I am Batman

She sat at a stop light, a mild mannered math-er headed out after a hard day of adding and subtracting. The rain slid down the blue hood of her old car like cold tears. On the radio the tinny voice of some dame bemoaned the state of the world. Just another gray day in a gray city. A familiar crunch distracted the math-er from her musings. A car had turned straight into the car behind her. She stared into her rear view mirror and sighed, weighing her options and wondering if everything was alright. Something told her it wasn't.

The light turned green. Following her intuition, she pulled through the intersection and into the lot across the street. She watched the offending vehicle, a luxury model, pull into a joint next to the accident. The driver got out of the car and slid her hands along her vehicle. She was young. Too young to know any better.

She looked both ways and legged it back to her car and took off.

Something in the math-er snapped. Her manner became decidedly un-mild and she gave chase, her large blue vehicle gliding along behind the speeding sports car. The math-er had had enough. Enough of people acting like assholes. Enough of assholes getting away with it. Enough of nice people sitting on the side of the road in their shitty smashed up domestic cars wondering why these things happen. And why they always happen to them.

The math-er knew why. Because some people think that they are above the law. Some people think that they are better than other people. They are wrong, thought the math-er, her jaw clenched with gritty determination.

The young woman was driving pretty fast, and the math-er almost lost sight of her. She saw a glint take a speedy right and followed it on a hunch. She thought of the battered old American car sitting in the road back at the intersection and gunned it. Ahead of her she saw the car. And ahead of it a 4-way stop. The math-er knew she had the young woman cornered. As she pulled up behind the car, the math-er wrote the license number on her hand. She watched as the young woman turned down a dead end. But the math-er had all she needed.

She hurried back to the scene of the crime and flagged down a police officer. The police praised her and took down her detailed statement. They called her a hero. The math-er was flattered, she preened but demurred, Aw shucks, just doing the right thing.

As the math-er walked back to her American relic the driver of the mutilated old car pressed her hands together in a gesture of thanks. The math-er turned and smiled. She gave the driver thumbs up.

Not just another day. A new day.

A new day in the gray city.

---------------------------------------

And that is why I didn't make it to your Pseudo-Bachelorette Party, Mon. My secret life as a crime fighter got in the way (again).

Seriously.

PS- This is my 1,000th post. Good job on not quitting, self. You should eat a cupcake tonight in celebration.

I was going to eat one anyway, but now I have an excuse!

Recipe for a Good Life

I know I am a whiner. I’m so busy. Wah wah wah. I have too many friends. Wah wah wah.

Sometimes I am overwhelmed by the amount of things I schedule for myself. I always get burnt out and threaten big changes, but in the end it comes down to one thing: I have the greatest friends ever. (In the entire history of friends. Pretty sure.) How can I complain that I am too busy when there is so much awesome to be had?

This weekend I had the final installment of birthday shenanigans and I was utterly touched by the thoughtfulness of my friends. Every gift was clearly chosen with care. Every person sacrificed a Sunday evening, traveling though torrential rain just to eat delicious cake with me.

Even after I threw a bitch-fit about only wanting one little party.

I am doubly blessed to have a caring family and friends who are there not just for cocktails and cake, but stick around even when I move or paint my home. I don't even need to ask.

I may not have all the things in life that people grasp at, but I am lucky to have the most elusive and valuable thing of all, fantastic friends.

For my birthday I received a host of amazing gifts including a Kitchen Aid stand mixer. My Kitchen Aid is just waiting on the counter. Shiny and new, like the new car I've never owned. It even has new mixer scent. Every year I've requested a Kitchen Aid, and my family has refused. Kitchen Aid stand mixers are for married women. Get married and we'll buy you one. The only thing better than being an independent woman and buying a Kitchen Aid is being given one by your friends. Confirmation that I am good the way I am.

I show my love for people in sacrifices of my most precious commodity: time. Standing in my kitchen kneading dough, cutting cookies, or frying up some bacon, while bopping along to music is the perfect way to 'talk' about my 'feelings'. Daydreaming of happy friends with full stomaches as I stir. The warmth of the oven, the clean white counters, and the safety of an apron are like a crackling fire, warm blanket, and a good book. I'm never more at peace than when I'm whipping something up for a loved one.

I've got all these images in my head. I see good friends at the table. Herbs from my garden. And in the kitchen things are stirring. Clippings from Gourmet and Cook's Illustrating are queuing up and I am ready. I am mixing dreams in that shiny metal bowl.

Passive Aggressive Notes to My Roommate: Spider Edition

Dear Roommate,

I am not sure how you persuaded me to come into the bathroom with you to “check out this HUGE spider in the garbage can” (I assume voodoo), but I would like to ask you to STOP IT, because I am permanently traumatized.

That spider was so huge that in spite of the fact that I knew it would be there, I screamed anyway. You pulled like 4 Kleenex out of the box to kill that spider. I would have tried the elephant gun first. Ok, that is not true because I would have just screamed and ran away. Also I don’t have an elephant gun.

Every morning I make my bed even though I am blind, deaf, and dumb until after I’ve showered and eaten. And do you know why, dear roommate? It is not because I’m OCD and must control my environment; no, it is because then spiders cannot get into my bed and lie in wait for me.

That spider was so huge that it crawls into my bed, reads my comics, and watches HGTV in my bath robe, then makes the bed again and leaves. So huge that it probably squeezes into the sexiest of my unmentionables and prances around like a pony, taking sassy pictures of itself then posts them on craigslist, because spiders are filthy kinky bastards like that.

So, in conclusion, the next time you see a spider the size of a heifer, just kill it and don’t even tell me it was ever there.

Definitely do not follow me into the living room and tell me that you killed another one upstairs already.

XOXO,
q.

Fred Meyer is zoned “twilight”.

Fred Meyer is actually built on an Indian burial ground or a space time rift or the Hellmouth or something. In fact, I am reminded of the show Reaper, wherein Sam (the Devil’s bounty hunter) can deposit captured souls bound for Hell at the DMV or any other hellish place. I’m pretty sure Sam could deposit souls at Fred Meyer (I will start looking for covert horns on the employees).

It is not actually scientifically possible to just go to Fred Meyer and buy toothpaste. You always look for toothpaste, but then can’t find it, but ‘oh look there are party hats with raccoons on them on sale’ and then you are accosted by ancient semi-nude Russian women spouting profanities, Mexican gang-bangers, or drug dealers and then you stand in line for half an hour and then they have to do a price check on your toothpaste and then the toothpaste turns into a snake and devours your face.

Example: Not too long ago Jim purchased an entertainment tower and we got trapped in line behind someone buying a full cart of groceries from a checker on their first day (on this side of the space time rift?) and a guy who grabbed and squeezed Jim’s shoulder like he was checking a melon for ripeness. The entire furniture choosing process took literally 5 minutes, but before leaving Fred Meyer we stood in line 20 minutes, I almost bought a hummingbird feeder, and a man came-on to Jim. This is how Fred Meyer is.

So given that I’ve been shopping at Fred Meyer since I was 14 years old, I should have known that going to Fred Meyer with Czabrina last night was a ridiculously huge lapse in judgment.

Naturally, they did not have legal sized color copying paper (the only objective of the trip), but plastic bins were on sale, so I had to buy them.

Whilst waiting in line to buy the bins, we were trapped behind what I can only assume were Mormons preparing for the end of days OR John and Kate (of Plus 8 fame). But we were patient. We were having a nice time chatting. It should come as no surprise that this is exactly when the Fred Meyer Rule of Ricockulosity (the Third Law of Crazydynamics) came into play.

A clean-cut, petite, black woman came up the aisle and as she passed took notice of the under-the-bed bin I was holding and asked about it. Czabrina directed her to the correct aisle. But of course, as this is Fred Meyer, the conversation does not end with her thanking us and walking to the aisle, but instead took a sinister course as she declared that you could fit a person, or most of a person, in that bin and store them under your bed or tie them to the top of your car- but they’d have to be small, like my girl. This statement is chased by the phrase “you know what I mean”. Uhm. Do you mean you plan to cram the partially desiccated corpse of your next victim, probably “your girl”, in a Rubbermaid bin that you plan to buy here at Freddy’s today?

She immediately retrieved a screw driver from her person and went on at length about their usefulness, for fixing cars (?? Baroo??). I then decided that perhaps I should continue friendly conversation thus putting off the inevitable stabbing that was certain to come. (Could it be crazy lady, with a screw driver, in the garden department?)

She inquired as to what I would put in the bins, I said CD’s. She is shocked that I have that many CD’s. I explained that I used to work at a music store and got a great discount. Stabby (we are now on a made-up first name basis) announced (loudly) the many ways to steal CD’s when you work at a CD store. “You can get your buddy to come and buy one CD, but take the tags off of like 20 CD’s and then put them in the bag. You know what I mean? Or you can throw a box out the back door. You know what I mean? Or you can open them in the back, take the CD and throw the case in the garbage....” I said, “You could.”

Then she asked us to hold her spot in line and ran over and grabbed one bottled water and 8 candy bars. When she returned (drat!) she asked if she could put them on the conveyer and we agreed. She held them back as the conveyor rolled forward. Finally it was our turn, and as the checker rang up my bins, the Mormons/John & Kate left setting off the door alarm. The checker waved them through, which upset Stabby who yelled at the checker, “You can’t just let them steal like that! You are not good at your job, Michael!” A moment later she mumbled something and, stealing the screw driver, stalked out.

Initially we were all relieved. This care free attitude immediately evaporated as Czabrina and I peered anxiously out the doors towards my distant car. Somewhere out in the darkness was Stabby McGee, replete with stabbing instrument. We ran to the car and sped out of the parking lot, eager to arrive at Staples, where you can walk in, buy paper and leave, and almost nobody advises you on how to hide dead bodies.

You can look forward to a new installment of Department Store or Portal to Alternate Reality soon as the under-the-bed bin I bought does not fit under my bed.

This just in! Whales are dumb.

In other news, whales and I now have more in common than blubber; as I am also a moron and pulled a muscle in my ass this morning at work. Said I, "Ouch! I think I just pulled my ass!"

Said coworkers, "Teehee."

Our Impending Doom

I thought I would mention that I am a contributing blogger at therobotapocalypse.blogspot.com. My first entry, Colbert on the impending Robot Apocalypse.

Teaser:

The groundwork for our demise has been laid; and you can blame Steve Jobs.

Look at that face, if that doesn't say "Bwahahaha", I'll eat my hat*.
























* [made of delicious cake.]

Nerdy Links!

For those who have ever wondered, in a battle between a shark and a polar bear, who would win? Don't get to excited, there is no video. Just some forensic evidence and a bit of scientific speculation.

Will we try to clone mammoths? You bet we will. I think we owe to Michael Crichton to at least try. If that doesn't work, we should fall back onto plan b, VR gloves for gorillas.

If you are not reading Kick-Ass, you should be. I'm really enjoying this book. Kick-Ass has been optioned and Christopher Mintz-Plasse (McLovin) is apparently in negotiations to play the villain. I wonder if he will be scary as a villain. Via io9.

Fantastic Friday Super Post

1. If you know me, you know of my many obsessions. Two of my particular favorites: Sesame Street and Neil Patrick Harris, are combined in the coming season 39 of Sesame Street. There is a sneak preview of of NPH as Sesame Street's Shoe Fairy up on Youtube. There is singing. You must watch. Via The Park Bench.

2. In the grossest news ever, I am a slug mass murderer. Yesterday I set slug traps (aka plastic cups of beer) out in my garden and 2 of the three had one slug each, but one trap had countless (meaning too gross to count) slugs of all colors and sizes. It was disgusting. There was about an inch of slug corpse detritus in the bottom of my slug cup. Tonight I must buy more beer. Bwahahahahahahahaha!

3. This whole bigfoot uproar has spawned something most diverting: Graham Roumieu's Bigfoot Press Release on Boing Boing. If you have not read Graham Romieu's Bigfoot books, you should as they are awesome.

4. In fantastic news, it is Friday and I have a spectacular weekend of awesomeness planned: pj and movie night with Melody, Farmers Market with Kim, hanging pictures, picking paint colors, high energy tidying, followed by first class ass-sitting. I'm going to read some books and watch a lot (A LOT) of TV. Perhaps I'll buy the next book in Fables or Y:The Last Man as a special treat. It is Friday and things are good.

There is no dignity on Wednesday, the 13th!

Yesterday, after I posted the morning's tale of Garbage Nudity Crisis I found that yesterday was actually cursed.

Later that day...

1. Wallgreen's did not have the toilet paper I wanted. How do you run out of the good toilet paper Wallgreen's?! I am very fussy about what is rubbed on my butt.

2. While purchasing TP and shaving gel at Safeway, I decided to impulse buy strawberry Crush in glass bottles. Apparently when people take a few bottles out of a 6-pack carrier, they become unstable and when innocent Quianas come by to take the carrier propping up the partially empty carrier, the partially empty carrier falls onto the floor and 50% of the bottles explode everywhere. This makes me a sad panda.

3. Got in line at Joann's with one spool of heavy duty thread and a set of upholstery needles. I was the only one in line and there are two check stands open. One of the checkers summonsed the manager, and I was not paying much attention. A moment later the manager was at my elbow asking if she can help me. I found this confusing because usually at Joann's the check stand is a complete clusterfuck with 10 people in line and 1 or 2 check stands open, so thinking that she thought I need manager-level assistance, I merely gestured to my basket and said, "I just want to buy these." She looked into my basket and says, "That's not for sale." I looked down at the thread and needles and asked, "Why not?" She replied, "They're not for sale." I pick up the items and say, "But they were on the shelf." I am now convinced I am in the Twilight Zone. Then the woman said, "Ohhhhhhhh, I thought you wanted to buy the basket. Those are not for sale."

No really, I insist.

I insist that you read this BWE blog entry and but really most specifically the comments. It pertains to...

The Beef.

Said one commenter about this post:

I just took a giant piss on the copies of Where The Red Fern Grows, Goodnight Moon, and Where The Wild Things Are that I was saving for my unborn children. This story should suffice for their entire childhood.

I mean, I don't want to over sell. I'm just saying, this story: pretty ok. Especially if you've been following Beef-Mania on BWE at all.

Interesting.

So a while ago I mentioned that I was concerned about the alleged suicide of Pfc. LaVena Johnson. That day I wrote my congressman, Jay Inslee a brief email to make him aware that this is a concern for his constituents. A few weeks later I received a lengthy letter and a copy of a related Congressional Report. The letter not only addressed Pfc. Johnson but also got into the root of the problem, a lack of transparency in the military. The report was lengthy and primarily addressed the US military's use of the media to influence the public in situations that the public would find untenable.

I don't know much about Jay Inslee, but it was somewhat comforting to know that my letter was viewed with enough interest to merit a response.

Unfortunately, real comfort comes from a military that treats its soldiers (of both genders) with the respect that they deserve. People should not fear their military.

Dignity, always dignity.

This morning I lay in bed at 7 am willing myself back into a deep slumber, when over my window fan I heard a beeping.

Every Wednesday since we’ve moved in the garbage truck has arrived at noon at the earliest. Till today. From my bed I realized that Jim had not put out the cans yet.

I leapt from the bed and ran towards the door. Oh! Pants! Grabbed pants and hopping on one foot jammed myself in them and raced down the stairs. Into the garage and out with the can in the nick of time.

Looking down I realize:

1. My pants are on backwards.
2. I’m braless.
3. I’m wearing a shirt that has a Mario Bros mystery block and says “I’d hit that.”

I deeply desire fat baby platypuses!

Ohhhhhhh pudgy platypuses!














Via Cute Overload.

Space Links!

Via io9 & MSNBC.

Lovely, Pristine Beaches off the Shores of Titan's Great Methane Lake

Branson's New Virgin Mothership Sneak Peek

RAWR! Shake it Sir Richard Branson!

Things I Don't Understand: Bumper Stickers

Hey guess what ass-nuggets: I do not believe that your other ride is my mom. And I simply do not care if it is a Harley, but thanks for that superfluous factoid about your interest in having sex with my 50 year old mother and/or your possession of other cooler vehicles.

I do not understand bumper stickers. What am I supposed to say?
Oh I get it, there is a seal and a fetus on that sticker and it says, "One of these is protected. " Now I see! Killing unborn babies is just as bad as killing seals. I will change my ways and vote "pro-life". Thank you for showing me the error of my ways. Perhaps there are other opinions of mine that you can adjust with a 2 dollar sticker. Please help me. You are so smart. And also kind of sexy RAAAAAAAAWR.

Furthermore, I do not care how carpenters do it, where you take yoga, or if your kid is an honor student. And hey, could you tell me more personal information about your children, such as their names and where they sleep? Just, you know, curious.

Oh and thanks for telling me who to vote for. If I hadn't seen that sticker on your Honda I would not have known who is running for president. That sure is a pretty sticker. I think I will change my vote.

PS- Jesus also thanks you for adhering a fish to the back of your vehicle so that every time you drive like the ass-clown you are, He gets blamed.

If you can read this get off my ass. SO CLASSY. If you have one of these stickers and also a penis, call me!! RAWR!!

What are you doing on your friday night?

Are you blogging on your enormous bean bag chair whilst pretending that your mother will not be arriving at an unspecified time tomorrow morning for an unspecified activity?

No? Good for you.

As for me, I am enjoying my first unscheduled night, possibly ever. I should be vacuuming though, as mother will be coming to stay tomorrow and the second she walks in I will see a Harvey-sized dust bunny half way under my bed and keel over and promptly die of shame.

Instead I am playing a critical observational role in the completion of an entertainment center-like piece of furnishing while drinking tea and actively dreading. (If you dread actively you burn more calories. True story.)

While I'm on the topic of dreading. I think I have mentioned about 47 billion times that I have an awkward non-relationship with my father. My father who will be in Portland on business early next month and wants to get together.

I am rocking both short and long term dread. It is like a new accessory that gives me weird forehead wrinkles.

I have not seen my father since 1998. Prior to that I saw him in maybe '88, '89 somewhere. I hope this isn't some sort of tradition where in every ten years my father swoops in to disappoint me in some new and outlandish fashion. Because I am an idiot and will always set myself up for damage.

You would not think it if you knew me, as I am otherwise a very strong and independent person, but I always am surprised when people suck. Just like Charlie Brown who runs to kick the ball and every time, at the last second, Lucy wrenches the ball away. I know deep inside that when I get there that ball will be gone and I will hate myself just a little bit. But it is in my nature to always try to kick the ball, I have to try. Do my best. Be my best. Even if it is humiliating.

Oh Noes! It is the Fail Whale!

Today the Fail Whale came to visit me at work and would not leave. Luckily it didn't bring the uhm.... uhm... Care Bear with. (Maybe it brought the Fuck it Bucket instead?) ["author's" note: I'm too tired for this rhyming business.]

Failures [so far] today:

1. Forgot important legal documents for meeting today. FAIL. (No one noticed.)

2. Forgot to bring bottled water. FAIL. (No one cared.)

3. Spilled coffee (How much? A LOT) all over inside my car. FAIL. (I am a huge idiot.)

4. And I look like one too in my outfit chosen at 6 am. (SIX AM! BWAH!?!, you say. Dude. I know, too early.) FAIL. I am a huge idiot and my outfit proclaims to the world. Look at me, I may be your crazy red-neck cousin that your mother did not let you play with at the reunion on account of the lice and the what not. (Still single, tell your friends!)

Everyone keep your fingers crossed for the rest of the day. Perhaps you should periodically text me and remind me to breathe.

Stop! Link Time!

1. Via Drew, Via Gizmodo: CHAOS! BWAHAHA!

Our robot servants stage a revolt. Watch out! Your robo-servants could be next!


2. This bad AV Club review of Mummy: Asian Edition actually makes me want to watch the movie.

Boring Shit About Which I am Thinking

1. Still kind of hung up on my fundy Not-Aunt and the manner in which she is raising my cousin.
a. Children should not believe that their dead fathers went to hell.

b. She pays money to send her to a school where they teach straight up Bible literal creationism. Also my cousin is not reading to grade level. What are they doing over there? Making WWJD bracelets?

c. She lives 2.5 hours away and yet apparently when you cross the Cascades rather than landing in dry Seattle, you land in Kansas. In 1850. Where people cannot understand what a half brother is because heavens, nobody gets a divorce. Where having a half-brother is apparently grounds for ridicule and shaming. (I wonder if they know that he is black. GASP!

d. How is it that people are allowed to procreate all higgledy piggledy? People should not be allowed to just make babies and then screw them up.

2. Spent some time with my voter's ballot tonight and was all irritated with the various candidates for Superintendent of Public Instruction. Let me just assure you guys that voting for a candidate who is running on an anti-WASL platform will either a. replace the WASL with an entirely differently named but nearly identical test OR b. keep the WASL because it conforms to national law and cost a fortune to create. It makes me so frustrated that these candidates either don't understand No Child Left Behind Legislation or are willing to lie to uninformed voters.

3. My mother is coming to visit this weekend and I am kind of freaking out... just, you know, a little bit. I only have to entertain her solo for Saturday. But that is plenty of time for us to have a terrible fight. Suggestions for wholesome family entertainment? I'm thinking a Brendon Frasier movie. Two hours, no talking. Phew!

4. Today I bought a trellis for my green bean plants and as I moved the sticky little vine I noticed a dozen tiny slugs eating my plants. I urgently need one can of PBR... in which to drown those little fuckers.

Back in the Saddle

I'm back and tanned (in places). And I have sapphires, star garnets, 3 kinds of crystal, and fossilized leaves. (Still single, tell your friends!)

I'll update my excruciatingly boring daily blog over the next couple of days to update on the specifics of the trip, but in short:
1. It was hot (really hot).
- 10am, why the hell shouldn't it be 90 degrees?

2. I own a lot (A LOT) of rocks. You needs rocks. I gots rocks.
-I get that we were supposed to be hunting rocks, but hey, guess what... I totally have no idea what to do with all these rocks.

3. I did not walk a single schnauzer even one time (of their 3- THREE- walks a day)
-Yes, I let my aged grandparents walk 6 dogs 3 times a day. I am an ass. An ass that does like to deal with schnaus.

4. My dead uncle's ex-mistress' closed minded creepy fundamentalist Christian beliefs are warping my cousin hideously. Not that she had much of a shot of normalcy to begin with.
-ex: will not let my cousin read Harry Potter because she will learn witchcraft.

Where was I going with all this? Oh yea. I'm back, and will resume my standard blogging 'schedule' as of today.

Octopuses attempting to evolve fingers, must be stopped!

Silly octopuses, fingers are for people and monkeys or some shit. Quit it you weirdos.

Via Pink Tentacle. (I know what it sounds like, but it is not like that. Perverts.)

I'm going on vacation...

and I may, or may not, take you guys. I mean you're cool and what not, but you know, I may need my space.

For the next ten(ish) days I am going to be on an epic road trip/treasure hunt with:
3 cousins: 16 year old boy, 13 year old boy, 8 year old girl
The Grandma
The Grandpa
The Auntie
The Uncle
6 SCHNAUZERS (I will make this my official prayer/finger crossing request of the week.)

So I depart for the frosty north again tomorrow morning with the goal of finding gem stones in the dirt and also acquiring glass bottle Coke. Delicious (The coke, not dirt. Dirt often contains poo and should be avoided. Unless it also contains sapphires.)

We'll go through Montana, then Idaho, then back. It should be fun and I intend to blog, but this may not happen. It is hard to say.

So, now I've updated you and uhm... I think that is all I've got for today. Look forward to maybe some sporadic updates (maybe) and uhm... I think I'll go make some cookies for tomorrow.
Enjoy your not vacation, suckers.

For your viewing enjoyment

Sometimes I am filled with great love and wonder at the awesomeness of other people.

Meet Anderson Pooper, The World’s Sexiest Anderson Cooper Lookalike and Cat
via BWE's Michelle Collins (who in my zesty alternate Quiana universe could be my hip NYC best friend).

----
And sometimes I am not.


















Sharpened spikes at Green Lake
The discovery of more than three dozen machine-sharpened spikes at the Green Lake boating center has prompted the city of Seattle to post warnings to would-be swimmers.
@ Seattle Times.

There is only one "n-word"; this word is not 'nuts'.

Dear American news media,

'Nuts' is not a bad word. You could also say 'balls' or 'testes', neither of which are bad words. If you can call a woman a bitch on TV, CNN can use the word 'nuts' if it is legitimately news worthy. I don't want to shock anyone, but I hear from various sources that the majority of men have testicles, so I think that it is probably fine to say.

Please quit calling it 'the n-word', it's juvenile and honestly quite silly.

Thanks!

q.

And while I'm on the topic...

This whole Jackson-Obama "feud" is ridiculous and the situation reminds me of the plot of an old episode of Scrubs, in which JD doesn't realize his mic is still on. (Coincidentally, this episode was about race.) Unprofessional.

Furthermore, I don't ask my pastor who to vote for (Obama), but if he started trying to tell me who to vote for, that would be the end of his religious guidance.

Jackson is a sham and in my opinion has not helped anyone, black or white, in America since the mid-sixties, unless you think so-called "interracial" political coalitions are super.

Additionally, Jackson has been a divisive force within every group he has belonged to, from the SCLC, to the Democratic Party, to America.

Oh and by the way, he's an anti-Semite.

Oh and he's a baptist minister who cheated on his wife (hypocrite) and was too stupid to use protection (so stupid) .

And lest we forget, he is a grown man who uses the word 'nuts' and an idiot who doesn't know how to keep his mouth shut in a TV studio.


If you are the only person in the universe who isn't sick of this topic, you can catch up at the NYT.

Apple and Tree: Measuring the Distance of the Fall, Hoping it is Really Far

Monday, between 9:30 and 11:30 pm.
Mother leaves a vm asking for my new address, the same new address I have emailed to all 3 of her accounts twice. Didn’t call her on account of how it was nearly midnight.

Tuesday, 6 pm.
Receive vm from Grandma asking me to call her back immediately. Did so and was admonished for not calling my mother back for days. Notified her that mother called less than 24 hours ago for information she already has.

Tuesday, 8 pm.
Receive second vm from mother again asking for my address and chastising me for:

1. Leaving her hanging for days and now my b-day card will be late.
2. Not having given her my new address sooner.

Also notes that she left a vm on the home phone (Apparently we have a vm on that line. Would have been nice to know that one existed.) Note that my mother knows I am not home and have not been home for 20 some odd days and will not be home until August, but can’t remember what she has dialed so leaves to voicemails with identical lengthy chastisements.

Tuesday 10:30 pm.
Called my mom back on my home phone, which has free calling to Canada. Notified her of my new address and reminded her of how it has been emailed. Twice. Then in engaged in circular argument:

Q: You called yesterday.

Mom: No, I called Monday and you never called back.

Q: YES. You called at 10 pm YESTERDAY.

M: No, I didn’t, I called Monday.

Q: No, I mean yes. Today is… oh forget it.

[Gastrointestinal] Distress Signal

Yes, I am aware of TMI, I just don’t care. If I have to suffer, you have to suffer.

I spent the majority of Monday morning disrespecting or attempting to disrespect the bathroom. 4 (FOUR!) pepto caplets were taken and I still barely survived.

I took yesterday off, and felt more or less ok, but today I am yet again displeased with the universe. (Though on a much lesser scale.)

Two possibilities:

1. I am allergic to work.
2. Someone at work sneaks over and throws laxatives in my coffee mug while I am not paying attention. I’m looking at you Bark Bark Bark Lady.

T4 Teaser Trailer is up at io9

The new Terminator 2: Salvation teaser is up and is very teas-y at io9.

Thriller Birthday

Attempting to Attract Fraggles

I am disproportionately excited about the state of my container garden. I am daydreaming of lovely vege and sit smugly as though other than watering and planting the seeds I am some how responsible for their magical growth. Tuesday: no pumpkin sprouts. Wednesday: pumpkin sprouts. It is like a vege fairy came in the middle of the night. Almost all my seeds have sprouted!

It is very hard to feel glum when magical vegies are appearing.

Add to that joy the glee of surviving another year of life.

Yes, on Thursday I will officially survived 28 years on this planet. Really pretty good I think. And while I know that many people use birthdays as measuring sticks for goals they did not achieve, I choose to pat myself on the back for neither tipping a soda machine onto myself, nor failing to look both ways.

I have dodged innumerable bullets and feel the very strong urge to enjoy a nice margarita in celebration come Thursday.

But today the sun is out and I am just over a week out of a two week vacation and soon I will be chomping away at all sorts of fun vege. If this is not sunshine under my feet, then do not disabuse me.

WHAT?!

Joys of Summer

Glass bottled Mexican Coke beading up in the heat

Cherry Slurpees.

Loud country music, windows down. Eat it, country-haters.

Showing off the shoulders and feeling the warmth of the sun on my sun blocked pale skin.

Going to the farmers market and buying deep red and purple berries (and eating a few in the car).

Buying frozen yogurt with Addy and devouring it before it melts and makes the sprinkles run.

Going to the beach after work to look for beach glass and sitting in the warm sand, enjoying the salty stink.

Eating on the deck at Matador.

Eating cookies at a view point on a morning hike.

BBQ every week.

Quiet offices half emptied of vacationing coworkers.

Never getting caught behind a school bus.

Looking forward to the cool fall with Halloween, Thanksgiving(s), and the gift buying prior to Christmas.

Iced tea. (Especially with chunky raw sugar.)

Dairy Queen. Especially ice cream cakes and cherry dipped cones.

Baseball games at Safeco with the roof wide open.

Margaritas.

Reading paperbacks in the park.

Rude Awakenings

This morning my phone, rather than playing my calypso styled morning wakeup tone, began vibrating frantically with a completely gray screen. I pushed every button, it would not stop.

There I am in my monkey pj’s fighting a continuously vibrating phone and trying to remember how you get the back off of the damn thing. Meanwhile pets are all thinking "yay it is food time!" and beginning to caterwaul.

Apparently removing the back of this phone is a very difficult task as numerous people have Googled that very topic which has spawned numerous how-to messages on every venue you could imagine including a Youtube video.

After my valiant struggle my phone seemed fine, but I was all stressed out, so I decided to lay there for a minute and promptly fell asleep for an hour.

I think that my phone is demonically* possessed**.

And that was my awesome story about that.



*Blogger says this is not a word, I think that it is. Word backs me up, so I'm going to roll with it.
** Though as far as demonic hijinx (also not accepted blogger word) go, making me an hour late to work when my boss is on vacation and I am still the first one in is not very extreme.

Environmental concern not as strong as survival instinct.

So I’ve been very interested in this whole riding my bike to work thing and inquiring to other cyclists as to what that is like.

In short, it is like being hit by a car.

Every person I’ve asked about commuting by bike, no matter how long or short their commute is, has been hit by a car.

So in as much as I care about polar bears and hate to think of them treading water, I hate to think about getting run over ever so much more.

I think that my bicycle daydream is over.

Links are the new content.

Bacon, The Obsession, is being examined over at Salon.

Economists' predictions of $4 a gallon tipping point for Americans to drastically change their behavior, have apparently borne out. (Via Freakonomics.) Today I was reading that gas is actually down $4 a barrel. Who wants to bet we see $5 before the end of the year anyway?

Anyone else deeply concerned about the likely military cover up of the probable murder (and possible rape) of Pfc. LaVena Johnson? A soldier who, according to the US military, committed suicide by shooting herself with a rifle, pouring acid on her own crotch and self-immolating. Perhaps this would have worked if Pfc. Johnson's father wasn't a doctor.... Find out more here.

Spoilers SUC: Why I Loved WALL-E

New spoiler filled post up at Spoilers SUC: Why I Loved WALL-E.

Things I am learning about Vicodin OR Why there was no blog entry yesterday…

So I went in to the dentist yesterday about a tooth that had been hurting and the short version of the story is that I got a partial root canal. Suffice it to say, it was AWESOME! I will share one highlight though, actual quote from dentist:

“It’s really good that you chose to get this taken care of right away, because blood should not be just spurting out like that.”

Cue Quiana fainting. Kidding. (Sorta.)

So I dropped by the office and told my boss I was going home as the dentist had proscribed vicodin for the pain.

Got my prescription from Walgreen’s in record time. Here is a transcript of the convo with the pharmacist:
Adorable Asian Pharmacist: Are you sure you want to wait here, it might be an hour….
Q: I just had an impromptu root canal, so I probably should wait.
AAP: Oh dear. Well I will bump you to the front then.
Q: [eyes tear up with love of humanity] Thank you!

Had two (2!) bowls of soup and one vicodin and pretty much immediately passed out for over 6 hours. Woke up, ate dinner, had another vicodin and immediately felt AWFUL. I hung in there for a while, but I just couldn’t go to bed without at least sort of brushing my teeth and washing my face, so I half heartedly attempted to do so, then whammo I hurled.

So the lesson that I am learning is either:

2 vicodin = chunks blown.

OR

Vicodin + mediocre eggplant parmesan = chunks blown.

Either way, yesterday was not a good day. At all. With the spurting and the hurling and the spending ¾’s of the day passed out/ rolling about murring and wishing for death and the other ¼ having “tissue” removed from my tooth interior/ loitering at Walgreen’s with numb face.

Spring is for losers!

It is no secret that I am fussy about temperature (and in general). I hate being cold. This is why I have a space heater at work, numerous sweaters, socks that look like disembodied muppet feet, and a throw blanket in every room.

But I also hate being hot.

I don’t mind shedding my many layers of clothes and wearing less. But there is a certain point at which you have so little cloth on your person that you may as well be completely nude and yet you are still sweating.

I spent the evening cowering in the cool basement with the dog, watching TV and willing the bedroom to be cool.

This morning I locked down the house like I was preparing for a zombie apocalypse, shutting every window and lowering every shade, hoping to keep the house at a reasonable temperature until the evening cool returns.

I guess this year Seattle decided to skip spring.

Update Update Update

Today Bark Bark Bark Lady started enumerating all the chocolate things she likes to eat:

Chocolate ice cream, chocolate cake, chocolate cheesecake....

****

Shrimp Gumbo, Shrimp kabobs, Shrimp Salad......


***
In other news: I am a huge jerk.

Spoilers SUC- Over-Thinking Harold and Kumar 2

New spoiler-filled review up at Spoilers SUC.

Dear Latte Lady,

Every time I order my latte you ask me how many pumps go into it. Every time I say, “I have no idea.” Then you roll your eyes.

Latte Lady, I hope that you are having eye spasms because you better not be mad that I don’t know how to make a latte. I also don’t understand cricket; luckily it is not my JOB to know cricket from pickle ball. I do not ask you how to manage relational databases then roll my eyes when you don’t know, so keep those eyes straight ahead and learn how many pumps go in a 16 oz white chocolate mocha.

This morning when the 40 cups of drip that I had ordered for my meeting did not arrive, and I asked you about it and you said that I should have reminded you about it yesterday; then I did not lunge across the counter and throttle you. I did not tell you that it is not my job to remind you to do your job. I did not tell your boss. I did not pee on your car.

But I wanted to.

Just not today. For today I have bestowed mercy upon you, Undeserving Eye-Rolling Latte Lady Who is Not Good at Making Lattes, because it is Wednesday. And today will be good- I decided this in advance. Today I am bringing cake to The Comic Stop to celebrate Wednesday-ness in all it’s glory. But if you fuck with me tomorrow, I will cut you.

Happy Wednesday,

Quiana

Link-O-Rama

This is the most disappointing news story ever. Summary: My shower gel is probably giving a sea otter cancer right now. I know that this world is filled with worse troubles, but I LOVE my shower gel. MURRRR.

Interesting article on interracial marriage and rogue legal clerks.

Awesome story on Bruce Wayne on GCN.

Tales from the Crypt

Today Bark Bark Bark Lady at work loudly exclaimed “lunch” while sitting alone in her cube. The person passing by nearest to her said “What?”. And she said “I just finished my lunch.” “Oh” said my confused coworker. This is what it is like working with this lady. Every. Day.

I walk into to the workroom and she says, “Gonna make some copies.” Then stares at me expectantly. So I say, “Ok.”

So bizarre.

I suppose what she is looking for is:
"Gonna make some copies."

"HOLY SHIT! NO WAY! YOU ARE AT THE COPY MACHINE WITH THE INTENT TO MAKE COPIES!?! I made copies once and it was awesome. Will you be using the duplex function. DUPLEXING IS RAD!!!"

Today a coworker playfully punched me in the arm and my arm fell off and rolled under my desk.

Ok. Fine, it hurt like the dickens and I thought it might fall off eventually, but everything seems ok now.

I think I need to work out more. (In order to punch my coworkers playfully and make them worry about their limbs.) (Kidding.) (Not really.) (I really want to be strong enough to handle this physical abuse.) (Handle it with these guns. Right here.) (BAM!)

Things I Don’t Understand: Washcloths

So you say you take a baby towel, moisten it, put soap on it and rub your face? Ok, I’m totally with you. Now you then take the baby towel, rinse it out, and hang it to dry? Ok. Ok. I get it. Then you take the baby towel moisten it, soap it up, and then place it back on your face? Really? Your face?

Shenanigans called.

This treatment is fine for my countertops, but not for my face. I always just rub soap on my face and splash it off. Sure, it looks like a harbor seal has been frolicking in my bathroom, but my face doesn’t have old moist-cloth cooties.

Spoilers SUC: The Golden Compass

Spoiler-filled review of The Golden Compass is now up on Spoilers SUC.

Shortest review ever: totally glad I didn't spend ten bucks. Thanks Netflix!

Best band name [unintentionally] suggested by NPR today:

Suspect Tomatoes

And then the bad man put his hand in my mouth.

ARG! My mouth is finally un-numbing from my trip to see Dr. Yuan(a) and my jaw/teeth are killing me.

I don’t think that teeth are such a great idea. Surely we should evolve something better, such as swallowing things whole and then swallowing rocks and jumping up and down. Or spitting up on things and slurping it back up. (Hot!)

Shyamalan, I'm never defending your lame-ass again.

To read my enthusiastically unenthusiastic (and super-spoiler filled) comments on the so-called "movie", The Happening, go to Spoilers SUC and check out [What] The [hell is] Happening. Reminder: Spoilers, spoilers, spoilers.

Snacks: Delicious Treats or Road to Unexpected Case of the Clap

Sunday morning I fetched Kim from her friend's house, stopped by Tim's, and went to the enormous Asian mall in Richmond where I procured a ton of crap I don't need including:

Garbage can in shape of pig.

Sticky notes featuring a mouse driving a wedge of cheese with "Cheese Driving" emblazoned along the top in a jaunty font. (Sidenote: jaunty font is a very fun phrase to say aloud.)

Straws featuring giraffes and space shuttles. (Shhhhhhh! Do not tell my roommate that I bought more straws.)

Blueberry Pocky

Kiwi fruit candy.

Bacon roll.

(I did not purchase the Doraemon Steering Wheel Cover that I coveted, as I did not know the size of my steering wheel. I think I will get a Totoro one on ebay instead. Or maybe Mario Bros.)

We arrived at the border at 1 something and sat and sat and sat. In fact we counted two (2!) nose pickers. We also learned that the Duty Free store pipes music outside. Music chosen to encourage large amounts of alcohol purchasing? C+C Music Factory. (This was either on loop or C + C Music Factory has the longest songs in musical history. It was like watching the Ring Cycle, but with nose picking and heavy base.)

The line was moving so slowly that a guy actually refused to turn his car back on to creep forward and instead would hop out and push every few minutes. I suggested that Kim get out and push our car, but she seemed utterly unconcerned with the fate of the polar ice caps. (Sorry polar bears, you have to drown because Kim does not care.)

Eventually we made our way towards the front of our line, only to find that our lane was being merged into the other lane at the border and in spite of the fact that we ended up next to the same truck we started next to, I had drive all Philly style to cut into the other lane. (This is because people who drive F350's without a hitch are actually enormous assholes.)

At long last we got to the front (at 3ish) and experienced a fairly normal crossing until the following exchange:

Large Stern Looking Boarder Guard: You bringing anything back with you?

Q: Just snacks.

LSLBG: [handing us our papers] Ok, have a gr.... Wait what kind of snacks? Ya'll don't mean ecstasy do you, cause I don't want you to get past here and then when you get down there be all 'we told the border guard we had snacks' [impression replete with falsetto].

Q: Uhmmmmmmm. No, ketchup chips and candy.

LSLBG: Ok then, have a safe trip.

Q: Ok. Thanks. [To Kim] Barooooo?

America's Hat: Still Up There, Now Expensive

I'm back from visiting the family in the Frosty North, and you'll be pleased to know that it rained the whole time, gas is up to $1.30 a liter, and I can't visit my mother for longer than 24 hours without a hideous and stupid fight.

I won't go into the fight, but for those of you who may be rusty, here is brief 3 step set of instructions on how to apologize:
1. SAY: "I'm sorry for..."
2. INSERT: title of offense
3. SAY: "It was not cool."

Example of good apology:

"I'm sorry I slept with your sister, it was wrong and hurtful."

Example of bad apology:

"I'm sorry I boned your sister, but she was hot."

The END.

Anyway, I was able to help my mom pick out some great clothes, so that was good. She also gave me my very early birthday gifts, poach pods and a really cool water bottle to reduce my Nalgene reliance.

On Saturday we had dinner at a place called Nando's which was surprisingly delicious for a fast food joint. (The restaurant chain claims to be Nelson Mandela's Favorite. That was your Nelson Mandela Fun Fact of the Day.)

I convinced the rents to watch Stardust, which they loved and Southland Tales... which nobody loved (not just in our house, but in a more universal sense). (Sidenote on Southland Tales: Justin Timberlake is in it and while his acting seemed fine, listening to him read is almost as painful as listening to Drew Barymore attempting an accent.)

And that was Friday- Saturday... Sunday is a tale for another day.

Music Videos Totally Still on TV

VH1 plays actual music videos in the am; here are a few things I've learned:

Madonna is terrifying. Seriously terrifying. Like 'oh noes! Madonna is going to grind Justin Timberlake's bones to make her bread' terrifying. (Zing!) (Sidenote- flesh tone skimpy lingerie on a woman my mother's age... not so much with the sexy. Also, baby needs a sandwich.)

Leona Lewis is actually so beautiful that she's just a little... boring.

Alanis Morrisette's new CD is whiny and her new video is seriously gross. Alanis, Ryan Reynolds will never be yours again. Get over it- at least you got some before he touched Scarlett Johansson. BLECH.

Weezer-still awesome.

There is nothing more decadent than playing hooky, sleeping in, and eating an everything bagel while watching music videos.

And when she awoke she realized it was all a bad dream

Last night I commented to Steve that I have been acting like a crazy person. I eat all the time, I can't sleep, I look like shit. I am jumpy and grouchy and tense. I've put on 8 pounds.

Anxiety has ruled me.

I told him that I just need to get my shit under control. This morning I woke at 9 am, refreshed. I padded downstairs and had a bagel and watched music videos.

It is like the last month of office anxiety, family anxiety, money fears, and moving stress just evaporated over night. Whisked away by my dreams about stealing a horse and trying to get my uncle to take in a homeless man who was 7 feet tall.

Today I will go to Canada and have a birthday dinner with my mother, I will give her the card I bought for her months ago and a gift bag of foods she cannot get easily in Canada. Tomorrow we will go shopping and I will help her revamp her resume, then we will go to the movies. Sunday I will fetch Kim and we will shop at the crazy huge Asian shopping center.

And everything is going to be ok.

Qtilla: Professional Character Assasin

Actual transcript of conversation at work:

Coworker: How do you run Report X?
Me: You hit a button that requires higher privileges than you have.
Coworker: No, but how do I run it?
Me: You click this button, but you don’t have the button.
Coworker: I don’t think you get what I’m saying.

Apparently not.

In other office news:
A while ago my “Psycho Client” (who writes exciting single spaced, multi-paged, rambling hate letters incorporating such words and phrases as ‘bungling’, ‘bloated’, ‘silk-lined pockets’, and numerous other hilarious phrases which would give away too much about my job for me to be comfortable with) broke a nondisclosure agreement and I ratted him out to legal, like the stool pigeon I am.

Yesterday he comes in and is bellowing for the receptionist to get him a copy of the NDA. So I bring a copy down to him and now I am super-excited that maybe we’re suing him. Another branch of my office has actually filed an injunction against him, so if we sued him, that might scare him off and I won’t worry about him cutting my break lines.

Not by the hair of my chinny chin chin.

Amusing (tho I do say so myself) excerpt about my afore mentioned cake class from my excruciatingly boring other blog:

As soon as I walked into the classroom I smelled cat pee and thought, “Oh there have been cats in here.” Then I thought, “Oh, it is probably not bring your cat to work day here at the craft store.” And then I realized that someone here smelled like cat pee. Knowing that none of my friends smell like cat pee, and guessing that the coach bag toting soccer mom and her adorable daughter probably don’t smell like cat pee, I guessed that the hefty toothless lady with the hairy chin was the source of the odor. Imagine my surprise when I learned that this former professional barrel rider/goateed/cat pee perfumed lady was our instructor.

She did not seem to know what was going on at all and at one point in the class actually pulled a hair out of her frosted cake. Also her frosting rose was bullshit.

It was AWESOME.

After class I rushed home to tell the roomy about the toothless cat pee lady only to find he was not home. So I called my mom and she essentially told me that I was a judger and that not everyone can be expected to meet my hypercritical standards and that I need to learn to just allow others to “just be”. (At which point I can only assume that she rolled a doobie and did a little yoga.)

Things you don't hear every day...

I am taking a cake decorating class from a toothless retired rodeo queen.

I think it is going to be really fun, but will result in a TON of cake that my roommate will not eat, as he is not eating that sort of thing right now, and the bastards at my office don't deserve any cake, so I'm stumped as to what to do with it.

Oh heavens, I guess I will eat all this cake all by myself. That's too bad.

In other news of the Q:

1. Jim and I caught the season premiere of Venture Brothers, season 3, and I must insist that you all watch it as it was AWESOME.

2. I'm headed to the Frosty North again to visit my mom for her birthday and am NOT looking forward to paying for gas at over $4 a gallon. Today I filled my tank and it cost me $55 (and my tank had just under a quarter of a tank when I got to the station).
I am looking forward to visiting with my mom and helping her to create a new career plan and maybe help her go back to school for an advanced degree. (One of us should do this and I am not making any progress, so there you go.)
My mom may be an artsy-fartsy free spirit, but she is also incredibly smart and deserves more professional success.
I'm also looking forward to hitting up the enormous Asian mall in Richmond again with Kim, but let us focus less on creme puffs and more on my mom for now....

3. I'm really making good progress on getting my room re-organized and ready for comfortable inhabitation. Today I unpacked my sewing machine and got my desk all organized and I am feeling unduly smug.
But that is ok, because feeling smug is really pleasant. I think I will put forth additional effort in the area of smugness.

Go!

Speed Racer is, if not the most, certainly in the top 4 most visually stunning films I have ever seen.

The design work, particularly the colors in the movie, was literally amazing. I left the theater wishing that I lived in a world that beautiful and bright. The race scenes were absolutely fantastic in creativity, action, and design.

The overall treatment of the film was adorable and really hearkened back to the original cartoon.

Speed Racer was very funny, often touching (a little clumsily), and always a joy for the eyes.

If anyone tells you not to see this movie, they have no joy in their crusty little soul. Seeing this movie is an absolute must.

In fact, I think I will see it again in the theater. This movie is far to wonderful to just catch on DVD. The big screen is definitely the way to go.

I know I always complain about work...

but there is something magical about being the utility player.

Friday I "fixed" someone's computer by actually finding the correct printer and making it her default. I'm a "lifesaver".

The copy machine ran out of staples. I "fixed" it. Meaning, I read the instructions on the staple package and accurately inserted them according to the instructions (instead of standing there staring at the guts of the open copier.)

I am MAGIC! Look upon my instruction reading and cower before me!

Most Adorable-est Thing Ever

Yesterday I saw this very scary looking man loitering on the side of the road, where the kids get picked up by the bus. He was in baggy sweats, with his hood up. He had a face that said that his life had been rough. It made me a bit nervous. As I got closer I noticed that he was holding the hand of a very well appointed little girl. Shiny shoes, little socks with lacey edges, a dress, coat, and tiny pink back pack and a perfect pony tail. There were no other parents there, just this one shabby man with his magazine picture perfect daughter, spinning around and swinging his arm.

I am touched by this man in his pajamas at the bus stop in the cold at 7 am. They’re in front of low income housing and his child seems happy and impeccably groomed. He is the lone parent, making sure that all the kids are safe.

I don't think that anyone would screw with him.

New Blog!

I’ve run into a problem with wanting to make more in depth comments about movies and books, but not being able to due to spoiler concerns. So I’ve started a companion blog to Seattle Umbrella Conspiracy, SpoilersSUC. After I watch or read something and feel compelled to jabber about it I will jabber on SpoilersSUC and simply provide the link here on SUC Classic. Every time I update SpoilersSUC I will link it in a post on SUC, so you do not need to add it to your feeds, unless you are too lazy to click the hyperlink.

Hopefully this can be a good forum to discuss movies immediately after I see them without ruining them for the slow pokes.

So, if you haven't seen Indiana Jones 4 and don't want to read the spoilers do not click the link, but if you don't mind the spoilers, my first entry is Over-Thinking Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of Crystal Skull.

SUC's Helpful Hints: Moving Edition

When labeling a box containing sheets, towels, and a rolling pin, do not label it “Kitchen”. You can live without a rolling pin, but you can’t shower without a towel. Well, I guess you can shower, but you can’t slide pants across a wet ass.

The move is complete. In fact I’m very nearly unpacked. It was not quite the Rats of NYMH-style epic house moving adventure that I had preconceived, as there were no blood thirsty evil cats trying to devour me, (that I know of).

House warming gifts may be sent to:

Quiana von Awesome
42 Awesome Blvd.
Awesome Town, WA 29766

No wind chimes please, as we totally already have one.

Well, what if I don't enjoy being a girl?

This is a post I wrote some time ago and then didn't bother to post. So here it is, late:

What then, I ask you, dear readers. What then?

Yesterday as I was beautifying myself (read removing perfectly good, perfectly natural hair from my person) I was thinking about all the effort that I put into my appearance. Things to be plucked, cut, painted, powdered, filed, waxed, shaved, curled, washed- sometimes twice in different substances, dried, straightened, moisturized, deodorized, and perfumed. And I am not even a high maintenance girl.

And I don't even do all of these things for myself. In fact, tomorrow I'm having a stranger scrub the rough spots off of my feet, trim my toenails, and decorate them. (Newsflash! I can reach my own feet.)

How on Earth did this all come about? This week I bought face wash, body wash, shaving cream, shampoo, toothpaste, TWO kinds of lotion and powder made from beetle bits to put above my eyes (in order that people will say, "Well Gladys, look at how BROWN those eyes are. They are precisely as brown as poo. Or maybe dirt."), and a sponge that looks a little bit like an alien sheep.

If you think about the fact that I make essentially no money, less than your average American citizen, and yet I manage to spend x energy and y time and z resources.

This morning I:
weighed myself
brushed my teeth
swished fluoride
washed my hair
conditioned my hair
shaved
washed my face with one soap
and body with another
anointed myself with THREE different lotions
applied deodorant
dressed myself
used 2 kinds of powder
applied bronzer
applied blush
blow dried my hair with TWO different dryers
straitened my hair
used hair product
used brow gel
applied 3 shades of eyeshadow
curled my eye lashes
applied clear mascara
filled my nalgene bottle
walked out the door

Sure this is a bit more effort than I put in every day, but on days when I meet with clients I like to look professional.

Here is a simulation of what I assume Steve did this morning.
played with himself
washed hair (possibly more)
brushed his teeth
applied deodorant
put on clothes
wandered out confusedly

I, like morning Steve, am confused by why I feel I must shave or pluck my hair. Why I wear colored dust above my eyes. Why people feel like I should.

Meh... I guess I neither understand, nor enjoy "being a girl". But it could be worse; there are scarier places to be a girl than America today. (Although reality TV may yet convince me otherwise.)

Happy Memorial Day

I have no kin (military or otherwise) buried in the greater Seattle region to honor with flowers today. Instead I will honor their sacrifice in the traditional mode- BBQ and baseball viewing. Things that I can enjoy thanks to their efforts.

I know that things are not the way they should be in America today, but America is the greatest dream. Something that we should work towards every day; a goal based on the foundation that liberty is worth dying for.

I hope you can celebrate in a similar manner, enjoying the plenty available in America, while remembering the fallen soldiers who gave their lives to protect our borders, wealth, and ideals.

Things I Don't Understand: Wind Chimes

So I guess you think to yourself, "Hey, Self, you don't have enough random needless noise. Here just take these pipes and a rock and then hang them on some twine and the wind will do all the pipe banging you could need, and MORE!"
Then you think back to yourself, "Thanks, Self. You're the smartest person ever, now lets go see if we can tip a Coke machine on ourself."
"Hooray!"

Oh hey, and PS-

My most recent serious relationship ex is engaged.

I can't help but consistently compare myself to his aggressively arranged normalcy. Shouldn't I want to get married and raise moppets and own a house and garden in mom jeans?

I think I only have one remaining serious relationship ex who is still single. Well Peter, I guess we are both similarly defective. Uhm... congrats on that.

I suppose the alternative is that I ruined you, you know, forever.

Here's hoping that you are merely by nature a surly curmudgeon, just like me.

Not precisely the brave one.

When I was 17 I realized that I had to leave home. That being at home was detrimental for me. So I applied to numerous colleges, most at random, and entered Bryn Mawr College. It was cheap due to their fantastic financial aid policies, but better yet, it was 3,000 miles away.

I didn't visit. I packed my bags utterly without thought and flew to Philadelphia without a worry. It was the college I could most afford and the best college I got into.

2 years later I switched majors and decided to study in Japan for a year. I arrived with $1,000 in Yen, and no plan of any kind. I was utterly unconcerned. (Other than the fact that it was a billion degrees and as humid as a sauna.) I didn't start worrying until everything started to fly apart at a rapid rate. But that is a story for a different time.

Nearly two years later I blew off the east coast and returned to Seattle with $300 dollars in my pocket and no place to go.

Tomorrow I'm moving 11 miles, back to within mere yards of my old high school, and I am seized with anxiety. This is a move arranged a year ago, to a location that I've been aware of for almost two months and have been preparing for for weeks. A move I can afford. A move that will be closer to my office and my family.

And yet I feel like moving out of the city is the release of a hundred potential Quianas, fantasy Quianas that I have held onto. Quiana who works downtown and makes money. Enviro-chic Quiana who shops at the farmers market, attends lectures, and reads books while sipping free trade coffee at the lake. Grad student Quiana who went back to college to become something snooty.

It also signals the moving on from previous Quianas that are passed but clung to. Cool Quiana who knew all the new bars and clubs. Sporty Quiana who ran daily. Man-Eater Quiana who was inexplicably attractive to strangers in any locale. Stupidly Young Quiana.

And letting go of these things is hard for me. I am at a point in my life where I need to make a map and push ahead into the future. I need new Dream Quianas.

I know this is true, but change is scary. Change is risk.

Of course it doesn't help that I have an anxiety disorder. As a young person I survived by just covering my eyes and jumping, I always felt that the bottom was so close that what harm could come if I missed my mark.

But since then I have built things I could lose. Strong relationships with friends and family, a job that I feel good about, and financial stability. I feel comfortable and that is dangerous. When you move up in life it is best not to look down. But I need to look down to assure myself of how high I've come. To remind myself that the bottom is down there. I'm always looking down.

That is how it is to have an anxiety disorder.

Anyway, I guess what I am getting at is that tomorrow I am moving and things will be fine. I know they will be fine. But that does not stop me from feeling like my life could come crashing down at any moment.

If it does come crashing down, at least my downfall will include beer and pizza.

2007 versus 2008

I am actually spending less on gas this year than last year, in spite of gas being much more expensive. About $15 bucks less a month on average, though gas is nearly $.70 more per gallon. I guess I have changed my habits in some manner. I wish I was running my incredibly boring, but becoming more verbose blog last year in order to see what I am doing differently and replicate it only more so.

I know $15 isn’t a lot, but when you consider the price difference, it is somewhat significant. I will be curious to see what happens when my commute is 2.3 miles (about 6-7 minutes in town driving) instead of 11.1 miles (about 20 minutes in good traffic, a clusterfuck in bad traffic*). I’m also considering biking it to work. I figure I could use the exercise.

I’ve also clearly become more selfish, as I’ve spent about $200 more on entertainment this year than the same period last year and literally twice as much on shopping, but about half as much on gifts as last year. My spending is absolutely out of control this year.

I need to come up with a new spending strategy, because not having one at all has turned out to be terribly costly, and as I have said before, I need to kill off these student loans as the economy is unlikely to be puppies and flowers any time soon.

*Traffic is always mysteriously bad southbound on I-5 from North Gate and onto the Ship Canal Bridge. I refuse to believe that there is a constant stream of southbound traffic that never goes north again. There is clearly something wrong with the engineering of southbound I-5 through that area. Something is not properly designed, because I sincerely doubt that there is a steady stream of refugees from Canada sneaking continually southward to Mexico in American vehicles.

Thought of the Day: Where is the Line?

How expensive do you think gas will need to get per gallon before people will start taking the bus? Then in turn how long do you think it will be horrid and crowded on busses before Seattle gets improved public transport?

According to the King County Dept. of Transportation, January –March of 2008 only had an increased ridership of 6% from the same period last year.

Everett reported an 8% increase (my assumption is that it is harder to walk to places in Everett than Seattle and the Naval base probably increases the number of persons without cars[?]). [Source.]

According to some calculations I made at a variety of sites, gas was approximately an average of $3.23 a gallon from January to March of this year, compared to the approximate average of $2.56 over the same period last year. So theoretically, admitting the possibility of other contributing factors, a $.67 increase in gas prices motivated a 6% increase in ridership. Gas is now $4 a gallon, a $.70 increase, so will it follow that another 6% increase is in the making?

If I had more accurate data I could rock this party, but I think it will be interesting to see what happens as gas prices continue to rise. And they will because 6 years ago gas prices and crude oil prices were hovering neck and neck, but as time has passed crude oil prices have shot up dramatically, particularly in the past year or so, but gas prices have not risen proportionately. See nifty chart below. You will notice that crude is now waaaaaaaay up there. So, I would assume that if crude oil prices were simply to hold exactly where they are (snort) we are still looking at at least $6 gas when we catch up.

Things I wish I could say on work voice mails:

Hi, it’s Quiana calling and I just wanted you to know that there is no place in the pile of paperwork that you sent me that does not contain an error. Clearly you did not attempt to read the instructions or think at all about what you were writing as every single statement in here is either non-topical, incorrect, or illegal.

I will be having a memorial day weekend BBQ at which your paperwork will be used as fuel. Please come eat some meat, it will be affidava-licious.

Someone's got balls.

And that person is not Steve.

A couple weeks ago Steve accidentally left his Shuffle in plain view in his Honda and predictably someone stole it. But more significantly, recently someone pointed out to Steve that something else was also stolen. For Steve's last birthday I got him 20 sided fuzzy dice. Yes. Someone stole Steve's giant fuzzy RPG balls. Right out of his car.

How many role playing criminals do you suppose are out there? Apparently this elf-thief rolled a 20 in sneak.

Gamers are nerds and nerds are smart, so I allege that nobody wants to steal a measly Shuffle (for sale at Target for $50) but rather someone was out to steal Steve's furry balls. The Shuffle theft was merely the cover they needed to commit the real crime: neutering Steve.

Topics not ok for the office: my fertility

For the last 12 years or so I have been drinking out of Nalgene bottles every day. About 2 years ago I heard that #7 plastics often contain BPA, a chemical that has in studies been linked to infertility in gorillas, maybe cancer, and maybe obesity.

There are so many things that may kill me, that I decided that if I had been drinking out of the bottles for a decade, I may well already be fucked. Since I have no plans on having children, no history of cancer in my family, and will in all likelihood get fat I decided screw it, I'll keep drinking out of my current bottles.

However, this news recently hit the mainstream media and now instead of the occasional eco-buff bothering me about my drinking container choices, I am inundated with Frontline watching nitwits criticizing my beverage holders. When they tell me about the cancer thing I tell them that everything causes cancer. When they tell about the obesity, I warn that I am in greater danger from bacon and pie. But then they get to infertility. I have no intention of having a baby. I am not certain I want a child, but if I do, I will be socially responsible and adopt one. However, this is none of their business.

I'm always faced with a choice: the awkward "I don't plan to have kids" with the obligatory "you'd be such a great mother!" (obviously they don't know me well) or the condescending "you'll change your mind when you meet the right guy" responses (which always tempts me to claim lesbianism) or I can make the birth control cost savings joke (ha ha totally not work appropriate).

So, I am bending again to the will of the bahing masses and have joined water club (our pay to drink bottled water group at work) and will buy a metal bottle (which will later be found to contribute to third eye syndrome) for other locales.

If this will cease the workplace discussions of my ovarian viability, it is worth $10 a quarter and a new $20 water bottle. But what the hell should I do with my perfectly good Nalgenes?

What?! Another bad day.

Yes. Another bad day.

1. Found out that my job is secure. Buuuuuut... I found out that I'm not getting a raise that I absolutely expected.

2. I was chided for coming in to the office while sick and told that my health is more important- but I had critical work to accomplish and no one to take care of it if I'm not there. So fine. If I'm not super-peachy awesome feeling tomorrow I will go ahead and stay home. It just kills me that I'm being punished for doing important work that has to get done.

3. I am sicker today than yesterday. This is crazy-pants.

In other news:

My mind is all agog with mixed up muddled worries. Cancelling my attendance at a friend's wedding, moving, my endlessly overfull ridiculously complicated schedule, where to hide while infirmed tomorrow, what to do with my future, when to use my new dutch oven etc. etc. etc. Last night I couldn't sleep until the cat crawled over and headbutted me into slumber.

Do I have more funny cat stories for you?! Yes I do, you lucky bastard! Day before yesterday I was doing a routine nasal irrigation (still single!) and the cat had been following me all over all day, so naturally, it hopped onto the counter to enjoy the show. As the disgusting water came pouring from my nostril, kitty thought, "ooooooooh I think I might like to put my paw in that particular stream of water, it looks clean and gorgeous!" And I bellowed, "No kitty!" and blew nostril water all over. Just another day in my awesome life.

Sorry guys, that is the end of the cavalcade of awesome stories. Tune in next time when I explain how to change a light bulb in excruciating detail- a 97 part series.

I’m singlehandedly bringing sexy back.

By which I mean I am sick. Again.

Hence the lack of blog. I would conjecture that one of two things is occurring:

1. Jesus hates me.
2. Jesus loves me and is building up a resistance to the mega-zombie plague which will wipe all you suckers out.

In other “news” I need to use 8 vacation days before September 1 or loose them. Someone supply me with awesome and inexpensive vacation plans.

That’s all I’ve got. Off to blow my nose now.

Have a nice day. Thank you, come again.

Family Sunday Dinner- Bear Attacks and Whatnot

Recorded 4/6/8.


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Apocolypse... now?

Right now? Yes.

I don't want to say that the end is neigh, but I just received a thank you call. That is my second "thank you" in a month. A MONTH WITH TWO "THANK YOU"S.

People say "thanks", but a dedicated email or phone call is now to be forever cherished in the tiny little crusty organ, which some may assert is my "heart".

I am all cherries and feathers. Puppies and flowers.

Hurrah Hurrah!

In other news, last night I realized: HOLY CRAP I NEED TO PACK, I AM GOING TO KEEL OVER AND DIE FROM THE STRAIN OF MOVING/LIVING.

Between the looming possibility of being laid off, the redistribution of work from those already laid off, the general grumble-snort malaise/barely suppressed anger at the office, applying for a raise (ha! ha! good timing, self), my already kind of high pressure job being in highest pressure season, volunteering at the Con, moving, dog sitting, tutoring, wrangling my elderly relatives, and dealing with all of these god damned weddings all of the god damned time, I am just a wee little bit stressed out.

A little prone to emotional outbursts. A little prone to have erm... "feelings". The presence of feelings giving rise to the possibility that they can be wounded.

Arg!

From DOOM to cherries and feathers and back again to doom. I am feeling just a tad bit panicky and manic.

Arg! Arg!

Tonight, on Quiana's SCHEDULE OF DOOM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!:
1. Sell remaining books to Half Price (aka unreasonably snotty community college students who rip me off). (Needless parenthetical sidenote- I have made $80 so far selling back books and CDs. Who is a smug pug? This girl.)
2. Find more boxes.
3. Buy massive amounts of speed.
4. Stay up for the next week straight.
5. Pack frantically/party like a rock star.

Sunday Family Dinner- Picking on Sean

Second clip recorded on April 6th, 2008.

Just prior to the start of this clip it is mentioned that Sean looks like a Beattle and needs a haircut from a reputable 'full service' salon with the entire hair control regimen. Then Jess turns to Sean and says....

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Sunday Family Dinner- Grandma's Death Yard

As previously reported, I have started semi-covertly recording Sunday Family Dinner at my uncle's house. The usual suspects are all present and the topic is dangerous animal attack incidents at Ye Olde Schnauzer Ranch, aka Grandma and Grandpa (Roy)'s house.

Perhaps this will give you a wee little taste of what it is like to grow up in this family.... (By which I mean... awesome.)

Totally SFW if you're allowed to fritter away your time in this manner.

Recorded on April 6, 2008.

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