Feet

Unlike previous posts where I lure you here under false pretenses with my titles...this one is actually about feet. My feet. They are deformity itself. As I told my friends on a bus in middle school once...I come from a long line of deformed people with feet. Have I mentioned I have verbal dyslexia? It's a real illness.

Anyway, my mother was once told by a doctor that she had the ugliest feet the doctor had ever seen. Why she decided it was appropriate to pass on her genes to any offspring after finding this out is beyond me. But here I am...with her ugly-ass feet. Thank you, mom.

They're incredibly skinny...making slip-ons impossible, have an extremely high arch...which makes tennis shoes uncomfortable, have giant bunions...making most shoes restrictive at the top and for the crowning achievement...the third toe is the same length as the second toe (you know, the long one) making my size impossible to determine (6 1/2 too small...7 too big). And pointy shoes are just out of the question. Well, should be.

Now we all know how I feel about shoes. You witnessed my resolution downfall this last month. Let's not bring it up again. However, I have seen what kind of limited selection girls are forced to contend with when they bow to the demands of foot deformities. I refuse. Life is too short to wear ugly shoes, people. I will squish my feet into any shape if that shape is comely little shoe-shape and I will walk and wince with pride all the livelong day.

Except now I've discovered that living in this fashionable way has given me corns. I'd never known what corns were before. I mean, calluses, yes...I understand those. Those are great...those make the pain go away...but corns fucking HURT. It's a callus that HURTS! What kind of universal and biological mindfuck is THAT?! Cruel CRUEL world.

Does this mean I'm going to convert with the herd and start wearing Danskos and orthopedic nurse shoes every day? Hell NO, people! If it means walking on stubs to heaven's gates, I will continue to wear my cute shoes until the toes fall right OFF. Bunions...corns be DAMNED.

Thank you...and good day.

Why YES...This IS My Lovely New Scooter

Pleased as punch, am I.

I can go ANYWHERE. The world is my oyster. Except that I find oysters to be gross.












Laura and Ty try to be cool like me...they try.














Becks didn't like it so much. He's too young to know what's cool.

Yeah, that's right.

I Can't Fucking Wait.

Screw Wednesday. I finally bought my scooter. I swore that I would buy one in April and April was almost over. So I bought it on Sunday. It's a Kymco People 50. Whatever the hell that means. And it's a blue very similar to the one in the picture over there. To the left, for those who are idiots.

They wouldn't let me take it home, though. They had to put some miles on it for some reason...I don't know, I stopped listening. I was too busy stroking the handlebars. They purred. I swear.

And it seats two so Kansas gets to ride bitch. That's right...I wear the pants. Only with scooters, I can ride with a skirt. So I wear the skirt. Over the pants.

I had to get an extra large CHILD'S helmet. I have a small, pinnish type head, I guess. Oh well, at least I look like a bad ass in it.

This part is just for my dad:
Hey Dad! I picked the scooter that has the widest wheel base...just for you! No more talk of heart attacks now!

Meanwhile:
Work is a bit slow this afternoon so I'm rocking out to Modest Mouse. It's good music for trying to forget that I'm even here. Sometimes I stare out the window too. There's a hawk building a nest on the ledge above my window. Apparently this is neat. Like...neat enough that some people on the 8th floor set up a webcam and it made the local news. Hippies. I couldn't care less. All birds look the same to me when they're in the air. And probably on the ground too. Two wings. A beak. Yep...a bird.

So I'll post pictures when I take them. I never posted my bike either. Though I'm not sure why I think you need to see pictures of these things. It's not like YOU post pictures of YOUR shit. Two-way street, people.

What This Job Is Doing To Us

Monday - 10am
Jennifer: Speaking of smokers, the Demdaco woman is a smoker and hacks all night and AND, get this, she has a player piano that plays the Sting. I wish her dead.
Kara: a player piano?
Kara: who even has those?
Kara: and smoking is sinful. you should tell her so
Jennifer: she does. That's what I thought. But the fucking piano -- it was like she was in my living room playing the motherfucker.
Kara: weird.
Jennifer: I am so bored with my life... and wanting to kill my neighbor is not a hobby.
Kara: no. and neither is only knitting one scarf and having it be as ugly as it turned out to be
Kara: i had the urge to actually write last night, but i squelched it and drank Pabst instead.

Tomorrow night is our company Christmas party. It's at a pub...but people can bring "their families"...which means children. So, more than likely, as it has been at Christmas parties past...our little clique will sit in a corner knockin' 'em back and laughing hysterically at everyone else in the room, making them uncomfortable without their really knowing why. And yes...I said Christmas party. I know it's April. I hate this place.

There was another complaint pointed in my direction on Friday after I left. Fridays at 4pm I usually play the iTunes out loud...allowing the room to pick the artist. Been doing it for ages. No one ever had a problem with it. Now, not two weeks after being scolded by HR for bringing up religion, anatomy and politics, someone has decided that this music disturbs them to the point of being unable to work. But once again, instead of just letting me know, like an adult...they've run to HR and told on me like a 5th grader.

I think this might be becoming personal. So I've decided that until I can afford to move on, I will have a work persona and a home persona. I know there are a lot of people who live life in this way...hair up at work, hair down at home. I've never been one of those people. I can't NOT be me. Sometimes that's a bad thing, but I liked to think it made the office a little more casual, more friendly, etc. Don't get me wrong...I've gotten into trouble before over the years, but lately it seems to be ridiculous. Like a vendetta. And I don't understand it.

But jobs are scarce and I just spent a lot of money on something I'll tell you guys about Wednesday. So I need to stick around here for a while. And I guess that means I'll need to play their corporate game. And I'll do it. I'll play the game. But goddamn it...I'll be playing it in flip flops.

And they wanted me to join the company soft ball team. Ha! Assholes.

The Great Cohabitation Debate

To live together or not to live together...that is the cheesily posed question.

After sixty nights of my packing a bag or him packing a bag...riding from the east(my) side to the west(his) side or driving from the west side to the east side...waking up at 4:00 AM to Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young ringtone alarms to get dropped off at my house and attempt go back to sleep for an hour, or his having to play shower chicken with my roommate since they sometimes work at the same hour, while trying to get ready in the dark to not wake me up...it's already getting old.

However...it HAS only been a couple months. Would it be imprudent to discuss cohabitation at this early date?

Some things to consider:
1. Currently, grocery shopping is a crapshoot. Since I don't know which house we're staying at at any given night, it's hard to know where to keep the food. Sometimes I try to split it up, but that tends to be when we realize we don't have enough ingredients for anything so we end up going out. Thus, groceries go bad.

2. Walk of shame. One must be conscious of bathroom locations being in common use areas and must, therefore, always remember to put on a bathrobe of some sort. Yes...this is a pain in the ass.

3. Doubling up. To avoid having to pack such a large bag every time I stay at his place, I've begun to double up on some larger items...like contact solution and ozone-hating hairspray. This can/will/is get(ting) expensive.

4. Tallulah. I feel like a shit with how many nights she spends alone. Needy little thing. She climbs all over us when we're home. The guilt is...well...enough to make me consider cohabitation.

5. My things. I love my things. I love having access to my things. I don't have access to my things at his place. Then I begin to miss my things.

6. Outfits. The problem with picking it out the night before is that the next morning, you may decide your mood is NOT in tune with what you've got to rock. Or maybe it's just that you forgot your razor at home and your legs are no longer smooth enough for a skirt. Riding a bike, I don't have room to pack more than one outfit at a time. This is definitely a problem.

7. He has super cable and a flat screen TV. I'm lucky if four channels come in. And then I'm even luckier if there's anything worth watching on any of them.

8. NW(him) has shitty parking...snotty residents...and pricey, but not very tasty bars/restaurants. SE(me) has much better versions of all those things. PLUS all but one of the theater/pubs.

9. Current rockin' living situations. I love my roommate. I love the location of my house. I love my house. I JUST hung pictures (I know, 5 months later), the rent is cheap...and so is his...and I JUST changed my address with the DMV (it's hard to fill out an online form).

10. We hate being apart.

So what have I decided, people? You tell me so I can pretend I made the decision myself.

I Am Weak

I made it to April. But I have failed. Resolution Number 1 is no more.

I suck.

But look at them...are they not darling?
Even Tallulah wants to try them on. Look, she's putting her paw in for a little walkabout.

And you can't ever find Faryl Robins for how little I paid. You just can't. It's unheard of.

I toyed with the idea of not telling you. But the guilt has overwhelmed. You have no idea the feeling of failure that washed over me as I handed the lady my Captial One No Hassle Miles credit card that sparkles if you hit the light just right. No idea. It was crushing.

But they're lovely, aren't they?

Religion, Anatomy and Politics

This post is about outrage. The first thing I'm outraged about pertains to two news stories that were back to back on Morning Edition (National Public Radio) yesterday. The first one was fairly endless. It concerned the show American Idol and this talentless contestant Sanjaya, who for some reason was still in the running. They interviewed all these different people who analyzed Sanjaya and what he and the show meant to pop culture and talked about how Howard Stern is trying to bring down American Idol by getting everyone to vote for him and blah blah blah.

I don't watch American Idol (except for the first three when all the freaks try out and embarrass themselves. I enjoy that) so I didn't really give a shit about this story, though I thought that they were delving a little deeper than necessary.

Then I heard what came after. As most of you know and all of you SHOULD know, Kurt Vonnegut died this week at the age of 84. His story followed Sanjaya's and was...get this...a third of the length. They played some snippets of interviews...mentioned his most famous novel and then moved on. Apparently Sanjaya is more important to the people than one of the last century's best authors ever. I was steamed.

I got called into the HR office yesterday. Apparently my group has been offending someone with our choices of topics. There were no specifics given. No instance pointed out. Just three groups of things that I have to tell my team not to bring up out loud anymore: Religion, Anatomy and Politics. I got pretty angry. In the 3+ years that I've worked here, we've always had an open forum to pretty much say what we want. We've had some fantastic debates in the room, always respecting each other's points of views and being able to laugh at anything. It was really one of the biggest perks about working here...believe me, there aren't many.

But there's been a lot of turnover lately, and new blood has entered the area. We all very easily narrowed it down to one new guy that I'm having trouble trying not to hate. Every time I see him now I want to shoot daggers at his too-pansy-to-email-me-about-being-offended ass with my hate-filled eyes.

I let HR know that giving us such subjective topics with no reference to anything specific not only makes it difficult to know what might have inspired the offense, but that it will be virtually impossible to know what not to say in the future. They acknowledged this, but said the person gave no specifics. Asshole. So now we're all paranoid about what we say.

Or at least we were yesterday. By 9:30 this morning, I'd already accidentally said "ass" out loud and someone else made fun of "firey pits of hell". Oops. You see what I mean, though? Do those things count as offensive?

I think I know what the first two issues may have been. We have a client that is a Christian retailer and their messages often have some hilarious products in them. Sometimes we read the descriptions out loud and laugh. So that's one.

Not long ago, I was reading aloud the blog of a certain Australian who had an article about an anti-rape device developed in South Africa that would essentially put little teeth in the penis of the assailant. I said the word "penis" out loud probably twice. So my guess is that's where the "anatomy" offense occurred. I guess correct medical terms for anatomy are offensive.

And the politics? Well, we're all pretty left leaning back here for the most part. That's common knowledge. I think we debated about Giuliani once. Hmmmm.

Those are the only occasions I can think of. Other than the fact that I swear like a sailor all the time. But everyone does. And this new guy...he does indeed have the essence of Catholicism about him...and he wears his glasses at the end of his nose. Asshole.

Have I mentioned that I hate this place? Happy Friday. I have something to confess to you all next week.

Someone has an entire coconut in the office refridgerator. It's been there for days.

Shake Your Disco Egg-Lovin' Booty

I cannot lie...Peeps were hurt during the making of these eggs. If I tried to lie, I have a sinking suspicion that you'd all discover I was lying somehow. Somehow.

A little word to the wise here, for those who have yet to try Disco Egg Decorating. Glitter glue is your enemy. Sure it seems like a good idea at the time...two steps in one, guaranteed time saver with fantastic results...and sparkles...but it's not.

First off...the glue takes off the dye.

Secondly...whatever fabulous shape you happen to make with the glitter glue will immediately begin to slide down the side of the egg shell making your "happy" creation "sad".

And C...it never seems to dry so you end up just wiping off the glue/glitter and consequently the dye. "And SURPRISE, it's all over the table. Boo.

That being said, decorating eggs is pretty fucking fun...especially when you drink London Fizzes. I don't remember what's in a London Fizz (Sam), but I know it's good. And fizzy.

Most of us enjoyed our eggs.

Some of us enjoyed the tools a little more.

And someone in particular got all romantic with the eggs but still refused to smile because he doesn't like his teeth. So he gets stuck with an unsmiling close-up where half his head of hair gets cut off.
Not so much disco...but so very fabulous, nonetheless.

Word.

Easter...More Useless Than Halloween

Within the long list of childhood joys that become more and more disappointing as you creep toward adulthood, Easter Sunday rests somewhere near the top. Now, it doesn't help that I'm an atheist so the "real meaning" of the holiday is lost on me anyway; but I remember being so excited about Easter that I could squeal. The egg hunt...the candy...the food...the dress...the HAT. Yes. I had an Easter hat. I loved it. It was white with ribbon on it. Original, I know.

Nowadays my family still gets together for an Easter Feast. My mother still gives us kids Easter baskets only instead of candy they have things like scratch-its and salon gift certificates (thank you, Mum). But the family get togethers feel pretty pointless. 1/3 of the fam. is religious and 2/3 of us don't even want to talk about it. So it's yet another excuse to gorge ourselves on good food and watch golf. Or try to avoid watching golf. But there is no unifying reason to be getting together. So it just kind of feels empty.

But this year we had Disco Egg decorating and there will be pictures of that when I figure out where the hell I put my camera.

I guess my point is...like Halloween, Easter is one of those holidays that you have to make work for you as an adult. I mean...everything is fucking CLOSED so you can't even go shopping for things you don't NEED. So things like drinking London Fizzes while Elmers gluing muffin cup skirts on your salmon-colored eggs are as essential as costume parties...you know?

In completely unrelated news...here's some pictures from Hood River, Oregon! Yay small town with NO candy stores!
We wanted to go in...but we were on a mission. Not that kind...a candy store mission.

Nothing about the name of this store makes me want to shop there.

Ahh Hood River...a quaint little hamlet. Can't throw a rock without hitting a goddamn Subaru...but when you want a candy store...NOTHIN'!

Look at this view of mountains and shit. That particular mountain is in Washington. But I'm standing in Oregon. Does that blow your mind or WHAT?

"Sometimes...the only thing better than being at the top of a waterfall...is being at the bottom of one."
- Some Intellectual Asshole

This is the fairyland we passed on the way home. All the wood sprites ran away because they were scared of the loud car engine. We thought a little blaring Grateful Dead would flush them out, but no. I guess that only works in cult stand-offs.

We stopped at Edgefield and paid homage to one of Kansas' idols. Yes. This is supposed to be a statue of Jerry Garcia. I can't tell either.

Personally, I can't really stand the Grateful Dead and couldn't give two hoots about Jerry Garcia. What I'm paying homage to here is Cherry Garcia. Thank you, Ben and Jerry's.

Tomorrow...Disco Eggs!

Yogurt! I Hate Yogurt! Even With Strawberries!

If you don't know what movie that's from...you are a sad sorry sack and I don't want anything to do with you.

Have you noticed that yogurt with fruit on the bottom is ALWAYS cheaper than yogurt that is already mixed? Isn't that strange? On average, you will save 10 cents a pop if you're willing to swirl your spoon around for 15 seconds. Those who are not willing to expend the effort are penalized with the higher price. The funny thing is...I almost never see anyone reach for the fruit on the bottom kind. They all tend to lean toward the "time saving" option. Weird.

I'm going to start tallying how much money I save by stirring my own yogurt. I'm betting that by the end of the year...I'll be able to buy something with it. Something that the lazy ass pre-stirred population won't ever be able to afford. And I will taunt them with it.

Does it seem like I have too much time on my hands? I assure you, this is not the case.

This weekend there are TWO egg decorating parties in the works. Saturday is at someone's house who I do not know...and Sunday will be at Marie's House of Globes. We're making Disco Eggs. Yes...there will be pictures. If it's nice on Saturday Amy and I might get drunk at a picnic in the park and then head to the zoo to yell obscenities at the caged beasts. Kids need to learn about the real world sometime.

Look at my sister. Aren't she and her offspring adorable?

What Gives?

So I have nothing to write about. Over the last couple of days I've had all sorts of topics flit in and out of my brain like snow...but nothing has stuck (like Oregon snow). I have yet to have everyone show up for work this week so the whole "managing" side of being a "manager" is ruining my life. Well...9 hours of my life a day, but you get my exaggerated idea.

Kansas came home late Saturday after having been away 5 days for his stupid job. Stupid stupid job. It needed repeating. You can't separate two people who are still in the disgustingly mooney phase. It' just doesn't work. It shouldn't be allowed. All it does is make them moonier and then nothing gets accomplished. Mooning kills all ambition. Proven fact. All it's good for is downing two Wicked Gimlets within one Happy Hour at the Vault with The Crew. Yep.

But he came back and the world is set right once more. I know...puke. Well it's been a long time coming for me, people...I've waded through the scourge of the earth to find this one, and if that means I get to be a little mushy, then I think you all can bring yourselves to withhold the rolling of the eyes until you are no longer in my presence. I don't have time for this. Good day.