Come on and spread a sense of urgency

Let me ask you a question, PGE.
How do you expect me to pay my bill if the account number you gave me is invalid?

When the website is telling you one thing but the bill is telling you another--AND NEITHER OF THEM WORK--what do you do?

Here's what the website says:

"Your account number is at the top left corner of your monthly bill."
-My account number is at the top right corner, thank you very much.
"Enter the full 12 digits of your account number including the dash. Such as:
1234567890-1"
-That is only eleven digits, PGE, and my account number looks like this*:
0098 77678-9873467 2 (*account number has been changed for my "protection")

I may or may not... have to bust a cap in somebody's ass.
God, these people.

I sense there's something in the wind.

I feel like I should share what I just read on Yahoo! News:

"Mars may mess you up: Astrologers believe that the red planet in retrograde could be making your life very strange."

Oh, Yahoo! News, reporting on the important issues--as always.

The man across from me is having a mental breakdown of some sort. He keeps wiping his palms on his pants and rocking back and forth.
I'm waiting for him to crank up the Radiohead and sob into his hands.

The only reason I'm back on the internets today is because this is my only free night until I'm forced to perform a seven day stretch for el Macy's.
All. Closing. Shifts.
I'm almost 100% certain my manager is punishing me for even thinking about asking for time off at the beginning of the month.
"What? You have family you want to visit before the crazy holiday season? That's preposterous, why would you even suggest such a thing?"
The way she looks at me when I speak to her frightens me; I'm waiting for laser beams to shoot out of her eyes with the intention of melting my face off. When I asked if we could possible switch the schedule up a little so I didn't have to close every night of my life she looked at me like I had just asked her to give me three weeks paid time off so I could go gamble all of my paychecks away in Atlantic City.
Then scheduled me for closing all week.

Ah, such is the life of retail sale.

Burn That Broken Bed

Only six hours left on my iTunes movie download.

Little does the boy behind the counter know, by giving me a free piece of cake he basically saved my life because I was seconds away from passing out from hunger.
Upon recent reviews of my bank statement, I have come to realize that 90% of my money goes to unnecessary eating out.
So--aside from my normal thirty cups of coffee--I vowed that today is a day of eating in.
Unfortunately, when you go out for eight hours at a time you're bound to get hungry sooner or later...
Thank you, Boy Behind The Counter, you saved us all from an embarrassing rush to the hospital.



My extended absence from it has reminded me of how much I hated the internet.
More specifically: Myspace.
I wonder, when did friendships turn into a series of short and misspelled comments that have absolutely no substance instead of personal conversations that extend passed such scintillating phrases as, "Do you like my hair better blond or brown?" and "I bought a new jacket today, I'm so excited!"

Yet agan, I find myself avoiding the normal crowd of friends as much as possible.

What sort of experience during the adolescent stage causes a person to need someone to hold their hand for every possible situation?
Why does someone need to go out every single night to see and be seen? Since when does sitting at home--alone--reading a book or watching a movie qualify as insufficient social behavior?

I feel like it's partly my fault that I'm so irritated with folk lately because I'm not firm enough when I say that I need to spend time alone.
"We should all have a dinner party or something! We can cook for the boys and dress up!"
"Well, I really only have one night off this week and I wanted to kind of have some quiet time and--"
"You have nights off, don't you? We hardly ever see each other!" (This is a complete exaggeration, I see all of them at least four times a week.)
"Well, I guess that's true---"
"Great! What should we make?! We should have the guys dress up and we can serve them dinner, it'll be so much fun!"

I wonder, which "guys" is she talking about? I certainly don't have one. And the couple of folk that I would want to invite would tear she and her boyfriend apart so quickly they would have no idea what happened.
They'd just run out the door... crying... holding their shattered egos in their sweaty little hands.

Ouch.

Or, the even more painful situation that I've found myself in on more than one occasion:

"I need to get some jeans even though I already have five pairs. Would you mind going with me on Tuesday night?"
"Er, I have to work all day and I won't be off until six and then I kind of wanted to do a bit of reading and writing."
"Oh, but I hate going alone! Please, you can write any time."
"Well, I guess I could--"
"Excellent! See you at six! You can stand around and watch me shop and try on clothes! I'm so excited!!!1111!one"

I always wonder, are they excited to see and spend time with me or are they excited to do these things and I'm just there as a receiver of their constant chatter?

Angst, angst, angst.

Now that my old glasses are gone and I have acquired my new "sexy librarian" glasses, I'm starting to doubt my ability to take on the reputation that comes with such glasses as these.
Let me explain, my old glasses walked the line of adolescent and college bookworm. They were quiet and unassuming, they did not attract attention but they got the job done.
These glasses are chic and fashionable, they are animal print for Christ's sake. They say to people, "I like to read but I also like to look good."
I'm not quite sure I have the energy for such an image; the male hipsters in the cafes are starting to hover.

I have the overwhelming urge to say to the guy behind the counter, "Your beard is good. Just a compliment for you."
If he has any idea what I'm talking about, we are meant to be.

Neighborhood # 3 (Power Out)

I love this cafe because in addition to the stressed-out, caffeine-fueled, pre-med students you get the stressed-out, caffeine-fueled "artists."
A (tall, dark and handsome) man just stormed in, shortly ordered a double americano, sat down and feverishly started drawing something.
What he's drawing, I can't quite make out (it is "under construction" at the moment) but I will be curious to see what it is once he's finished.

Do you think he was just sitting around somewhere and all of a sudden thought to himself, "I need coffee and my sketchbook. RIGHT. NOW."
He was on a mission to find a seat and start drawing.
When I write I don't drop everything and rush off. I wait. I formulate.

This must be why I don't consider myself an artist.
They're all so temperamental anyway.



I wonder, can you block bulletins of folk on Myspace without having to delete them as friends?
I'm sick of being fooled by a subject line that says something like, "Important!"
And when I open it, it says, "I need your opinion! Does my hair look better blond or brown?! I can't make a decision for myself and need the opinion of my peers to make myself feel acceptable to society! Help me!!111!11one"
Maybe I should just get some new friends.

Ah, the artist has finished; he found no inspiration in this particular coffee shop.

Girlfriend of the Whirling Dervish

Once again, I am hiding out from my friends and wasting my life away on the internet.
I've been here for three hours now, I'm wondering if the people are starting to get irritated with me.
If my neighbors hadn't up and moved--taking their internet with them--I could be wasting my life away in the comfort of my own home right now.

I'm trying to download a movie off of iTunes and let me tell you, I am never doing it again.
I have a full connection, nothing is (was, I got bored of sitting around staring at the wall) running and yet it continues to tell me that I have six hours of downloading time left.
At the rate it's moving, I am not going to argue with it.

I can pause it but will it still be there when I come back?
I'm not going to lie, I never cared to learn about the whole iTunes-Apple-Quicktime thing. The folk at the Apple store downtown can nerd it up all they want but I have better things to do.
The soup the man across from me is eating looks D to the ELICIOUS .
He's noticed that I've been staring at it but has yet to say anything. I'm waiting for him to make the move because right now I'm having too much fun trying to freak him out.
Maybe I'll let my mouth hang open a little bit and allow a sort of... blank, glazed-over look to wash over my face.

I'd peruse the Random Livejournal Picture Generator but I'm in public. I've noticed that sometimes I'll unsuspectingly be graced with a piece of graphic pornography shoved in between a sparkling Tweety Bird animation and a hipster picture of somebody's new MADRAD haircut.
They're just stuck right in there, waiting for me to come across them in a public place while the person staring over my shoulder is given quite the show and my face turns a vibrant color of red.

Only three hours remaining! Oh iTunes, can you do anything?

Let's fast forward to a full hour and one half of an hour later:
I'm still sitting here and it now says that I have seven hours left of downloading time.
That is my cue to go home.
Goodbye man with the soup.
Goodbye movie download.


toothpastefordinner.com

God damn right, it's a beautiful day.

There's a Bible study going on a couple tables away from me.

I don't really mind; last week they invited me to join and I politely declined with an, "Ohhhh... no... thank you."
But this week somebody brought a baby and it is sobbing at the top of its lungs.
And they can't take it outside because it's pouring so now all of us have to suffer and...

Anyway.

The only reason I'm commenting on the Bible study is because I just read this.

Human hands and feet have fishy origins.

God, life is hilarious sometimes.

The Tragically Hipster's Guide To The Galaxy

God, I love MSNBC:

Hipster parents want pop tots.

This explains the sudden proliferation of hipster children running around the city.

This is my favorite part,

"The conclusion many parents reach, he (Robert Lanham) surmises, is that while it may not work out perfectly at least they can hang on to some shred of coolness through their children.

Or maybe they even believe they can increase their coolness."

Indeed, because children are now the fashion equivalent of a Chanel handbag.

Rising For Sunset

Oh my, oh my.
I do not know why I'm still awake.

I took a trip el Fred Meyer at 10:45 for mascara.
Mascara and Aleve.
I'm not really sure why I went at that moment; I was sitting on my couch watching a "Chuck" re-run ("Already?! Didn't that show start like... four days ago?" I know, that's what I said. TV is crazy.) and all of a sudden I decided that 10:45 was the time for me to get some new mascara and a bottle of painkillers.

It was kind of nice, quiet and deserted so I could make my makeup decision in peace.
I will never understand why mascara is so heinously expensive.
And you can't buy the cheap stuff or you'll end up dealing with clumpy, tarantula lashes.
It's a dilemma. Quelle domage...

I've learned how to fold sweaters.
Yesterday, I folded sweater after sweater after...
I noticed that at one point I had reached sort of a zen moment and folding the sweaters was allowing me to meditate on... whatever I was meditating on.
As of late, I don't really have much to meditate on aside from whether or not I'm going to find a seat on the max on the way home.
It was kind of like knitting, very theraputic. I'd recommend it.

I usually have faith and confidence in my spelling skillz but using a version of Internet Explorer that doesn't have spellcheck makes me a bit nervous.
What if I misspell something?! What if I make an ERROR?!
No wonder I'm so tense in the shoulders...

I took a walk after I ate that spicy chik-in sandwich.
I felt like I couldn't justify such a poor decision without at least a little exercise.
It was a beautiful walk; everything smelled like fall and the leaves were falling as I walked passed the enormous houses.
It turned out to be an hour and a half long. This wasn't because I was so enamored with the scenery, or I wanted to really get the most out of those dead leaves.
Nay, I got lost.
How long have I lived here?

And now this:



Uh, what?

And this:

What's cooler than bein' cool?

Ice cold!

Did you know the elephants can be pregnant for up to 22 months?
That is a really, really long time to be carrying a baby elephant in your stomach.

I just finished eating the spicy - chicken - crispy - flame - grilled - burger - sandwich - whatever from the BK Lounge.
It was pretty damn delicious. I don't care how gross I feel; after a full day of witnessing that amusing chicken-martial-artist commercial, I wanted it.
That is some damn good advertising righ thurr.
It was only a dollar.
Right now, my arteries are like, "Fuck you, only a dollar! Do you know how long it is going to take us to work this shit out of your system?! What about those fried egg sandwiches you had last night?! God, we hate you!"


TFD Random Picture Generator

Shake it like a Polaroid picture...

I believe paperclips are the larval stage of wire coat hangers.

I feel like this pretty much nutshells my life right now.

I've started at Macy's; I feel like it's just replaced Regal in the way that instead of complaining about popcorn I just complain about bedsheets.
I'm monitoring my complaining, nobody likes a whiner. I like the job and the people, I'm keeping my mouth shut.
But I will tell you this:
I am never--ever--buying one thing from Martha Stewart. She can take all of her 5-lb, flannel, king-sized, floral bed sets and shove them up her...

All we're doing right now is stocking the shelves; it doesn't matter which department you work in, the goal is to just get all of the merchandise out of the boxes.

I'm so physically and mentally exhausted, it's like a nine hour marathon of life-sized Tetris.
I'm also at that irrational stage of exhaustion where I could cry/scream/laugh hysterically at the drop of a pin.



Ah haaaaaa, I need to get me some sleep.

10lb Moustache

You know, every time you say you're interested in something I just disbelieve it more and more.
You should probably stop trying to convince yourself and just accept your fate.


I have an issue.
An issue... with picking all the cookie dough chunks out of my Ben and Jerry's chocolate chip cookie dough pint and then just leaving the vanilla ice cream to collect freezer burn in my freezer.
It's an addiction, I know.
I'm dealing with it on my own terms.

Oooh, my last Reg day is on Thursday.
Birthday on Tuesday.
It's getting more and more out of control as the days go by; more and more people are being invited with or without my consent.
My apartment is only so big... it's going to turn out to be like the worst and most hilarious parts of Superbad.
Oh well, it's not a real birthday party if we don't get arrested. Otherwise, we're all just kidding ourselves.

I guess my insecurity about spending the night alone (crying, ah haha) was all in vain.

Sometimes, I think the people who drive the trains through town at 4 am are just trying to irritate the entire city with their whistles.
Is it really necessary to sound it off twelve times in a row?
Nay, it's not.

I. Hate. Internet. Explorer.
It's way too late in the night (or early in the morning...) for me to spell things on my own.

In The House - In A Heartbeat

Oh, children, if we're going to partake in all this drama why don't we just enroll back in high school?
How old are we?
Seriously.
Srsly.

So, guess who is a new and improved sales associate at the downtown Macy's?
R-hetorical question, it's me!
I get to wear jeans every day, my dream has come true.
Also, it is in no way related to El Reg and that is something that is EXTREMELY important.
If I could stress extremely any more than bold, capital and italic letters, I would.
I hate you, Reg; in layman's terms:
Fuck off and die.

Also,


toothpastefordinner.com

Gaslighting Abbie... it's a luscious invention for three.

Sweet.

Yesterday I learned that you can only eat so many bowls of peas before you... really start to dislike peas.
I couldn't stop myself; I just had to finish them off.

Weeeeellll, I had a job interview today with a cafe that's going to open in the new EcoMotion building on 16th and Sandy.
Oh wait, that's like right down the street.
Oh wait, it's starts out at $9/hr plus tips.

Oh wa--sometimes I feel like Kathy Griffin when I talk and/or type.
Nobody likes to feel like Kathy Griffin, not even Kathy Griffin.

Anyway, it went about as perfect as a job interview could go. I wouldn't have to wear a polyester uniform. It's right down the street from the infamous apartment and I will definitely have enough money to eat real food without fearing that I'm going to overdraft the debit card.

Though, what will the blog become when it's no longer a place to harbor my angsty complaints about customers and how officially mentally handicapped they are when it comes to making important decisions such as:
Small popcorn or medium popcorn.
Diet coke or sprite.
Cappuccino or latte. Wait, what's a cappuccino, is that one of those ice-y things with the whipped cream on top? Yeah, I'll definitely have one of those. Oh, it's not one of those? It's what? Real coffee? Ew, I don't want that.

Anyway, I fear talking about the job is going to piss off the universe and I'm not going to get it so let's all just SHUT UP about it already.
God, stop asking me; I'll know by Thursday.


Yes, chew on that one for a while.
Good thing I'm not in school so I don't qualify as an honor student--BWAH HAHA--shhh.

It's more or less 4am so really, this behavior should be expected.

I'm going to bed.

"I've done it with a girl, intercourse-wise."

Turn to the blog when cleaning needs to be done.

The recent return to Myspace has ignited a somewhat strong desire to fill out a generic and lame survey... or two... twelve.
I remember the Livejournal days when all I did was sit on the computer, listening to Radiohead and the Trainspotting soundtrack and filling out a 110-question survey after survey after survey.
Did I mention it was always raining?
Ah hahaha, high school's great.

I've just returned from Fred Meyer and I am proud to say that I now own a real shower curtain and more than four pieces of silverware.
Life is progressing along nicely.

My ridiculous neighbors are sawing something right outside my window.
Hopefully they've realized it's too early in the afternoon to start Happy Hour(s)...

I'm wondering, do you think they have AlphaBits in foreign countries? KanjiBits and whatnot...
This question has been bothering me for most of the morning.


TFD Random Picture Generator

According to Wikipedia and Google: nay, there is no such thing as Foreign Frosted AlphaBits.
I bet I'd make millions...

Push it to the East coast.

We do love the beach.
I wish I could make that show longer; show off some of my excellent marina and/or beach scenery shots.
Ah haha...

Those who are too smart to engage in politics are punished by being governed by those who are dumber.

Go here.

and

Read this.

Hey, yeah! And while you're at it, why don't you just come sit in my living room and watch television with me while I eat my Cheerios, you jackasses.

And now this!



or



You decide!
(I did make that myself, thank you very much. Are you going to start a file of me at the Pentagon? Make sure you include my angry rant about giving customers change; that will prove to be very useful in court, I'm sure.)

Nothing like a little 5 am political injustice to start out the day.

Second floor living without a yard.

I set my alarm for the single digits of the morning with the full intention of waking up and doing a clean sweep of the apartment. My mom is flying in early tomorrow morning and apparently I'm hosting a party tonight.
I say "apparently" because I was just informed of this yesterday.
"Yeah, remember how we wanted to do something? Well the only available place is yours and everybody said they would help with the cleaning so..."
Thanks, guys.

Anyway, no matter what time I set my alarm I'm completely incapable of getting up before noon nowadays. Unless it's because I have to be at work at some ungodly hour in the morning.
This summer has taught me the true meaning of "eight days a week."
I feel like I should just set up a military cot in the employee break room of Reg and save myself some gas.

I wrote an angry rant at work. I feel it's safe to post it on here without being criticized because I doubt anybody has been checking up on my progress.
I know I haven't... been checking up on my progress.

I thought I had a pretty pessimistic and jaded view of human beings before I started working at Reg but I have to say, witnessing such stupidity and irrationality every day has brought my disdain far beyond any heights that I could've imagined a few years ago. These days, the majority of my customers make me want to rip of my own head and hurl it against the nearest wall.
I'm sorry that I can't make change for you but before you give me a dirty look and say something to the extent of "real nice" maybe you should stop for a split second and think to yourself how being rude to me because I'm just doing my job is going to benefit anyone... except maybe Satan to just added another reason to the list of incentives as to why you're going directly to Hell.
Maybe you should rethink your decision to spend fifty cents on a pitiful little handful of stale candy. Maybe you should stop over-reacting to the whole walking-thirty-steps-to-get-change-from-a-different-location situation. Are you acting like a dickhead? Yes. Is walking a short amount of feet going to kill you? No. Is going without a handful of candy that may or may not tip you closer and closer to obesity going to cause you any suffering? I don't think so.
I don't feel sorry for you. I'd do it if it were a life or death situation and the only way to save you was to open my register against the rules to get you some change. I may sympathize with you a little bit because I know how annoying it is to be presented with a coin machine that tricks you into wasting precious seconds--possibly even minutes of your time that could've been spent shoveling massive amounts of popcorn into your mouth.
I may sympathize, until you give me a dirty look and start walking away halfway through my sentence that was only meant to help you. At that point, my truest and deepest feeling is that you can take that dollar and shove it right up your ass. Because you are not special and I don't give a damn about how much you wanted that candy or how far you had to lumber out of the theater to get it.
You are just a peon in an endless sea of insignificant peons. That's the way the world is and I'm sorry if your mommy told you differently.

Also,



Johnny Depp, again? Really?
Let's find some new blood to exploit.

The Queen of Hearts she made some tarts...

Well, it's definitely 3:15 in the morning.

Well, I definitely swallowed my pride, pulled my head out of my ass and set up a Myspace account.

http://www.myspace.com/mirkfilst

Go pimp me out to your friends, as I currently only have two and they don't count because they were the ones who forced me into it in the first place.

Weird, deja vu situation going on just there.

"I'm just saying, seventies boobs were different, that's all."

"It makes your oral hole wet! Your oral hole is wet! What does that mean?! God damn it!"

Ah hahaha, I will never get over that.

As I only have five channels and I can't receive TBN, I'm watching KATU infomercials.
I'm watching one for the "Chic Shaper," which is an undergarment that goes over your bra but under your clothes that "lifts, corrects, and perfects!"
I feel like I've just been transported back to the fifties, but instead of sweater sets I'm being forced to look at low-cut V-necks that show off as much as possible without forcing the network to use some strategically placed back bars.
I think my favorite part of this deep and insightful piece of entertainment is the male announcer relaying the shipping information. Obviously reading from a cue card, the guy is delivering lines such as, "Chic Shaper is the hottest new shaping sensation!" with the gusto of a person who has been reading off passages of Hawthorne to the residents of a nursing home for the past four hours.

What really ties this all together and makes this exceptionally disgusting is that after watching for ten minutes, I kind of want to try out the Chic Shaper for myself.
Ugh, how repulsive.

I know the word that you long to hear.

toothpastefordinner.com

In about five minutes I have to go mow the lawn.
Here and now, I have established that my goal in life is to acquire enough money to be able to hire a gardener for my yuppie, suburbian home in NE Portland.
This is mostly because I am the sort of person who severely dislikes anything to do with heat and yard work, but it's also because I just want to stick it to my parents to let them know that I feel I could be doing something more productive with my time.
"You cut the grass and it just grows right back! Why don't we go for sort of a jungle theme in our last weeks in this house? We always liked camping, it'll be like we're living in the wild for a few days..."

No amount of talking (or money) will get me out of it this time.

I hope the ring you gave to her turns her finger green.

Floss · y
- adjective, floss · i · er, floss · i · est.

1.	made of or resembling floss; downy.

2.	showily stylish; excessively ornamented or fancy.

So, what, Fergie? Did you have your song-writer go to thesaurus.com to look up exotic synonyms because the word "sparkley" had already been taken by Gwen Stefani?

And now for some personally amusing test results:


You're the Rock Star!
Take What sort of Hipster are you?.

Fuck college, fuck a "real" job! Music is your life! You're a hometown hero! You're in at least two local bands and are thinking of forming a third. You sleep on your friend's couch, eat your friend's food, and borrow your friend's car. You frequent the dark city bars and hang with the other rockers and groupies. You wear dirty jeans, well-worn t-shirts, and your hair is a mess. You're sinister and mysterious and look as if you don't give a shit. You worship the Rolling Stones, MC5, and your older brother's band. You're gonna make it big one of these days, you can just feel it.

That was fun, let's do another:


You are Quetzalcoatl...
Take Which religious Diety are you?.

You are the feathed serpent of ancient Aztec ideology. You are very precious and full of divinity. Those around you either do or would sacrifice much to gain your approval. You are very artistic and creative and never a bore to be around. You are surely a people person who is not afraid to show some personality.

Well, this was a waste of everybody's time...

It's too bad you were born under the ugly tree.

I think I should just let it be known that I have officially requested off the entire day of July 21st.
If that's not devotion then I don't know what is.
Have you seen the trailer yet?
Did you cry?
I did, I was also pulling a Regal-Illegal by sneaking into the theater while I was on duty.
Harry Potter is far more important than any "job."

Employee screening for Pirates of the Caribbean tomorrow night.
I've considered the possibility of not going because I couldn't care less about this movie.
If Johnny Depp showed up to Regal and asked me personally to see his film--and he provided me with two pounds of Raisinets and an endless amount of Italian sodas--I still wouldn't care about the movie. It doesn't really seem like a fair trade-off when I still have to stare at Orlando Bloom's face for two and a half hours.

I also do not feel like spending a late night with a few former employees who take it upon themselves to get trashed before they crash an exclusive screening and proceed to yell things at the screen for the entire of the film.
Hey guys. Yeah, have a few drinks and then, you know, drive home.

Whine, complain, bitch, moan, complain, whine...

The search for an apartment continues and I am starting to realize that if you want your own bathroom in this city you are forced to pay about $100 more than any reasonable price.
I'm willing to fork it over; there's just something about using the shower without having to worry about whether or not your creepy 50 year-old neighbor with two ferrets is standing right outside the door as you're shampooing.
He's already in a lot of my classes, I don't want to have to bring him home with me.

It's late and I am obligated to go to class in the ante meridiem.
I should probably get to sleep before the sun sees that I'm still awake.

You never give me your money.

Let's talk about 28 Weeks Later...
Let's talk about how hard it sucks--in spite of Robert Carlyle, who has a surprisingly brief part-- and how there's a different director AND how some of the original score was used for inappropriate parts of the film.
I have no shame in admitting that the entire time I was watching the movie I was thinking to myself, "This is going in the blog." I knew I had to spread the word and share the outrage: It's exactly the same movie only it's crappy and contains Americans.

Saturday, the family went out for our last brunch as a "unit." It wasn't at all depressing until my dad noted that it was the last day of all of us living together--as if the sky weren't gray enough that day.
After eating, Jessica and I took her new camera out to take some pictures (for her Myspace account). The city was pretty dead; it was cold and rain was looming. Nobody wanted to be outside that day.
So, we went down by the waterfront and decided to do some angsty, water/bridge shots; we joked about how people we know always show up whenever we're out doing this sort of thing.
Low and behold, not even five minutes after we uttered those words, who should come wandering out of the mist but one of my male managers (who is 23) and one of my female coworkers (who is 17).
Oh my, oh my; I couldn't believe my eyes and by the looks on their faces, neither could they.
They were also bearing an "Oh, shit..." look and I honestly wanted nothing more than to pretend like they weren't there. While work drama can be extremely entertaining, I always like to be the last person to find out about it; by then it becomes kind of a joke and I don't have to worry about rumors being spread when I laugh about it with other people.
We did the awkward, "Heeeey..." situation; I introduced my sister and after five extremely long seconds of "Yups" and "Uh huhs" I made some lame excuse about having to use the bathroom and we got the Hell out of there.

So, yesterday when I returned to work I was relieved to see the employee wasn't working. However, the manager came on a few minutes after I clocked in. He and I endured a long staring session where I silently relayed the message that I didn't want to know about his escapades outside of work any more than he wanted me to know about them. After a few hours of awkwardness, we relaxed and went back to normal and I forgot about the incident for the day.

Just one of the many situations that have pushed me to believe that I need to quit my freaking job and move to South America.

Oceansecho22

You have to read this.

There is no possible way this person is for real (and I have a sneaking suspicion it's actually a man...) but people are actually taking it seriously; the comments just add to the hilarity.

Ah hahaha, Livejournal is teh greatest.

You are the Spalding Gray of crap.

"Oh, you and your quasi-intellectual hobnobbery..."
I feel like college is sucking the intelligence--and the somewhat more important: life--out of me.
I think it's due to Google-ing sessions that last late into the night as I desperately search for these.

My computer and I had a brief disagreement but we spoke openly about our feelings and have come to a mutual agreement:
I will no longer drink iced tea within a five foot vicinity of the computer and the computer will stop emitting a hideous and high-pitched screeching noise whenever I turn it on.
Seems fair...

Spiderman officially opens tomorrow and I can't even begin to express the apprehension that I'm experiencing. Last year, I wasn't aware of the crowds these people are capable of forming and I think that provided me with a sense of ignorance that shielded my eyes from the horror and carnage that ensues every May.
Plus, I was an usher...
This year, I know what's coming; I know there's an angry mob waiting to rip me into tiny pieces one large popcorn at a time.
Oh Gawd, save me.


toothpastefordinner.com

Ontogeny recapitulates phylogeny

Mr. Stegosaurus
(Hahahaha.)

I've developed an annoying habit of turning my alarm off in a stupor of sleep every morning.
Usually, the alarm will sound and without realizing I'll roll over and shut it off. I recently started setting my cell phone alarm as well to prevent me from being late; it takes a lot to get me out of bed in the morning.
This morning was particularly interesting; when my cell phone alarm went off I was convinced it was my regular alarm clock so I just started blindly smashing buttons to shut it off. This wasn't working so I decided to go for the source:
I grabbed my alarm clock, ripped the cord from the outlet in the wall and hurled the clock across the room.
It then dawned on me that the sound was coming from my cell phone; this was easily fixed and I just went back to sleep for a few hours.
When I woke up this morning I wondered what happened to my alarm clock, then looked at the middle of the floor and saw it lying face down on the carpet... looking pathetic, beaten and alone.

"Did you know you can have braids just like this with Ultra Mega Braids?"

Nobody puts Baby in the corner!

I dropped my cell phone into a glass of cranberry juice.
I've sent out for a new one but in the meantime I'm stuck with a very sticky--very broken--telephone.
At the same time, it's been kind of nice not having something permanently attached to my index fingers. Pretty sure I'll wake up tomorrow with finger cramps as I go the Text Message Withdrawal.

I'm reading Anselm and watching Dirty Dancing at 1 o'clock in the morning.
I thought I should remark on this as I'm pretty sure this combination has never occurred before.
I love the end: Baby and Johnny start some bumping and grinding in front of her parents and all of a sudden all the problems the family was experiencing disappear and they all join hands and engage in a grinding party.

Sounds like the makings of a bad porno when you write it out like that...

Some are dying for a cause but that don't make it yours...

Television stations should start broadcasting PSA's for global warming but use the same approach that Montana is using when it comes to the meth addictions.
"This is what happens when you drive a Hummer..." Cut to a giant tsunami crashing through an LA home owner's living room. His wife's hair extensions ripped out, the LCD television screen smashed to pieces, the over-priced Matisse knock-offs destroyed, all the internet-purchased organic food washes onto the front lawn, the Balenciaga briefcases and the Aramani suits soaked with muddy water, you get the idea.
"Oh, God! Not my Aramani! Why, God? WHHHHYY?!"
Then God's giant arm comes out of the sky, waves an enormous index finger at the LA home owner and says, "Because you didn't listen to Al Gore."

I'd listen to that commercial.

I was stuck in an extreme bout of gridlock on I-5 this morning. The bridge was up or something--I don't know--all I know is, I missed my first class because we weren't moving an inch. Bored out of my mind, I flipped through the AM channels and damned if I didn't hear the "Arthur" theme song on one of the Hispanic radio stations. Why Ziggy Marley was playing on a Hispanic AM channel, I'm not quite sure.
It was a bittersweet event, to be sure and made my traffic jam slightly less unbearable...
...For about a millisecond until the song ended and I realized I was sitting next to a bus full of middle school children who were all staring into my car because apparently privacy isn't really something that exists to a thirteen year-old.

The guy who just sat down three feet away from me is wearing such flagrant cologne that it's burning my eyes. I'm not even exaggerating, I may have to relocate. Three feet is a lot of feet. Think about it while I'm out here suffocating.


nataliedee.com

Secret's In The Sauce

I'm hoping that this whole cooking situation is just a passing phase.
My entire life I was content in knowing that when I grew up I was going to hook up with somebody who would cook for me. Then I'd graciously do the dishes and we'd call it even.
Unfortunately, now that I've found that I enjoy making dinner for people, I fear it's going to be the other way around and eventually I'm going to be obligated to cook dinner every night.
Except on Saturday nights, which is the traditional Chinese Take Out and DVD night.
Assuming that I'll get out of the Regal void and eventually have free Saturday nights again.

My television is making a strange buzzing noise of which I'm not so sure is a good thing.
The buzzing is getting louder with every passing minute and I'm waiting for the screen to explode and chards of glass to come flying at my face.

I'm growing tired of drivers on my daily commute who feel like they're entitled to something on the road.
The kind of people who drive 50 mph in the passing lane and when they change lanes it's like, "I want to merge right this second so I'm going to change lanes right now whether you like it or not and I'm not going to use my turn signal because that would require extra exertion and you should be paying attention to which way I'm going anyway."
It's always the same folk as well: old people in Volvos or people in white minivans with a "W '04" sticker on the back.
I think the old people feel like they deserve something because they're so old and they've been around for a long time. In truth, most of these people have never done anything highly monumental in their lives. Most of these people just gave birth to kids who grew up to drive white minivans with "W '04" stickers on the back windshields.

It's a vicious cycle, somebody has to stop it.

I didn't attend the funeral, but I sent a nice letter saying I approved of it.

I wish Mozilla performed a grammar check as well as a spell check.

I'm starting to see a lot of plastic dolls dressed like Pearl District hipsters in my Google searches and on the Toothpaste For Dinner Livejournal Picture Generator.
Are these things like the new anime or--the always infinitely worse option--fan fiction?
People seem to be treating these dolls like children or pets.
"Kale got a haircut today. He looks *so* hott. [girlish giggle] Kyla got a new outfit but it doesn't seem to fit her as well as we thought. She can work it though. *So* cuuuuuute!!1!1one"
Followed by an emo picture of the dolls holding hands or half-naked in a doll bed.

Children or pets they want to sleep with...

I'll just add these dolls to my list of things I will never understand.
Before people who still think Kenny Chesney's straight and right after white belts.

I made dinner tonight and last night.
I think this should be noted as a monumental occasion as I have never in my life cooked dinner on my own before.
Last night I made Curry Pumpkin Puree soup with smoothies for dessert. Tonight I made chicken in basil-mustard sauce, sautéed in white wine.
I could kick Rachel Ray's ass.

I am old now and have not much to fear from the anger of gods.

Happy Easter

I watched a bit of Blades O' Glory before work today.
"It doesn't matter because you're flat in front like Ken!"
We never had a cardboard display; I'm disappointed that I wasn't able to take home a companion for my Ricky Bobby cutout that still happens to be sitting in my kitchen... after almost seven months.
I'm waiting with bated breath for the Harry Potter display.

No matter how many times I look at the logo, the D in "Disney" will always look like a backwards G to me.
Always.

I'm wondering who exactly would join Ruby Tuesday's "So Connected" newsletter.
Do people out there love Ruby Tuesday that much?
I don't think I've ever set foot in one of those restaurants.
I went to a TGIF once...
I seem to remember it being an all around unpleasant experience.

Look at how small this font is.
For some reason I can't change it; happy headaches.

This is a long drive for someone with nothing to think about...

toothpastefordinner.com

Furthering my hatred for school, I am two hours early to my final because my syllabus said one thing, the PSU website said another and my teacher said nothing.
I walked into a Psych 204 final, took one look at the worksheet, said to myself, "F---! I hate my life." stormed out of the room and am now biding my time until 12:30.
Time that I could be using to study but I didn't bring my books because I thought my final was going to start fifteen minutes ago.
I also didn't bring the laptop because I figured I'd been in and out and on my way.
(Angry animal noises)

I think it's interesting that thesaurus.com would list "awkward age" as a synonym for the word "growing."
Interesting... and somewhat disappointing.

I find the transition from spider solitaire directly to regular solitaire to be very difficult.
It's also slightly unnerving that the guy serving my daily cup of over-priced coffee is missing half of his teeth. Well, I don't exactly know if they're missing or if they're so crooked it looks like some of them are missing. He also has really long hair and a patchy handle bar moustache.
It's kind of... not something I want to think of as I drink this cup o' tea.


toothpastefordinner.com

Hopefully, I will walk into the right final the next time around.
This is my last one and then we're going to have a Jim Henson movie and birthday present shopping marathon!
Aaaah, spring break.

Doctor Gradus ad Parnassum

Increasingly Frequent Forays Into Flaccidity

French exam is done and done, thank God.
This may have been the longest term of my life and I could not be happier it's coming to an end.

But let's be serious for a moment:
The reason Davis is attracted to Brooke even though he is a homosexual is because Brooke looks like a man and may or may not have been a man at one point in her life.
Come on, it's so obvious; Davis is gayer than Joey Lawrence on "Dancing With The Stars."
There's no way...

After intricate research while not studying for the dreaded anthropology final, I have discovered that "gnossiennes," "ogives" and "gymnopédies" are not words in any language and Satie was full of crap.

If you'll excuse me, I have to make the very important decision of which stand-up comedian I should spend my iTunes dollars on.

Only love can make it rain.

I don't believe this.

If this were true all of the athletes I went to high school with wouldn't have been some of the dumbest people I've ever met.
When I think of athletes in high school, I think of Vixathep's psychology class first semester of senior year where Debra and I were in a class full of 90% of the football team.
And there was the one that would always bump into me with his massive body and then look at me as if to ask, "Yeah, you like that? You like that."
I did not like it; pretty sure the look I gave him said something like, "Get the Hell away from me, you're tacky and ugly." but the message never got across.

Which brings me to my point: if exercise makes people smarter, this guy wouldn't have continued to rub his butt against my arm after I repeatedly gave him a look of impending death and pain.

Homosapiens have out-grown their use.

Ah, St. Patrick's Day.
The only holiday where it's socially acceptable to get off-your-ass-drunk and act like a douche bag in public.

Direct quote from Michelle about two seconds ago:
"My Sim accidentally adopted a kid yesterday, then I killed it in the pool and deleted its tombstone."

Oedipus, thirty two's still a god damn number.

toothpastefordinner.com

Bros before hoes.

Wooden ships on the water, very free and easy.

Saw Zodiac last night, it was long.
I actually enjoyed it; it only took an hour and a half to suck me into the story, left me hanging for another hour and in the last twenty minutes or so it provided some explanations... gift-wrapped for me with a little bow.
I enjoy that sort of torture.

Read This

I'm wondering, if the film were made by the Persians do you think we'd be getting angry phone calls from Greece?
Do you think Britain gets angry every time we make a revolutionary war film? I never cared enough about The Patriot to hear their opinions but that's the most recent example I can think of.
Is everyone searching for shit to be angry about now, instead of dealing with the real issues?

Premonition opens this weekend...
Surprise twist in the story: the perfect husband is having an affair with the blond woman.
Shocking, I know.
The poster is hanging up across from the cafe and every ten minutes I hear, "When is that opening?! I want to see that it looks sooooo good." This is from the same crowd that made The Messengers number one a month or so ago.

I saw freaking Ghost Rider the other night and I don't want to see this movie.
Think about that for a bit...

Hang me up to dry, you rung me out too many times.

Surprise ending to the story: I don't care anymore!
Oh, thank you, Jesus.

On Thursday I worked the door shift for the midnight premiere of 300.
The shift was mind numbingly boring up until around 10:30 so I decided to write a note to Ashely, who was in box.
It started out as pretty uneventful, I was talking about moving out soon and having to decide on where I wanted to live. Then I told in her that I am always paranoid that the people in concessions are staring at my butt whenever I'm working door, so I always try to stand up as straight as I can and arch my back so as to make my butt look as small as possible.
This wasn't really something I wanted to broadcast, just something that occupies my head whenever I'm standing at door.
Apparently, this amused Ashley so much that she was lol-ing out loud while other people were in the box and she wanted others to know why she was laughing. So, she showed one of my managers the note--the one where I was complaining about the size of my backside and how I'm always paranoid of being watched.

Ah hahaha, outstanding.

Have you seen this?
Ball would have a heart attack and die if she came out here and saw what the kids were dressing like.
"They're showing their ankles! They're going to straight to Hell if we don't do something about this right now! Education? What education, they're in school because they need to learn how to dress modestly and behave!"
They're pushing for uniforms, I hear. She'll be the first one behind that campaign.

I sorely want to go shopping but I can't.
I hate these days; I don't need anything and I don't have any money to spend but I want to feel the satisfaction of buying something for myself.

I'm thinking I'll just go buy some candy or something. My stomach is eating itself from hunger anyway.

My legs only come up to here and yes, I will always be a little bit fat!

I just had to point this out.

Young Chevy Chase:







Ryan Gosling in Half Nelson:













Woah, are you freaked out? I know I am.
Wish I had a larger photo of Chevy Chase but you get the point.

I've been watching bits and pieces of 300 on my break.
The movie itself is pretty one-dimensional; lots of blood, lots of limbs flying about, lots of interesting make up situations that make kings look like drag queens...
I'm not so sure about the movie yet but I'm definitely sure about one thing:

















Yes, that is nice, indeed.

That's really all I had to say.

Hide the switch and shut the light.

If you loved Silent Hill...
You'll love Night At The Silent Hill.

Michelle's watching Stick It and because I'm sitting in the room I am also watching it.
I was just reminded of one of the best movie lines in Cinematic History. A girl had a deduction from her perfect score because her bra strap was showing.
Jeff Bridges yells, "That rule is ancient!"
The judge fires back, "Apparently, so is her bra!"

Aaaaaah, it doesn't get any better than that.

Let me make it plain, got to make way for the homo-superior.

I can't decide whether the folk on The Agency are putting on a show or if they are really that crazy.
We're talking, like... sing-it crazy.
"Crrrray-zeeee!"
I guess the show we be pretty boring if it didn't have it's alcoholic drama queens but nobody is that ridiculous.

I think I should make it known that this weekend Wild Hogs was the most popular movie at the theater and Zodiac did not do as well as we had anticipated.
Mark this day off on your calendars, Americans are so depressing.
They're also rude; I'm wondering when exactly it became OK to be rude to people in entry-level jobs.
I know it seems like we're beneath and working for you but in reality, we're in charge of your food and your tickets. We don't have to make it correctly for you if choose to patronize us in such a way. We could easily screw it up and charge you extra without you knowing.
I don't do it because I'm a better person than that but GOD, lately I have wanted to.
Most of us are bitter and sarcastic because adults automatically assume we're stupid and going to screw up the order. The job isn't difficult, a monkey could do it without any help (and probably better than half of the employees), but it's difficult to perform it correctly when an adult adopts a voice that turns us into third graders.
Well, if you're going to assume we're as ignorant as a third grader then we're just going to have to perform the job as third graders.
You dug your grave now you're going to lie in it with crumbs of soggy popcorn and too much ice in your drink.
It was you're choice, not mine.




























I think I'll just end it there.

Emovisible

So much for all your high-brow Marxist ways.

When the funeral is over, will Anna Nicole and all of her equally as insane counterparts finally go away?
Please?
For the sake of all respectable newscasters across this country, please?!




















I have been less than productive today.
Why do work when you can look at stuff like this all day?

I was thoroughly enjoying my time sitting in this cafeteria until a bunch graduate students came in, turned Sublime and Bob Marley on the stereo and starting doing sound checks for their band performance. I can only guess what genre of music is going to come at me in a minute...

















This would be my cue to leave.

I don't want to cause no fuss, but can I buy your magic bus?

I'm going to have to revoke the tirade I went on the other day about eating pungent foods in public because the hummus with pita I have with me right now is starting to emit odors.
It's not even garlic hummus, freakin' hummus.

College students think they're so special.

The sad thing is, college kids aren't going to be offended by this because they know it's true.

Something about airplanes...

I'm nearly deaf because the guy on the couch across the hall is snoring really loudly and disturbing my blogging creativity, forcing me to turn the sound on my headphones up to full volume.
I feel like people who snore shouldn't be allowed to sleep in public.
Actually, I feel like people in general shouldn't be allowed to sleep in public unless it's on a moving vehicle of some sort but folk who snore are just being jerks.
If you know you snore, then bring some Breathe-Right strips with you or a pillow to shove over your face, something so you're not being an asshole by cutting into the concentration of the people actually trying to accomplish school work in the middle of the day.
And if you aren't aware of your snoring problem... perhaps I can bring it to light for you by kicking you in the side and asking you to relocate because I'm trying to get things done and the sounds of your closed throat and congested sinuses really isn't doing it for me.

What do you make of this?

















Awww, that's cute.

I hope his increasing volume and panting is a signal that he's suffocating and soon I will no longer have to deal with him.

Black Session

toothpastefordinner.com

The guy next to me just peeled a hardboiled egg.
Then he peeled another one.

I wish there were a system where I could send out memos to every person in the world, bringing to light the unwritten common courtesy rule that states no person should ever eat smelly foods such as garlic, tuna or HARDBOILED EGGS in a public place filled with people.
If nobody is around... maybe. As long as there is a window open or it's a large space that would allow the smell to dissipate quickly with no offense to anyone entering the room later.

So, for those who may be concerned, I just just looked up "decroded/decroaded" and it is not a word.
Not a word; slang.
Now we know.


toothpastefordinner.com

Looking at the random livejournal picture generator in public is dangerous so I prefer to just browse the archives.
Of which I've seen a thousand times but still enjoy.

Ah hahaha, I am so sad.

I got so city girl on you.

Ah, back in school.

There's a group of college-age children sitting across from me.
There's a girl experiencing some sort of sickness, nervous breakdown or some sort of personal drama that is causing her to be all sad and angsty.
There's her boyfriend; I know he is her boyfriend because she has her head on his lap and he's stroking her back, speaking in a disgusting baby voice that I'm sure he thinks it's comforting and saying things like, "Do you need any water? Are you tired? Do you want some juice? Are you sure you're all right? Do you want get you something to eat?"
The boyfriend and the girlfriend have basically the same haircut except his is yellow-blond like mustard and hers is crunchy-leaf brown with mustard yellow highlights.
We also have the third wheel, he keeps trying to strike up conversation with the couple but is failing miserably and always reduces himself to sitting on the end staring in the opposite direction.
"Can't you see I'm enabling the over dramatic and ridiculous behavior of my girlfriend?! Damn it, Kevin. Go sit over there."

The guy across from me has been staring at me since I sat down. He's giving me the same look Dave the Cafe Guy gives every woman who unwittingly places herself next to him.
It's a predatory look, but it's the look of a predator who hasn't eaten in an extremely long amount of time because his hunting skills are poor so he is dying of starvation and is willing to eat every piece of trash that he finds on the street.
It's hunger. It's an emaciated mountain lion look.
This is the book he's pretending to read.

A while ago, the boyfriend left with his razor scooter to go get food and the girlfriend fell asleep under her sparkling, electric-green blanket that looks like a bathroom rug and the third wheel fell asleep on the floor.
The girlfriend kicked her bookbag that was sitting on the end of the couch in her sleep and it came crashing to the floor with a loud thump.
The crashing noise startled the girlfriend and she woke up violently, making a sort of snorting-inhaling-grunting-gasping noise that made me accidentally "lol" to myself.
Luckily, she was too delirious to notice what I had done and just rolled over and went back to sleep.
Then, a large group of Asian tourists came through the room and more than one of them stopped to take picture of the two sleeping.

When the boyfriend returned, he yelled at the third wheel--after careful eavesdropping of their conversation I have discovered his name is Pedro--for allowing the girlfriend to roll over on her stomach because, wouldn't you know it? She's pregnant.
That's nice; I'm glad I have the privilege of witnessing the future of America panning out right here in front of me.

If nothing else, college is allowing my people-watching to flourish and is giving me a head start toward a degree in modern social anthropology.

What's the point of leaving your room if you're just going to sleep in Smith Hall all day anyway?

I Musici

toothpastefordinner.com

I don't know what made my neighbors think that it was all right to start running heavy machinery--such as jack hammers--at 8 o'clock in the morning but some people were still at home and some people were too ridiculous to go to bed before 2 am so some people were still asleep.
Thanks, neighbors. Thanks a bunch. I am the victim. Pity me as much as I pity myself.
When I left, they were standing around a large man-made hole in the sidewalk, staring down into it and yelling at each other with their arms up in the air.

I finished my annotated bibliography--with much difficulty, I might add--for my Hurricane Katrina/collapse of New Orleans paper.
This paper comes, of course, directly after I finished the 15 minute-long presentation on the genocide in Rwanda.
That's... nice.
The thesis statement has no substance and almost makes no sense. I think this paper will eventually turn into a personal vendetta against the government if I'm not careful.
I refuse to be the Carrotarian in the class.
(My God, inside jokes with myself rule.)

Toothpaste for Dinner college-related literature helps me get through the worst of my days.
I'm in Seattle's Best, checking on how the guy is getting along in his efforts to seduce women that are smarter than him.
He's not here today, I'm a bit disappointed.


toothpastefordinner.com

I love lecture classes.

In my archaeology lecture last term, there was a girl that always sat two rows in front of me, knitted underneath the table (which is cool with me, if she thinks she can get by on not taking notes then congratulations to her for taking her hobby to school with her), would raise her hand and ask what she thought were intelligent questions and then pull out an apple and eat it REALLY LOUDLY.
She was two rows in front of me, facing the opposite direction and I was still able to hear that obnoxious crunching and slurping noise.
I'm fairly certain that I've blog-complained about her before but I just can't get over how she could possibly think that people would want to hear her listen to her smacking on an apple.
She was basically making out with it.

I think you need ice water...

I don't understand this new thing with taking pictures of cats making "hilarious" faces, or sitting in various different poses, or playing with unusual things and then putting ridiculous captions like, "Anorexia Kitty says, 'But I already ate once this week!'" or, "I'm in your pot... shedding on your oatmeal." (my personal favorite).
Nobody cares about your cat except you and your cat, "creative" caption or not.








Jessica and I took the dog and the camera out for a long walk today.


This was just one part of a large and repulsively adorable Valentine's Day display in somebody's front yard in upper Alameda. The photo doesn't capture the large, light-up cross nailed to the side of the house and the inflatable hearts bordering the lawn.


Jessica and I looking introspective... Banana Republic style.


I don't recall this picture but apparently I wasn't too happy about it.


Jess and I decided to get down and dirty in the outdoors and take some nature glamor shots.
This is my Red Berries Seductive Angst look.


This is my Elegant Caress Of Red Berries look.


This isn't from today but I found it in my Photobucket library and thought some would appreciate it.
Michelle and I put the stickers from the Volkswagen ads in magazines to good use--by ruining produce.
My mom said the orange looked like Michelle. I laughed for a long, long time.