Waiting In Line
Last Sunday I was in the Portland airport waiting for my flight back to Oakland. I flew into Oakland because I was on Southwest (Cattle Car Airlines). Our plane was delayed 40 minutes, so all us passengers were patiently sitting around waiting to board.
Now, anyone who has been on a Southwest flight, or has walked by a Southwest gate will know that they divide people into 3 boarding groups. There is some magical moment when people decide they need to get out of their seats and start lining up by the gates for groups A through C.
This moment came on Sunday, but in a different way. The person sitting in a chair right next to the entrance for group A put her bag down. Then the people next to her put their bags down behind hers. So I put my bag behind theirs and a guy put his bag down behind mine. People started doing this in group B as well. But after so many bags are in line, you aren't really sitting close enough to your bag to not worry someone is going to search it, so pretty soon people sat in line as well.
This whole unspoken but mutually agreed upon arrangement irked the couple next to me something fierce. (Due to his choice of footwear and her vocal attributes, I'll call them Marshmallow Feet and Queen Emphysema.)
MF: Look at these people put their bags in line. I can't believe this.
QE: Who started this nonsense?
MF: The people next to us.
Ok. I'M sitting next to you and I can hear you just fine, Ass.
MF: I mean, I'm competitive, but I don't have to be first for everything. When traveling, I like to go with the flow. Who needs all this stress?
QE: Yeah, who cares who gets on first?
[5 minutes pass]
MF: This bag in line stuff is really stupid. Your suitcase doesn't represent you, your body represents you. It's not right at all.
QE: Why is there a line at all? We're not even boarding for a half hour?
[5 minutes pass]
MF: [Mockingly] Could I put my sweatshirt in line? It represents who I am better that my suitcase does.
QE: Yes, it says Hoosiers on it. You went to school there.
[5 minutes pass]
MF: Could I put my book in line? Would that count? My book represents me better than a suit case.
QE: You could put your name in it.
MF: Yeah, and then if somebody asked if I was in line I could say, "Yeah. See? My name is in this book. It represents me."
Then they complained about the wheelchair helpers asking for a tip. ("Why should they get a tip? They just pushed a chair around." and "Those people don't looook handicapped") After that they complained about an announcement asking people to give up their tickets for a $200 travel voucher and the price of their ticket to go on a later flight. ("Why would anyone give up their ticket? It's only $200. I mean, you'd have to wait 2 HOURS.")
Then Southwest started boarding. And you know what? Marshmallow feet and Queen Emphysema CUT IN LINE!!!! They got up, and stepped right behind me in line IN FRONT OF THE GIRL WHO HAD WAITED WITH HER BODY IN LINE!!! They cut in front of somebody who was abiding by their own stupid rules.
I wished their plane would go down until I realized it was my plane too. So then I hoped their luggage would get lost. Yeah, payback is a bitch.
Friday, December 31, 2004
Thursday, December 30, 2004
Chin Fuzz
I'm running my annual chin experiment.
Once in a while I like to see if my chin will grow anything resembling a goatee. I've sprouted hair on my upper lip, my chin, and the patch of skin between my chin and my throat. (What's that place called? My underhead?) But I have no whiskers to connect my lip fuzz and chin fuzz, and my cheeks are a hair wasteland except for a few mole outposts and 2 or 3 go-get-em follicles near my ear.
It's not that I want to grow chin hair ala the Anthrax guy or anything, but I feel that if I'm going to have to shave everyday to keep from looking trailer parky, then I should have the option to stop shaving and grow something respectable. But I can't. Yet. Hence the experiment.
On the bright side, I'm not going to gross anyone out with a hairy back or chest. I guess I'm just not a waist-up hairy person, though I'm not sure that is due to genes or gravity. I certainly have some respectable hair-pants.
TMI?
I'm running my annual chin experiment.
Once in a while I like to see if my chin will grow anything resembling a goatee. I've sprouted hair on my upper lip, my chin, and the patch of skin between my chin and my throat. (What's that place called? My underhead?) But I have no whiskers to connect my lip fuzz and chin fuzz, and my cheeks are a hair wasteland except for a few mole outposts and 2 or 3 go-get-em follicles near my ear.
It's not that I want to grow chin hair ala the Anthrax guy or anything, but I feel that if I'm going to have to shave everyday to keep from looking trailer parky, then I should have the option to stop shaving and grow something respectable. But I can't. Yet. Hence the experiment.
On the bright side, I'm not going to gross anyone out with a hairy back or chest. I guess I'm just not a waist-up hairy person, though I'm not sure that is due to genes or gravity. I certainly have some respectable hair-pants.
TMI?
Wednesday, December 29, 2004
Freaky Phone Call of Tonight
[On my home phone]
Me: Hello?
Them: Hi. This is the [something or other government agency in charge of wildlife] calling with some questions.
Me: Ok.
Them : How many people in your household go fishing?
Me: Um. Zero.
Them : And how many people including you are in your household?
Me: Two.
Them : And you live in San Francisco County. Is that correct?
Me: Yes.
Them : That is all. Thank you. Goodbye.
What good is that survey doing? If I had told them I go fishing would they have told me to knock it off? Don't we have a budget deficit?
[On my home phone]
Me: Hello?
Them: Hi. This is the [something or other government agency in charge of wildlife] calling with some questions.
Me: Ok.
Them : How many people in your household go fishing?
Me: Um. Zero.
Them : And how many people including you are in your household?
Me: Two.
Them : And you live in San Francisco County. Is that correct?
Me: Yes.
Them : That is all. Thank you. Goodbye.
What good is that survey doing? If I had told them I go fishing would they have told me to knock it off? Don't we have a budget deficit?
Tuesday, December 28, 2004
Monday, December 27, 2004
Freaky Phone Calls
FPC #1: [Calling at 2pm]
Me: Hi. I'm calling to schedule the pickup of our air mattress.
Them: Ok. What time are you coming?
Me: Would 6pm be ok?
Them: Oh sure. Anytime after 5pm would be fine. That's when the coroner is coming.
FPC #2: [The important background info to know about this call is that it happened on a TUESDAY]
Me: Hi. I'm calling to schedule the pickup or our air mattress.
Them: Oh. When did you want to come?
Me: We can be there within an hour, or if some other time would be more convenient, we can come then.
Them: Could you come on Thursday? We'd like to have a viewing.
[That is, at the very least, two and a half days of viewing time. Eww.]
FPC #3: [This one happened today]
Me: Hi. I'm calling to schedule the pickup or our air mattress.
Them: Oh, well, after my husband died this morning they put this house under quarantine, so no one can get in or out for at least a week. We'll have to let you know when this is all taken care of and you can come by.
Me: Ok, um, thanks.
While these phone calls are creepy, keep in mind what I did for the vast majority of my day: Drive around listening to an excellent book on tape. Can't beat that.
FPC #1: [Calling at 2pm]
Me: Hi. I'm calling to schedule the pickup of our air mattress.
Them: Ok. What time are you coming?
Me: Would 6pm be ok?
Them: Oh sure. Anytime after 5pm would be fine. That's when the coroner is coming.
FPC #2: [The important background info to know about this call is that it happened on a TUESDAY]
Me: Hi. I'm calling to schedule the pickup or our air mattress.
Them: Oh. When did you want to come?
Me: We can be there within an hour, or if some other time would be more convenient, we can come then.
Them: Could you come on Thursday? We'd like to have a viewing.
[That is, at the very least, two and a half days of viewing time. Eww.]
FPC #3: [This one happened today]
Me: Hi. I'm calling to schedule the pickup or our air mattress.
Them: Oh, well, after my husband died this morning they put this house under quarantine, so no one can get in or out for at least a week. We'll have to let you know when this is all taken care of and you can come by.
Me: Ok, um, thanks.
While these phone calls are creepy, keep in mind what I did for the vast majority of my day: Drive around listening to an excellent book on tape. Can't beat that.
Thursday, December 23, 2004
Idiots At Tollbooths
In the Bay Area we have tollbooths after many of our bridges. Tollbooths are slow and therefore they usually create lines. For people who don't like waiting or don't like to come up with $3 in cash after each crossing, we have an automated system called FasTrak. You get a little beeper you put behind your rearview mirror, and you can drive through the FasTrak only lanes without stopping. Or that's how it's supposed to work.
Twice in two weeks I've had the same thing happen to me. I'm happily aiming my van at the FasTrak-Only lane when somebody decides they don't like the line in which they are waiting waaaay over to one side, so they cross over 5 or six lanes to get in my lane. So first off, they've just cut me off, so I have to slam on my breaks. But whatever, I get cut off all the time, so I'm not honking.
They see how nice my lane is with its thick white stripes on either side, whith its sign above it that says FasTrak Only, with its blinking yellow light, with no cars waiting to get onto the bridge. They see that this lane in marking and signage looks like none of the other lanes. They see this and they decide this is the lane for them. But when they stop at the toll booth they are surprised to see that there's no one there to take their money. And now I've pulled up behind them and I'm wondering what the hell they're up to. So I honk.
This throws them into a tizzy and they put on a right turn signal, then a left turn signal, then reverse lights. I can't back up because people are building up behind us. So I honk again, and they zip through, toll unpaid.
Why do people do this? Have they never been across the bridge before? I've seen lots of people get right up to the end of the lane and then try to cut into another line. Those people are bastards, but at least I know what they're up to. The people who cut me off must think, "FasTrak? That sounds like me. I'm in a hurry and I would like to go fast. All those people waiting in line are fools. FOOLS!"
It's a wonder I still like driving, but I guess it's not a wonder that I don't like people.
In the Bay Area we have tollbooths after many of our bridges. Tollbooths are slow and therefore they usually create lines. For people who don't like waiting or don't like to come up with $3 in cash after each crossing, we have an automated system called FasTrak. You get a little beeper you put behind your rearview mirror, and you can drive through the FasTrak only lanes without stopping. Or that's how it's supposed to work.
Twice in two weeks I've had the same thing happen to me. I'm happily aiming my van at the FasTrak-Only lane when somebody decides they don't like the line in which they are waiting waaaay over to one side, so they cross over 5 or six lanes to get in my lane. So first off, they've just cut me off, so I have to slam on my breaks. But whatever, I get cut off all the time, so I'm not honking.
They see how nice my lane is with its thick white stripes on either side, whith its sign above it that says FasTrak Only, with its blinking yellow light, with no cars waiting to get onto the bridge. They see that this lane in marking and signage looks like none of the other lanes. They see this and they decide this is the lane for them. But when they stop at the toll booth they are surprised to see that there's no one there to take their money. And now I've pulled up behind them and I'm wondering what the hell they're up to. So I honk.
This throws them into a tizzy and they put on a right turn signal, then a left turn signal, then reverse lights. I can't back up because people are building up behind us. So I honk again, and they zip through, toll unpaid.
Why do people do this? Have they never been across the bridge before? I've seen lots of people get right up to the end of the lane and then try to cut into another line. Those people are bastards, but at least I know what they're up to. The people who cut me off must think, "FasTrak? That sounds like me. I'm in a hurry and I would like to go fast. All those people waiting in line are fools. FOOLS!"
It's a wonder I still like driving, but I guess it's not a wonder that I don't like people.
Tuesday, December 21, 2004
Monday, December 20, 2004
Comment Comments
I've never seen anyone devote an entire post to commenting on comments from previous posts, so I hope it's not some important unwritten blogger convention that I'm flouting here.
In regard to all the people I'm not dating:
1) The consensus on this one seems to be that I should go for it and see what happens, but I'm just not shallow enough to make a move without having a little conversation first. And if it turns out she's happy that Bush got elected then neither moves nor conversation will get made.
2) Yeah, smoking bothers me that much. Even if she manages to smoke down wind of herself, then kissing sucks. Smoking makes your lungs smell for like 3 hours after your last puff. So even with the liberal application of toothpaste every exhale smells like an ashtray, and I'm very smell oriented. I smell everything. I smell cups before I fill them whatever beverage I'm about to drink. Clean cups. Cups which I've taken, still warm, out of the dish washer. Also, I think anyone who describes herself as a heavy smoker maybe isn't trying to quit.
3) While I was pretending not to be shallow for person number 1, I am. She, along with being 19, was also kind of an ugo. I really did feel bad about that though. She emailed me, which means she used at least part of her $20 monthly fee to send me a message and I ignored it. But what was I supposed to say? "Hi, thanks for emailing, but you are too young and a little funny looking. Have a nice day!"
4) Everyone but my roommate agrees to say no on the tranny. My roommate maintains that I should go on 1 date just for the story. There's only a tiny bit of merit to this. If I'd gone out on the date and she'd told me then that she was/is a he, then that makes for a good story. But if I go out with a tranny fully aware of her tranniness, then that just reflects badly on me. Thank you, no.
And so I remain single. Though there is one girl who (I think) is attractive that messaged me a while ago. All her pictures have her head leaning on one shoulder or another, so she may not have any neck muscles. But maybe I should work on that shallow thing and send her an email.
I've never seen anyone devote an entire post to commenting on comments from previous posts, so I hope it's not some important unwritten blogger convention that I'm flouting here.
In regard to all the people I'm not dating:
1) The consensus on this one seems to be that I should go for it and see what happens, but I'm just not shallow enough to make a move without having a little conversation first. And if it turns out she's happy that Bush got elected then neither moves nor conversation will get made.
2) Yeah, smoking bothers me that much. Even if she manages to smoke down wind of herself, then kissing sucks. Smoking makes your lungs smell for like 3 hours after your last puff. So even with the liberal application of toothpaste every exhale smells like an ashtray, and I'm very smell oriented. I smell everything. I smell cups before I fill them whatever beverage I'm about to drink. Clean cups. Cups which I've taken, still warm, out of the dish washer. Also, I think anyone who describes herself as a heavy smoker maybe isn't trying to quit.
3) While I was pretending not to be shallow for person number 1, I am. She, along with being 19, was also kind of an ugo. I really did feel bad about that though. She emailed me, which means she used at least part of her $20 monthly fee to send me a message and I ignored it. But what was I supposed to say? "Hi, thanks for emailing, but you are too young and a little funny looking. Have a nice day!"
4) Everyone but my roommate agrees to say no on the tranny. My roommate maintains that I should go on 1 date just for the story. There's only a tiny bit of merit to this. If I'd gone out on the date and she'd told me then that she was/is a he, then that makes for a good story. But if I go out with a tranny fully aware of her tranniness, then that just reflects badly on me. Thank you, no.
And so I remain single. Though there is one girl who (I think) is attractive that messaged me a while ago. All her pictures have her head leaning on one shoulder or another, so she may not have any neck muscles. But maybe I should work on that shallow thing and send her an email.
Saturday, December 18, 2004
Mr. Popular
Incompatible people who have sent me messages on my Yahoo! Personals profile to date:
- A 30 year old conservative Christian. I did put that I'm an atheist and liberal in my description, but nobody reads those.
- A 22 year old Pacifica resident who is a heavy smoker. I do have a sentence in my profile that states, "I don't smoke anything, and would like the person I'm dating not to either." But I can see how that might be misconstrued.
- A 19 year old girl who goes to SF State. I'm thinking a 7 year difference at this point is a bit much. Plus, it's hard to go to shows in bars with somebody under 21.
- The most recent person who also wins the prize for most incompatible: A 24 year old Transsexual Filipina who typed her profile in all caps. I have a couple of problems with her/him. 1) She/he may have man parts. I'm not a big fan of man parts. 2) I hate when people type in all caps.
There are rules people. Typing in all caps indicates yelling. For normal things like personals, use your indoor voice.
Incompatible people who have sent me messages on my Yahoo! Personals profile to date:
- A 30 year old conservative Christian. I did put that I'm an atheist and liberal in my description, but nobody reads those.
- A 22 year old Pacifica resident who is a heavy smoker. I do have a sentence in my profile that states, "I don't smoke anything, and would like the person I'm dating not to either." But I can see how that might be misconstrued.
- A 19 year old girl who goes to SF State. I'm thinking a 7 year difference at this point is a bit much. Plus, it's hard to go to shows in bars with somebody under 21.
- The most recent person who also wins the prize for most incompatible: A 24 year old Transsexual Filipina who typed her profile in all caps. I have a couple of problems with her/him. 1) She/he may have man parts. I'm not a big fan of man parts. 2) I hate when people type in all caps.
There are rules people. Typing in all caps indicates yelling. For normal things like personals, use your indoor voice.
Friday, December 17, 2004
I Got It!
I've finally got my hard drive enclosure. If you remember, I was trying to get one from an e-store, but when it arrived it didn't work and I had to spend half the purchase price to send it back. Then I tried EBay, but since I have no internet access at work I got sniped in the last minutes before the auction ended.
What was I thinking? I should have been using Craig’s List all along. I found a girl in Berkeley with an enclosure she was selling for $30. I offered her $25 and she accepted. It was a little hard to meet her because her English wasn't pristine and I couldn't tell what streets she was describing, but finally we met and she handed me the enclosure. She pointed out that it was missing most of the screws that hold it together. Luckily I had planned for just such an occasion by accidentally only having $23 with me. She said that was fine and we both went on our merry way.
My hard drive is sitting in an enclosure which is held together with zip ties, but I'm happy none the less. I have all my mp3s back.
As an extremely unrelated side note, you know those things that go on top of doors that make sure they close but don't slam? They have a little cylinder connected to an arm connected to the door. Does anyone know what I'm talking about? Well, if you do then you can picture the one on the door in a convalescent home in Santa Rosa. It was Taco brand.
Taco brand slam suppressors, they're tasty.
Taco brand slam suppressors, you picture food, we picture softly closing doors.
Taco brand slam suppressors, don't eat them, they go on the door.
I've finally got my hard drive enclosure. If you remember, I was trying to get one from an e-store, but when it arrived it didn't work and I had to spend half the purchase price to send it back. Then I tried EBay, but since I have no internet access at work I got sniped in the last minutes before the auction ended.
What was I thinking? I should have been using Craig’s List all along. I found a girl in Berkeley with an enclosure she was selling for $30. I offered her $25 and she accepted. It was a little hard to meet her because her English wasn't pristine and I couldn't tell what streets she was describing, but finally we met and she handed me the enclosure. She pointed out that it was missing most of the screws that hold it together. Luckily I had planned for just such an occasion by accidentally only having $23 with me. She said that was fine and we both went on our merry way.
My hard drive is sitting in an enclosure which is held together with zip ties, but I'm happy none the less. I have all my mp3s back.
As an extremely unrelated side note, you know those things that go on top of doors that make sure they close but don't slam? They have a little cylinder connected to an arm connected to the door. Does anyone know what I'm talking about? Well, if you do then you can picture the one on the door in a convalescent home in Santa Rosa. It was Taco brand.
Taco brand slam suppressors, they're tasty.
Taco brand slam suppressors, you picture food, we picture softly closing doors.
Taco brand slam suppressors, don't eat them, they go on the door.
Wednesday, December 15, 2004
Festive
Ok, the holidays are officially here. (I realize Chanukah didn't wait for me to announce that.) I know they are here because my apartment is all decked out. Observe:
Note the decorations:
A) The Holliday Cactus, complete with its tinfoil Star of David, Christmas lights, and the new addition this year, foil Merry Christmases that came in
B) The assortment of Holliday cards. That's right, I've gotten 2!
C) The single present. It's below the cactus and is not pictured because a single present is too depressing.
D) The single stocking. Both C and D are odd because there are 2 of us living here, but my roommate gave me my Christmas present in October, (hence the single present) and Santa doesn't come to fill the stocking anyway. We have a gas fireplace which doesn't have a real chimney.
Don't be fooled into thinking that the rest of my apartment is as decorated as this little section. It just so happens that all the decorations fit together into a single picture.
There are actually 2 cacti in the pot, but the small and very nearly dead one neglected to show much more than a few spines. You can just barely see it here giving its last ounce of strength to hold up the foil Star of David.
From me: Happy Holidays
From the cactus:
Ok, the holidays are officially here. (I realize Chanukah didn't wait for me to announce that.) I know they are here because my apartment is all decked out. Observe:
Note the decorations:
A) The Holliday Cactus, complete with its tinfoil Star of David, Christmas lights, and the new addition this year, foil Merry Christmases that came in
B) The assortment of Holliday cards. That's right, I've gotten 2!
C) The single present. It's below the cactus and is not pictured because a single present is too depressing.
D) The single stocking. Both C and D are odd because there are 2 of us living here, but my roommate gave me my Christmas present in October, (hence the single present) and Santa doesn't come to fill the stocking anyway. We have a gas fireplace which doesn't have a real chimney.
Don't be fooled into thinking that the rest of my apartment is as decorated as this little section. It just so happens that all the decorations fit together into a single picture.
There are actually 2 cacti in the pot, but the small and very nearly dead one neglected to show much more than a few spines. You can just barely see it here giving its last ounce of strength to hold up the foil Star of David.
From me: Happy Holidays
From the cactus:
Tuesday, December 14, 2004
Busy Days And Toilet Ways
First off, I'd just like to explain how envious I am of all you people who can blog at work. I guess if I set up some sort of email posting system I could blog at work too. But even so, I'd have to type with my thumbs, and doing so is dangerous while driving.
One of the many reasons I haven't posted anything since Thursday was that on Friday I worked for 13 hours and drove 450 miles. Pretty good, eh?
During the afore mentioned long-ass Friday, I was on my way to Sacramento (for the second time) and stopped off at a MacDonald’s in Davis. I walked into the bathroom to use the urinal, but noticed that the urinal was RIGHT next to the sink, and had no privacy divider/errant pee guard. This would have been fine had I been alone in the bathroom, but there was a guy washing his face in the sink just inches away from where I was planning to relieve myself.
The obvious plan B was to use the stall. It was big, taking up half the bathroom. How nice I thought, a spacious, handicapped stall. I opened the door and stepped inside only to be greeted by the sight of 2 toilets. 1 stall, 1 locking door, 2 toilets. This is for what? Pooping in stereo? Pooping with a friend? Poop races? Defecation oriented talk shows? (I suppose in that case one toilet would have been behind a desk festooned with coffee cups bearing the show's name, "Potty Talk.")
Maybe this is what lady's rooms look like. Do they just have a line of toilets, no dividers at all? Is that why you all go to the bathroom together, because there are no impediments to conversation? Or was MacDonald’s trying to foster a togetherness with the common man?
Whatever the point, I locked the door behind me so I could pee alone. Efficient as I like to be, I have my limits.
First off, I'd just like to explain how envious I am of all you people who can blog at work. I guess if I set up some sort of email posting system I could blog at work too. But even so, I'd have to type with my thumbs, and doing so is dangerous while driving.
One of the many reasons I haven't posted anything since Thursday was that on Friday I worked for 13 hours and drove 450 miles. Pretty good, eh?
During the afore mentioned long-ass Friday, I was on my way to Sacramento (for the second time) and stopped off at a MacDonald’s in Davis. I walked into the bathroom to use the urinal, but noticed that the urinal was RIGHT next to the sink, and had no privacy divider/errant pee guard. This would have been fine had I been alone in the bathroom, but there was a guy washing his face in the sink just inches away from where I was planning to relieve myself.
The obvious plan B was to use the stall. It was big, taking up half the bathroom. How nice I thought, a spacious, handicapped stall. I opened the door and stepped inside only to be greeted by the sight of 2 toilets. 1 stall, 1 locking door, 2 toilets. This is for what? Pooping in stereo? Pooping with a friend? Poop races? Defecation oriented talk shows? (I suppose in that case one toilet would have been behind a desk festooned with coffee cups bearing the show's name, "Potty Talk.")
Maybe this is what lady's rooms look like. Do they just have a line of toilets, no dividers at all? Is that why you all go to the bathroom together, because there are no impediments to conversation? Or was MacDonald’s trying to foster a togetherness with the common man?
Whatever the point, I locked the door behind me so I could pee alone. Efficient as I like to be, I have my limits.
Thursday, December 09, 2004
In The Way
I went to holiday party number 3 tonight. 4 is coming up next weekend. Tonight was another excellent example of seeing lots of people to hit on and not hitting on any of them. Mostly my role at this party was to be in the way.
When I walked in, and as I approached the coffee table full of cookies, someone on the couch on the opposite side of the table started talking to me. So in order to return the conversation, I was positioned between the corner of the table and the corner of the room. Anyone who wanted to go into the dining room, which was everybody, had to tell me to move. So then I tucked myself into a corner behind a lamp. That would have been fine except that the cookies were too far away to reach. So I moved to the corner of the kitchen.
At that point there were 3 people blocking the kitchen entrance/exit. But for some reason I appear to be the most door like. Not a single person tried to squeeze by anyone else. Just by me. I am the gateway to the rest of the party.
Despite me making a better door than a person, I had a pretty good time at the party. There were cookies and peach juice, which were good. Though one of the cookies was pretending to be full of chocolate chips, but was actually full of walnuts and cranberries. Damn the walnuts! And I didn't hit on any of the residents in the land of attractiveness. Damn you brain!
I went to holiday party number 3 tonight. 4 is coming up next weekend. Tonight was another excellent example of seeing lots of people to hit on and not hitting on any of them. Mostly my role at this party was to be in the way.
When I walked in, and as I approached the coffee table full of cookies, someone on the couch on the opposite side of the table started talking to me. So in order to return the conversation, I was positioned between the corner of the table and the corner of the room. Anyone who wanted to go into the dining room, which was everybody, had to tell me to move. So then I tucked myself into a corner behind a lamp. That would have been fine except that the cookies were too far away to reach. So I moved to the corner of the kitchen.
At that point there were 3 people blocking the kitchen entrance/exit. But for some reason I appear to be the most door like. Not a single person tried to squeeze by anyone else. Just by me. I am the gateway to the rest of the party.
Despite me making a better door than a person, I had a pretty good time at the party. There were cookies and peach juice, which were good. Though one of the cookies was pretending to be full of chocolate chips, but was actually full of walnuts and cranberries. Damn the walnuts! And I didn't hit on any of the residents in the land of attractiveness. Damn you brain!
Tuesday, December 07, 2004
Brain? Helloooooo? Where Did You Go?
I never know when my brain is going to work and when it's just going to take up space in my sizable head.
As a for instance, at holiday party #1 this past weekend a group of us were talking to a girl. (My two friends were talking and I, mostly, wasn't.) She commented that many of her recent boyfriends liked to put their hands on the place where she was about to sit palm side up. She allowed as to how she had solved that problem by not dating anyone anymore. I suggested, with my first words to this person, that she could also get around this by dating guys with no hands. This an example of when my filter turns off, but my brain keeps going.
A good example of a complete shut down was at holiday party #2. For a while I was consuming cheese dip at a speed normally reserved for bilge pumps in tankers. I decided I should take a break and went to talk to my friends. When it came time to re-investigate the dip, I discovered that it was surrounded by two very attractive girls. To some this might be the perfect opportunity to both a) talk to two very attractive girls, and b) to eat some very attractive dip. But all I saw was two unapproachable but still very attractive dip guards. My solution? Take a piece of celery (the longest dip-able accoutrement within reach) and lean waaaay over the table so I could just barely stick it into the bowl. The celery and the cheese dip weren't really intended for each other, and attractive girl #3 noticed me eating dip that way and comment on it. I mumbled that it was good and promptly got a big glob of dip stuck to my lip, which then slid of onto the floor. Smmooooth.
The last and most recent example can hardly be counted as my fault. I played on open mic last night, and I had only just last week finished the second song I was about to sing. My lack of free time forced me to spend the hour before the open mic madly trying to memorize the words. When I got up to sing I was feeling pretty confident until I noticed that the girl sitting front and center was wearing a low cut satiny negligee shirt substitute over enough cleavage to kill an elephant. (It's actual cleavage and not the ivory trade which is wiping out large eared friends.) With all that distraction going on, I have no choice but to blame her for me starting out on the wrong note.
As an aside, I seem to be stuck without any good word for females in my age group. Girl sounds too young (though I use it anyway). Woman sounds 45. Lady is something New York cabbies yell at women in old movies. "You gotta be kiddin me, lady!" Female sounds too clinical. "I was observing two female subjects as they guarded the desired cheesy comestibles." Bird is too English. Chick makes me sound like I’m a frat boy from the 80s. What's a dude to do?
I never know when my brain is going to work and when it's just going to take up space in my sizable head.
As a for instance, at holiday party #1 this past weekend a group of us were talking to a girl. (My two friends were talking and I, mostly, wasn't.) She commented that many of her recent boyfriends liked to put their hands on the place where she was about to sit palm side up. She allowed as to how she had solved that problem by not dating anyone anymore. I suggested, with my first words to this person, that she could also get around this by dating guys with no hands. This an example of when my filter turns off, but my brain keeps going.
A good example of a complete shut down was at holiday party #2. For a while I was consuming cheese dip at a speed normally reserved for bilge pumps in tankers. I decided I should take a break and went to talk to my friends. When it came time to re-investigate the dip, I discovered that it was surrounded by two very attractive girls. To some this might be the perfect opportunity to both a) talk to two very attractive girls, and b) to eat some very attractive dip. But all I saw was two unapproachable but still very attractive dip guards. My solution? Take a piece of celery (the longest dip-able accoutrement within reach) and lean waaaay over the table so I could just barely stick it into the bowl. The celery and the cheese dip weren't really intended for each other, and attractive girl #3 noticed me eating dip that way and comment on it. I mumbled that it was good and promptly got a big glob of dip stuck to my lip, which then slid of onto the floor. Smmooooth.
The last and most recent example can hardly be counted as my fault. I played on open mic last night, and I had only just last week finished the second song I was about to sing. My lack of free time forced me to spend the hour before the open mic madly trying to memorize the words. When I got up to sing I was feeling pretty confident until I noticed that the girl sitting front and center was wearing a low cut satiny negligee shirt substitute over enough cleavage to kill an elephant. (It's actual cleavage and not the ivory trade which is wiping out large eared friends.) With all that distraction going on, I have no choice but to blame her for me starting out on the wrong note.
As an aside, I seem to be stuck without any good word for females in my age group. Girl sounds too young (though I use it anyway). Woman sounds 45. Lady is something New York cabbies yell at women in old movies. "You gotta be kiddin me, lady!" Female sounds too clinical. "I was observing two female subjects as they guarded the desired cheesy comestibles." Bird is too English. Chick makes me sound like I’m a frat boy from the 80s. What's a dude to do?
Sunday, December 05, 2004
Things That Amaze Me
- Things I wanted to get done this weekend: write 5 emails, do my expense report, get tickets to visit my friend Jeremy, practice for an open mic tomorrow, exchange my shoes, and take pictures of some stuff for my job. That really isn't a long list of things, but I worked so much I didn't get 3 of them done. That's only 50% success rate.
- The smell of Highway 37 today. The first half smelled like someone had taken a wet dog and set it on fire. The second half smelled the dog had been there when he found out what was about to happen to him. Normally 37 doesn't smell like anything. In fact, as you near Vallejo, you cross a river on Richard "Fresh Air" Janson Bridge. According to the California Department of Transportation, "[The bridge was] named by Assembly Concurrent Resolution 68 in 1996. [The bridge's namesake,] Richard "Fresh Air Dick" Janson [,] is recognized as one of the premier decoy carvers in the American West. He worked on his ark near this bridge for most of his life. He died in 1951." (http://www.dot.ca.gov/dist4/trivia.htm)
- That people apparently lived on arks up until 1951. (Perhaps they meant art, but it's nice to think of him carving decoys to pass the time while he waited for the impedning biblical flood which never came.)
- The fact that people have professionally painted murals on their cars. I saw a black and green custom painted Ford Explorer with this scene on his tailgate: It's nighttime at the beach. We are looking out at the ocean from just inside the mouth of a cave. In the middle distance the Ford Explorer is driving along the sand, its headlights ablaze. Just beyond the SUV, Godzilla rises from the ocean shooting a burst of flame from his mouth. And behind it all, a full moon cuts through the night, reflecting off the waves as they gently break upon the shore. I tried to take a picture but he was going to fast and my exit was coming up. So I ended up neither getting a good picture nor getting off the freeway in time. Ah well Can't catch them all.
- Things I wanted to get done this weekend: write 5 emails, do my expense report, get tickets to visit my friend Jeremy, practice for an open mic tomorrow, exchange my shoes, and take pictures of some stuff for my job. That really isn't a long list of things, but I worked so much I didn't get 3 of them done. That's only 50% success rate.
- The smell of Highway 37 today. The first half smelled like someone had taken a wet dog and set it on fire. The second half smelled the dog had been there when he found out what was about to happen to him. Normally 37 doesn't smell like anything. In fact, as you near Vallejo, you cross a river on Richard "Fresh Air" Janson Bridge. According to the California Department of Transportation, "[The bridge was] named by Assembly Concurrent Resolution 68 in 1996. [The bridge's namesake,] Richard "Fresh Air Dick" Janson [,] is recognized as one of the premier decoy carvers in the American West. He worked on his ark near this bridge for most of his life. He died in 1951." (http://www.dot.ca.gov/dist4/trivia.htm)
- That people apparently lived on arks up until 1951. (Perhaps they meant art, but it's nice to think of him carving decoys to pass the time while he waited for the impedning biblical flood which never came.)
- The fact that people have professionally painted murals on their cars. I saw a black and green custom painted Ford Explorer with this scene on his tailgate: It's nighttime at the beach. We are looking out at the ocean from just inside the mouth of a cave. In the middle distance the Ford Explorer is driving along the sand, its headlights ablaze. Just beyond the SUV, Godzilla rises from the ocean shooting a burst of flame from his mouth. And behind it all, a full moon cuts through the night, reflecting off the waves as they gently break upon the shore. I tried to take a picture but he was going to fast and my exit was coming up. So I ended up neither getting a good picture nor getting off the freeway in time. Ah well Can't catch them all.
Thursday, December 02, 2004
Probably Not A Good One To Read While Eating
Because I was reading the Snozzberries post about pooping, it got me thinking of my many pooping stories. Hence my post's title.
I have recently (within the last 6 months) stopped drinking Caffeine. At one point I was drinking literally a gallon of Coke/Pepsi a day. I was one of the very few people who didn't care if I were drinking Coke or Pepsi, just as long as I was drinking one of the two most of the time. (And it's not that I can't tell the difference between them. I can. I can actually SMELL the difference between them. I can also smell the difference between regular and diet.) Anyhow, I discovered much too late that caffeine and IBS don't go well together. Or. Um. They do go well together. Whatever. Either way, I have a lot of pooping stories.
Worst place to go: In a port-a-potty in a construction site in Geyserville in the summertime. Geyersville gets to be over 100 degrees in the summertime.
Worst time to go: Just after taking a prospective girlfriend home after your first official date. (I have to give her credit for seeing me more than once. On our first non-official date I told her a story about me throwing up so hard it hit me in the eye. I also tended to inadvertently insult her outfits.)
In school I would often have to find a bathroom on short notice, and having experience in this sort of thing, I discovered that buildings mostly full of offices have very nice, very clean bathrooms. Also, the higher the floor, the cleaner the bathroom. On one such occasion I picked an officey building and chose the top floor. I stepped out of the elevator, turned right, and was confronted with a door that read "Men's Room. Out of Order." So I got back in the elevator, went down one floor, turned right and went into that bathroom. I popped into the stall and sat down. I thought about what a good choice this building was. Nice clean bathroom.
Then I started to notice things. I don't remember seeing a urinal. There's a very small trash can in the stall with me. I've never a) seen a trash can that small and b) seen a trash can in a bathroom stall. My suspicions were confirmed when some high heels came in and used the stall next to me. I waited until she had left, washed my hands faster than I had ever previously done, and managed to make it back to the elevator undetected.
2 benefits of having small feet:
1) I can often try on the shoe samples in stores, so I don't have to wait for the shoe guy to bring out a pair in my size.
2) When I'm wearing my Adidas, and viewed only from the ankles down, it was very possible that I could have been an above averagely large footed and slightly manish girl, perfectly at home in the women's bathroom on the 7th floor of that particular building.
Because I was reading the Snozzberries post about pooping, it got me thinking of my many pooping stories. Hence my post's title.
I have recently (within the last 6 months) stopped drinking Caffeine. At one point I was drinking literally a gallon of Coke/Pepsi a day. I was one of the very few people who didn't care if I were drinking Coke or Pepsi, just as long as I was drinking one of the two most of the time. (And it's not that I can't tell the difference between them. I can. I can actually SMELL the difference between them. I can also smell the difference between regular and diet.) Anyhow, I discovered much too late that caffeine and IBS don't go well together. Or. Um. They do go well together. Whatever. Either way, I have a lot of pooping stories.
Worst place to go: In a port-a-potty in a construction site in Geyserville in the summertime. Geyersville gets to be over 100 degrees in the summertime.
Worst time to go: Just after taking a prospective girlfriend home after your first official date. (I have to give her credit for seeing me more than once. On our first non-official date I told her a story about me throwing up so hard it hit me in the eye. I also tended to inadvertently insult her outfits.)
In school I would often have to find a bathroom on short notice, and having experience in this sort of thing, I discovered that buildings mostly full of offices have very nice, very clean bathrooms. Also, the higher the floor, the cleaner the bathroom. On one such occasion I picked an officey building and chose the top floor. I stepped out of the elevator, turned right, and was confronted with a door that read "Men's Room. Out of Order." So I got back in the elevator, went down one floor, turned right and went into that bathroom. I popped into the stall and sat down. I thought about what a good choice this building was. Nice clean bathroom.
Then I started to notice things. I don't remember seeing a urinal. There's a very small trash can in the stall with me. I've never a) seen a trash can that small and b) seen a trash can in a bathroom stall. My suspicions were confirmed when some high heels came in and used the stall next to me. I waited until she had left, washed my hands faster than I had ever previously done, and managed to make it back to the elevator undetected.
2 benefits of having small feet:
1) I can often try on the shoe samples in stores, so I don't have to wait for the shoe guy to bring out a pair in my size.
2) When I'm wearing my Adidas, and viewed only from the ankles down, it was very possible that I could have been an above averagely large footed and slightly manish girl, perfectly at home in the women's bathroom on the 7th floor of that particular building.
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