Monday, July 30, 2007

road trip

here is my point right off the bat is that a baseball analogy or a flying rodent analogy? wait. am i using the word "analogy" correctly? "reference". i probably should've used "reference". or maybe "allusion".-- over the top, small town friendliness isn't charming when you are not a small town.

i mean if you're a truck stop in, oh say, sinclair, wyoming then yes, you should be shifty and crazy and desperate for human contact. i expect- nay, demand- it.

but if you're a chili's style restaurant in denver, then why so chipper? i've obviously been in a car for seven hours, consuming nothing but diet coke and wheat thins and all i want is a fajita pita and the chance to stare into space and blend into the busy background. i do not want you to make guacamole LIVE!, i don't want you to bring the manager over to my table to say hello, i don't care about the time you spent as a teacher in iraq and i don't even really want a free brownie sundae.

denver's a fine town though.

also, i want to give a shout out to my new friends in sinclair...

Thursday, July 26, 2007

awkwardness, naughtiness and- sad to say it- balls

my life as it stands right now is made up of one awkward vignette after another.
i don't know why.
i try so hard to be normal. i really do.

i was answering phones yesterday while dingdong was at lunch.
me: hello, insertrandomnameheresomybosswon'tfindmyblogandfireme chocolates.
lady: ... oh... wait, what did i call?
me: irnhsmbwfmbafm chocolates.
lady: ... that's not what i was calling.
me: what were you looking for?
lady: the gas company.
me: ya, that happens a lot.
lady: you sound like a porno service.
me: ... nope, this is irnhsmbwfmbafm chocolates.
lady: are you a naughty girl?
me: ... ... no.
lady: you are, you're a dirty girl.
me: ... ... ... good luck finding the gas company.

and this is what i mean by awkward. well, not specifically. very few of my awkward situations turn into sad, lesbian phone calls. but in general, weirdness has been ensuing while i'm just trying to get my work done*.

a few days ago i was trying to finish up the "droppings" labels we've all come to know and love. i was already concerned because all my little icons kept turning out unintentionally effeminate.

as i stared at the candy for the "dracula droppings" uggh i sighed and headed back to the factory to have a conversation i did not want to have.

me: ahem... uh... N?
n: ya?
me: i was just working on the dracula droppings and i was wondering if we maybe wanted to call the candy something different.
n: why, what's it called?
me: .... red hot balls.
laughter from all corners of the factory.
me: is there maybe something else we could call it?
n: what's it called in the candy manufacturer's catalogue?
me: ...sigh... lava balls... which is more of a backwards step, really.
n: good point.
s: are they jawbreakers?
n: no, they're kind of chewy-
me: -i don't think the problem is a lack of adjectives.
l: as long as you don't put an "apostrophe s" after the dracula-
me: -cinnamon drops. i'm calling them cinnamon drops.
sit down at desk, finish the label, read the next item on the list.
me: ... sigh... go to the back of the factory uh... N?
n: ya?
me: do we maybe want to call the candy for the elf droppings something else?
n: why? what's it called?
me: .... "tart & tiny".
laughter from all corners of the factory.

i just want to sit at my little desk, and do my little job*, and not discuss descriptors for male anatomy, or thoughtfully consider how much i'm not "naughty", or have extremely lame conference calls with psychotic gourmet foodery owners, or entertain a bored 6 year old, or become a verbal pinata.
i just want to get my work done*.

p.s. i might be in a bad mood.

i should think about that.

*please read: "play text twist"

Thursday, July 12, 2007


for the intents and purposes of this blog, the onset of a tangent will hereby be represented by this...

... because even in the sitting at my desk, "it's been a while... i should probably write something... because if i wait too long people will stop reading my blog... and then they'll never leave comments... and then i'll have absolutely no purpose in life... man, i'm a loser..." phase of writing, i couldn't seem to finish a thought without tangenting into another one.

here goes.

not too long ago i went through the big box in my parents' basement of my childhood disney videos. actually, i stood three feet away from my mom as she, at my request, went through the box of disney videos because seriously, the box is in a very dusty and questionable corner of the basement and while my mother is full of that old pioneer spirit, i am not. i am full of that old pansy spirit. especially when it comes to spiders- be they real or imagined. i know this. my mom knows this.

everyone knows this.

i stood several paces away from my mother and merely offered suggestions on where exactly i thought our old copy of "the three musketeers" was located within the dusty corner box.
for, yes, as you now know i was searching for disney's "the three musketeers". yes, the one from 1993 with charlie sheen and jack bauer and tim curry and that guy who i'm still convinced is val kilmer. or val kilmer's evil twin/doppelganger in any case, you know he take his evilness very seriously because he has an eye patch and he's dressed in black and he speaks in a low, raspy, dripping with evil voice and has dialogue like, "i'm so happy to be pure evil. my top priority right now is to stab you repeatedly. then i'll have a light lunch- i'm thinking sushi- before i burn down an orphanage and kick a 3 legged puppy. then i'll laugh maniacally for about 5 minutes. by the way, i killed your father... and it was good times. good, good times." and most importantly it's the one with chris o'donnell a.k.a. the answer to a maiden's prayers a.k.a. the love of your life... if you're a 12 year old girl who in the space of three months sprouted 6 inches in a height, sprouted a bean in a cup for biology class, but tragically failed to sprout breasts and real boys seem awkward and a foot shorter than you and so apt to be cruel this perspective doesn't necessarily change with age, so you funnel your emotions towards the fictional man. writing in second person gets old, not in a creepy way, more in a "if only i could meet someone like gilbert blythe who would like me for me, and would be all earnest, and who wouldn't quote 'monty python and the holy grail' day after day after day because seriously i get that british humour is a delight but the knights who say 'NI!' part isn't that funny, and who poses no real threat because i'm pretty sure i could beat him at arm wrestling if it ever really came down to it" kind of a way.
and, you know i can't be the only person who went through a "i can't get enough of that half manchild half woman hybrid" phase when i was young because how else do you explain the popularity of jonathan taylor thomas and new kids on the block?
it's not until later that you oh crap. slipped into second person again go through a bad boy stage again fictionally er, for the most part where you truly believe the love of a good woman is all a musician/biker/evil super villain needs. and, by gum, you could be that woman.

anyways, so there was good reason to make my mom rummage for the kids version of a literary classic. see, i've been reading "the man in the iron mask". i've been reading it for months slow but steady because i am seriously the ploddingest reader ever. and i don't know why. i mean, i know how to read. i understand the big words. i'm able to pronunciate and comprehend what i read. so i honestly don't know why everyone in the world is able to get through a book faster than me. it makes me doubt myself and i swear if any of you leave a comment about how you're so fast at reading and how you like to read two or three books at the same time and would i like to know some of your fast reading secrets, i swear i will find you and i will punch you in the nose and secretly wonder if everyone in my world has taken a speed reading coarse in a conspirative effort to make me crazy.

i wouldn't be surprised.

since it takes me so long to read a book, i pretty much have to commit to whatever i'm reading. there's no backing out. because if i give up or get distracted midway through a book, i'll have wasted about a month's worth of mental energy. this is why i refuse to give up on "man in the iron mask". well, i also really like alexandre dumas' books. even though i found out that he totally used to steal his ideas from other people.
but "m.i.t.i.m." is the third book in a series and i've been kind of . i haven't read "the 3 musketeers" in years and i've never read the second musketeers book so i've been extremely hazy on back story. i was hoping that watching the movie, as disneyfied as it was, would serve as a simple, cliffnotey way to help jog my memory but see, though i took the movie home with me, i left my book in salt lake. not that it really matters because for the last two weeks i've been busy with my newest venture. the venture where i sit on my couch every night and tie bows. not taebo which i coincidentally do sit on my couch to do because i feel that if you're not going to exercise, the next most effective thing you can do is watch exercise on tv. i bet thinking about exercising somehow stimulates your metabolism.
like an exercise placebo.

(end tangents)
okay, what was my point?
oh ya... deep down i'm a geek.
and also on the surface i'm a geek.
and in all the middle laye- whatever. i know this. you know this.

everyone knows this.