall be linking them to my blog.
Now that I have my DVR, I've recorded the Exorcism show on A&E (TLC had an exorcism show on at the same time, those sneaky bastards, and I didn't realize it until it was too late), and Most Haunted, my new favorite spooky show on the Travel Channel. And have you seen 1,000 Things Removed From the Human Body? Oh man. I'm talking an Emmy!
Let me back track. Before getting our Comcast DVR (I believe what I'm going to tell you actually sealed the deal for me since I was never interested in recording things up until this point), we had no means to record shows. So I would watch my favorite shows as I came upon them. I hardly knew when certain shows were on. I would call myself a casual TV watcher.
One day I was in our bedroom doing something while watching one of those fun home improvement shows on TLC, when TLC had a commercial for an hour documentary on, yup, you guessed it, Feral Children.
I screamed, "Nooooooooooooooooooo!"
I heard my husband say from another room, "What?!"
I continued, "Nooooooooooooooooooo!"
He came in. I was all a-flutter. I rambled on about the feral children and how I so wanted to watch the show but it was going to be on at 10pm (I must be asleep before 10pm, if I can help it) and I couldn't watch it and I would have to have my mom record it and I couldn't wait and feral children are the best!
He didn't know what I was talking about. Duh. Come on. Kids raised in the wild? Haven't we all heard of this? Don't we all find this interesting?
I saw my mom later on that day at a baby shower. At some point a couple hours in, I remembered about the feral children show, so I told her she had to record the feral children show for me. This was in front of other people. Someone asked me what I was talking about. No one else seemed to think this was a great show to watch. My husband told me the next day he thought everyone who heard me thought I was a nut.
It took a couple of weeks, but I did watch the Feral Children show (thanks, mom), and while it was interesting, it was a bit disappointing. I couldn't tell real feral from re-enacting feral. I wanted to see the real deal. And I just checked TLC's web site -- it's on again tonight at 9pm! Now everyone can watch.
So today I was perusing SF Gate's blog and what do I find? Another person who enjoys the feral children.
In honor of feral children everywhere, I shall be linking them to my blog.
Now that I have my DVR, I've recorded the Exorcism show on A&E (TLC had an exorcism show on at the same time, those sneaky bastards, and I didn't realize it until it was too late), and Most Haunted, my new favorite spooky show on the Travel Channel. And have you seen 1,000 Things Removed From the Human Body? Oh man. I'm talking an Emmy!
Tuesday, September 20, 2005
Job huntin'
This explains my relationship with my hubby to a "T":
Him: I know it's late, but will you help me with two job things tonight?
(Job things = applying for jobs)
Me: This doesn't mean you watching football while I do this for you, right?
Him (starts getting that "I did something bad but don't want to admit it" smile on his face): Oh...Forget it.
Him: I know it's late, but will you help me with two job things tonight?
(Job things = applying for jobs)
Me: This doesn't mean you watching football while I do this for you, right?
Him (starts getting that "I did something bad but don't want to admit it" smile on his face): Oh...Forget it.
Monday, September 19, 2005
My head.
Add my head to Sunday's list of injuries. Apparently I did hurt it. I have a big sore spot in the back that was discovered during my BART ride home.
I don't even know where to begin.
Sunday was an interesting day. As things happened, I would think, hmm...blog story. And then another thing would happen. And another. And then they all kinda piled on top of each other. Tears were shed. Cats were frightened. I almost went deaf. And I got to play the, "If your house was on fire, what would you take game." Sunday was fun.
1. Morning.
My hubby's new thing is to yell things at me while I'm in the shower. I've already mentioned this before when my neck was stuck in one position, but he did it to me again yesterday. As soon as he hears that water turn off, I'm fair game, I realized. But just because the water is turned off doesn't mean I'm still not in the shower doing something – like shaving my legs. Our shower is small, so I have to lather-up my leg and shave with the water off, otherwise the whole purpose of shaving would be a wash (no pun intended). And I turn the water off twice during shaving – once for each leg. This isn't rocket science; this is just how it is.
So there I was, shaving my leg, when I heard my hubby yelling something at me.
"I th... Z.....out!"
"WHAT?" I yelled. "I'M SHAVING MY LEGS, I CAN'T HEAR YOU!"
"I ch....Z....out!"
"JUST OPEN THE DOOR! I CAN'T HEAR YOU!"
"What?" he asked.
Oh jeez. This better be good, I thought.
"OPEN THE DOOR."
I heard the door opening, and he pops his head in. Now mind you, I'm still shaving – now my upper thigh.
"Zoe jumped over the basket, and I think she did something to her stitches, but I can't tell, and I don't know what to do!" he tells me. Zoe got spayed on Thursday.
Right at that moment, even though I knew he didn't know what he was talking about, I panicked and gashed my thigh.
"Well, I just cut myself," I told him.
"Oh, sorry."
"Get a tissue, gently touch her belly with it. If she really did anything, there will be blood," I told him calmly. Then I said, "and can you please get a big band aid ready for me? I'm bleeding all over the place."
He went away. He came back.
"She's okay," he said. I kinda figured that.
"I'll look at her when I'm out. But get that band aid ready!"
When I got out of the shower, he was nowhere to be found, but there was Zoe, looking like a gremlin with her cone. I gently pushed her down as I place my washcloth on my thigh to stop the bleeding. I looked. She was fine. Still no hubby in sight – football was playing, so now that the emergency was taken care of, I guess there were no more worries for him.
A few minutes later he came in as I was putting the band aid on my gash.
"Oh, wow. That's bad," he informed me.
"Yes, I know," I said. "And Zoe's fine." I thought, thanks for sticking around....
2. Early evening.
I had some leftover stuff that would make very tasty enchiladas, so that was what I made for dinner last night. By this time, with all the nonsense my husband put me through that day (he very scientifically told me how Braeburn apples are made – I suggested he got this info from Newsweek because 9 times out of 10, his info comes from Newsweek, and then we had a discussion regarding recycling because he kept the plastic container from a sandwich we shared so that he could recycle it later (I guaranty it's still in his car and will be for months to come)), I was a bit fed up with him and those things that make him him and that I'm supposed to love and think, "oh but that's just him."
While he was lounging on the couch watching football (again), I was making dinner. Let me recount my day up until this point:
· made him breakfast (I had frozen waffles)
· cleaned the kitchen
· figured out what we're eating this week
· went shopping (with him, but I may as well have been alone – all of a sudden he's a craft expert and knows the history of the Braeburn)
· put groceries away
· cleaned our bathroom
· dealt with our finances
· put prints in picture frames
My list was way longer than his. He took a quiz, ironed some shirts for me (he was helping me while watching football), watched football, went shopping and ran off with the cart a million times which only fueled my annoyance with him more, watched football.
I was getting a bit annoyed, and watching him gleefully sit in front of the TV while loving up Zoe was too much. So every chance I got, I told him I didn't have to feed him. Passive aggressive, I know, but I just wanted him to be aware in my passive aggressive way that I was annoyed. That was all.
He was in the kitchen doing something at some point, and I had opened the oven to turn the dish around. When I did that, I was yammering on and probably being passive aggressive, and I lifted my arm up. And I burnt my arm. At first I couldn't see anything, but a long splotch got redder and redder. My husband put his beer bottle on it. Thanks, hubby.
While I couldn't fully blame this incident on him, I do think he had something to do with it. So now I had a gash on my thigh and a burnt arm. Things weren't looking up for me.
3. Late evening.
I had cleaned our bathroom earlier, and I mopped the floor as well (not part of the normal process -- I was feeling very much like Mrs. Clean). I waited until late evening to put everything away and tidy up. I picked up the magazine rack and placed it on the floor by the toilet. When I lifted my head up, I cracked my head into the towel rack.
I screamed bloody murder.
It took a few seconds, and then I heard the patter of my hubby's feet.
"What fell on your head!???" he asked. I was leaning against the closet door, holding my head and crying. "Did that fall on your head?" and he pointed to the mop. I think. Because I can't imagine a mop hurting that much if it fell on your head.
I started laughing because the whole thing was dumb. I laughed and cried while I told him nothing fell on my head.
"Are you okay?" He hugged me and I kept on crying.
"We need to put you to bed. You need to relax," he said. I stopped crying.
I stood in the hallway looking sad, and then I started crying again.
"What hurts?" he asked me.
"Nothing hurts. I'm just mad. I'm a mess!"
He quickly put what he could away, disappeared again (football) and then came back to put the rest of the stuff away.
I grabbed Zoe and we got into bed to cuddle.
No heads were hurt in this incident.
4. Almost 10pm.
Our alarm clock was acting weird on Friday, so I had reset the alarm and the time. I asked my husband to set the time and the alarm again. I was busy cuddling with Zoe. She was going to sleep with us for the first time since her surgery.
As my hubby was messing with the alarm clock, an extremely loud, obnoxious, high-pitched noise went off. I thought he messed with the alarm clock so much that he turned the volume up or something.
I looked at him, he looked at me. Zoe jumped 5 feet into the air and Sophia ran all hunkered down to the middle of the bedroom.
"WHAT IS THAT?" we both said at the same time. I grabbed Zoe to hold her because she was really scared and had her cone on, which meant she was defenseless. She hippity-hopped all over the place (air, my arms, my chest, air again) and her back claws cut a long gash into my palm. I dropped her. She scattered all over the room. Sophia was long gone.
My husband and I were looking at all the smoke detectors on the ceilings, but we still couldn't figure out what was making the noise. He ran into the hallway, declared it was this white box that says: Fire Alarm – Do Not Paint Over, and tried to pry it off the wall. I thought, uh oh. That's not a good idea. I ran to look out the window because I saw flashing lights. He had opened our front door and then told me it was from outside and to get my shoes on.
I grabbed the small animal carrier, ran into the bedroom, ripped off Zoe's cone and stuffed her in the carrier. I put my shoes on, told my husband to get the other carrier for Sophia. He couldn't find it. I ran into the living room looking for Sophia, couldn't find her, so I ran into his room, opened the closet door, and got the carrier down from the shelf. Even in an emergency, my hubby is the same person. He only opened one door and since he didn't see it right away, he declared it not in that closet. And it was. I put on a jacket (I was in my pjs), and my husband told me Sophia was in her litter box.
I ran back to the living room, ripped off the top of the litter box, which made Sophia run away, and ran all over the dining area trying to grab her. My hubby had moved Zoe and the other carrier into the hallway. I opened the carrier door, stuff Sophia into the carrier, grabbed my purse (more for my wallet), the phone, the keys and we left.
I locked the door.
My husband said I didn't need to do that. Probably not, but you never know.
Then instead of running down the shorter hallway to get outside, we ran down the long hallway and went outside with all our fellow condo folk. We were the last to arrive. We probably wouldn't have survived if it was a big fire, but we didn't know what the noise meant. Someone said something about how we put our cats in their carriers (like we could hold them). The firemen were already investigating the fire (some guy did something in his condo and already put it out). We stood and waited.
Did I mention I was profusely bleeding at this point? Apparently when I was running all over our condo trying to save the cats, I was dripping blood. My husband, who must worry about these things more than saving the cats and us, was trailing behind me and cleaning up the blood.
He even brought a paper towel with him outside so I could cover my gash.
See, that's love. Now I felt slightly bad for telling him I didn't have to feed him.
My personal answer to the "what would you take with you in a fire" question is (now that I've done it):
· cats
· wallet
· keys
· phone
I left my other babies behind (my mom wants me to clarify this so I don't sound like a cat lover and baby hater -- my other babies are Gizmo and Oreo and they're cremains (cremated+ remains = cremains) now -- in nice wood boxes), and I was given a guilt trip about that this morning, but now I'll remember to bring them. Everything else would have to burn, I guess. Funny how your life gets whittled down to just a few things, and you spend so much time worrying about all the stuff you wouldn't take with you, if it came down to it. It's called a reality check.
So to recap, the injury list for Sunday was: gash in leg (which looks worse than what Zoe did to me), burn on forearm (it's now gray) and gash on palm. I'm starting to feel like Edward Scissorhands. Wasn't there a fire at the end of that movie too?
Sunday, September 18, 2005
Life
I just had to share this Savage Chicken comic with everyone directly. No linking today. From Monday through Friday, this is my life:
Me thinks (pirate talk, not an error) I need some more fun in my life....
Me thinks (pirate talk, not an error) I need some more fun in my life....
Friday, September 16, 2005
Eyeballing me
Almost every time I go home, there is a man on the train the always sits in the middle area of my car. I never notice when he gets on. He listens to music all during his trip. He seems fairly normal -- a little geeky, perhaps, but fairly normal. (I convinced myself yesterday for about 2 minutes that he was a manager at the store my husband works at because the manager is super geek and sometimes has to take BART to work because his fancy blue mustang has croaked. What makes it fancy? Why, the blue rims! He's pimping big time. And he has an affinity for bad 80's metal music. And I got stuck talking to him at a party one time -- not a good scene because that guy was awkward and made me awkward by just being around him.) He dresses casually, has bad 80's metal hair and is baggy in the butt (he usually gets off before me and I walk behind him. I'm not a pervert!).
Last week I fell asleep going home, and I woke up around South Hayward or Union City. I try to sit at the back of the car because there seems to be more free seats there than in the middle. So I basically face this guy and he faces me. I looked out the window and then slowly glanced around to the left side. That was when I caught him (I'll now deem him Mr. Creepy).
Mr. Creepy was staring at me.
See, my car is usually filled to capacity in SF, and by the time we get to Fremont, there are about 10 people in the car. In other words, it's not very full, so when come Mr. Creepy is staring at you, you'll notice it pretty quick.
Maybe it's because I to am listening to music. Or that I look funny while sleeping. I don't really know. I've never in my life been called "pretty" (I'm only "cute"), so I don't think he's staring at me because he thinks I'm hot. Hot is not me. I've very cold. Ask my husband who sometimes deems me the "Bag Lady" because I tend to throw on a lot of mismatched clothes if I'm not leaving the house and it's cold outside.
Needless to say, I looked away and never looked back again. I've caught him in the past, but I just let it go. But last week was just too weird for me because it was the first time I realized that he has stared at me before. It's when I really noticed him.
Yesterday I fell asleep and woke up pretty much at the same time as the last eyeballing incident. I looked out the window, looked at my iPod and then looked up.
You guessed it. Mr. Creepy was staring at me again. His eyes were opened wide and pupils looked small. Like he was staring off into space for an extended period of time. Or staring at me for an extended period of time...when I was sleeping.
I worry about that -- that while I'm sleeping some weirdo is making up strange fantasies about me (again, I'm not hot, I do not think of myself as being hot, all I have going for me is cuteness and being female) or planning to punch me while I'm sleeping or something that I don't want to imagine, but I am, so you need to stretch your imagination out too because I'm not going to help you. I'm really vulnerable when I sleep. But yet, even knowing this, I still sleep. I can't help it. I get tired and I just fall asleep.
One time when I was sleeping and sitting on the side handicap bench, a man reached over and caressed my hair. Now, I do have nice hair most of the time. It's all shiny and baby fine and the boys love it. Even with the straggley greys hairs I'm growing, I still look like I'm 21 and innocent. Well, I'm not 21 and I'm definitely not innocent.
I opened an eye and told him, "Do not ever touch me again."
"Oh! I thought this was your stop, honey, and you were going to miss it," he told me.
We were in Hayward. How the heck would this guy deduce that I get off at Hayward let alone any other stop?
I was pretty mad that day. It was almost worse than physical harm. And you sure do feel stupid after something like that happens. That's victim's guilt for you.
I picture Mr. Creepy to be this way. A guy that would stare at you, and then try at some point to do something really creepy -- like the hair thing.
I know me, and now I'm always going to be looking around to 1. see if he's on the train and 2. if he's eyeballing me. All the other times when I caught him, it was by accident. If I start purposely looking at him, that makes me Miss Creepy, now doesn't it?
Last week I fell asleep going home, and I woke up around South Hayward or Union City. I try to sit at the back of the car because there seems to be more free seats there than in the middle. So I basically face this guy and he faces me. I looked out the window and then slowly glanced around to the left side. That was when I caught him (I'll now deem him Mr. Creepy).
Mr. Creepy was staring at me.
See, my car is usually filled to capacity in SF, and by the time we get to Fremont, there are about 10 people in the car. In other words, it's not very full, so when come Mr. Creepy is staring at you, you'll notice it pretty quick.
Maybe it's because I to am listening to music. Or that I look funny while sleeping. I don't really know. I've never in my life been called "pretty" (I'm only "cute"), so I don't think he's staring at me because he thinks I'm hot. Hot is not me. I've very cold. Ask my husband who sometimes deems me the "Bag Lady" because I tend to throw on a lot of mismatched clothes if I'm not leaving the house and it's cold outside.
Needless to say, I looked away and never looked back again. I've caught him in the past, but I just let it go. But last week was just too weird for me because it was the first time I realized that he has stared at me before. It's when I really noticed him.
Yesterday I fell asleep and woke up pretty much at the same time as the last eyeballing incident. I looked out the window, looked at my iPod and then looked up.
You guessed it. Mr. Creepy was staring at me again. His eyes were opened wide and pupils looked small. Like he was staring off into space for an extended period of time. Or staring at me for an extended period of time...when I was sleeping.
I worry about that -- that while I'm sleeping some weirdo is making up strange fantasies about me (again, I'm not hot, I do not think of myself as being hot, all I have going for me is cuteness and being female) or planning to punch me while I'm sleeping or something that I don't want to imagine, but I am, so you need to stretch your imagination out too because I'm not going to help you. I'm really vulnerable when I sleep. But yet, even knowing this, I still sleep. I can't help it. I get tired and I just fall asleep.
One time when I was sleeping and sitting on the side handicap bench, a man reached over and caressed my hair. Now, I do have nice hair most of the time. It's all shiny and baby fine and the boys love it. Even with the straggley greys hairs I'm growing, I still look like I'm 21 and innocent. Well, I'm not 21 and I'm definitely not innocent.
I opened an eye and told him, "Do not ever touch me again."
"Oh! I thought this was your stop, honey, and you were going to miss it," he told me.
We were in Hayward. How the heck would this guy deduce that I get off at Hayward let alone any other stop?
I was pretty mad that day. It was almost worse than physical harm. And you sure do feel stupid after something like that happens. That's victim's guilt for you.
I picture Mr. Creepy to be this way. A guy that would stare at you, and then try at some point to do something really creepy -- like the hair thing.
I know me, and now I'm always going to be looking around to 1. see if he's on the train and 2. if he's eyeballing me. All the other times when I caught him, it was by accident. If I start purposely looking at him, that makes me Miss Creepy, now doesn't it?
Tuesday, September 13, 2005
Sorry, we have no water today
If you knew that the water faucet at one of the two sinks in the bathroom wasn't working anymore (it was a slow death), would you brush your teeth over the one sink that did work? And then continually inform people as they came out of the stalls that the faucet people were trying to use wasn't working?
And you had a cup full of water that you were using to rinse your mouth out?
And you could just as easily move to the other sink with your water cup and toothbrush and brush your chompers at that sink?
Wouldn't that just be easier for everyone?
And you had a cup full of water that you were using to rinse your mouth out?
And you could just as easily move to the other sink with your water cup and toothbrush and brush your chompers at that sink?
Wouldn't that just be easier for everyone?
This week is turning into a baaad week
Monday I was stuck on the BART train for 45 minutes, then had to go back to the previous station, get off and then get on the next SF cattle car (aka BART car) and then stand for 40 minutes until I got off at my station.
The first indication that something was awry in my car was when almost all the lights went out. The one above me didn't, so I continued to read. Other people weren't so lucky and had to sit in the dark. It's never good when the lights go out. The second indication was the smoke smell. Like an electrical fire. It got pretty stinky at one point, and by this time, we were stopped on the tracks. I took my earbuds out so I could hear what was going on. I always sit in the first car of the train, and the operator sounded like she was having a panic attack in her little closed off box.
I heard the person on the walkie-talkie say, "You better move everyone out of that car." Not again. This happened to me last week too! Everyone in the car had to move to the cars behind them. What generally happens is this: the people from the dead car (as it is called) tend to only move one car back. This causes a huge amount of displaced people back up. The man that was in front of me wanted to keep on keeping on, so I trailed behind him to the third car back, where I quickly found a seat. I was almost ready to get off at the next station and run to a car in the middle so I could sit down and get out of the displaced people crowd, but then I snagged the only empty seat in the car (someone was probably eyeballing it for a while too, and here I come and plop my big butt down and start reading).
So the train operator opened her box door, yelled, "Everyone needs to move to another car! This car is having a lot of problems!"
We all got up and moved to the next car, and since it was so early in the morning, there were plenty of seats for us.
As I usually do, I made a bad judgment call. I like to sit next to the window, and almost all the window seats were taken except in the back of the car where the benches that face each are. I had a choice: sit across from a man or sit across from a woman. I choose the woman. I should have gone with the man.
Since I didn't have my earbuds in, my only defense to friendly conversation was my book. While I was taking it out, the lady mumbled something at me. I pulled my book out and said, "Excuse me?"
She nodded her head in the direction of the dead car, and said, "So, what's going on with that car, huh?"
"Oh, I don't know. She just said it was having a lot of problems."
"The lssss weeet uuttt, huh?" she asked.
"Excuse me?" I asked again. What the heck was wrong with this lady? I realized the only way I was going to understand her was by looking at her mouth, which makes me look weird. Or deaf.
"The lights when out in the car, huh? I saw them go out," she said.
"Oh, yeah, they did."
I quickly looked down at my book and started reading. I realized I needed to avoid all attempts at conversation. I've been through this scenario a million times; I didn't need to reiterate all my BART experiences with this kook.
The operator told us the train was going out of service when the technician showed up to save us. We were going back to Hayward (we were in the middle of Hayward and Bay Fair stations) and we'd all have to leave. Didn't know how long this was going to take. Sorry for the inconvenience, blah blah blah.
That got the kook mumbling. She was really mumbling well too. She was holding some sort of conversation with herself because I was not going to acknowledge her presence unless we started getting attacked and she was the only person with a gun. Then she'd be my best friend.
Then she made some phone calls. She left a message to whomever saying that she was stuck on BART and she'll talk to her later, and blah blah blah. The second call she got someone on the phone and started telling her how we were stuck and blah blah blah. I kept ignoring.
When we finally got to Hayward, she immediately hightailed it off the train and found someone else to talk to. I moved far away from her.
There were a million announcements about the trains and which platform to get on for this train and that train. Everyone who wasn't on our train looked really confused. Then the announcer said, "And please don't yell at the station agent. It's not her fault that we have to change the plans. We're only trying to get everyone to their destination."
I thought that was funny.
I was an hour late because of all this.
So now we move on to today. Actually, it began yesterday.
Towards 10am I started feeling a crick in my neck. I didn't hurt too much, but it was annoying. I could move my head, however. Now I will never take advantage of that.
Today I woke up and couldn't move. I literally could not get out of bed.
I poked my husband in the side so he would get up and turn off the alarm clock. I usually get up and do this.
I squeaked, "I can't move. I can't get up. Yank me up!!!"
"I'm not going to yank you up. Can you turn at all?"
So there I was, trying to turn to the left and the right so I can get my all of a sudden very heavy body off the bed.
"No. I can't move!!!"
"Don't get upset," he told me.
"I can't get up! My neck huuuuuuuurts! Yank me up!"
He grabbed my arm, and then I yelped, so he let go.
I moved to the right. I moved to the left. He rubbed my neck. I tried again.
After about 10 minutes, I finally got myself up and out of bed.
I had to tackle getting my clothes off, taking a shower (including washing my hair -- which wasn't fun -- I had to go face first into the water because I couldn't lean my head back -- I almost drowned), then getting dressed again. As soon as my husband heard me turn off the water, he started knocking on the bathroom door so I would open it.
I weakly said, "I'm not dressed yet...." Even if my neck was okay, I don't get dressed that fast. There's this thing called drying off I need to do first.
"Are you in your underwear?" he asked me.
"Nooooooo....I can't put my clothes on!"
5 minutes later I opened the door and there was Zoe trying to get into the closet. I had to rush for this?
"Oh, she was sitting in front of the door, staring at it. It was cute," he told me.
I just looked at him.
I continued with my morning routine as best I could. I feed my babies in the morning, and I knew that wasn't going to happen, so as soon as my husband was done telling me all about some weird thing on Channel 8 where Jesus' uncle went to some town in England and did amazing things, I said, "Canyoucheckifthebabiesneedfood?"
I had to be quick because he might run away or start talking about something else.
He went into their room and then came out and informed me that they only have a little bit of food. Now, I would think he would just take it upon himself to feed the poor girls instead of telling me, but he needed direction.
"Can you feed them?"
He ran off to get their food.
When I left to drive to BART, I realized I probably shouldn't be driving since I couldn't turn to the left at all and turning to the right was a bit tricky.
I wanted to sleep on the BART train, but I was afraid to bend my neck. Sitting straight up wasn't working either because my head was nodding downwards. I finally gave up and tried the head propped up with my hand, and it was okay.
But since I did that, my neck stiffened up more, and I looked like I had a stick attached to my backside -- from my butt to my head. Like a puppet. I kept thinking, I hope today isn't the day I get attacked. I'm just an open target, I am. Some homeless guy eyeballed me, but since I could only see a bit forward and downwards, we only made slight eye contact, and then I passed him (looking down). He did say something to me, but I couldn't hear him (earbuds). Maybe he asked me why I was looking so funny.
And now I'm spending the remainder of my day looking like a zombie who can't move her neck. If anyone sneaks up on me, I'm dead. I'll probably have to go to the hospital or something.
What will happen Wednesday to me? We shall see, we shall see.
The first indication that something was awry in my car was when almost all the lights went out. The one above me didn't, so I continued to read. Other people weren't so lucky and had to sit in the dark. It's never good when the lights go out. The second indication was the smoke smell. Like an electrical fire. It got pretty stinky at one point, and by this time, we were stopped on the tracks. I took my earbuds out so I could hear what was going on. I always sit in the first car of the train, and the operator sounded like she was having a panic attack in her little closed off box.
I heard the person on the walkie-talkie say, "You better move everyone out of that car." Not again. This happened to me last week too! Everyone in the car had to move to the cars behind them. What generally happens is this: the people from the dead car (as it is called) tend to only move one car back. This causes a huge amount of displaced people back up. The man that was in front of me wanted to keep on keeping on, so I trailed behind him to the third car back, where I quickly found a seat. I was almost ready to get off at the next station and run to a car in the middle so I could sit down and get out of the displaced people crowd, but then I snagged the only empty seat in the car (someone was probably eyeballing it for a while too, and here I come and plop my big butt down and start reading).
So the train operator opened her box door, yelled, "Everyone needs to move to another car! This car is having a lot of problems!"
We all got up and moved to the next car, and since it was so early in the morning, there were plenty of seats for us.
As I usually do, I made a bad judgment call. I like to sit next to the window, and almost all the window seats were taken except in the back of the car where the benches that face each are. I had a choice: sit across from a man or sit across from a woman. I choose the woman. I should have gone with the man.
Since I didn't have my earbuds in, my only defense to friendly conversation was my book. While I was taking it out, the lady mumbled something at me. I pulled my book out and said, "Excuse me?"
She nodded her head in the direction of the dead car, and said, "So, what's going on with that car, huh?"
"Oh, I don't know. She just said it was having a lot of problems."
"The lssss weeet uuttt, huh?" she asked.
"Excuse me?" I asked again. What the heck was wrong with this lady? I realized the only way I was going to understand her was by looking at her mouth, which makes me look weird. Or deaf.
"The lights when out in the car, huh? I saw them go out," she said.
"Oh, yeah, they did."
I quickly looked down at my book and started reading. I realized I needed to avoid all attempts at conversation. I've been through this scenario a million times; I didn't need to reiterate all my BART experiences with this kook.
The operator told us the train was going out of service when the technician showed up to save us. We were going back to Hayward (we were in the middle of Hayward and Bay Fair stations) and we'd all have to leave. Didn't know how long this was going to take. Sorry for the inconvenience, blah blah blah.
That got the kook mumbling. She was really mumbling well too. She was holding some sort of conversation with herself because I was not going to acknowledge her presence unless we started getting attacked and she was the only person with a gun. Then she'd be my best friend.
Then she made some phone calls. She left a message to whomever saying that she was stuck on BART and she'll talk to her later, and blah blah blah. The second call she got someone on the phone and started telling her how we were stuck and blah blah blah. I kept ignoring.
When we finally got to Hayward, she immediately hightailed it off the train and found someone else to talk to. I moved far away from her.
There were a million announcements about the trains and which platform to get on for this train and that train. Everyone who wasn't on our train looked really confused. Then the announcer said, "And please don't yell at the station agent. It's not her fault that we have to change the plans. We're only trying to get everyone to their destination."
I thought that was funny.
I was an hour late because of all this.
So now we move on to today. Actually, it began yesterday.
Towards 10am I started feeling a crick in my neck. I didn't hurt too much, but it was annoying. I could move my head, however. Now I will never take advantage of that.
Today I woke up and couldn't move. I literally could not get out of bed.
I poked my husband in the side so he would get up and turn off the alarm clock. I usually get up and do this.
I squeaked, "I can't move. I can't get up. Yank me up!!!"
"I'm not going to yank you up. Can you turn at all?"
So there I was, trying to turn to the left and the right so I can get my all of a sudden very heavy body off the bed.
"No. I can't move!!!"
"Don't get upset," he told me.
"I can't get up! My neck huuuuuuuurts! Yank me up!"
He grabbed my arm, and then I yelped, so he let go.
I moved to the right. I moved to the left. He rubbed my neck. I tried again.
After about 10 minutes, I finally got myself up and out of bed.
I had to tackle getting my clothes off, taking a shower (including washing my hair -- which wasn't fun -- I had to go face first into the water because I couldn't lean my head back -- I almost drowned), then getting dressed again. As soon as my husband heard me turn off the water, he started knocking on the bathroom door so I would open it.
I weakly said, "I'm not dressed yet...." Even if my neck was okay, I don't get dressed that fast. There's this thing called drying off I need to do first.
"Are you in your underwear?" he asked me.
"Nooooooo....I can't put my clothes on!"
5 minutes later I opened the door and there was Zoe trying to get into the closet. I had to rush for this?
"Oh, she was sitting in front of the door, staring at it. It was cute," he told me.
I just looked at him.
I continued with my morning routine as best I could. I feed my babies in the morning, and I knew that wasn't going to happen, so as soon as my husband was done telling me all about some weird thing on Channel 8 where Jesus' uncle went to some town in England and did amazing things, I said, "Canyoucheckifthebabiesneedfood?"
I had to be quick because he might run away or start talking about something else.
He went into their room and then came out and informed me that they only have a little bit of food. Now, I would think he would just take it upon himself to feed the poor girls instead of telling me, but he needed direction.
"Can you feed them?"
He ran off to get their food.
When I left to drive to BART, I realized I probably shouldn't be driving since I couldn't turn to the left at all and turning to the right was a bit tricky.
I wanted to sleep on the BART train, but I was afraid to bend my neck. Sitting straight up wasn't working either because my head was nodding downwards. I finally gave up and tried the head propped up with my hand, and it was okay.
But since I did that, my neck stiffened up more, and I looked like I had a stick attached to my backside -- from my butt to my head. Like a puppet. I kept thinking, I hope today isn't the day I get attacked. I'm just an open target, I am. Some homeless guy eyeballed me, but since I could only see a bit forward and downwards, we only made slight eye contact, and then I passed him (looking down). He did say something to me, but I couldn't hear him (earbuds). Maybe he asked me why I was looking so funny.
And now I'm spending the remainder of my day looking like a zombie who can't move her neck. If anyone sneaks up on me, I'm dead. I'll probably have to go to the hospital or something.
What will happen Wednesday to me? We shall see, we shall see.
Sunday, September 11, 2005
Recycling man turns into environmental man
I was notified by my hubby today that you cannot flush paper towels down the toilet. You can only flush toilet paper.
Well, okay then.
I don't know where he's getting this stuff, as it's probably true, but it's so random now that I'm starting to worry. Are we going to start making mulch from our leftover food? Only buy recycle paper products? How far is this going to go?
Now, the only reason I told him to flush the paper towel down the toilet was to protect us all from a rather tiny spider nest/sac that was jammed in a kitchen cabinet nook. You could clearly see the pinhead specks of baby spiders in it. My thought was this: Flush the darn things down the toilet instead of putting them in the trash smasher where the pinheads may have a chance to survive. KILL! KILL! KILL!
I'm really afraid of spiders, by the way.
But NOOOOOOO.
Instead I got a lesson on why we shouldn't flush paper towels and blah blah blah, all the while he was holding the wadded up paper towel. So I cut him off, and I said very sternly, "Then can you please throw the paper towel away!!! I don't want baby spiders in my kitchen!"
He huffed, I huffed.
But what was so interesting about this whole scenario was that he was willing to kill living creatures instead of taking the risk of flushing a paper towel wad down the toilet. I'm not sure where this man's priorities are sometimes.
NOTE: I searched on flushing paper towels down the toilet. The first few hits only suggested that doing so would cause bad flushing habits -- like if you flushed a paper towel down the toilet, you would next flush a tiny scrap of paper and then finally just flush for no reason.
I'm taking this bit of information no where. I'll save it for later when this matter arises again.
Well, okay then.
I don't know where he's getting this stuff, as it's probably true, but it's so random now that I'm starting to worry. Are we going to start making mulch from our leftover food? Only buy recycle paper products? How far is this going to go?
Now, the only reason I told him to flush the paper towel down the toilet was to protect us all from a rather tiny spider nest/sac that was jammed in a kitchen cabinet nook. You could clearly see the pinhead specks of baby spiders in it. My thought was this: Flush the darn things down the toilet instead of putting them in the trash smasher where the pinheads may have a chance to survive. KILL! KILL! KILL!
I'm really afraid of spiders, by the way.
But NOOOOOOO.
Instead I got a lesson on why we shouldn't flush paper towels and blah blah blah, all the while he was holding the wadded up paper towel. So I cut him off, and I said very sternly, "Then can you please throw the paper towel away!!! I don't want baby spiders in my kitchen!"
He huffed, I huffed.
But what was so interesting about this whole scenario was that he was willing to kill living creatures instead of taking the risk of flushing a paper towel wad down the toilet. I'm not sure where this man's priorities are sometimes.
NOTE: I searched on flushing paper towels down the toilet. The first few hits only suggested that doing so would cause bad flushing habits -- like if you flushed a paper towel down the toilet, you would next flush a tiny scrap of paper and then finally just flush for no reason.
I'm taking this bit of information no where. I'll save it for later when this matter arises again.
Saturday, September 10, 2005
Self-surgery is the best!
For some unknown reason to me (I'm cursed), I tend to have the stupidest things happen to me physically. Some are from my mom's genes (thanks again, mom) and the rest are all my own.
I've had a variety of lovely skin things happen to me:
I've had a variety of lovely skin things happen to me:
- I tend to get red spots all over my skin (Two times this year alone.)
- Fungus (I know, it's gross, but these past experiences are part of me and I shan't deny them.)
- Impetigo (This was fun -- I wouldn't go to school or see my boyfriend (now hubby) until it cleared up. When I called the Dr. to make an appointment for it, I started bawling as soon as the nurse got on the phone. I was very traumatized by this incident. To make matters worse, I had a small child whisper, "Look at her skin, mommy," while I was working.)
- Weird lump on my wrist (I had it removed and now have a lovely oval scar on my wrist from where the stitches split open.)
- Lumps on my head (Genes -- I had a self-surgery moment with my first lump similar to the one I'll be sharing with you. Since then, I've grown another lump on the back of my head that my husband is afraid to touch.)
What happened to me tonight was a new one. I have moles in different places on my body. Not too bad -- nothing to scare the kids off or anything. One mole is a chunky one on my right hip bone.
I mean: Was on my right hip bone.
So there we were (hubby and I), watching Most Haunted on Saturday night. I suddenly got an itch on my hip, so I scratched it. And then I was in pain. So I looked down, and low and behold, my mole was split around the bottom edge and bleeding.
"Oh, my," I said. Really loud.
"What...?" my husband said.
"My mole is coming off!" I yelled and ran to the bathroom.
"Put a band aid on it!" my husband yelled back at me.
I got to the bathroom and looked at my poor, falling off mole. It had what looked like a whitehead in the middle of it. It was splitting along the bottom edge and bleeding and touching it hurt.
What do to. What to do.
So I yanked it off and pulled out a really long ingrown hair root as a bonus. That was the whitehead looking thing, I guess. I was left with a 2 centimeter in diameter hole that wouldn't stop bleeding for the life of me. I was going to faint. My life was in danger.
I put a big band aid on it and went back into the living room.
"I have a HOLE in my HIP NOW!" I told my husband. "I had to yank the thing off! There was an ingrown hair in the middle of it!"
"Uh, thanks for the information...," he said. "And you don't have a hole in your hip."
"It won't stop BLEEDING!" I said.
"You'll survive," he told me.
I just wonder if my mole will come back after my bleeding, gaping hole heals, or if I'll just have yet another scar on my skin.
Thursday, September 08, 2005
Refrigerators
You know how refrigerators are made nowadays -- they have many different sized shelves to choose from, and the freezer portion is either on the side or the bottom or the top (but now hardly on the top). And the shelves are no longer metal covered in plastic. Now they're just plastic. And long gone are the days of having shelves that stretch fully across the width of the refrigerator with almost, almost the same space between them.
Now we have plastic, chunky shelves. Shelves of different lengths and really different spacing between them. This is supposed to save space, I believe. Giving people different options to store their variously shaped food containers and packages. So we can store even more food in our refrigerators, because we all know Americans aren't nearly fat enough.
I share a communal refrigerator. I need to store a somewhat tall and wide bag every day. I've been doing this for years. And for years, almost every single day when I open the refrigerator, I see a slim sandwich or a hunk of cheese or some other random skinny or small item on the one shelf that has a lot of space for tall items. Such as my bag.
Why? Why do people do this? If I had a slim item, I would go for the shelf that had little head room. Not the shelf that a small animal could easily sit on. So day after day, I am rearranging people's slim food, moving the slim food to the shelf with little head room and then putting my tall bag on the shelf it belongs on.
The only thing I can think that causes people to do this is that they need space. Everyone needs their space, so I guess so does food. But today, there was tons of space on all the shelves, so I don't get why the only items on the roomy shelf were small. It's almost like a showcase for them: "This is my small item, please take the time to look at it and don't be jealous of its smallness."
The problem with me having to move other people's food around to make room for my bag is that I feel somewhat like a food molester. I don't really want to touch other people's food, but I don't want my food going bad. It's a matter of survival.
And while I'm on the subject -- why do people put yogurt containers and the like (the type of food that easily explodes from its container when dropped) in the side shelves? One time I opened the door, and someone's yogurt went flying, hit the floor and exploded in a cloud of pale pinkness. I had to clean up the mess, which was embarrassing enough because I was worried the person would come in at that moment to grab their pink yogurt. Technically, it was their fault for putting it on the side shelf where there was a enough room to store a 3-liter bottle of pop (and no, I'm not Canadian -- I just felt like using the word). But would I have to offer to buy them another yogurt? Or do I stand my ground and blame their thoughtlessness? I wonder if they ever figured out the mystery of their missing yogurt. I would be really perturbed if my food went missing.
Now we have plastic, chunky shelves. Shelves of different lengths and really different spacing between them. This is supposed to save space, I believe. Giving people different options to store their variously shaped food containers and packages. So we can store even more food in our refrigerators, because we all know Americans aren't nearly fat enough.
I share a communal refrigerator. I need to store a somewhat tall and wide bag every day. I've been doing this for years. And for years, almost every single day when I open the refrigerator, I see a slim sandwich or a hunk of cheese or some other random skinny or small item on the one shelf that has a lot of space for tall items. Such as my bag.
Why? Why do people do this? If I had a slim item, I would go for the shelf that had little head room. Not the shelf that a small animal could easily sit on. So day after day, I am rearranging people's slim food, moving the slim food to the shelf with little head room and then putting my tall bag on the shelf it belongs on.
The only thing I can think that causes people to do this is that they need space. Everyone needs their space, so I guess so does food. But today, there was tons of space on all the shelves, so I don't get why the only items on the roomy shelf were small. It's almost like a showcase for them: "This is my small item, please take the time to look at it and don't be jealous of its smallness."
The problem with me having to move other people's food around to make room for my bag is that I feel somewhat like a food molester. I don't really want to touch other people's food, but I don't want my food going bad. It's a matter of survival.
And while I'm on the subject -- why do people put yogurt containers and the like (the type of food that easily explodes from its container when dropped) in the side shelves? One time I opened the door, and someone's yogurt went flying, hit the floor and exploded in a cloud of pale pinkness. I had to clean up the mess, which was embarrassing enough because I was worried the person would come in at that moment to grab their pink yogurt. Technically, it was their fault for putting it on the side shelf where there was a enough room to store a 3-liter bottle of pop (and no, I'm not Canadian -- I just felt like using the word). But would I have to offer to buy them another yogurt? Or do I stand my ground and blame their thoughtlessness? I wonder if they ever figured out the mystery of their missing yogurt. I would be really perturbed if my food went missing.
Tuesday, September 06, 2005
Fakes
Some people can spot a Louis Vuitton fake. Or Prada. Or....well, honestly, that's all I can think of. Wait! How about Burberry?
That's not my world, so I wouldn't know one from the other. And I don't really care about fake or real designer brands.
My world is Paul Frank or Lonsdale -- stuff like that.
Paul Frank lovers belong to this secret cult. We're not afraid to compliment one another or to openly stare and admire another's Paul Frank items. Lonsdale people do this less. The most that's ever happened to me is girls staring at my lovely Lonsdale purse. It's mostly a UK thing unless you're a boxer.
I'm not going to say I can spot a fake Paul Frank or a fake Lonsdale item right off the bat, but as someone who has bought a fake Lonsdale purse on eBay and received a fake Paul Frank wallet from a friend, I'm now a bit more educated. I don't use my fake Lonsdale purse anymore because I bought a real one and now I feel weird about it. I don't care about my Paul Frank wallet. It's hard to tell it's fake.
Today I had to go to the post office on Sutter. A block away is the Paul Frank store, so I thought I'd go in after the Post Office and see if they had any new shirts for my hubby. That's pretty much all we can afford from Paul Frank. Everything else is priced way to high for just a splurge buy.
When I started walking to the Paul Frank store, I realized that if I bought anything, I would have to pull out my fake Paul Frank wallet. Should I hide it? Just whip it out and stand my ground? At least I knew it was fake. I had that going for me.
I went in, looked around, admired a 90 dollar bag (come on -- designer bags a 10 times that! I think?) and decided on a lovely Paul Frank Julius Devil t-shirt for my hubby. I wanted to get him this shirt for a long time, might as well do it now.
Before I bought the shirt, I admired the real Paul Frank wallets. I even went so far as to ask the cashier how much they all were. Not that expensive, but too much for me today. I think I asked as a precursor of him maybe pointing out that my wallet was fake. Like, yeah, I know it is, and I could just as easily buy a real one, but I'm not. So there. Take that, Paul Frank store cashier!
I put the shirt down and announced I was only buying the shirt today.
The cashier told me my total before I had a chance to take out my fake wallet, and so I hesitated a bit. I was going to try to take my credit card out without him seeing my wallet. But he was tall, so I figured he was going to see it no matter what. I may as well be honest about it instead of looking dorky because I was obviously trying to hide my wallet.
Then it happened.
"Is that a fake Paul Frank wallet?" he asked me.
I proudly said, "Yes, it is." I was caught.
"They did a good job. It's one of the better ones I've seen," he told me.
"Oh, my friend went to Hong Kong and brought this back for me. I was fooled at first, but then I figured out no e-tailers were selling this wallet, and the people who were on eBay were all from Hong Kong. And there's no tag."
"It's a good monkey. They did a good job," he said.
"You're the first person to notice, actually," I told him. Then I thought how stupid I was for saying that. Of course he knows it's fake. He works at a Paul Frank store. He probably has to watch some film about fakes and how to spot them when he got hired.
He said, "Really?" Like it was that hard to believe. I'm yet again a dork.
So I paid, and I dorkily said as I was leaving, "Someday I will buy a real wallet. When I have the money." Yet, I just bought a t-shirt that was more than any of the wallets on display.
When I got closer to work, I called my hubby and said, "There's nothing worse than going to the Paul Frank store and buying something and pulling out your fake Paul Frank wallet."
He just laughed at me. A little too much, in my opinion.
In case you're wondering what a fake Paul Frank wallet looks like so you can spot it quickly next time you're out and about, here it is and only on eBay: Fake Paul Frank Wallet.
That's not my world, so I wouldn't know one from the other. And I don't really care about fake or real designer brands.
My world is Paul Frank or Lonsdale -- stuff like that.
Paul Frank lovers belong to this secret cult. We're not afraid to compliment one another or to openly stare and admire another's Paul Frank items. Lonsdale people do this less. The most that's ever happened to me is girls staring at my lovely Lonsdale purse. It's mostly a UK thing unless you're a boxer.
I'm not going to say I can spot a fake Paul Frank or a fake Lonsdale item right off the bat, but as someone who has bought a fake Lonsdale purse on eBay and received a fake Paul Frank wallet from a friend, I'm now a bit more educated. I don't use my fake Lonsdale purse anymore because I bought a real one and now I feel weird about it. I don't care about my Paul Frank wallet. It's hard to tell it's fake.
Today I had to go to the post office on Sutter. A block away is the Paul Frank store, so I thought I'd go in after the Post Office and see if they had any new shirts for my hubby. That's pretty much all we can afford from Paul Frank. Everything else is priced way to high for just a splurge buy.
When I started walking to the Paul Frank store, I realized that if I bought anything, I would have to pull out my fake Paul Frank wallet. Should I hide it? Just whip it out and stand my ground? At least I knew it was fake. I had that going for me.
I went in, looked around, admired a 90 dollar bag (come on -- designer bags a 10 times that! I think?) and decided on a lovely Paul Frank Julius Devil t-shirt for my hubby. I wanted to get him this shirt for a long time, might as well do it now.
Before I bought the shirt, I admired the real Paul Frank wallets. I even went so far as to ask the cashier how much they all were. Not that expensive, but too much for me today. I think I asked as a precursor of him maybe pointing out that my wallet was fake. Like, yeah, I know it is, and I could just as easily buy a real one, but I'm not. So there. Take that, Paul Frank store cashier!
I put the shirt down and announced I was only buying the shirt today.
The cashier told me my total before I had a chance to take out my fake wallet, and so I hesitated a bit. I was going to try to take my credit card out without him seeing my wallet. But he was tall, so I figured he was going to see it no matter what. I may as well be honest about it instead of looking dorky because I was obviously trying to hide my wallet.
Then it happened.
"Is that a fake Paul Frank wallet?" he asked me.
I proudly said, "Yes, it is." I was caught.
"They did a good job. It's one of the better ones I've seen," he told me.
"Oh, my friend went to Hong Kong and brought this back for me. I was fooled at first, but then I figured out no e-tailers were selling this wallet, and the people who were on eBay were all from Hong Kong. And there's no tag."
"It's a good monkey. They did a good job," he said.
"You're the first person to notice, actually," I told him. Then I thought how stupid I was for saying that. Of course he knows it's fake. He works at a Paul Frank store. He probably has to watch some film about fakes and how to spot them when he got hired.
He said, "Really?" Like it was that hard to believe. I'm yet again a dork.
So I paid, and I dorkily said as I was leaving, "Someday I will buy a real wallet. When I have the money." Yet, I just bought a t-shirt that was more than any of the wallets on display.
When I got closer to work, I called my hubby and said, "There's nothing worse than going to the Paul Frank store and buying something and pulling out your fake Paul Frank wallet."
He just laughed at me. A little too much, in my opinion.
In case you're wondering what a fake Paul Frank wallet looks like so you can spot it quickly next time you're out and about, here it is and only on eBay: Fake Paul Frank Wallet.
Monday, September 05, 2005
Labor Day
So I've finally turned into one of those people who shop like a nut on a holiday. I've been working in the "corporate" (more like office) world for almost 6 years now, and until today, I have yet to be one of those people. I almost hate myself.
I had to run many unexpected errands today plus some planned ones. I went to Staples to buy some shipping supplies, to PetSmart to buy my babies some more food, to Aaron Brothers to buy a frame....and that's when it happened.
I met disgruntled retail clerk who had to work on Labor Day.
I remembered these holidays. I used to be that disgruntled retail clerk. I used to complain each and every time about those people. Why the heck do they have to shop in droves on these holidays? Stores are busy, malls are almost impossible to get to and forget grocery stores -- you basically need to map out your plan of action the night before in order to survive all the holiday people plus the old folks who shop during the weekdays who don't know the meaning of speed anymore. If I by chance got the holiday off, I would stay home or sneer at all of them who were out and about while I was driving to do something unrelated to shopping.
Then I got my corporate/office job, and I still stayed home during these days. It was a rare occasion when my hubby got the day off (he's still suffering through retail), so I just sat at home, doing chores or watching TV. If he did get the day off, we'd plan something to do, but it was never shopping, so we'd both sneer away as we tried to get through the holiday back-up on the roads.
I really don't know how I had so many things to do today, but I knew one of them was to go to Aaron Brothers with another 40% off online coupon (sale ends today) and buy a matching frame. I bought one on Friday with a 40% off coupon, and I was going to buy both frames at once (you could only use one coupon per item per visit -- evil Aaron Bros), but after many minutes of thinking about it, I realized I could just come back and buy the other one on Saturday or Sunday or even Monday with another coupon. Sometimes I'm very slow on these things.
So there I was, panicking a bit because I couldn't find the matching frame, and it was baffling to think that someone else would have a need to buy that same 36X24 frame. I remember there were several of these frames on Friday too. I turned into the next aisle and finally found my frame. I got into line, and when the clerk saw me, she screamed, "I NEED SOMEONE ELSE TO RING UP HERE!" My Aaron Brothers clerk buddy (he likes my Paul Frank stuff), said he would help, but the disgruntled clerk (as now she clearly was) said to get "what'shisnamethatjustcamein" to ring. She said it like he was a piece of dog poo on the bottom of her shoes that still stunk and had pine needles stuck to it.
I immediately felt sorry for What's His Name From That Just Came In. He was going to get it from disgruntled clerk.
When What's His Name came up to the front, he pleasantly asked if there was a money in the cash register.
Disgruntled clerk barked, "Of course there is! What do you think?" Oh, come on. How stupid could you possibly be. Ah, but this did not faze What's His Name. I think he was new or something. Or just really happy.
Disgruntled was almost finished with the pregnant lady in front of me, when Disgruntled asked, "Do you need help out?"
Wow, I thought. That was pretty nice of her. I probably wouldn't have thought of that. You get yourself preggers, then you deal with how you're going to cart your stuff out when you're shopping. But, I was feeling nice today, and if she had said yes, I was going to offer to help her. Why not. The birds were chirping...the sky was blue...it was a lovely Labor Day all around! But the lady said no, which saved me from looking weird, and she coerced her toddler to leave the Birthday Card racks alone and to leave.
I was next.
I put the frame down on the counter, which was really big, mind you (again, 36X24), and then I pulled out my 40% coupon. I saw the look on Disgruntle's face. Apparently I was supposed to give her the coupon first. Well, I didn't know. The stupid coupon doesn't say that, and the frame was HUGE. Gimme a break. I said with a smile on my happy Labor Day face, "Oh, sorry, was I supposed to give that to you first?"
Eeeeeek. I should have stayed quiet.
"Well, it's not as bad as some people who are buying a TON of stuff, and after I'm DONE ringing up their stuff, THEN they pull out the coupon and say, 'I have this coupon...can I use it?'. I tell them NO. NO you can't use it now!"
Okaaaay....how to handle this one, I thought.
She was finished telling me that lovely story, and we were waiting for my credit card to get approved. For some reason it takes twice as long to do this at Aaron Brothers than most stores (I've bought a bazillion things there since we bought the condo).
This left her time to think, and thinking is never good when you're disgruntled.
She blurted out of nowhere, "WHAT ARE ALL THESE PEOPLE DOING HERE? AREN'T THEY SUPPOSED TO BE OUT HAVING PICNICS AND GOING TO THE BEACH? IT'S SUPPOSED TO BE SLOW TODAY!!!!"
I smiled. I understood. "You'd think, huh?" I responded. Although, I don't think she was really talking to me. I think she was just reprimanding us all.
What's His Name turned around and joyfully said, "That's what my roommates are doing today! They're going to the beach!"
I looked at him and sent him warning thoughts telepathically -- you want to live through this day, What's His Name? Then shut up. She's a loose canon.
She continued to complain about how it's busy and it shouldn't be when she suddenly switched gears.
"I'M GOING TO CLEAN THE FRONT REGISTERS TODAY!" she said to everyone.
I smiled. More out of nerves than anything else. She was now starting to ruin my Labor Day fun.
She got a tad quieter and said, "I'm tired of this place looking like a pig sty! Ever since I started working at this store, this cup has been here," and she pointed to the cup, "So I put a note on it. It says, 'If this is your cup, take it home or it's going in the garbage!!'"
I had noticed this lovely, threatening note earlier.
"So I'm going to put NOTES ON EVERYTHING THAT DOESN'T BELONG HERE!"
Woah, nelly, did I want to get out of there. She might slap a note on my forehead: "YOU SHOULDN'T BE SHOPPING ON LABOR DAY, YOU LOSER!"
Luckily, I just finished signing my credit card slip. I really wanted to say, "I hope your day gets better," but I figured if I did, she would jump over the counter and poke my eyes out or pull my hair.
When she asked me if I wanted a bag, I quickly said no so she wouldn't feel put upon anymore by me.
As I walked out, I realized what I had become. I was one of those people now. The stupid holiday people who go shopping and annoy the clerks who have to work all day.
And I still had to go to Target, Trader Joe's and Safeway.
I had to run many unexpected errands today plus some planned ones. I went to Staples to buy some shipping supplies, to PetSmart to buy my babies some more food, to Aaron Brothers to buy a frame....and that's when it happened.
I met disgruntled retail clerk who had to work on Labor Day.
I remembered these holidays. I used to be that disgruntled retail clerk. I used to complain each and every time about those people. Why the heck do they have to shop in droves on these holidays? Stores are busy, malls are almost impossible to get to and forget grocery stores -- you basically need to map out your plan of action the night before in order to survive all the holiday people plus the old folks who shop during the weekdays who don't know the meaning of speed anymore. If I by chance got the holiday off, I would stay home or sneer at all of them who were out and about while I was driving to do something unrelated to shopping.
Then I got my corporate/office job, and I still stayed home during these days. It was a rare occasion when my hubby got the day off (he's still suffering through retail), so I just sat at home, doing chores or watching TV. If he did get the day off, we'd plan something to do, but it was never shopping, so we'd both sneer away as we tried to get through the holiday back-up on the roads.
I really don't know how I had so many things to do today, but I knew one of them was to go to Aaron Brothers with another 40% off online coupon (sale ends today) and buy a matching frame. I bought one on Friday with a 40% off coupon, and I was going to buy both frames at once (you could only use one coupon per item per visit -- evil Aaron Bros), but after many minutes of thinking about it, I realized I could just come back and buy the other one on Saturday or Sunday or even Monday with another coupon. Sometimes I'm very slow on these things.
So there I was, panicking a bit because I couldn't find the matching frame, and it was baffling to think that someone else would have a need to buy that same 36X24 frame. I remember there were several of these frames on Friday too. I turned into the next aisle and finally found my frame. I got into line, and when the clerk saw me, she screamed, "I NEED SOMEONE ELSE TO RING UP HERE!" My Aaron Brothers clerk buddy (he likes my Paul Frank stuff), said he would help, but the disgruntled clerk (as now she clearly was) said to get "what'shisnamethatjustcamein" to ring. She said it like he was a piece of dog poo on the bottom of her shoes that still stunk and had pine needles stuck to it.
I immediately felt sorry for What's His Name From That Just Came In. He was going to get it from disgruntled clerk.
When What's His Name came up to the front, he pleasantly asked if there was a money in the cash register.
Disgruntled clerk barked, "Of course there is! What do you think?" Oh, come on. How stupid could you possibly be. Ah, but this did not faze What's His Name. I think he was new or something. Or just really happy.
Disgruntled was almost finished with the pregnant lady in front of me, when Disgruntled asked, "Do you need help out?"
Wow, I thought. That was pretty nice of her. I probably wouldn't have thought of that. You get yourself preggers, then you deal with how you're going to cart your stuff out when you're shopping. But, I was feeling nice today, and if she had said yes, I was going to offer to help her. Why not. The birds were chirping...the sky was blue...it was a lovely Labor Day all around! But the lady said no, which saved me from looking weird, and she coerced her toddler to leave the Birthday Card racks alone and to leave.
I was next.
I put the frame down on the counter, which was really big, mind you (again, 36X24), and then I pulled out my 40% coupon. I saw the look on Disgruntle's face. Apparently I was supposed to give her the coupon first. Well, I didn't know. The stupid coupon doesn't say that, and the frame was HUGE. Gimme a break. I said with a smile on my happy Labor Day face, "Oh, sorry, was I supposed to give that to you first?"
Eeeeeek. I should have stayed quiet.
"Well, it's not as bad as some people who are buying a TON of stuff, and after I'm DONE ringing up their stuff, THEN they pull out the coupon and say, 'I have this coupon...can I use it?'. I tell them NO. NO you can't use it now!"
Okaaaay....how to handle this one, I thought.
She was finished telling me that lovely story, and we were waiting for my credit card to get approved. For some reason it takes twice as long to do this at Aaron Brothers than most stores (I've bought a bazillion things there since we bought the condo).
This left her time to think, and thinking is never good when you're disgruntled.
She blurted out of nowhere, "WHAT ARE ALL THESE PEOPLE DOING HERE? AREN'T THEY SUPPOSED TO BE OUT HAVING PICNICS AND GOING TO THE BEACH? IT'S SUPPOSED TO BE SLOW TODAY!!!!"
I smiled. I understood. "You'd think, huh?" I responded. Although, I don't think she was really talking to me. I think she was just reprimanding us all.
What's His Name turned around and joyfully said, "That's what my roommates are doing today! They're going to the beach!"
I looked at him and sent him warning thoughts telepathically -- you want to live through this day, What's His Name? Then shut up. She's a loose canon.
She continued to complain about how it's busy and it shouldn't be when she suddenly switched gears.
"I'M GOING TO CLEAN THE FRONT REGISTERS TODAY!" she said to everyone.
I smiled. More out of nerves than anything else. She was now starting to ruin my Labor Day fun.
She got a tad quieter and said, "I'm tired of this place looking like a pig sty! Ever since I started working at this store, this cup has been here," and she pointed to the cup, "So I put a note on it. It says, 'If this is your cup, take it home or it's going in the garbage!!'"
I had noticed this lovely, threatening note earlier.
"So I'm going to put NOTES ON EVERYTHING THAT DOESN'T BELONG HERE!"
Woah, nelly, did I want to get out of there. She might slap a note on my forehead: "YOU SHOULDN'T BE SHOPPING ON LABOR DAY, YOU LOSER!"
Luckily, I just finished signing my credit card slip. I really wanted to say, "I hope your day gets better," but I figured if I did, she would jump over the counter and poke my eyes out or pull my hair.
When she asked me if I wanted a bag, I quickly said no so she wouldn't feel put upon anymore by me.
As I walked out, I realized what I had become. I was one of those people now. The stupid holiday people who go shopping and annoy the clerks who have to work all day.
And I still had to go to Target, Trader Joe's and Safeway.
Sunday, September 04, 2005
Let's not forget the animals
Not only did Hurricane Katrina displace thousands of people, but it also displaced thousands of animals (too many for me to think about). I've included two links where you can donate some money to help the rescue effort of these animals.
Take two seconds to think about your pets -- I think you may find an extra dollar in your wallet.
Take two seconds to think about your pets -- I think you may find an extra dollar in your wallet.
Saturday, September 03, 2005
Hurricane Katrina
I've added a direct link to the Red Cross. If you haven't done so already or even if you have, take some time to visit Red Cross's site and maybe donate a few bucks.
I think we all didn't understand how huge a disaster Hurricane Katrina was and still is.
As everyone's been saying -- even a dollar helps.
I think we all didn't understand how huge a disaster Hurricane Katrina was and still is.
As everyone's been saying -- even a dollar helps.
Thursday, September 01, 2005
The games continue
I just went into our bathroom.
There was a used toilet paper roll with paper from the new roll stuffed in it.
I threw it away.
So far the point score is:
Me: 10
Husband: 0
There was a used toilet paper roll with paper from the new roll stuffed in it.
I threw it away.
So far the point score is:
Me: 10
Husband: 0
I find this interesting
I'm using a site to write my blog that's dedicated to just that - blogs.
Yet, when I use the spell checker, it always tells me the "blog" is not a word.
They may want to update that.
Yet, when I use the spell checker, it always tells me the "blog" is not a word.
They may want to update that.
Savage Chickens
If you click on the Savage Chickens link to your right, you'll notice that Doug Savage and myself both felt like writing in pirate dialect today.
If you can't figure that out, then you're silly and shouldn't be reading me blog. Argh.
And for those of you who see "me this" and "me that" and think the writer is stupid and meant "my," well, here's your lesson in writer kookiness. Sometime when you feel like a pirate, you must write like one.
Update:
I realized as the days and weeks progress, the pirate talk comic will further disappear from the Savage Chickens web site, so here it is in all its glory:
If you can't figure that out, then you're silly and shouldn't be reading me blog. Argh.
And for those of you who see "me this" and "me that" and think the writer is stupid and meant "my," well, here's your lesson in writer kookiness. Sometime when you feel like a pirate, you must write like one.
Update:
I realized as the days and weeks progress, the pirate talk comic will further disappear from the Savage Chickens web site, so here it is in all its glory:
Me lady is back!
Remember that kind, kind lady who woke me up? I think she has been avoiding me since then. Not that I blame her. But today she sat next to me. When I noticed through my nap state that someone sat next to me, I took a look.
It was her!
I told myself, Self, do not fall into a deep sleep today and miss your stop. Do not take comfort in the fact that your protector and alarm clock is sitting next to you. More importantly, don't look like a fool.
I was really trying to pay attention to where I was. I now turn my iPod down fairly low so I can hear the station announcements. For some reason, after Oakland, I just wasn't hearing them anymore. When we were at West Oakland, I told myself, Self, you'll soon be in SF. Wake the hell up.
I did wake up. But it was just one of those things -- not because I heard the announcement and not because how the train motion changed while going through the tunnel. We were already at Embarcadero.
I had to act like I was wide awake, and I had planned to keep sleeping right up until the train was just stopping at the station. I didn't want to scare the lady off -- even though she probably thought she was going to have to wake me up. I may need her later on.
When we got to Montgomery, she waited until the train stopped and then got up to let me out.
It was just like old times. Oh, how I missed her.
It was her!
I told myself, Self, do not fall into a deep sleep today and miss your stop. Do not take comfort in the fact that your protector and alarm clock is sitting next to you. More importantly, don't look like a fool.
I was really trying to pay attention to where I was. I now turn my iPod down fairly low so I can hear the station announcements. For some reason, after Oakland, I just wasn't hearing them anymore. When we were at West Oakland, I told myself, Self, you'll soon be in SF. Wake the hell up.
I did wake up. But it was just one of those things -- not because I heard the announcement and not because how the train motion changed while going through the tunnel. We were already at Embarcadero.
I had to act like I was wide awake, and I had planned to keep sleeping right up until the train was just stopping at the station. I didn't want to scare the lady off -- even though she probably thought she was going to have to wake me up. I may need her later on.
When we got to Montgomery, she waited until the train stopped and then got up to let me out.
It was just like old times. Oh, how I missed her.
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