It's that time of year, again. Presents, food, family and friends gathering... You guessed it! It's Giordi's birthday!
I met Giordi when he was 16. I was in college, and he was hanging out with college nerds. At the college. At the time, I remember being jealous because his hair was longer than mine.
I'm not sure how he entered my social circle at the time. It basically consisted of my roommate and a bunch of people from the college who didn't want to go home to their parents' houses. We would all hang out together and do nerd stuff. One day, Giordi, whom I had already met, showed up at my apartment and was smoothly integrated into the group.
Later, when he started college, he was about the only other student there who could understand what I was talking about, and that just helped us bond more completely.
My first IT job after college, I worked with him upgrading the computers for Lyondell, a large company with no real product but a lot of toxic waste. I was fired because my roommate stole from the company, and Giordi was fired because he knew me. Joy.
Later, we worked together at a small company that totally didn't appreciate either of us. At Giordi's suggestion, we formed a religious group. It grew and grew and grew. Then it died for no reason.
Later, when Giordi's first child was born, we were sitting around, and he was holding his son. He looked at me and said, "I finally figured out the meaning of life. It's this, right here." I still cry remembering the look on his face.
For the past five years or so, I've been living in Giordi's house as a renter. He and his wife have been there through my medical emergencies, when my fiancé left me, when Data died at the end of that Star Trek movie, when my hamster died, when I nearly lost my job to anti-feminists, and during my divorce.
He's always been honest and straightforward. He's helped me out a lot. He was in the emergency room with me when I went into shock from a burst appendix, and he came to bring me gas when I ran out in the midle of nowhere. He's my legal adviser and has power of attourney when I'm not able to function.
He's like a brother to me, but in a good way. I'll never be able to repay everything he's done for me. So instead of trying, I'm writing about him here.
Happy Birthday, Giordi!
26 November 2008
16 November 2008
What kind of burger?
I know a lot of time has passed, but I have good reasons. It's been a crazy time.
First, while cleaning up from the hurricane, Giordi informed me that they need my bedroom. No biggie, right? Except... they were going to build a bedroom for me in the garage, but have decided that this would lower the value of their house, so...
So I was looking for a place to live. An old friend of mine who works for the government, Katy, is selling her RV, one of those trailer types, and offered too sell it to me. My eyes kept saying "no", but my mouth said, "yes". I asked my eyes what the problem was, and apparently I was traumatized by the idea of trailer homes.
It seems I have an allergy. When I was a child, I often had to go visit mobile home sellers with my various redneck relatives in my mother's family. Upon entering a brand new trailer, I would have a reaction to something in the wood, which resulted in temporary blindness. Every time.
Also, no one wants to be labeled "trailer trash".
I was discussing this with a real estate contact of mine, and he said to think of myself more as a Gypsy. Now, this I can deal with. I shared this insight with all my friends, and Giordi, a descendant of Romanian Gypsies, said, "In Europe, Gypsies were trailer trash." Yeah, that helped.
Anyway, so I went to the store and purchased some long skirts and bandannas and dug out my tarot cards. And started looking for a place to park an RV.
Apparently, after the hurricane effectively erased all beachfront property within 150 miles of Houston, all those people living in their beach houses before moved into their RVs while contractors from all over the country rebuild the beach houses.
And wanna bet where the contractors are living?
So, I was conducting a massive one-woman hunt for an open RV slot. I didn't want to give up on the RV thing, because not only do I now have a verbal agreement with Katy, but I also have a 60 pound dog. Try to find a reasonably-priced appartment that will let you have a big dog. They exist, but they're few an far between, and mostly in poor repair. Probably from the big dogs.
So, I was conducting the hunt. Then, one day, upper management announced a mandatory "all-hands" meeting. Since I had hands (I checked), I went. It's a good thing, too, because they announced that after ten years, our office is closing and we're all being laid off and our jobs are going to India.
Yes, they said it.
My favorite part was where they said that for the remainder of our time there we're still expected to provied the same great service we have for the past ten years. Even all the managers laughed at that, including the guy who said it.
Anyway, so now I'm looking for a place to work and a place to live. It would be funny if it weren't the tragedy of Modern America. Am I now a homeless, unemployed crazy person? Well, not yet, because I haven't vacated my bedroom and I won't actually lose my job until January.
Oh... and the crazy part? Well, somehow, and I'm not entirely sure how, I got into a discussion with Giordi and Anna about Asperger's Syndrome. We had discussed it before, and I thought they were implying that maybe Jean had it, but it turns out they think I might have AS. I tried to argue it down, even looked up the symptoms, but that didn't help my case any. So I called my ex.
At one point, we had thought my daughter might have AS, but in the end my ex said, "No, she's just like you." Hrm. So I called him. "How did we determine that your child doesn't have AS?"
"Actually, we didn't. We just assumed she's like you." Crap. OK, so I started arguing my point as best I could. But everytime I said, "Asperger's", Giordi would chuckle and say, "ass burgers". So the discussion didn't get very far.
So now, I have to find a place to work, and a place to live, and a pshrink to prove I don't have AS. That's why I'm a homeless, unemployed, crazy person. The only good part is that gas prices have gone down lately, so I think I might be able to afford all the travel.
First, while cleaning up from the hurricane, Giordi informed me that they need my bedroom. No biggie, right? Except... they were going to build a bedroom for me in the garage, but have decided that this would lower the value of their house, so...
So I was looking for a place to live. An old friend of mine who works for the government, Katy, is selling her RV, one of those trailer types, and offered too sell it to me. My eyes kept saying "no", but my mouth said, "yes". I asked my eyes what the problem was, and apparently I was traumatized by the idea of trailer homes.
It seems I have an allergy. When I was a child, I often had to go visit mobile home sellers with my various redneck relatives in my mother's family. Upon entering a brand new trailer, I would have a reaction to something in the wood, which resulted in temporary blindness. Every time.
Also, no one wants to be labeled "trailer trash".
I was discussing this with a real estate contact of mine, and he said to think of myself more as a Gypsy. Now, this I can deal with. I shared this insight with all my friends, and Giordi, a descendant of Romanian Gypsies, said, "In Europe, Gypsies were trailer trash." Yeah, that helped.
Anyway, so I went to the store and purchased some long skirts and bandannas and dug out my tarot cards. And started looking for a place to park an RV.
Apparently, after the hurricane effectively erased all beachfront property within 150 miles of Houston, all those people living in their beach houses before moved into their RVs while contractors from all over the country rebuild the beach houses.
And wanna bet where the contractors are living?
So, I was conducting a massive one-woman hunt for an open RV slot. I didn't want to give up on the RV thing, because not only do I now have a verbal agreement with Katy, but I also have a 60 pound dog. Try to find a reasonably-priced appartment that will let you have a big dog. They exist, but they're few an far between, and mostly in poor repair. Probably from the big dogs.
So, I was conducting the hunt. Then, one day, upper management announced a mandatory "all-hands" meeting. Since I had hands (I checked), I went. It's a good thing, too, because they announced that after ten years, our office is closing and we're all being laid off and our jobs are going to India.
Yes, they said it.
My favorite part was where they said that for the remainder of our time there we're still expected to provied the same great service we have for the past ten years. Even all the managers laughed at that, including the guy who said it.
Anyway, so now I'm looking for a place to work and a place to live. It would be funny if it weren't the tragedy of Modern America. Am I now a homeless, unemployed crazy person? Well, not yet, because I haven't vacated my bedroom and I won't actually lose my job until January.
Oh... and the crazy part? Well, somehow, and I'm not entirely sure how, I got into a discussion with Giordi and Anna about Asperger's Syndrome. We had discussed it before, and I thought they were implying that maybe Jean had it, but it turns out they think I might have AS. I tried to argue it down, even looked up the symptoms, but that didn't help my case any. So I called my ex.
At one point, we had thought my daughter might have AS, but in the end my ex said, "No, she's just like you." Hrm. So I called him. "How did we determine that your child doesn't have AS?"
"Actually, we didn't. We just assumed she's like you." Crap. OK, so I started arguing my point as best I could. But everytime I said, "Asperger's", Giordi would chuckle and say, "ass burgers". So the discussion didn't get very far.
So now, I have to find a place to work, and a place to live, and a pshrink to prove I don't have AS. That's why I'm a homeless, unemployed, crazy person. The only good part is that gas prices have gone down lately, so I think I might be able to afford all the travel.
26 October 2008
The Calm after the Storm
I know I haven't written in a while. I want to take this opportunity to blame the weather.
Apparently, a few weeks ago, we had a thunderstorm roll through town. (Hint: They named it "Ike".) It was fun. Kinda.
I told quite a few people that, as with the previous big storm, "Evacuation is the coward's way out." Normally, I can say things like that with impunity because no one ever listens to me. On this occasion, several people decided to hang out on the shores of Galveston Island to "watch the storm blow in".
I would like to take a moment of silence to honor those who died taking my advice.
So anyway, I stayed home. I kinda had nowhere to go. I mean, I could have gone to stay with my grandmother, but a) even a little stress makes me throw up, and b) my grandmother lives closer to the water than I do. Besides, someone had to watch the house, and my roommates all bailed.
The cowards. (See? I can't stop!)
Anyway, it was fun. At first. I spent the day watching Scrubs reruns and drinking hot tea sweetened with honey. That's my latest thing... tea sweetened with honey.
The wind started picking up sometime after nightfall. But it wasn't really that windy yet. I went to bed, eventually, and slept really well. For a while.
I awoke to the sound of water dripping three inches from my ear. I thought, "I should get up before I get wet." I stood up and found that I was already soaked.
So I relocated to the living room couch. This is a special piece of furniture. It consists of a solid wood frame (kinda pretty) and cushions consisting of hard foam covered in cloth. They're comfortable to most people, but I'm about 100 pounds overweight. I think the purpose of this furniture is to keep me in one spot... the truly soft, comfortable chair (actually a chaise) in the room. So they can keep an eye on me.
I slept on the couch as long as I could. So after about four minutes, I relocated. I had two dogs to deal with, and they weren't liking the storm at all. So I let them climb onto the the chaise with me. That must have lasted at least thirty seconds. One of the dogs, a smallish Australian Shepherd nick-named "Satan", wouldn't stop trying to gouge out my eyes with her two-inch-long claws. So I moved her kennel to a spot beside the chaise and put her back in it. Buddy stayed with me. He definitely didn't like the storm.
In the morning, the power was out. I took some choice photographs of the carnage, which I later found out would be used for insurance purposes. Our house (I like to call it that, even though I'm only here temporarily) was relatively undamaged. We had a tree in our back yard that hadn't been there the night before, though.
My roommates came home that day, and began the long process of calling insurance companies, always a great way to spend a weekend. I was trying to figure out what people did with their time before Al Gore invented the Internet.
Then came the fun part. Emptying out the refrigerator. Since we had no power, we had to take everything out and cook it. And eat it. That wasn't entirely fun. I can only eat a small amount before my stomach complains that I'm not letting it sleep.
While my roommie Anna was cleaning out the freezer, she pulled out a container of some type that seemed to contain a prop from a Geiger movie. She said, "Awwwww, now I have to throw this out!"
I said, "What is it?"
"It's a horse's foot."
"Question: Why do you have a horse's foot in the freezer?"
"So I can show it to people."
Wow. So, as it turns out, Anna is a part-time ferrier, which means that she's basically a pedicurist for horses. She had a frozen foot to show people what can go wrong when the horse's feet aren't cared for. I mean, we're talking about animals weighing as much as a ton, so this is actually very important. Still..... the freezer?
So, anyway, my roommates left again. This time, to go stay with family. They took all the non-preishable food with them, which was fine with me, because I didn't feel like eating anyway.
I couldn't go back to work, because the power was off all over town, including my office, so I stayed home and cleaned. As much as I could clean, that is. We were told by the insurance companynot to do much cleaning, so they could witness the damage. I also got to spend quality time with Buddy. And Naga, my snake. She, too, was driven insane by the storm. But while I moved her "house" from my soaked bedroom into the dining room, she got to spend a little time stretching her muscles.
Eventually, the roads were opened, and I went to visit Jean and Al. Their house was untouched, but about half their fence was gone. And they, too, had a new tree. And no power. Anna was telling me about a few days after she cleaned her fridge. She had detected a smell. She was thinking she must have missed something, so she was looking in all the nooks and crannies.
"It turned out to be the Bobcat," she concluded.
"You... had a bobcat in your freezer?"
"Yeah, why?"
I said, "Question..."
Apparently, a few weeks ago, we had a thunderstorm roll through town. (Hint: They named it "Ike".) It was fun. Kinda.
I told quite a few people that, as with the previous big storm, "Evacuation is the coward's way out." Normally, I can say things like that with impunity because no one ever listens to me. On this occasion, several people decided to hang out on the shores of Galveston Island to "watch the storm blow in".
I would like to take a moment of silence to honor those who died taking my advice.
So anyway, I stayed home. I kinda had nowhere to go. I mean, I could have gone to stay with my grandmother, but a) even a little stress makes me throw up, and b) my grandmother lives closer to the water than I do. Besides, someone had to watch the house, and my roommates all bailed.
The cowards. (See? I can't stop!)
Anyway, it was fun. At first. I spent the day watching Scrubs reruns and drinking hot tea sweetened with honey. That's my latest thing... tea sweetened with honey.
The wind started picking up sometime after nightfall. But it wasn't really that windy yet. I went to bed, eventually, and slept really well. For a while.
I awoke to the sound of water dripping three inches from my ear. I thought, "I should get up before I get wet." I stood up and found that I was already soaked.
So I relocated to the living room couch. This is a special piece of furniture. It consists of a solid wood frame (kinda pretty) and cushions consisting of hard foam covered in cloth. They're comfortable to most people, but I'm about 100 pounds overweight. I think the purpose of this furniture is to keep me in one spot... the truly soft, comfortable chair (actually a chaise) in the room. So they can keep an eye on me.
I slept on the couch as long as I could. So after about four minutes, I relocated. I had two dogs to deal with, and they weren't liking the storm at all. So I let them climb onto the the chaise with me. That must have lasted at least thirty seconds. One of the dogs, a smallish Australian Shepherd nick-named "Satan", wouldn't stop trying to gouge out my eyes with her two-inch-long claws. So I moved her kennel to a spot beside the chaise and put her back in it. Buddy stayed with me. He definitely didn't like the storm.
In the morning, the power was out. I took some choice photographs of the carnage, which I later found out would be used for insurance purposes. Our house (I like to call it that, even though I'm only here temporarily) was relatively undamaged. We had a tree in our back yard that hadn't been there the night before, though.My roommates came home that day, and began the long process of calling insurance companies, always a great way to spend a weekend. I was trying to figure out what people did with their time before Al Gore invented the Internet.
Then came the fun part. Emptying out the refrigerator. Since we had no power, we had to take everything out and cook it. And eat it. That wasn't entirely fun. I can only eat a small amount before my stomach complains that I'm not letting it sleep.
While my roommie Anna was cleaning out the freezer, she pulled out a container of some type that seemed to contain a prop from a Geiger movie. She said, "Awwwww, now I have to throw this out!"
I said, "What is it?"
"It's a horse's foot."
"Question: Why do you have a horse's foot in the freezer?"
"So I can show it to people."
Wow. So, as it turns out, Anna is a part-time ferrier, which means that she's basically a pedicurist for horses. She had a frozen foot to show people what can go wrong when the horse's feet aren't cared for. I mean, we're talking about animals weighing as much as a ton, so this is actually very important. Still..... the freezer?
So, anyway, my roommates left again. This time, to go stay with family. They took all the non-preishable food with them, which was fine with me, because I didn't feel like eating anyway.
I couldn't go back to work, because the power was off all over town, including my office, so I stayed home and cleaned. As much as I could clean, that is. We were told by the insurance companynot to do much cleaning, so they could witness the damage. I also got to spend quality time with Buddy. And Naga, my snake. She, too, was driven insane by the storm. But while I moved her "house" from my soaked bedroom into the dining room, she got to spend a little time stretching her muscles.Eventually, the roads were opened, and I went to visit Jean and Al. Their house was untouched, but about half their fence was gone. And they, too, had a new tree. And no power. Anna was telling me about a few days after she cleaned her fridge. She had detected a smell. She was thinking she must have missed something, so she was looking in all the nooks and crannies.
"It turned out to be the Bobcat," she concluded.
"You... had a bobcat in your freezer?"
"Yeah, why?"
I said, "Question..."
02 September 2008
State of mind
So, I saw a banner ad online that said, "Imagine a world without Schizophrenia". I did so, and just for a moment, I felt a sense of loss. It didn't take me long to realize that it was odd to feel loss just at that moment.
After all, I'm not schizophrenic, and I don't think anyone I know, apart from possibly my cat, is. Still, that got me thinking about schizophrenia. So I was reading up on symptoms, and I came across this in an article:
Now, is it my imagination, or is this a case of a description which illustrates as well as defines? It makes me wonder about the person who wrote the article.
Which brings me to my next point... Always write what you know. I see too many examples these days of people trying to pretend to be experts on subject about which they know little nothing. I've even heard about software that polls the internet for data regarding a keyword and helps automate the process of writing articles and papers. I understand that with more advanced technology come ever-greater levels of automation, but to me this sounds just a little too much like letting the computer do the thinking for me.
And considering my experiences working with computers, that's kinda scary.
Unfortunately, the world seems to be driven these days by idiots. I know that sounds harsh, but look around... Everything has to have warning labels, not because of hidden dangers, but because some moron got stupid and injured himself, and then sued the manufacturer. Because of stupid people, useful products are taken off the market, and things that work well have to be hampered by safety features that seem unnecessary, and everyone is constantly afraid of being taken to court.
I can't help but think that the inherent danger in modern technology is simply part of nature's way to filter out bad DNA. The laws of evolution would dictate that defective genes would die out, but mankind has worked very hard to make sure this doesn't happen. Heck, these days, it's nearly impossible to take your own life on purpose, because things have gotten so bad that we don't even own our own fates anymore, so dying of shear stupidity is almost unheard of.
Almost. I'll write about the Darwin Award, soon.
In the mean time, I say, let's improve the species a bit. Remove the warning labels. Not the ones that say, "This product is made from harsh poisons", but the ones that say, "Do not touch this iron to your tongue" and "Do not operate heavy machinery while wearing these novelty handcuffs". Take away seatbelt and helmet laws. Not the seatbelt laws for children, of course, but the ones for adults. If an adult wants to drive down the road, hit a telephone pole, and then eat his windshield, let him. And take another look at drug laws... I can't imagine why marajuana is illegal and alcohol is legal.
That's my take, anyway.
After all, I'm not schizophrenic, and I don't think anyone I know, apart from possibly my cat, is. Still, that got me thinking about schizophrenia. So I was reading up on symptoms, and I came across this in an article:
C)Disorganized : these persons completely neglect themselves either in their appearance
They will have unorganized speech and sometime unorganized speech . there behaviour is completely unpredictable .
Now, is it my imagination, or is this a case of a description which illustrates as well as defines? It makes me wonder about the person who wrote the article.
Which brings me to my next point... Always write what you know. I see too many examples these days of people trying to pretend to be experts on subject about which they know little nothing. I've even heard about software that polls the internet for data regarding a keyword and helps automate the process of writing articles and papers. I understand that with more advanced technology come ever-greater levels of automation, but to me this sounds just a little too much like letting the computer do the thinking for me.
And considering my experiences working with computers, that's kinda scary.
Unfortunately, the world seems to be driven these days by idiots. I know that sounds harsh, but look around... Everything has to have warning labels, not because of hidden dangers, but because some moron got stupid and injured himself, and then sued the manufacturer. Because of stupid people, useful products are taken off the market, and things that work well have to be hampered by safety features that seem unnecessary, and everyone is constantly afraid of being taken to court.
I can't help but think that the inherent danger in modern technology is simply part of nature's way to filter out bad DNA. The laws of evolution would dictate that defective genes would die out, but mankind has worked very hard to make sure this doesn't happen. Heck, these days, it's nearly impossible to take your own life on purpose, because things have gotten so bad that we don't even own our own fates anymore, so dying of shear stupidity is almost unheard of.
Almost. I'll write about the Darwin Award, soon.
In the mean time, I say, let's improve the species a bit. Remove the warning labels. Not the ones that say, "This product is made from harsh poisons", but the ones that say, "Do not touch this iron to your tongue" and "Do not operate heavy machinery while wearing these novelty handcuffs". Take away seatbelt and helmet laws. Not the seatbelt laws for children, of course, but the ones for adults. If an adult wants to drive down the road, hit a telephone pole, and then eat his windshield, let him. And take another look at drug laws... I can't imagine why marajuana is illegal and alcohol is legal.
That's my take, anyway.
31 August 2008
28 August 2008
What the cat dragged in...
So, I got up today thinking that it would be a pleasant day. That is, I thought that before I got up.
The first thing I noticed was that I had slept through all my alarms. I have four. So, I got up and began getting ready. I had a dinner date (not really a date, though) after work, so I thought I would wear my tightest jeans (mostly because my dog ate my belt) and this pretty blouse I've been saving.
I got ready and put on my pretty blouse and looked in the mirror... The blouse was two sizes too big. It looked like a painter's smock. The only other clean top I had was one of the two shirts I have that I call my "lesbian" shirts.
Because they make me look like a lesbian.
And it's black... what better, for a first "date"? My roommate, Anna, asked me to pick up some cat food, so I resolved to go to the store after work.
I was already over an hour behind schedule, but was almost out of gas, so I had to stop and get gas. Some people think a hurricane is about to hit, so there were lines at the gas stations, which is always fun. But I wouldn't have made it to work, so I waited in line.
I got to work nearly two hours late. I thought it wouldn't be a problem... My manager is short, so he can't really see over cubicle walls while seated, but he happened to be standing up when I came in. Darn. I had planned a conversation with him, but it wouldn't have gone well for me. Fortunately, he quickly forgot who I was and went back to staring at an empty trash can.
Managers, huh?
Anyway, so I got to my desk and was summoned to help people with some tricky cases for two hours, and didn't even get a chance to log into my computer before Luann announced it was lunchtime. Wow. So, I went to lunch with her, where I talked about my impending "date" that evening. She was so happy for me that I'm pretty sure she was already planning the wedding invitations in her
We thought we were doing well... slightly ahead of schedule, we were going to get back to work early, which is good for Luann, because some of the others on her team are mean to her if she takes a long lunch. She was so happy... and then when we got to her car we found a flat tire.
Apparently, in Luann's home culture, women aren't taught to change tires. I wasn't either, but I'm an engineer. So I started trying to change her tire, bemoaning the absense of Men of Valor in the 110-degree parking lot, when suddenly a Man of Valor came along and changed the tire for us. But I had already ruined my makeup and nail polish, and smelled like a sweat lodge, and my lesbian shirt was dirty, and my knees looked like I had been kneeling in a parking lot... not the image I wanted to portray.
We got back, and I was once again summoned to help others with their cases. It sucks to be so cool, sometimes. Anyway, I eventually managed to get about two thirds of my minimum daily workload worked before time to leave.
My original plan was to go straight to the rendezvous place, but now I had to take time to fix my makeup, get dirt out of my clothing, and comb my hair. I had managed to repaint my nails during the day, and they didn't look too bad from a distance.
So I barely made it to the coffee shop (we were meeting at a coffee shop) on time. Except.... there was no coffee shop. I was sure there had been a coffee shop right there, where I had left it. Like two years ago. I walked around a bit to see if I could find the coffee shop, and heard my named called from a night club's patio.
I knew that the coffee shop had been there. Apparetly, it mutated into a night club.
So, I was chatting with my "date"... everything was going alright, apart from my complete social ineptitude, until The Show started. Suddenly, our conversation was being interrupted by... you'll love this part... a drag show.
Now, I have nothing against a drag show... I had never seen one, actually... and I don't even have anything against the drag queens, drag kings and other drag persons who participate in them. But apparently my "date" was fascinated with the show. Hrm... how to save this moment... I took one look at the almost-illegally-short skirts worn by the drag queens and realized that I didn't stand a chance.
At some point, he announce, "Well, I should get home before my wife gets suspicious." WIFE?!?!?!?!?
Well, the show was over, we exchanged pleasantries and parted ways, and I headed home. I was pretty exhausted. I was aching, tired from hiding my pain and nausea from my "date", hungry, dirty, smelly, disillusioned, and did I mention tired? I got home, took off my shoes, locked the front door, stumbled into the living room, and collapsed face down onto the couch.
Anna said to me, "Did you pick up cat food?"
The first thing I noticed was that I had slept through all my alarms. I have four. So, I got up and began getting ready. I had a dinner date (not really a date, though) after work, so I thought I would wear my tightest jeans (mostly because my dog ate my belt) and this pretty blouse I've been saving.
I got ready and put on my pretty blouse and looked in the mirror... The blouse was two sizes too big. It looked like a painter's smock. The only other clean top I had was one of the two shirts I have that I call my "lesbian" shirts.
Because they make me look like a lesbian.
And it's black... what better, for a first "date"? My roommate, Anna, asked me to pick up some cat food, so I resolved to go to the store after work.
I was already over an hour behind schedule, but was almost out of gas, so I had to stop and get gas. Some people think a hurricane is about to hit, so there were lines at the gas stations, which is always fun. But I wouldn't have made it to work, so I waited in line.
I got to work nearly two hours late. I thought it wouldn't be a problem... My manager is short, so he can't really see over cubicle walls while seated, but he happened to be standing up when I came in. Darn. I had planned a conversation with him, but it wouldn't have gone well for me. Fortunately, he quickly forgot who I was and went back to staring at an empty trash can.
Managers, huh?
Anyway, so I got to my desk and was summoned to help people with some tricky cases for two hours, and didn't even get a chance to log into my computer before Luann announced it was lunchtime. Wow. So, I went to lunch with her, where I talked about my impending "date" that evening. She was so happy for me that I'm pretty sure she was already planning the wedding invitations in her
We thought we were doing well... slightly ahead of schedule, we were going to get back to work early, which is good for Luann, because some of the others on her team are mean to her if she takes a long lunch. She was so happy... and then when we got to her car we found a flat tire.
Apparently, in Luann's home culture, women aren't taught to change tires. I wasn't either, but I'm an engineer. So I started trying to change her tire, bemoaning the absense of Men of Valor in the 110-degree parking lot, when suddenly a Man of Valor came along and changed the tire for us. But I had already ruined my makeup and nail polish, and smelled like a sweat lodge, and my lesbian shirt was dirty, and my knees looked like I had been kneeling in a parking lot... not the image I wanted to portray.
We got back, and I was once again summoned to help others with their cases. It sucks to be so cool, sometimes. Anyway, I eventually managed to get about two thirds of my minimum daily workload worked before time to leave.
My original plan was to go straight to the rendezvous place, but now I had to take time to fix my makeup, get dirt out of my clothing, and comb my hair. I had managed to repaint my nails during the day, and they didn't look too bad from a distance.
So I barely made it to the coffee shop (we were meeting at a coffee shop) on time. Except.... there was no coffee shop. I was sure there had been a coffee shop right there, where I had left it. Like two years ago. I walked around a bit to see if I could find the coffee shop, and heard my named called from a night club's patio.
I knew that the coffee shop had been there. Apparetly, it mutated into a night club.
So, I was chatting with my "date"... everything was going alright, apart from my complete social ineptitude, until The Show started. Suddenly, our conversation was being interrupted by... you'll love this part... a drag show.
Now, I have nothing against a drag show... I had never seen one, actually... and I don't even have anything against the drag queens, drag kings and other drag persons who participate in them. But apparently my "date" was fascinated with the show. Hrm... how to save this moment... I took one look at the almost-illegally-short skirts worn by the drag queens and realized that I didn't stand a chance.
At some point, he announce, "Well, I should get home before my wife gets suspicious." WIFE?!?!?!?!?
Well, the show was over, we exchanged pleasantries and parted ways, and I headed home. I was pretty exhausted. I was aching, tired from hiding my pain and nausea from my "date", hungry, dirty, smelly, disillusioned, and did I mention tired? I got home, took off my shoes, locked the front door, stumbled into the living room, and collapsed face down onto the couch.
Anna said to me, "Did you pick up cat food?"
01 August 2008
Birthday tribute - Jean
It was Ice Cream Day at work today, so I found myself idly wondering whether a person's choice between ice cream sandwiches and bomb pops was a reflection of his or her sexual orientation...
Think about it a minute...
Anyway, it occurred to me... It's also Jean's birthday. :-D So she gets to be today's victim...
For example, she speaks in what I call "Jeanisms". This are words and phrases that make sense to Jean, and if you think about it, should make sense to you, too. I've heard others use some of them, but I'm pretty sure she said them first. These include:
They make sense, if you stop and think about it. She knows the correct spellings and pronunciations, but she speaks them as they come to her... through a filter where the word should sound like what it means.
Jean was born in New Jersey, but moved to the hick portion of Channelview, Texas as a small child. She was then raised by her NJ parents, but in a hick environment. This results in an interesting personality. First, her accent... She usually doesn't seem to have much of an accent, except for a few words ("Oh Ghoahd!", for example). That is, until she gets around her family, at which point, it's almost like being back in Hungary... I don't understand half of what's said.
Apparently, telepathy runs strongly in Jean's family, so when they're communicating amongst themselves, half of what they say is generalities... "what's-his-name" and "whadyacwallit" and so forth... And they all know what all the others are talking about. It's kinda creepy.
But as I said, she grew up amongst hicks... so she has some of that embedded, too. In fact, when she finds herself around horses, she completely falls into a stereotypical southern drawl. She doesn't even notice it. I one pointed it out to her, and for three days she couldn't speak. She would start to, and then forget how to form the words, and get lost in a morass of accents, and nothing would come out of her mouth. It was nice, until she got past it, and started speaking again.
But don't get me wrong... she's one of my most bestest friends. Odd, considering that she stole my husband (long story). And argues that she saw him first. And she stole my dog. But we all get along great. She's even in my will, but I haven't told her, because I'm trying to find ways to increase my lifespan.
I love to tease her about her sexual orientation. She's straight... obviously... and I know it... obviously... but between the horses and majoring Construction Technology in college (did you know there was a college degree for construction workers?) she somehow developed the reputation as a tiny (five feet tall) lesbian. And she earned that reputation. When I met her, she was the roughest, toughest little student at the college. I once saw her put a nail through her hand. She promptly got up, walked to a sink, pulled the nail out of her hand, rinsed off the hole, put on a Band-Aid® and went back to her hammering.
On another occasion, she was showing off her horse, an uncut Arabian stallion as compact as she was, and explaining that he had an attitude problem. She then climbed onto his back, and after a couple of seconds he started bucking. She flew about 20 feet in the air (not an exaggeration) and landed on her face. She got up onto hands and knees, shook her head, and then got up and walked to him, shouted his name (the Arabic word for "Satan"), and punched him. He backed away, wide-eyed, and she got back on and rode him for a while before folding him and putting him away. She later had a black eye, because she had landed on a rock the size of her fist.
Jean's knowledge is impressive, considering that she tries to hide it. When anyone of us is sick, she gets a phone call. She's always the first to treat a wound that doesn't require an emergency room. She's also the local consultant for animal-related health issues and runs an informal animal rescue out of her home and at her own expense. I once watched her raise a squirrel whose mother had abandoned him before he was weened, and when he was grown he was completely tame, to the point where she could take him outside, let him run around on trees, and when she would open her pocket breast and call him by name, he would jump in. Wow.
Once, when she and I were in college, we were at my mother's house to help get the pool ready. My step-father opened a tube to let the pool drain into some bushes, and a blur shot out of the bushes, which Jean promptly grabbed behind the neck. And found herself holding an alligator about three feet long. He wasn't any more amused than she was.
This is the type of person she is. I wanted to give a picture of the type of person she is. Since she takes care of my daughter (her husband's daughter), my life insurance points to her. I trust her to do the right thing next year when I meet my doom, to ensure that the money is used to my daughter's benefit.
When I have any kind of a problem and need a shoulder to cry on, hers is the closest available, even if I have to drive 40 miles to get to it. When I got out of the hospital, I recuperated at her house. When I broke my ankle in the floods of hurricane Allison, she helped me to be mobile until I could get crutches. She gave me my dog, and my hamster, and when I leave for an extended trip, she's the one who takes care of my animal friends.
I value each of my friends greatly. The people I consider my true friends would kill for me, or die for me, and Jean is no exception. But she's also the one who has been there for me during most of the hardest times of my life, even the ones she caused. And that means something.
So, here's to you, Jean... Happy Birthday!!!
Think about it a minute...
Anyway, it occurred to me... It's also Jean's birthday. :-D So she gets to be today's victim...
For example, she speaks in what I call "Jeanisms". This are words and phrases that make sense to Jean, and if you think about it, should make sense to you, too. I've heard others use some of them, but I'm pretty sure she said them first. These include:
- "Old Timer's Disease" (Alzheimer's)
- "ex-cape" (escape)
- "my brain was thinking" (I was thinking)
- "indulations" (the part of undulations that go into the material in question)
- "Tawnimono" (dogfood, from the Japanese "tabemono" for food, and the name of her dog, "Tawni")
- "Ashtray" (her nickname for me, because I'm allergic to cigarette smoke)
- "Hungry" (that country in Europe where I lost 20 pounds)
- and many more
They make sense, if you stop and think about it. She knows the correct spellings and pronunciations, but she speaks them as they come to her... through a filter where the word should sound like what it means.
Jean was born in New Jersey, but moved to the hick portion of Channelview, Texas as a small child. She was then raised by her NJ parents, but in a hick environment. This results in an interesting personality. First, her accent... She usually doesn't seem to have much of an accent, except for a few words ("Oh Ghoahd!", for example). That is, until she gets around her family, at which point, it's almost like being back in Hungary... I don't understand half of what's said.
Apparently, telepathy runs strongly in Jean's family, so when they're communicating amongst themselves, half of what they say is generalities... "what's-his-name" and "whadyacwallit" and so forth... And they all know what all the others are talking about. It's kinda creepy.
But as I said, she grew up amongst hicks... so she has some of that embedded, too. In fact, when she finds herself around horses, she completely falls into a stereotypical southern drawl. She doesn't even notice it. I one pointed it out to her, and for three days she couldn't speak. She would start to, and then forget how to form the words, and get lost in a morass of accents, and nothing would come out of her mouth. It was nice, until she got past it, and started speaking again.
But don't get me wrong... she's one of my most bestest friends. Odd, considering that she stole my husband (long story). And argues that she saw him first. And she stole my dog. But we all get along great. She's even in my will, but I haven't told her, because I'm trying to find ways to increase my lifespan.
I love to tease her about her sexual orientation. She's straight... obviously... and I know it... obviously... but between the horses and majoring Construction Technology in college (did you know there was a college degree for construction workers?) she somehow developed the reputation as a tiny (five feet tall) lesbian. And she earned that reputation. When I met her, she was the roughest, toughest little student at the college. I once saw her put a nail through her hand. She promptly got up, walked to a sink, pulled the nail out of her hand, rinsed off the hole, put on a Band-Aid® and went back to her hammering.
On another occasion, she was showing off her horse, an uncut Arabian stallion as compact as she was, and explaining that he had an attitude problem. She then climbed onto his back, and after a couple of seconds he started bucking. She flew about 20 feet in the air (not an exaggeration) and landed on her face. She got up onto hands and knees, shook her head, and then got up and walked to him, shouted his name (the Arabic word for "Satan"), and punched him. He backed away, wide-eyed, and she got back on and rode him for a while before folding him and putting him away. She later had a black eye, because she had landed on a rock the size of her fist.
Jean's knowledge is impressive, considering that she tries to hide it. When anyone of us is sick, she gets a phone call. She's always the first to treat a wound that doesn't require an emergency room. She's also the local consultant for animal-related health issues and runs an informal animal rescue out of her home and at her own expense. I once watched her raise a squirrel whose mother had abandoned him before he was weened, and when he was grown he was completely tame, to the point where she could take him outside, let him run around on trees, and when she would open her pocket breast and call him by name, he would jump in. Wow.
Once, when she and I were in college, we were at my mother's house to help get the pool ready. My step-father opened a tube to let the pool drain into some bushes, and a blur shot out of the bushes, which Jean promptly grabbed behind the neck. And found herself holding an alligator about three feet long. He wasn't any more amused than she was.
This is the type of person she is. I wanted to give a picture of the type of person she is. Since she takes care of my daughter (her husband's daughter), my life insurance points to her. I trust her to do the right thing next year when I meet my doom, to ensure that the money is used to my daughter's benefit.
When I have any kind of a problem and need a shoulder to cry on, hers is the closest available, even if I have to drive 40 miles to get to it. When I got out of the hospital, I recuperated at her house. When I broke my ankle in the floods of hurricane Allison, she helped me to be mobile until I could get crutches. She gave me my dog, and my hamster, and when I leave for an extended trip, she's the one who takes care of my animal friends.
I value each of my friends greatly. The people I consider my true friends would kill for me, or die for me, and Jean is no exception. But she's also the one who has been there for me during most of the hardest times of my life, even the ones she caused. And that means something.
So, here's to you, Jean... Happy Birthday!!!
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