I'm finally free. I'd go through the whole "free at last" thing, but it's kinda disrespectful to the Good Doctor.
Those lying bastards are getting no more of my money. The ads you see on TV? Fifty bucks says they're actors. When these so-called "couples" actually start doing live interviews and/or being seen in public together, I might start to swallow it.
Everyone I've ever met who's been on or is still on eHarmony is dissatisfied with the experience, and didn't find "the one," or even anyone. My friend Katherine got matched to engineers, I got matched to preachers and missionaries. Oh, and that toothless guy with no car. And that's not a joke.
Dr. Neil Warren needs to quit popping back in my inbox, telling me how I've made a mistake and all the "spokescouples" quit too before rejoining and miraculously finding the love of their lives. Leave me alone, old man. Get out of my life, and take your Ted Knight haircut with you. I have escaped the prison of hope you put people in, and I'm passing around the key to everyone I can find.
Simply put, eHarmony does well and truly suck.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
QUICK HITS: THE RECKONING
LAST-SECOND AWESOMENESS
Before I go any further, the last seconds of the Cowboys game. Holy effin COW. 5-0!!!!!
Forget the Romosexuals. This clutch-kicking rookie, Nick Folk, needs his own fan club:
Romo reportedly tied a Cowboys record with 5 interceptions. What he shouldn't feel bad about is the QB he's tied with. Troy Aikman. Not Danny White, not Babe Laufenberg, not Gary freakin' Hogeboom.
Chin up, Tone. Every gunslinger has a bad day; ask Brett Favre.
But no more "dates" for you with Carrie Underwood the night before a game.
WHY I LOVE LIZ TAYLOR
Elizabeth Rosemond Taylor turned 75 years old on February 27 of this year, and she has turned into the crazy ol' lady I can only aspire to be in a few decades. Witness:
I love it that she doesn't even care what anybody thinks of her anymore, so she's gonna howl at the pop-press. That howl says to me, "I'm Elizabeth Taylor, and I can buy and sell you. Aaaaand I'm out."
Miss Thang hangs with fabulous men both gay and straight, does charity work, INVENTED bling, did 8 sentences in the "my man's a pain in the ass" jail, is a Dame Commander of the British Empire, and has forever intwined her visage with the most powerful female ruler ever. Think of Cleopatra and try NOT to picture this:
Somewhere in 1963, the phrase "You go, girl!" was created just for her. Now if I could just get that audio in a cell phone ring tone....
ON iPOD HOT ROTATION: THE R&B MIX
I'm bringin' back the 90's R&B, y'all. Words cannot express how much I love these songs, especially "Nite and Day" and "Two Occasions." Because I love ya, click on the songs to play the videos, and transport yourself back with me when rap was what the cops had on ya, headphones were big and hairspray was mandatory...
"The Right Stuff" -- Vanessa Williams (oh yes, "Ugly Betty", Imma get my crown yanked for nekkid pictures Vanessa Williams)
"Dreamin'" -- Vanessa Williams
"Fake" - Alexander O'Neal
"Whip Appeal" -- Babyface (with a special 21 Jump Street flava from Holly Robinson before she added the Peete)
"Two Occasions" -- The Deele
"Night and Day" -- Al B. Sure! (hello extraneous punctuation; it was the end of N*Sync..)
"I Wanna Be Your Man" -- Zapp and Roger (yeah, Akon, this is how you use the fuzzbox)
"The Way You Love Me" -- Karyn White
"Benefit of the Doubt" -- Pebbles (written by Babyface, originally for Vanessa Williams)
"Don't Disturb This Groove" -- The System
"Free Your Mind" -- En Vogue (a young Critia lipsynched to this all over a packed Penland cafeteria in college moving from table to table, for no reason)
Before I go any further, the last seconds of the Cowboys game. Holy effin COW. 5-0!!!!!
Forget the Romosexuals. This clutch-kicking rookie, Nick Folk, needs his own fan club:
Romo reportedly tied a Cowboys record with 5 interceptions. What he shouldn't feel bad about is the QB he's tied with. Troy Aikman. Not Danny White, not Babe Laufenberg, not Gary freakin' Hogeboom.
Chin up, Tone. Every gunslinger has a bad day; ask Brett Favre.
But no more "dates" for you with Carrie Underwood the night before a game.
WHY I LOVE LIZ TAYLOR
Elizabeth Rosemond Taylor turned 75 years old on February 27 of this year, and she has turned into the crazy ol' lady I can only aspire to be in a few decades. Witness:
I love it that she doesn't even care what anybody thinks of her anymore, so she's gonna howl at the pop-press. That howl says to me, "I'm Elizabeth Taylor, and I can buy and sell you. Aaaaand I'm out."
Miss Thang hangs with fabulous men both gay and straight, does charity work, INVENTED bling, did 8 sentences in the "my man's a pain in the ass" jail, is a Dame Commander of the British Empire, and has forever intwined her visage with the most powerful female ruler ever. Think of Cleopatra and try NOT to picture this:
Somewhere in 1963, the phrase "You go, girl!" was created just for her. Now if I could just get that audio in a cell phone ring tone....
ON iPOD HOT ROTATION: THE R&B MIX
I'm bringin' back the 90's R&B, y'all. Words cannot express how much I love these songs, especially "Nite and Day" and "Two Occasions." Because I love ya, click on the songs to play the videos, and transport yourself back with me when rap was what the cops had on ya, headphones were big and hairspray was mandatory...
"The Right Stuff" -- Vanessa Williams (oh yes, "Ugly Betty", Imma get my crown yanked for nekkid pictures Vanessa Williams)
"Dreamin'" -- Vanessa Williams
"Fake" - Alexander O'Neal
"Whip Appeal" -- Babyface (with a special 21 Jump Street flava from Holly Robinson before she added the Peete)
"Two Occasions" -- The Deele
"Night and Day" -- Al B. Sure! (hello extraneous punctuation; it was the end of N*Sync..)
"I Wanna Be Your Man" -- Zapp and Roger (yeah, Akon, this is how you use the fuzzbox)
"The Way You Love Me" -- Karyn White
"Benefit of the Doubt" -- Pebbles (written by Babyface, originally for Vanessa Williams)
"Don't Disturb This Groove" -- The System
"Free Your Mind" -- En Vogue (a young Critia lipsynched to this all over a packed Penland cafeteria in college moving from table to table, for no reason)
Friday, September 28, 2007
CRAKK SMAKKKK WHAPPPP!
I woke up this morning to what sounded like a chisel against my wall. As I came to, I realized it was phase II of the A/C installation, getting the old unit out and putting the new one in. There's, like, hole-cutting and mudding involved and a buncha other stuff I really didn't understand, the upshot being coolness and energy savings when it's all said and done.
The fun part was the work stopped, and I got to hear (through the vent, mind you) worker bee and boss who's probably sitting on his fat butt somewhere argue about the "pad" that the unit sits on via walkie-talkie. It went a little like this:
"Whuuuut part 'a 'don't tear up the pad' don't yuuu unnnerstahn? "
"I didn't tear it, what I said was---"
"WHUUUT PART 'A 'DON'T TEAR UP THE PAD', DON'T YUUU UNNNERSTAHN?"
"It's a female connection, we don't have the t---"
"WHUUUT PAR,.. 'A 'DON'T TEAR UP THE PAD',... DON'T YUUU UNNNERSTAHN?"
I was really about to stomp out there, grab the mic, and say, "What part of 'get your sarcastic fat butt over here and do something useful' don't YUUUUU understand. Now would you two gentlemen kindly quit comparing wrench sizes and GIT ME SOME DAMN A/C! Aaaaaand OUT."
Of course, as it always happens, I didn't actually do that, and as soon as I thought of it work began again. I've always been on the side of the proletariat, as that's where I come from, and I guess the "overseer" taking that tone just really grated me. Through my stepfather's work as a construction plumber, I came to realize that's what a lot of manual labor workers have to deal with: their bosses being combative jerks for no good reason and at a detriment to the project.
You've got to wonder if the situation would have been any different if the workers involved were women, specifically Texas women....
"Now, honey, you know we cain't tear that pad..."
"Oh, ah know, an' ah didn't. Couldjuu brang me a male connector??"
"Oh honey, if brangin' you males was only that easy.. (conversation dissolves into giggles...)
The fun part was the work stopped, and I got to hear (through the vent, mind you) worker bee and boss who's probably sitting on his fat butt somewhere argue about the "pad" that the unit sits on via walkie-talkie. It went a little like this:
"Whuuuut part 'a 'don't tear up the pad' don't yuuu unnnerstahn? "
"I didn't tear it, what I said was---"
"WHUUUT PART 'A 'DON'T TEAR UP THE PAD', DON'T YUUU UNNNERSTAHN?"
"It's a female connection, we don't have the t---"
"WHUUUT PAR,.. 'A 'DON'T TEAR UP THE PAD',... DON'T YUUU UNNNERSTAHN?"
I was really about to stomp out there, grab the mic, and say, "What part of 'get your sarcastic fat butt over here and do something useful' don't YUUUUU understand. Now would you two gentlemen kindly quit comparing wrench sizes and GIT ME SOME DAMN A/C! Aaaaaand OUT."
Of course, as it always happens, I didn't actually do that, and as soon as I thought of it work began again. I've always been on the side of the proletariat, as that's where I come from, and I guess the "overseer" taking that tone just really grated me. Through my stepfather's work as a construction plumber, I came to realize that's what a lot of manual labor workers have to deal with: their bosses being combative jerks for no good reason and at a detriment to the project.
You've got to wonder if the situation would have been any different if the workers involved were women, specifically Texas women....
"Now, honey, you know we cain't tear that pad..."
"Oh, ah know, an' ah didn't. Couldjuu brang me a male connector??"
"Oh honey, if brangin' you males was only that easy.. (conversation dissolves into giggles...)
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
I'M MELTING... MELTING...
My A/C went out last night, and this afternoon Head Maintenance Dude came in after the underlings had checked things out to tell me I had "blown a compressor." I was about to tell him I'd done no such thing, and thanks for reminding me of the bleakness of my love life, when I realized he was in fact talking about the air conditioning unit.
I got the good news-bad news action, with the good news being they will be installing a completely new unit that will be larger and will, allegedly, cut my utility bills by 20 percent. The bad news is they won't be able to start installation until Thursday. Then, Dude and his underlings (one of which looked like Hank Hill's dad, the other like that guy D.J. Qualls) braced for what they felt sure would be an incendiary explosion of rage, complete with demonic eyes and Kung-Fu grip.
What they got was an understanding plumber's stepdaughter understanding there's nothing these guys can do any faster, and in the long run I'll be much better off with the new unit, I just need to wait it out. They were so visibly relieved, HMDude began offering to set me up with box fans if I needed, or anything else to help me. I waved them off confidently. No, no, I'm fine. I marched all day in 108º heat, I'll be just fine.
I hear you all chuckling, so I don't even have to tell you what came next. Whoever stated that the hottest part of the day is noon has apparently not had no A/C in Austin at 4 p.m. I put it to you that it is hotter at 4, because everything's been heating up and cooking all day. I sort of passed out on the bed with a fan directly on me until after sundown, and began to open windows. And of course it's still 74º outside, which is still 8 degrees cooler than my apartment. This couldn't have happened on one of those fabulous warm in the day, cool at night weeks we have that make me want to sleep with my windows open. Damn ground floor apartment.
The upside is that this has killed my appetite. Food sounds disgusting, and cold water is the best thing ever. However, I'm barely mustering the energy to type, so I'm not sure I'm actually burning any calories. I have a whole list of house stuff to do that I can't seem to swell up the energy or desire to do. But I know I handled this better in Waco when I had less "insulation" and my apartment was hot. Damn Amy's Ice Cream.
I got the good news-bad news action, with the good news being they will be installing a completely new unit that will be larger and will, allegedly, cut my utility bills by 20 percent. The bad news is they won't be able to start installation until Thursday. Then, Dude and his underlings (one of which looked like Hank Hill's dad, the other like that guy D.J. Qualls) braced for what they felt sure would be an incendiary explosion of rage, complete with demonic eyes and Kung-Fu grip.
What they got was an understanding plumber's stepdaughter understanding there's nothing these guys can do any faster, and in the long run I'll be much better off with the new unit, I just need to wait it out. They were so visibly relieved, HMDude began offering to set me up with box fans if I needed, or anything else to help me. I waved them off confidently. No, no, I'm fine. I marched all day in 108º heat, I'll be just fine.
I hear you all chuckling, so I don't even have to tell you what came next. Whoever stated that the hottest part of the day is noon has apparently not had no A/C in Austin at 4 p.m. I put it to you that it is hotter at 4, because everything's been heating up and cooking all day. I sort of passed out on the bed with a fan directly on me until after sundown, and began to open windows. And of course it's still 74º outside, which is still 8 degrees cooler than my apartment. This couldn't have happened on one of those fabulous warm in the day, cool at night weeks we have that make me want to sleep with my windows open. Damn ground floor apartment.
The upside is that this has killed my appetite. Food sounds disgusting, and cold water is the best thing ever. However, I'm barely mustering the energy to type, so I'm not sure I'm actually burning any calories. I have a whole list of house stuff to do that I can't seem to swell up the energy or desire to do. But I know I handled this better in Waco when I had less "insulation" and my apartment was hot. Damn Amy's Ice Cream.
Friday, September 7, 2007
BITS N BOBS
What's up y'all! I know some of you have been wondering (sometimes aloud) "When the hell is Critia gonna post a new blog?" Well, chirren, you prayers have been answered.
I can't seem to get it right. I mean, there was this perfectly wonderful, nice, considerate, kind man who loved football and thought it was cool that I did too. He had a job, his own car, went to law school for cryin' out loud, believed in God and yet wasn't one of those people who thanks God for the lettuce in their salad. You know what I mean, the kid of irritating person who credits Jesus that the whipped cream in their mocha was just raht... Anyway, he's a great guy, my friends would have loved him, hell, everyone I know would have loved him. So what do you think happened? Yes, chirren, the Single Curse of Critia struck again.
So yet another perfectly good man decided he wants to join the cast of thousands who don't want to date me. In talking this over with fellow single laydee and co-worker Katherine, I decided to embrace my spinsterhood and make it uniquely Critia. Therefore...
We talked at length after deadline at work about the "Spinsta" beer stein, and all sorts of crazy shenanigans it could be involved in. Which means people may get some for Christmas. :-)
Apparently the "Angry Chica" line is a hit with all sorts of people, in addition to the mothers of attitudinal preschoolers that I originally designed it for. A co-worker suggested that some of the gay bars at Texas-OU weekend would sell out of them, and I've a mind to test that. It was a little hard to wrap my mind around, but HIGH-larious nonetheless.
Please check out my designs, because they are a substitute for having children, and know that nothing's been marked up, it's all the base price that CafePress charges. No pressure, or anything... really...
• Y'know that place on the top corner of macaroni & cheese boxes where you're supposed to "insert thumb and lift to tear"? Has that ever worked for anybody? Cuz all I get is the box all caving in, bending, and me just swearing and ripping the box top off at the seams. It seems silly to keep printing it, almost like they're taunting me. "Oh, Critia, you're so stupid, other people can do it just fine, it's only you, ohhh..." Perhaps I'm thinking too hard about this.
• Cheese tastes guuuuud. Ask Amy Zerba.
• We can put a man on the moon and serve him ice cream in his spacecraft, yet we can't make one of those Healthy Choice/Lean Cuisine/Smart Ones frozen dinner things taste yummy. Throw me a frickin' bone here. Big girls trying to lose weight will not eat things that taste bad; that's how we got big in the first place. I have known the pleasures of the most tender steak, the creamiest creme brulee, the fluffiest pancakes, the butteriest lobster. So why do you think imma eat some red bell pepper-laden hunk of half-frozen "chicken" half the size of my hand, 15 green peas and a carrot chunk and call it a day?
• The left-hand lane on highways, Mopac, etc. is for the fastest traffic. Do not stay in this lane if you're going the speed limit. It is your moral obligation to pay attention to your rear-view mirror if you insist on driving in this lane, because faster traffic (me) has no where else to go to pass you. Basically, unless you intend on being my challenger in the Bat-Outta-Hellathon, get the eff outta my way.
• Read the effin' highway signs. If the far right lane has no traffic in it, don't automatically hop over there thinking you're suddenly going to get ahead of everyone else. Chances are it's an exit only lane, and you'll be that idiot holding up traffic in the other lanes trying to get over when you finally realize you must exit.
• So you're stuck in heavy traffic. Do you think bobbing and weaving in between lanes is going to get you there any faster? Take a lesson from Office Space: just stay put, find a nice radio station, and don't be an impatient jerk.
• Get off your damn brakes. Seriously. Why not just go slow and gradual, rather than tap your brakes every other 4 seconds? Because if I bump into you when you slam on your brakes for no good reason, I will hit you in the face with my tire iron until you stay down. Don't be stupid. I mean it.
• Let people in, for God's sake. It's not gonna kill you to let someone in front of you, it won't delay your travel time, people won't respect you less as a driver. This is especially important when it's clear things are going down to one lane, and everyone needs to merge, Every other car, people. I let someone in front of me, then someone gets let in behind me, and so on. THAT"S HOW GROWN-UPS MERGE. Mentally retarded preschoolers in Ghana who have never seen a car can figure this out. Be nice, dammit. Or, you know, the tire iron.
• When you are the first car at the stoplight, it is your moral obligation to effing PAY ATTENTION. This is your job in our society at that moment. Don't stare at your passenger, gawk at things on the roadside, or pick that time to clean your car of rubbish. When that light hits green and it's obvious there are no other cars in the intersection, throw the hammer down. There are fourteen other cars behind you who need to get through that light. Perhaps me and my tire iron. Get a move on.
• When you hear a siren and see flashing lights for an emergency vehicle (fire engine, ambulance), PULL THE HELL OVER. If you can't pull into the right hand lane, because other people are doing what they're supposed to and stopping, get as far over to the right as you can and stop. If you're in the far right lane, dive down a street or into a parking lot to give way to the other cars. Those underpaid people in that vehicle are trying to save a life, and someday it'll be someone you care about. How would you feel if they were rushing to resuscitate your mom, or your child, and some self-centered jerk wouldn't pull over? Stop moving, get out of the damned way, and wish them godspeed.
Currently listening to:
Enigma - Love Sensuality Devotion: The Greatest Hits
My love life hates me
Once again, I tried to make a love connection and the wires were frayed. I've figured it out, actually. A happy, attached Critia means no more blogs, because I'd be too busy being disgustingly happy. So in the end, my angst is your entertainment. Enjoy, and I'll make it as palatable as possible.I can't seem to get it right. I mean, there was this perfectly wonderful, nice, considerate, kind man who loved football and thought it was cool that I did too. He had a job, his own car, went to law school for cryin' out loud, believed in God and yet wasn't one of those people who thanks God for the lettuce in their salad. You know what I mean, the kid of irritating person who credits Jesus that the whipped cream in their mocha was just raht... Anyway, he's a great guy, my friends would have loved him, hell, everyone I know would have loved him. So what do you think happened? Yes, chirren, the Single Curse of Critia struck again.
So yet another perfectly good man decided he wants to join the cast of thousands who don't want to date me. In talking this over with fellow single laydee and co-worker Katherine, I decided to embrace my spinsterhood and make it uniquely Critia. Therefore...
Put me on your chest
I responded with a design that makes being a 33-year-old spinster hip again. I call it the "Spinsta" line, and you can check it out at my CafePress page. Because if Fiddy can have bling on his shirt, so can I, bah Gad. Because being a Gen-X single girl doesn't have to be all cats and knitting. And basically, graphic design helps me deal with my pain...We talked at length after deadline at work about the "Spinsta" beer stein, and all sorts of crazy shenanigans it could be involved in. Which means people may get some for Christmas. :-)
Apparently the "Angry Chica" line is a hit with all sorts of people, in addition to the mothers of attitudinal preschoolers that I originally designed it for. A co-worker suggested that some of the gay bars at Texas-OU weekend would sell out of them, and I've a mind to test that. It was a little hard to wrap my mind around, but HIGH-larious nonetheless.
Please check out my designs, because they are a substitute for having children, and know that nothing's been marked up, it's all the base price that CafePress charges. No pressure, or anything... really...
Some culinary asides
• I had my very first Lean Pocket just now. They're, um, kinda gross. Which bears out my postulate that fat people food is designed to make you like food less.• Y'know that place on the top corner of macaroni & cheese boxes where you're supposed to "insert thumb and lift to tear"? Has that ever worked for anybody? Cuz all I get is the box all caving in, bending, and me just swearing and ripping the box top off at the seams. It seems silly to keep printing it, almost like they're taunting me. "Oh, Critia, you're so stupid, other people can do it just fine, it's only you, ohhh..." Perhaps I'm thinking too hard about this.
• Cheese tastes guuuuud. Ask Amy Zerba.
• We can put a man on the moon and serve him ice cream in his spacecraft, yet we can't make one of those Healthy Choice/Lean Cuisine/Smart Ones frozen dinner things taste yummy. Throw me a frickin' bone here. Big girls trying to lose weight will not eat things that taste bad; that's how we got big in the first place. I have known the pleasures of the most tender steak, the creamiest creme brulee, the fluffiest pancakes, the butteriest lobster. So why do you think imma eat some red bell pepper-laden hunk of half-frozen "chicken" half the size of my hand, 15 green peas and a carrot chunk and call it a day?
Traffic tips from Critie
Please pass these along to anyone you know who drives in Austin. Mainly so I don't kick them in the face.• The left-hand lane on highways, Mopac, etc. is for the fastest traffic. Do not stay in this lane if you're going the speed limit. It is your moral obligation to pay attention to your rear-view mirror if you insist on driving in this lane, because faster traffic (me) has no where else to go to pass you. Basically, unless you intend on being my challenger in the Bat-Outta-Hellathon, get the eff outta my way.
• Read the effin' highway signs. If the far right lane has no traffic in it, don't automatically hop over there thinking you're suddenly going to get ahead of everyone else. Chances are it's an exit only lane, and you'll be that idiot holding up traffic in the other lanes trying to get over when you finally realize you must exit.
• So you're stuck in heavy traffic. Do you think bobbing and weaving in between lanes is going to get you there any faster? Take a lesson from Office Space: just stay put, find a nice radio station, and don't be an impatient jerk.
• Get off your damn brakes. Seriously. Why not just go slow and gradual, rather than tap your brakes every other 4 seconds? Because if I bump into you when you slam on your brakes for no good reason, I will hit you in the face with my tire iron until you stay down. Don't be stupid. I mean it.
• Let people in, for God's sake. It's not gonna kill you to let someone in front of you, it won't delay your travel time, people won't respect you less as a driver. This is especially important when it's clear things are going down to one lane, and everyone needs to merge, Every other car, people. I let someone in front of me, then someone gets let in behind me, and so on. THAT"S HOW GROWN-UPS MERGE. Mentally retarded preschoolers in Ghana who have never seen a car can figure this out. Be nice, dammit. Or, you know, the tire iron.
• When you are the first car at the stoplight, it is your moral obligation to effing PAY ATTENTION. This is your job in our society at that moment. Don't stare at your passenger, gawk at things on the roadside, or pick that time to clean your car of rubbish. When that light hits green and it's obvious there are no other cars in the intersection, throw the hammer down. There are fourteen other cars behind you who need to get through that light. Perhaps me and my tire iron. Get a move on.
• When you hear a siren and see flashing lights for an emergency vehicle (fire engine, ambulance), PULL THE HELL OVER. If you can't pull into the right hand lane, because other people are doing what they're supposed to and stopping, get as far over to the right as you can and stop. If you're in the far right lane, dive down a street or into a parking lot to give way to the other cars. Those underpaid people in that vehicle are trying to save a life, and someday it'll be someone you care about. How would you feel if they were rushing to resuscitate your mom, or your child, and some self-centered jerk wouldn't pull over? Stop moving, get out of the damned way, and wish them godspeed.
Oh yeah, that work thing
Ask me about this section, since, even though it was positive, it involved work and I'm not supposed to blog about that.Currently listening to:
Enigma - Love Sensuality Devotion: The Greatest Hits
Thursday, May 17, 2007
AND NOW, BROUGHT TO YOU BY THE MAKERS OF PROZAC...
SO APPARENTLY I DON'T SUCK... OR AT LEAST IN THAT WAY
The aforementioned nice young man wasn't as heartbroken as I thought, and wasn't as into me as I thought. This is good, because that means I didn't hurt his feelings, but the diva in me shot up and said, "WTF you mean, you weren't into me? Do you not see mah fabulousness? You betta reckanize.." There were neck movements, some snapping, it got a little out of control. Once I bought her something pretty, she calmed down.
It's nice too that I've gained a friend out of this, because my relationships usually end in apocalyptic showers of flame. (That would make such a cool band name: Apocalyptic Showers of Flame.. Critia, focus.)
I've often thought about writing a screenplay about my dating life, as well as some frolic with my friends thrown in. It would be like Sex In The City with cheaper shoes. Because seriously, even if I could afford 10 pairs of Manolo Blahnicks, I wouldn't pay that much money for shoes. I mean, sweet fancy Moses, those things are, what, like, a car payment or something. I know they're at least 30 trips to Chuy's, or 60 mochas. That's just way too much for something that's gonna get gum or dog doody onnit... Anyway, again with the focus. I'm not sure if I would be Carrie, in that I have never worn anything resembling a ballerina outfit, I don't whine like that, and frankly people, I digest what I eat. So maybe Carrie in jeans with a wicked edge and a weight problem. Oh yeah, people would totally watch that...
LATE NIGHT ADVENTURES WITH CRITIE
So I was pretty happy that Austin got roads de los toll. I figured it might help with traffic, blah blah. Then I tried to go to Whataburger after work last night for what was my second meal of the day, and I just completely lost my mind.
The good people at TxDOT (and by good people, I mean members of Satan's unholy host) decided to block off the 620 exit from 183 for some strange reason at 1:30 in the morning. They weren't doing a damn thing that I could see, but I couldn't look long, because I had 5 seconds to make my choice about how the hell I was going to exit. Dimly lit signs came up fast that screamed warning of toll stations and TxTag only (which I haven't put on my car yet, natch), so I instinctively dove to an exit... that turned out to be the other toll road.
You see, the 45 toll road intersects there, and I had forgotten that until I was on the Highway to Hell. So as I viewed the Whataburger that was my destination from the lofty heights of the toll road, I realized that given the height of the road, it would be a long way to find some means of turning back. I began to swear in the manner of an ill-tempered sailor who is shunned by his peers for his lack of couth, banging my palms on the steering wheel and feeling sure Satan's harpies with the orange vests back on 183 could still hear me. This went on for about five minutes (I can swear in sentences, people), until I came upon the toll stations. The pay toll station was blocked off so that I couldn't get to it, and I was forced into the TxTag only lane, again sans TxTag. As I passed through, I imagined being suddenly pursued by a DPS trooper and flagged down, to which I would have responded, "Officer, I'll take the damn ticket, but could you get me to the Whataburger??!??" I felt sure he'd know the way.
So after passing through, and no sirens or metal road spikes, I went another mile before I found a wraparound, and managed to avoid the evil machinations of TxDOT trickery and remained in the 620 frontage road until I made it to my destination.
So I'm waiting for my TxTag violation ticket in the mail aaaaaany day now.
MY BRAIN IS OATMEAL... SO I'LL NEED SOME FRESH FRUIT FOR THAT
I have stopped counting how many days in a row I've worked. On my days off, I've had to be in 2 1/2 hours of training for our new pagination system (none of you really needs to know what that means), and on other days I've started my day an hour and sometimes 2 hours early. We don't get to leave early at the end of the shift, mind you, because the paper's still got to get out. And Tuesday, I worked 10 hours on my day off to make sure a friend had an easier transition to designing the front page.
I am so fried. I'm the kind of fried where things don't seem real, and I'm walking around in a fuzzy dream that's not even vaguely pleasant. So I imagine that soon, as par for the course I'll have to make some sort of life-changing decision. Or I'll need to do math.
Keep feeling fascination, people:
The aforementioned nice young man wasn't as heartbroken as I thought, and wasn't as into me as I thought. This is good, because that means I didn't hurt his feelings, but the diva in me shot up and said, "WTF you mean, you weren't into me? Do you not see mah fabulousness? You betta reckanize.." There were neck movements, some snapping, it got a little out of control. Once I bought her something pretty, she calmed down.
It's nice too that I've gained a friend out of this, because my relationships usually end in apocalyptic showers of flame. (That would make such a cool band name: Apocalyptic Showers of Flame.. Critia, focus.)
I've often thought about writing a screenplay about my dating life, as well as some frolic with my friends thrown in. It would be like Sex In The City with cheaper shoes. Because seriously, even if I could afford 10 pairs of Manolo Blahnicks, I wouldn't pay that much money for shoes. I mean, sweet fancy Moses, those things are, what, like, a car payment or something. I know they're at least 30 trips to Chuy's, or 60 mochas. That's just way too much for something that's gonna get gum or dog doody onnit... Anyway, again with the focus. I'm not sure if I would be Carrie, in that I have never worn anything resembling a ballerina outfit, I don't whine like that, and frankly people, I digest what I eat. So maybe Carrie in jeans with a wicked edge and a weight problem. Oh yeah, people would totally watch that...
LATE NIGHT ADVENTURES WITH CRITIE
So I was pretty happy that Austin got roads de los toll. I figured it might help with traffic, blah blah. Then I tried to go to Whataburger after work last night for what was my second meal of the day, and I just completely lost my mind.
The good people at TxDOT (and by good people, I mean members of Satan's unholy host) decided to block off the 620 exit from 183 for some strange reason at 1:30 in the morning. They weren't doing a damn thing that I could see, but I couldn't look long, because I had 5 seconds to make my choice about how the hell I was going to exit. Dimly lit signs came up fast that screamed warning of toll stations and TxTag only (which I haven't put on my car yet, natch), so I instinctively dove to an exit... that turned out to be the other toll road.
You see, the 45 toll road intersects there, and I had forgotten that until I was on the Highway to Hell. So as I viewed the Whataburger that was my destination from the lofty heights of the toll road, I realized that given the height of the road, it would be a long way to find some means of turning back. I began to swear in the manner of an ill-tempered sailor who is shunned by his peers for his lack of couth, banging my palms on the steering wheel and feeling sure Satan's harpies with the orange vests back on 183 could still hear me. This went on for about five minutes (I can swear in sentences, people), until I came upon the toll stations. The pay toll station was blocked off so that I couldn't get to it, and I was forced into the TxTag only lane, again sans TxTag. As I passed through, I imagined being suddenly pursued by a DPS trooper and flagged down, to which I would have responded, "Officer, I'll take the damn ticket, but could you get me to the Whataburger??!??" I felt sure he'd know the way.
So after passing through, and no sirens or metal road spikes, I went another mile before I found a wraparound, and managed to avoid the evil machinations of TxDOT trickery and remained in the 620 frontage road until I made it to my destination.
So I'm waiting for my TxTag violation ticket in the mail aaaaaany day now.
MY BRAIN IS OATMEAL... SO I'LL NEED SOME FRESH FRUIT FOR THAT
I have stopped counting how many days in a row I've worked. On my days off, I've had to be in 2 1/2 hours of training for our new pagination system (none of you really needs to know what that means), and on other days I've started my day an hour and sometimes 2 hours early. We don't get to leave early at the end of the shift, mind you, because the paper's still got to get out. And Tuesday, I worked 10 hours on my day off to make sure a friend had an easier transition to designing the front page.
I am so fried. I'm the kind of fried where things don't seem real, and I'm walking around in a fuzzy dream that's not even vaguely pleasant. So I imagine that soon, as par for the course I'll have to make some sort of life-changing decision. Or I'll need to do math.
Keep feeling fascination, people:
Friday, May 4, 2007
HARMONIC GENETIC CONVERGENCE
My brain processes many things in a given 24 hours, even when I'm asleep. This is something that's been simmering back there and has just now come to the forefront in a cohesive, expressable way. The following is my visual proof that the same genetic material is in some sort of repeat loop. With apologies to HRH Queen Elizabeth, or QE the Deuce as she likes me to call her...
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