And I do quote:
I'd also like to include J------ Z-----. She has a lot of ---------------- experience and a questioning attitude.
Yes, that's correct: A QUESTIONING ATTITUDE!!!
I rock!
So there, momma, who says I should keep my mouth closed!
Monday, February 27, 2006
Tuesday, February 21, 2006
My niece
I spent some more time with my niece this past Sunday. We had a fun time making clay critters. I realized that I really can't make anything from memory, but I'm really good at copying things. I said this to her before, and she informed me of this when I decided making clay critters was getting too difficult for me.
But I made a ladybug and a red-eyed tree frog, and helped make eyes for her monkey and dog.
Then we had my sis put them in the oven to bake so they'd be hard and last forever.
Let's just say that baking clay critters wasn't the best idea, and it looked like we used black clay instead of different colors.
To top off the visit, I regressed to being a kid again, which really isn't that hard for me, and we both lip synched to Hillary Duff tunes while dancing. (Note: I only know one Hillary Duff song because of Laguna Beach on MTV -- although I do enjoy watching her TV show and I saw one of her movies while in Boston -- she's so typically typical that you can't help but like her to some extent.)
To this day I'm still wondering why my niece has Linkin' Park on her iPOD shuffle, but that's something I'll have to bring up to her dad next time I see him.
It was a good visit. She's a very cool kid. And she likes Snicklesnorts AKA Blueberry.
But I made a ladybug and a red-eyed tree frog, and helped make eyes for her monkey and dog.
Then we had my sis put them in the oven to bake so they'd be hard and last forever.
Let's just say that baking clay critters wasn't the best idea, and it looked like we used black clay instead of different colors.
To top off the visit, I regressed to being a kid again, which really isn't that hard for me, and we both lip synched to Hillary Duff tunes while dancing. (Note: I only know one Hillary Duff song because of Laguna Beach on MTV -- although I do enjoy watching her TV show and I saw one of her movies while in Boston -- she's so typically typical that you can't help but like her to some extent.)
To this day I'm still wondering why my niece has Linkin' Park on her iPOD shuffle, but that's something I'll have to bring up to her dad next time I see him.
It was a good visit. She's a very cool kid. And she likes Snicklesnorts AKA Blueberry.
The best thing ever happened to me today
Everyone likes making new friends. Especially friends that are colorful and cheerful and happy to see you. So much so that they even sing to you! Yes, we all wish this could happen every day, but alas, these types of friends are rare.
And no, I didn't go crazy and think my jack in the box antenna ball started singing to me.
I was walking back from my most favorite place in the whole world (kinkos) with my "friend" (code word for co-worker), when I spotted the balloon floating around 2nd street. It was tied to one of those hunking plastic things that weigh the balloon down. It was a fantastic sight to behold, so I ran back up the street to take a picture with my new camera phone.
Even though neither of my phones work right now, the camera on my camera phone works just fine. I'm almost tempted to pay the 40 bucks a month just so I can take random pictures whenever I want and never be bothered with another phone call again. But then I realized today that you can't do anything with the pictures except send them to someone. And, well, since my phone doesn't work....I can't do anything with it. Unless someone knows something different?
Anyway, I ran up the street, all the while trying to get a good shot of the balloon fluttering between cars. It moved up the street, then back down, and then slowly made its way to me and stopped. It was fate.
That was when I heard it singing to me. How fantastic is that? A singing balloon! Who knew? It was singing "Happy Birthday to you!!" And even though it wasn't my birthday, I was still darn pleased that it cared so much.
So I grabbed the balloon and met up with my "friend." Halfway back to the "hang out spot" (code word for: work), I declared that this balloon was probably the worst thing I could get my hands on. I really wanted to take it upstairs, but I knew I would constantly make it sing, so I figured I should strap it down somewhere.
We have an art gallery near our "hang out place," and I contemplated strapping it to one of the sculptures outside (which, by the way, have never been tagged and I'm still amazed about that), but I figured that wasn't very nice. So I tied it loosely to a pole (as I knew someone would want to take this fantastic balloon away and share with others) and took a picture of it with my camera phone. And I would post that picture with this blog entry, but since my phone doesn't work as a phone and only as a camera, I cant.
As a side story to the cruelty of having a camera but no working phone, I tried to take a picture of a man driving a van behind me who was having a grand time picking his nose and looking at what came out. I did take the picture, but you can only see my eye and a white blob behind me. And again, I can't share it, because my phone doesn't work.
And no, I didn't go crazy and think my jack in the box antenna ball started singing to me.
I was walking back from my most favorite place in the whole world (kinkos) with my "friend" (code word for co-worker), when I spotted the balloon floating around 2nd street. It was tied to one of those hunking plastic things that weigh the balloon down. It was a fantastic sight to behold, so I ran back up the street to take a picture with my new camera phone.
Even though neither of my phones work right now, the camera on my camera phone works just fine. I'm almost tempted to pay the 40 bucks a month just so I can take random pictures whenever I want and never be bothered with another phone call again. But then I realized today that you can't do anything with the pictures except send them to someone. And, well, since my phone doesn't work....I can't do anything with it. Unless someone knows something different?
Anyway, I ran up the street, all the while trying to get a good shot of the balloon fluttering between cars. It moved up the street, then back down, and then slowly made its way to me and stopped. It was fate.
That was when I heard it singing to me. How fantastic is that? A singing balloon! Who knew? It was singing "Happy Birthday to you!!" And even though it wasn't my birthday, I was still darn pleased that it cared so much.
So I grabbed the balloon and met up with my "friend." Halfway back to the "hang out spot" (code word for: work), I declared that this balloon was probably the worst thing I could get my hands on. I really wanted to take it upstairs, but I knew I would constantly make it sing, so I figured I should strap it down somewhere.
We have an art gallery near our "hang out place," and I contemplated strapping it to one of the sculptures outside (which, by the way, have never been tagged and I'm still amazed about that), but I figured that wasn't very nice. So I tied it loosely to a pole (as I knew someone would want to take this fantastic balloon away and share with others) and took a picture of it with my camera phone. And I would post that picture with this blog entry, but since my phone doesn't work as a phone and only as a camera, I cant.
As a side story to the cruelty of having a camera but no working phone, I tried to take a picture of a man driving a van behind me who was having a grand time picking his nose and looking at what came out. I did take the picture, but you can only see my eye and a white blob behind me. And again, I can't share it, because my phone doesn't work.
Saturday, February 18, 2006
Sales in my etsy shop!!
I'm currently running a really cool sale at my zoesoph shop on etsy. Everything listed is 50% off plus free shipping
AND
If you buy 2 items within 48 hours, you can get a 3rd item for FREE! And I'm not tacking on any goofy restrictions about the cheapest item is free, blah, blah, blah. So use your noggin and plan well, and you may get the most expensive item for FREE!
I'm in the process of revamping my shop with better photos and jewelry displays and higher quality items, so take advantage of this time to stock up on some inexpensive yet really cool stuff!
AND
If you buy 2 items within 48 hours, you can get a 3rd item for FREE! And I'm not tacking on any goofy restrictions about the cheapest item is free, blah, blah, blah. So use your noggin and plan well, and you may get the most expensive item for FREE!
I'm in the process of revamping my shop with better photos and jewelry displays and higher quality items, so take advantage of this time to stock up on some inexpensive yet really cool stuff!
Thursday, February 16, 2006
Unattractive SF sight #217
Man sprawled out on the sidewalk with recently spewed pink, chunky puke next to his face.
I made the mistake of looking. And since I have a really wonderful gag reflex, I almost threw up myself.
I made the mistake of looking. And since I have a really wonderful gag reflex, I almost threw up myself.
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
Clarification
I won't be sneaking out of my class. That's just in case my boss reads the last post. It was a noncommittal threat to no one in general.
Just a few complaints
1. I miss my home. I'm not home much now. I like being home. Home is good. My cats don't know who I am. Zoe is yelling at me right now.
2. I'm tired of taking BART at odd times. I like my routine. Routine is good. Places to sit on BART is good too.
3. The secret eater that lives across from us is now the stinky stinker secret eater. He's decreasing our condo value by wandering the halls, emitting his musty, dusty, icky, disgusting stink all over the place.
4. I miss making jewelry. I have no time to make jewelry. I have plans. I can't work on those plans. Why? Cause I'm not home. I'm on BART at odd hours. And when I get home, the stinky stinker secret eater has just passed our door and his stink has killed all my sensibilities.
5. I'm tired. But I think that's my fault because I double-upped on my "shut my brain down" medicine. I take this at night. So I can sleep. Apparently taking two makes you comatose until about 5pm the next day. Good thing I figured that one out.
6. I hate taking classes. I love learning, but having to sit in a class for hours upon hours upon hours and listen to really smart people not get the difference between an active voice and passive voice, a fact and a concept, a process and a procedure -- well, it's just a bit too much for me, and I started rearing my ugly head today because yesterday I was in a coma until about 5pm and so I couldn't begin then, and by tomorrow, I'll be taking over the class or sneaking out.
2. I'm tired of taking BART at odd times. I like my routine. Routine is good. Places to sit on BART is good too.
3. The secret eater that lives across from us is now the stinky stinker secret eater. He's decreasing our condo value by wandering the halls, emitting his musty, dusty, icky, disgusting stink all over the place.
4. I miss making jewelry. I have no time to make jewelry. I have plans. I can't work on those plans. Why? Cause I'm not home. I'm on BART at odd hours. And when I get home, the stinky stinker secret eater has just passed our door and his stink has killed all my sensibilities.
5. I'm tired. But I think that's my fault because I double-upped on my "shut my brain down" medicine. I take this at night. So I can sleep. Apparently taking two makes you comatose until about 5pm the next day. Good thing I figured that one out.
6. I hate taking classes. I love learning, but having to sit in a class for hours upon hours upon hours and listen to really smart people not get the difference between an active voice and passive voice, a fact and a concept, a process and a procedure -- well, it's just a bit too much for me, and I started rearing my ugly head today because yesterday I was in a coma until about 5pm and so I couldn't begin then, and by tomorrow, I'll be taking over the class or sneaking out.
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
This week
I haven't written much because of two things:
1. My schedule being completely changed and moved around because of my hubby's new job (we're still working out the kinks of having to be in the same city at almost the same time).
2. I'm in training all this week learning how to train. The most exciting thing that happened to me today was that I was an hour early to my class because of poor timing, and so I stood in front of the building while drinking my venti coffee from Starbucks and listening to all the Eastern European people talk while going inside the building. I have never seen/heard so many Eastern European people in my life. And, while I try not to stereotype as much as possible, they all dressed like they shopped at the Salvation Army, had terrible hair (very blow-dried out and straw-like), wore the ugliest, brightest high heeled shoes and smoked like chimneys. And if you watch any shows featuring Eastern European women (aka mail order brides from Russia), then you kinda know what I'm talking about but don't really want to admit to it because then that means you tend to stereotype as well.
Later I found out they were all computer programmers from Russia, which piqued my interest even more because in the last 5 years there has been such an influx of Indian folk coming to the USA to take over the computer programming / engineering jobs. Who knew there were a breed of Russian computer nerds out there who now live in the US but still don't have a sense of fashion? Oh, excuse me, unlike with Indian folk, most of the Russian computer nerds seem to be women.
Since I'll probably find myself standing in front of the building the rest of the week, passing the time because I can't be on time for the life of me and am always early, I'll have to use my keen sense of investigative powers to figure out 1. why they are here and who they work for, and 2. where they shop.
Oh, and who tortures their hair so much so I don't go there.
I heard a Russian mob has been stealing debit card numbers from Staples or Office Max or Office Depot.... Perhaps their headquarters is where I'm being trained on how to train....
1. My schedule being completely changed and moved around because of my hubby's new job (we're still working out the kinks of having to be in the same city at almost the same time).
2. I'm in training all this week learning how to train. The most exciting thing that happened to me today was that I was an hour early to my class because of poor timing, and so I stood in front of the building while drinking my venti coffee from Starbucks and listening to all the Eastern European people talk while going inside the building. I have never seen/heard so many Eastern European people in my life. And, while I try not to stereotype as much as possible, they all dressed like they shopped at the Salvation Army, had terrible hair (very blow-dried out and straw-like), wore the ugliest, brightest high heeled shoes and smoked like chimneys. And if you watch any shows featuring Eastern European women (aka mail order brides from Russia), then you kinda know what I'm talking about but don't really want to admit to it because then that means you tend to stereotype as well.
Later I found out they were all computer programmers from Russia, which piqued my interest even more because in the last 5 years there has been such an influx of Indian folk coming to the USA to take over the computer programming / engineering jobs. Who knew there were a breed of Russian computer nerds out there who now live in the US but still don't have a sense of fashion? Oh, excuse me, unlike with Indian folk, most of the Russian computer nerds seem to be women.
Since I'll probably find myself standing in front of the building the rest of the week, passing the time because I can't be on time for the life of me and am always early, I'll have to use my keen sense of investigative powers to figure out 1. why they are here and who they work for, and 2. where they shop.
Oh, and who tortures their hair so much so I don't go there.
I heard a Russian mob has been stealing debit card numbers from Staples or Office Max or Office Depot.... Perhaps their headquarters is where I'm being trained on how to train....
Saturday, February 04, 2006
Party Time at the Hilton
My husband and I went out to dinner last night to celebrate his new beginning -- his new job.
After our very nice dinner of tasty food, we decided to go to the Hilton in our city. It was befitting that we went to the Hilton after our dinner at Massimos because the first time we went to the Hilton for drinks was after our first dinner at Massimos a few years ago (bloody cornish game hen turned us off from revisiting Massimos until now).
When we got to the Hilton nothing much was going on. The crowd hadn't arrived yet, but there were a few people to make fun of. Oh, I didn't mention this part -- our favorite past time is me making fun of people in bars or restaurants and my husband laughing. See, I am fun.
We were both a bit disappointed at the lack of people to make fun of. Until we saw them.
The Hilton has the same two bands playing on Friday and Saturday nights, and the band was in full swing. The bands play the same songs in the same order with a few new tunes thrown in for good measure. There was some crazy fast dance song playing, and a lot of ladies were out on the floor dancing it up. I was staring at the TV when my husband got my attention.
"Look..." he said and nodded his head to the dance floor.
"OH MY GOD," I answered.
I saw the guy before when he was getting a drink at the bar. He was okay looking, not my type, but I could see girls being into him. Actually, besides my beautiful husband, he was the only other good looking guy at the bar at that moment. He was wearing a really big button-down shirt, but at the bar, it didn't look so bad.
Now the lady he was dancing with....well....let's say she looked like naughty librarian. From far away it was hard to tell how old she was, but I was sure she was older than the guy. She was dressed in a very tight corset and pants, and admittedly, she had a nice body. But that was where it ended. Above her neck she looked like a boy. And she wore glasses. And no, it wasn't for fashion, it was because she couldn't see without them.
The two just didn't match. And then they regressed to high school and started dirty dancing all over the dance floor. It was really weird, really obscene, and really bizarre. It was a car wreck we had to stare at. What were they going to do next? Lie down on the floor and crawl all over each other? Hey, they were doing it while standing.
"Is it her body? Why would he do that with her?" I asked my husband. He hates these questions from me because I use him as my male answer machine. He should have the answers to why guys do anything they do, regardless of whether he would do it himself or not.
"I don't know!" he said to me.
"I just don't get it. I'm soooo embarrassed!!!" I exclaimed.
At one point I realized why the guy was wearing his super big button-down shirt -- he had a really big gut. I could see him being the top football player in high school; all cocky with all the girls in his class loving him. But, as with most kids after high school, he couldn't keep up his studliness, so he gained a few pounds, bought some big shirts, and went the the Hilton by himself every weekend in hopes to charm the ladies like he used to.
Now this lady, on the other hand, I personally think she was in her 40's, had a boring job and a secret "naughty" librarian night life. I pictured her never really having much experience with men, so when this fat hotty wanted to dance with her, she was more than happy to oblige. What I wasn't getting was why she would allow this guy to touch her EVERYWHERE while EVERYONE was watching in dismay. It was really weirdly embarrassing. I felt embarrassed and I wasn't even doing it.
"What if he knocks her glasses off?" I said.
"Oh! He just did," my husband said.
"I hope they don't dirty dance on them."
"She's not wearing them now," he said.
"I wonder if she looks better now?"
During a slow song, most of the dancers, including our dirty dancing couple, left the floor to refuel with more drinks. The guy and the girl took off to one of the lobby couches. After a few minutes, he left to go back to the bar. She sat on the couch (her glasses were back on). He had a big, sweaty splotch on his back. This was not looking good.
She sat on the couch for a bit, waiting for him to come back. Now I felt bad for her. And awkward. Like, how long do you wait for your sweaty dirty dancing dance partner to come back? Did all that caressing and gyrating mean anything? Ack. I felt for her.
"Oh no! She's walking back over here," I told my husband. She had a stern look on her face like whatever just happened with the guy didn't matter, and she didn't care that he walked away and never came back.
"Really?" my husband said. He took the moment to take a good look at her. Our suspicions were confirmed. She was not good looking.
She sat at a table in the corner. That was when the guy began walking back to the couch. But she wasn't there! He looked around, looked confused, looked sad. His booty call left him! Will they find each other again?
He walked back to the bar. She spotted him. He spotted her. They had that weird moment where neither one was sure if what just happened was a good thing or not, whether it was real or just a lusty fantasy. But he still wanted her! Her face lit up! She walked to him and they commenced dancing again.
By this time I was halfway into a "Blue Moon" cocktail that was kicking my butt and making me feel ill. I prefer drinks where you can't taste the alcohol and therefore, get drunk way too quickly because you drink and drink and drink. This cocktail had way too much gin, and while I do enjoy my ghetto juice, I wasn't into drinking blue gin. I was tired and ready to leave. If I drank anymore of my cocktail, I was not going to be a happy gal, and would probably be forever turned off gin. So I told my husband I was ready to go. This was when the couple made their move back to the lobby couch.
"Look!" my husband said.
I looked over to the couch. The guy was giving her a fully clothed lap dance. She was so skinny and he was so large that we couldn't even see her at all. So it kinda looked like he was getting freaky with the couch.
"Oh nooooooooo," I said. "Good thing they're in a hotel. Is this a mating dance?"
We paid our bill, and started walking through the lobby. Our couple had disappeared. I turned around and looked back at the bar.
"Oh man, I think I'm thirsty again," I said.
"What do you want?" my husband asked.
"Look! Look where they're sitting!!!"
The couple took our spot! Oh man, I wanted to go back and get another drink and be a fly on their wall, but the night was over. I couldn't deal with anymore weirdness.
After our very nice dinner of tasty food, we decided to go to the Hilton in our city. It was befitting that we went to the Hilton after our dinner at Massimos because the first time we went to the Hilton for drinks was after our first dinner at Massimos a few years ago (bloody cornish game hen turned us off from revisiting Massimos until now).
When we got to the Hilton nothing much was going on. The crowd hadn't arrived yet, but there were a few people to make fun of. Oh, I didn't mention this part -- our favorite past time is me making fun of people in bars or restaurants and my husband laughing. See, I am fun.
We were both a bit disappointed at the lack of people to make fun of. Until we saw them.
The Hilton has the same two bands playing on Friday and Saturday nights, and the band was in full swing. The bands play the same songs in the same order with a few new tunes thrown in for good measure. There was some crazy fast dance song playing, and a lot of ladies were out on the floor dancing it up. I was staring at the TV when my husband got my attention.
"Look..." he said and nodded his head to the dance floor.
"OH MY GOD," I answered.
I saw the guy before when he was getting a drink at the bar. He was okay looking, not my type, but I could see girls being into him. Actually, besides my beautiful husband, he was the only other good looking guy at the bar at that moment. He was wearing a really big button-down shirt, but at the bar, it didn't look so bad.
Now the lady he was dancing with....well....let's say she looked like naughty librarian. From far away it was hard to tell how old she was, but I was sure she was older than the guy. She was dressed in a very tight corset and pants, and admittedly, she had a nice body. But that was where it ended. Above her neck she looked like a boy. And she wore glasses. And no, it wasn't for fashion, it was because she couldn't see without them.
The two just didn't match. And then they regressed to high school and started dirty dancing all over the dance floor. It was really weird, really obscene, and really bizarre. It was a car wreck we had to stare at. What were they going to do next? Lie down on the floor and crawl all over each other? Hey, they were doing it while standing.
"Is it her body? Why would he do that with her?" I asked my husband. He hates these questions from me because I use him as my male answer machine. He should have the answers to why guys do anything they do, regardless of whether he would do it himself or not.
"I don't know!" he said to me.
"I just don't get it. I'm soooo embarrassed!!!" I exclaimed.
At one point I realized why the guy was wearing his super big button-down shirt -- he had a really big gut. I could see him being the top football player in high school; all cocky with all the girls in his class loving him. But, as with most kids after high school, he couldn't keep up his studliness, so he gained a few pounds, bought some big shirts, and went the the Hilton by himself every weekend in hopes to charm the ladies like he used to.
Now this lady, on the other hand, I personally think she was in her 40's, had a boring job and a secret "naughty" librarian night life. I pictured her never really having much experience with men, so when this fat hotty wanted to dance with her, she was more than happy to oblige. What I wasn't getting was why she would allow this guy to touch her EVERYWHERE while EVERYONE was watching in dismay. It was really weirdly embarrassing. I felt embarrassed and I wasn't even doing it.
"What if he knocks her glasses off?" I said.
"Oh! He just did," my husband said.
"I hope they don't dirty dance on them."
"She's not wearing them now," he said.
"I wonder if she looks better now?"
During a slow song, most of the dancers, including our dirty dancing couple, left the floor to refuel with more drinks. The guy and the girl took off to one of the lobby couches. After a few minutes, he left to go back to the bar. She sat on the couch (her glasses were back on). He had a big, sweaty splotch on his back. This was not looking good.
She sat on the couch for a bit, waiting for him to come back. Now I felt bad for her. And awkward. Like, how long do you wait for your sweaty dirty dancing dance partner to come back? Did all that caressing and gyrating mean anything? Ack. I felt for her.
"Oh no! She's walking back over here," I told my husband. She had a stern look on her face like whatever just happened with the guy didn't matter, and she didn't care that he walked away and never came back.
"Really?" my husband said. He took the moment to take a good look at her. Our suspicions were confirmed. She was not good looking.
She sat at a table in the corner. That was when the guy began walking back to the couch. But she wasn't there! He looked around, looked confused, looked sad. His booty call left him! Will they find each other again?
He walked back to the bar. She spotted him. He spotted her. They had that weird moment where neither one was sure if what just happened was a good thing or not, whether it was real or just a lusty fantasy. But he still wanted her! Her face lit up! She walked to him and they commenced dancing again.
By this time I was halfway into a "Blue Moon" cocktail that was kicking my butt and making me feel ill. I prefer drinks where you can't taste the alcohol and therefore, get drunk way too quickly because you drink and drink and drink. This cocktail had way too much gin, and while I do enjoy my ghetto juice, I wasn't into drinking blue gin. I was tired and ready to leave. If I drank anymore of my cocktail, I was not going to be a happy gal, and would probably be forever turned off gin. So I told my husband I was ready to go. This was when the couple made their move back to the lobby couch.
"Look!" my husband said.
I looked over to the couch. The guy was giving her a fully clothed lap dance. She was so skinny and he was so large that we couldn't even see her at all. So it kinda looked like he was getting freaky with the couch.
"Oh nooooooooo," I said. "Good thing they're in a hotel. Is this a mating dance?"
We paid our bill, and started walking through the lobby. Our couple had disappeared. I turned around and looked back at the bar.
"Oh man, I think I'm thirsty again," I said.
"What do you want?" my husband asked.
"Look! Look where they're sitting!!!"
The couple took our spot! Oh man, I wanted to go back and get another drink and be a fly on their wall, but the night was over. I couldn't deal with anymore weirdness.
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