tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8609985474098856292024-03-13T13:05:58.308-05:00SHUT UPPPThe True Story Of Everything.Merehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06930415326961736834noreply@blogger.comBlogger153125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-860998547409885629.post-40696709225326423942009-07-13T23:21:00.002-05:002009-07-13T23:24:00.250-05:00OFFICIALLY MOVED!!!<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">My blog has officially moved! "Shut Uppp" has been exported to WordPress and is now "Wasted Space!" Please update your bookmarks, RSS Feeds, links, etc. Thanks for an awesome year-and-a-little-bit and I hope to see you all at Wasted Space!! Much love!</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span><br /><span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><a href="http://thiswastedspace.wordpress.com">http://thiswastedspace.wordpress.com</a></span></span><br /><span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span></div>Merehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06930415326961736834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-860998547409885629.post-89847075743954294432009-06-30T20:39:00.003-05:002009-06-30T20:52:33.614-05:00Heads Up, We're Moving!!So I've been slacking like a mofo the last couple of weeks, blog-wise, because I'm buried neck-deep in schoolwork. Seriously - it's not pretty. My brain's in overdrive and the brakes won't be back 'til Aug. 14. Which, in case anyone's curious, is in 45 days. Not that I'm counting or whatever, it's just that I know these things. Because I wrote them in my planner about 100 days ago.<br /><br />Right, so back to the point - my blog's moving! New name, new URL, etc. There are a few reasons for this move, mostly because I'll be off to the "Real Grown-Up World" soon and in order to keep it REALLY real on the blog I'll need to be slightly more anonymous. I don't want to censor myself EVER but I also really, really would hate to ever write something that reflected poorly on any potential or actual employer.<br /><br />It's all good, though, not much else will change! Thanks to everybody who has made this spot feel like home, I'm sure we'll be just as cozy over at WordPress which I'm sloooowly learning to use. So if you follow me via RSS, link to me from your blog (you awesome people!) or something fabulously tech-ish like that don't forget to update your bookmarks and links and doodads and all that stuff.<br /><br />Check out the new digs here: <a href="http://www.thiswastedspace.wordpress.com">http://www.thiswastedspace.wordpress.com</a>. I'll hopefully have it up and ready soon, but between school and my plans to be fabulously wasted for part of this weekend while celebrating my constitutional right to do exactly that. So 'til further notice hang out here, drop by over there, do the hokey pokey and turn yourself around. That's what it's all about, y'all.Merehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06930415326961736834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-860998547409885629.post-27344126685372704562009-06-27T20:52:00.003-05:002009-06-27T21:12:56.942-05:00Weird TimingI have no idea what's going on with the universe, but it's like it knows that I have this massive flipping Texas history paper to write and it's doing everything it can to get in my way. And every time I sit down to write something the things that come up get progressively more ridiculous. Examples: Texas was in the CWS. CWS went to three games. There was a marching band parade on campus. Sistery's car got broken in to. There was a pool party 20 feet from every single window in my house. I wanted a pina colada. I had, like, three pina coladas and now I'm writing a blog entry. Seriously, life, this is getting silly. I'm expecting the coyote to show up any minute with his "ACME" textbook, which he'll lend to me, which will then explode in my face. It wouldn't be the first time <a href="http://meredithcallison.blogspot.com/2008/05/me-wile-e-coyote.html">I've been the coyote</a>, that's for sure.<br /><br />Anyway - I'm a little more than halfway through at this point and hoping to be completely done by Monday (which in Mere years is about Wednesday). It's due at 10:00 am on Thursday so between the random parades of band camp kids and people alternating the Beach Boys and Michael Jackson over the loudspeaker at the pool, I will have to find some way to discuss The Young Adult Experience In Texas, 1947-1967. Oh, em gee. And yes, my eyes just crossed too.<br /><br />August 14 can't come soon enough! Plus, as I told Kt earlier this week, I miss regular me and am ready to be rid of this bitchy stranger (that would be "school Mere"). Blerg.Merehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06930415326961736834noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-860998547409885629.post-72554979229537778992009-06-22T09:27:00.004-05:002009-06-22T09:32:51.868-05:00New And Improved Dreaded Jack Ass Plate Of ShameMy awesome, talented cousin <a href="http://www.twitter.com/sgray81">Stewart Gray</a> saw my crappy Paint-Brush (Pro!) artwork on that guy's "Jack Ass" plate and sent me <b>this</b>:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IBr6RGX70kY/Sj-VZNS-OOI/AAAAAAAAAUA/DqLvWB26KsU/s1600-h/jackass.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 242px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IBr6RGX70kY/Sj-VZNS-OOI/AAAAAAAAAUA/DqLvWB26KsU/s320/jackass.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350159142637943010" border="0" /></a>It's truly a thing of beauty! :-) From now on all Eevil drivers who need to learn how to drive/behave in public shall receive the Dreaded Jack Ass Plate Of Shame!<br /><br />Thanks, Stewart, you rock!Merehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06930415326961736834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-860998547409885629.post-8004773176637514812009-06-19T12:56:00.006-05:002009-06-19T13:34:05.430-05:00Why Your License Plate Says "Jack Ass"If you've known me for a while, then you are probably aware that I used to be MUCH more confrontational and much more likely to fly off the handle at any given second with so much as one misstep from another person. Friend, family member, total stranger, it doesn't matter. Through a huge amount of work, I now either let it go or scream silently in my head and then blog about you later on when you annoy me. It takes a lot to push me to the point of hating you in the first twenty seconds that I've known you, is my point.<br /><br />Enter yesterday's trip to the pharmacy. D and I were on our way home from work and school, respectively, and stopped to pick up a prescription at our Walgreens, which has a two-lane drive through. Now, I don't know if you've heard this before, I've probably blogged about it but I'm waaaay too lazy to go back and find it among the rest of the blather that I've inundated the interwebz with in the last year, but I have <b>the freaking worst</b> luck with lines. If you ever see me standing in a line, don't get behind me. The guy in front of me will inevitably have 6,000 questions, pay in pennies, or confuse the person working there. It never <i>doesn't</i> happen. So when we got to the drive through and there was one car in each lane, D kind of hung back, obviously in line but waiting so that when one of the cars got done he could get into that lane. HOWEVER, some people TOTALLY SUCK and this <b>D-BAG</b> comes driving the wrong way, very clearly sees that we're waiting in line, turns his car around and <i>pulls in front of us</i> behind the car in the outside lane. And if you <a href="http://meredithcallison.blogspot.com/2008/12/line-cutter.html">already know how much I hate line cutters</a> then you probably know what happened next.<br /><br />I nearly hit the roof. I started screaming at the guy but my window was rolled up, and since I was getting "a little worked up" D just pulled the car into the other lane, hoping the "out of sight, out of mind" approach would work. But no, I was pretty livid. I threatened to throw my iced tea at the guy's car but D reminded me that I would want that eventually, so I didn't. But still - for the second day in a row I will ask you - <i><b>WHO FREAKING DOES THAT?!</b></i> That's some crazy-person behavior right there. <i>Clearly</i>, whatever he was doing was more important than obeying the long-established social and cultural norm of <i>waiting in a friggin' line.</i> And then the guy in the other line ended up taking for-freakin-ever because the tech had to update his insurance, so the line jumping d-bag was gone before we even got to the window in the other line, as is the custom. So, of course, I snapped a pic before D calmed me down. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you- <b>Line Jumping D-Bag:<br /><br /></b><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IBr6RGX70kY/SjvXXGxHRmI/AAAAAAAAAT4/w-ibbIQgjaE/s1600-h/IMG00122.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 303px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IBr6RGX70kY/SjvXXGxHRmI/AAAAAAAAAT4/w-ibbIQgjaE/s400/IMG00122.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349105774386169442" border="0" /></a><br />I may or may not have added the vanity plate. Ok I did. But only b/c it's true!Merehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06930415326961736834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-860998547409885629.post-44246923986130478362009-06-18T16:03:00.008-05:002009-06-18T16:24:33.917-05:00The Agony Of Da-FEET.Yeah that's right, for those of you who read the title of this post: I went there. My brain's too overloaded right now to come up w/something that's NOT a cliche. Anyway:<br /><br />I love San Marcos. I was born there, and I go to school there, and if I had it my way D and I would be moving there tomorrow. I love everything about it - the university, the river, the people, unicycle football, the "Just For Fun" parade (which, <i>bring it back!</i>), <a href="http://www.texasescapes.com/FEATURES/Splash_Across_Texas/Aquarena_Springs/aquarena_springs.htm">Ralph the Swimming Pig</a> (who bit my sister when she was little, BTW), <a href="http://www.eskimohut.com/">drive-through alcoholic beverages</a>, all of it. I love that you can go to class in a swimsuit and then wander over to the river without walking more than a quarter of a mile. And yes, I'm all for the hippies, which I realized around the age of three, when I was <i>in</i> the Just For Fun parade with my Montessori school and the lady walking with the float behind us was dressed as the Statue of Liberty, her costume completed by her "torch," which was actually a glass of very red wine. Someone else carried the bottle for her. San Marcos kicks so much ass.<br /><br /><i><b>However</b></i>. I get that it's super fun to go to the river before class, and maybe not to shower for a while, and that you're going to the river again after class because your life is more fun than mine, but <b>you absolutely have to leave your shoes on while you're in class</b>. Especially if you're sitting three chairs away from me. I will die and it will be your fault, and I get that you might not mind if that happens but <i>I do</i>. Seriously, who does that? Who finds it appropriate to <i>remove his shoes</i> in the middle of a class, thus allowing the <b>lovely</b> and unmistakable aroma of FOOT to waft around the classroom for your classmates to enjoy? Some people eat in that class! Not me, and definitely not after Foot Guy graced us with his smelly-footed presence for two days in a row (thankfully, he was absent today and we're not meeting tomorrow, but I hope he goes there anyway because HA HA!), but the class starts at noon so a few people bring their lunches. Foodies are always saying how scented candles ruin a meal, I can't imagine how they'd feel if they were eating their pasta salad and suddenly smelled FOOT. Fracking nasty, y'all.Merehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06930415326961736834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-860998547409885629.post-58475776718958925522009-06-02T00:01:00.007-05:002009-06-02T00:25:06.987-05:002 Down, 88 To Go!Two wonderful years ago today I married my best friend, biggest fan, and love of my life. It was the easiest and best decision I've ever made and I honestly feel <b>so ridiculously, undeservingly blessed</b> that this beautiful man chose to share his life with me! I don't usually get sappy on this blog but I figure it's my blog so what the hell. :-)<br /><br />We got married in a beautiful, simple celebration at a home on the San Gabriel River in Liberty Hill with everyone we love there to share it with us. It was a perfect day - beautiful weather, smiling faces, more love and joy than I've ever seen or felt in one place before or since, and no major disasters. Not even really any minor disasters. Our dear friend Rachael wrote and performed the ceremony (including one of my favorite poems of all time, see below) and then we moved the party up the hill for barbecue, dancing, and lots and lots of cupcakes. Best. Day. Ever!!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IBr6RGX70kY/SiDLAucA9JI/AAAAAAAAAPA/eJk8_p_dnc0/s1600-h/cer_vows.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IBr6RGX70kY/SiDLAucA9JI/AAAAAAAAAPA/eJk8_p_dnc0/s400/cer_vows.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5341492371387380882" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IBr6RGX70kY/SiDRE-w_5xI/AAAAAAAAAPQ/vpXuWYhVgzA/s1600-h/cer_kiss2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IBr6RGX70kY/SiDRE-w_5xI/AAAAAAAAAPQ/vpXuWYhVgzA/s400/cer_kiss2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5341499041559602962" border="0" /></a><p style="text-align: center;"><i>"You are joined together, and together you shall be forevermore. </i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i>You shall be together when white wings of death scatter your days. </i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i>You shall be together even in the silent memory of God. </i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i>But let there be spaces in your togetherness, </i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i>And let the winds of the heavens dance between you. </i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i>Love one another but make not a bond of love:</i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i>Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls. </i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i>Fill each other's cup but drink not from one cup. </i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i>Give one another of your bread but eat not from the same loaf. </i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i>Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone, </i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i>Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music. </i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i>Give your hearts, but not into each other's keeping. </i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i>For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts. </i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i>And stand together, yet not too near together: </i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i>For the pillars of the temple stand apart,<br /></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i>And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other's shadow."</i></p><p style="text-align: right;">From <i>The Prophet</i> by Khalil Gilbran</p><p style="text-align: left;">Happy anniversary, babe! Love you.<br /></p>Merehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06930415326961736834noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-860998547409885629.post-76488761346337037612009-05-26T21:58:00.003-05:002009-05-26T22:40:23.679-05:00Unnecessary InformationI have a verrry friendly group of friends. We have our enemies, sure (I'm looking at <b>you</b>, GTYO), but for the most part we're pretty easy to get along with. This includes when we go out as a group. For every three people we piss off, there's usually at least one who thinks we're cool. Sometimes, they even want to be friends. And occasionally, they provide us with WAY too much information.<br /><br />So today was Mary's birthday (HAPPY BIRTHDAY MISS MARY!) so we went to Trudy's to celebrate, but it turned out to be kind of a rip off because you can't get your free birthday drink on Top Shelf Tuesday. So pretty much every seven-ish years your birthday will fall on a Tuesday, and you will get the shaft from Trudy's. WTF is that all about? At least make that common knowledge so that if you're gonna go get tanked on a birthday that falls on a Tuesday you'll wander into one of the other bajillion awesome places in Austin and drink for free because let's face it, I can <i>pay</i> for a Mexican Martini any night of the year. But we were nice about it because they were nice when our "table for eight" turned in to "we're gonna push these two GIANT tables together because Mary is so awesome that a thousand people want to celebrate her birthday with us!" so whatever.<br /><br />No, the real WTF moment came when the host seated a girl in the table behind us. She had a margarita and chips and queso, and was just hanging out by herself, talking to the waitress occasionally. It was a pretty big table and she was all alone so I just assumed that she was waiting on people, until suddenly she jumped up with her phone in her hand and walked out of the restaurant. Of course I'm gossipy so I had to point it out to Katie, who then suggested we steal her abandoned margarita. To be fair, none of us were thinking particularly straight at that point because it was the verrry end of Happy Hour, and stealing a stranger's lonely, melting strawberry 'rita and delicious queso didn't sound like a bad idea. Then for reasons totally unrelated, Katie mentioned the odd behavior to our waitress, who replied, <i>and I quote</i>:<br /><br />"Oh yeah, that's my friend. She'll be back, she got a phone call that said her grandpa was on his way to her house and she realized she'd left her bong on top of the refrigerator."<br /><br />HUH? I get that we're cool and we should be friends and all that, but this is a lot of information to dispel to a giant table of <i>strangers</i>, three of whom are currently employed as <i>drug and alcohol counselors</i>. Plus on top of your 'fridge seems to be a really weird place to put your bong, but what would I know about it? And would your grandpa even know what a bong was? IDK - it was just a totally random and hilarious and weird thing to say to people. Weirdos.Merehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06930415326961736834noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-860998547409885629.post-84134684887960546262009-05-23T16:13:00.005-05:002009-05-23T17:10:50.339-05:00SkillzI might have great hand-to-hand skills and could probably beat you up with my baby finger (ooook, I've had a lot of Red Bull today y'all, and I am entertaining but NOT sane) but there's one thing I don't have that makes me very dangerous: knife skills. That's right - I suck at doing stuff with knives. I suck at chopping stuff, it takes me forever to make a stupid veggie tray or pico (hence the need for a chopper, see below!) and I'm pretty sure that when I was little I sliced my hand open with a butter knife. Me + blades = not a happy fit. So my latest fail came on Thursday night when Dale and I decided to make pizza and watch <a href="http://www.televisionwithoutpity.com/show/so_you_think_you_can_dance/auditions_brooklyn_and_denver.php">So You Think You Can Dance</a>, which, YAY!! And what goes better with pizza and SYTYCD than VINO?<br /><br />I've been spoiled lately by my plethora of bottles with silly/provocative names ("Menage a Tois," "Joe Blow," "Promis-Q-is," etc.) but I've been opening bottles and then never finishing them so I decided I'd get a box (shut up) and just sip off of that so I don't feel obligated to down an entire bottle in less than three days just because I wanted a glass of wine with dinner. The wine gods hate this, apparently, and thus engineered my greatest FAIL of the week. This is where the knife skillz come in. BRILLIANTLY, I decided that I was going to open the box with a knife because - IDK - apparently my nails are too weak to break the perforated lines in the cardboard box, when suddenly I noticed that there was wine dripping from the box. Not through the nozzle, though, through the neat little hole that I'd just cut in the plastic bag. Because duh. You don't open a box containing delicate plastic <i>with a kitchen knife</i>. Everyone knows that. You especially know it if your full time job not that long ago involved opening large shipments of boxes tightly packed with <i>wedding gowns</i>. Blerg.<br /><br />So damage control ensued, D tried to patch it up with some tape but we didn't have anything stronger than good ol' Scotch tape, so we crossed our fingers and...it worked! I got my glass, watched my (awesome) show, and then when I went back to the kitchen: MORE FAIL! Apparently Scotch tape doesn't work well as a dam, and there was now Franzia "Chillable Red" leaking out of the (disintegrating) bag, across the counter, down the front of the dishwasher, onto the floor, and steadily forging a path from the dishwasher to the oven. Crap! At this point there's nothing to do but drink five liters of wine before the entire bag goes bad. Oh fine, I'm kidding, five liters of marginally ok wine is WAY too much, even for me. No, I somehow ghetto rigged it in the sink to where the corner with the hole was up in the air and it wasn't leaking anymore. Then Friday we took it over to Ben's house (cleverly double-wrapped in a ginormous Ziploc bag and carried in a Corningware dish) and told our friends to have at it. Unfortunately, marginally ok wine is made much worse when unrefrigerated so our valiant attempt to consume the entire remnants of the box was unsuccessful (it's hard to drink that crap when there's <i>good</i> wine plus <i>really good</i> beer around), so among all of TToA we still ended up throwing away a good two liters of boxed wine. Maybe that is the most epic fail of them all.<br /><br />So the moral of the story is don't give Mere a knife. I suck at knives. But I'm pretty good with a bow staff.Merehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06930415326961736834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-860998547409885629.post-33414164781811300632009-05-20T10:05:00.004-05:002009-05-20T11:48:02.217-05:00FedUpIt's rare that I have two of my arch enemies unite against me in an epic battle of wills, wits, and patience. My enemies are generally also each other's enemies and have very little interest in ganging up on me to cause me grief. This week, though, two of them have decided to work together to be obnoxious and horrible together. The culprits? Freaking FedEx and my apartment complex office.<br /><br />Let me start by saying that I've been conditioned since birth to loathe FedEx. We're UPS people. We'll die UPS people. So when I ordered the AMAAAAAZING Pampered Chef chopper (highly recommended by Mary!) from Eng's church fund raiser I was a little annoyed to find out that it would arrive via FedEx. Whatever, though, I can handle it. No big deal. And after patiently waiting a couple of weeks I came home last Thursday to a tag clipped outside my door. Yay! My chopper had arrived! The tag said that the package had been left at the apartment office. Ugh. Now we've lived here for more than two years now and I avoid that place like the plague. I purposely pay rent through the drop slot after hours just so I don't have to walk in there and deal with them, they're that bad. They have the kind of leasing staff that make it obvious to you that they have something they'd rather be dealing with instead of whatever problem or question you have for them. They're pretty much the only thing wrong with this complex, though - everything else about it is awesome, so we've decided to hang around until the end of '09. Anyway-<br /><br />So now in order to get my chopper I have to deal with both of them, and I should have known this would be ridiculous. Sure enough, I wander in to the office to find our manager there all by herself, trying to do about six things at once. I hand her my post card and she comes back with a big flat box. WTF? Not a chopper. No big deal, though, I decided, my chopper will come in later. Except upon further inspection the label clearly reads "USPS" as in "United States Postal Service" as in "NOT FedEx". So Fail #1. I calmly turned back to the manager lady and said "Oh, wait, this isn't it. I need a FedEx box."<br /><br /><b>Manager:</b> That's your package.<br /><b>Me:</b> Yes, it's mine, but I should have another one. One that was dropped off from FedEx.<br /><b>Manager:</b> There wasn't anything else back there.<br /><b>Me:</b> <i>Still reading the label</i> This one came from the postal service...in April. I should have a FedEx package from Thursday.<br /><b>Manager:</b> <i>Clearly done with me</i> That's the only one I could find. Maybe they didn't leave it.<br />FAIL #2<br /><br />Ok, I suppose that's possible, but WTF? Why would FedEx do that? But I had to get the dog to my parents' house so I took my other flat box, which was an Amazon order that had been missing for almost a month, and got in the car and called the FedEx number and tried to explain my situation.<br /><br /><b>FedEx Lady:</b> Oooohhhh...that doesn't sound good.<br /><b>Me:</b> Right, so I need to figure out where this package is.<br /><b>FedEx Lady:</b> Ok it's showing that it was delivered, let me call the office there and see if I can talk to somebody.<br /><b><i>Mere gets stuck on hold</i></b><br />FAIL #3<br /><br />Let me interrupt this story to tell you all that as annoying as "hold" music is, TOTAL SILENCE is worse. Blar.<br /><br />After constantly checking to make sure I hadn't been disconnected for five whole minutes, I heard clicking. Oh yay! She either found my package or we're going to figure out what to do next. NOPE.<br /><br />FAIL #4:<br /><b>FedEx Recording:</b> <i>In order to help us locate or deliver your package, please leave the following information after the beep: your full name, a daytime phone number where you can be reached during business hours, your full and correct address, the tracking number or tag number associated with your package, directions to your location from the nearest well-known landmark...</i><br /><br />At this point I stopped listening. I'm just going to wait, check back at my apt office, figure out whose fault this is, and then chop some heads. Because really, people, it's your JOB, you should suck way less at this.Merehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06930415326961736834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-860998547409885629.post-91212013023076666942009-05-04T22:50:00.006-05:002009-05-04T23:00:30.902-05:00I Guess Matchbox Cars Were Choking Hazards?Between the brewery tour and Cinco de Luau last weekend we stopped at Chick-Fil-A for some mid-afternoon beer munchies. Mark got a kid's meal, and the toys they're putting those things this year are...interesting. I'm not sure what it's supposed to do, but Katie picked it up and after studying it for a while said "Hmm, it's got a magnifying glass. For frying ants." WTF? But <b>true</b>!! Upon closer examination, we decided that the toy is kind of a murderer-in-training tool:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IBr6RGX70kY/Sf-4j8i59uI/AAAAAAAAAO4/cYtovX8x6fI/s1600-h/058.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IBr6RGX70kY/Sf-4j8i59uI/AAAAAAAAAO4/cYtovX8x6fI/s320/058.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332183411517421282" border="0" /></a><br />It's got the magnifying glass to roast ants on the sidewalk, then tweezers to move the hot little suckers to a secure location without leaving fingerprints or burning your hands, and a shovel with which to bury your evidence. WTF, Chick-Fil-A!? That's not right, not at all.Merehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06930415326961736834noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-860998547409885629.post-61221167723731229102009-04-28T18:23:00.001-05:002009-04-29T00:14:20.913-05:00"Where's The Clicker, 'The Wheel' Is On!"Yeah apparently I'm in my 20s but I act like I'm about 85, all "<a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1256180/">Ted Mosby</a><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1256180/"> and the Murtaugh List</a>" style eating dinner at 4:00 pm and chasing kids off my porch and complaining about my bad hip. Ok so that's maybe a little bit of an exaggeration, but we've got this flipping crazy gang of neighbor kids who just run around right outside our front door and patio screaming at the top of their lungs (no words, just a high-pitched and sustained "AAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!" for no reason other than their parents got sick of them doing it inside). Today they were in the breezeway between our front door and the front door of the apt across from us, which happens to be the lair of at least three of the banshees, and they were playing with these little stilts which were kind of awesome but caused frequent falling ("AAAAAHHHH!!!!") and regular smacking into our front door/door handle, which was driving the dog crazy. Finally, I looked at the dog and excitedly asked "Rygel, what was that?!" which automatically sends him into an excited barking fury.<br /><br />An excited barking fit and an angry barking fit sound the same to kids outside your front door, though, which was what I was counting on, because the second Rygel started barking I heard the "AAAAAHHHHH!!!!" from outside the door. Rygel scared 'em but good. The "AAAAAHHHHH!!!!" started in the breezeway, migrated around the corner to the porch, and then faded off into the distance in the direction of the pool. That's right, you noisy whippersnappers, GET OFF MY LAWN!<br /><br />Reason #134 that D and I are not parents yet: We think our dog is so much cooler than most people's kids.<br /><br />No, but really, they're super sweet kids and even when they're at their loudest I suck up to them because I'm pretty sure they're starting a small army that is going to revolt with their Nerf darts and cap guns. And, like a real old person, I'm actually afraid of youths. And Rygel's cooler.Merehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06930415326961736834noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-860998547409885629.post-60151195307854194942009-04-22T10:59:00.002-05:002009-04-22T11:17:23.539-05:00Moon DayAll this Earth Day talk got me to thinking: We have an "Earth Day" and a "Sunday," but we have no "Moon Day." This makes me a little bit sad, as I have always been a nighttime person and the moon and I are great buds. I get that the earth is all big and important and stuff because we <i>live there</i> or whatever but come on!! Up until not that long ago without the moon we couldn't even see after the sun went down, and then we played mind games with the moon in the '60s and '70s by visiting a few times and then deciding it was too far so we'd just put our own space junk in orbit and now we visit that instead. The moon totally wonders what it did wrong. Plus think about all the fun stuff you could do on Moon Day. Drink <b>moon</b>shine, eat <b>moon</b>pies, even moon your friends! That's a great way to meet your neighbors. So friends, family, and haters, I implore you: celebrate Moon Day. I think I'll declare it should fall on the next full moon, which is...yeah I don't know when I don't really pay attention. It's only fair!<br /><br />Also, when you write while you're high on coffee, the word "moon" becomes incredibly amusing.<br />Merehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06930415326961736834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-860998547409885629.post-73899428177975441592009-04-21T23:55:00.002-05:002009-04-22T00:18:43.383-05:00What Happened To April?!WTF, how has so much time gone by without an update?? That's hardly like me at all. I definitely didn't run out of stuff to say (or complain about), I just stopped pretty much everything in my life, but after a pretty sweet and amazing weekend I'm back and better than ever. Which, blog-wise, might have never been very good but whatevah, you're reading this aren't you? Anyway. <br /><br />So, lucky you, today you're getting another gym blog!! Really, I would just like to comment on kickboxing etiquette. Kickboxing classes a) are always really full, b) are difficult if you're out of shape or not coordinated, and c) involve a lot of horizontal movement and (duh) kicking, which makes them d) a little bit dangerous. Here's what NOT to do:<br /><br /> - Come in 20 minutes late.<br /> - Stand in the very small space between me and the girl to my right.<br /> - Kick me.<br /><br />All three of those things will make me wish you would go away forever, and one super genius managed to achieve all three in about five minutes' time today. Luckily I didn't get kicked hard, but I was like "WTF?" and she just giggled and acted like she wasn't sure exactly what happened. To be fair, she might not have been. Plus that class is always weird and hilarious anyway because the instructor is just like this teeny tiny little ball of crazy that is so cute you could puke and she turns the music up WAY loud and gets really into encouraging everybody and her voice goes from about an octave above normal to just high pitched squealing and yapping and "WOOOO!!!!!" It kind of sounds like someone dumped a bucket of catnip and jingle balls into a room full of cats.<br /><br />So anyway - really it's just etiquette on life in general: don't kick me. It's pretty bottom-line, I think.Merehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06930415326961736834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-860998547409885629.post-57288243733531807042009-04-03T16:50:00.011-05:002009-04-03T17:41:04.768-05:00Park ItThere are a lot of things I really love about our neighborhood grocery store. I'm usually there during the day, so it's mostly empty, the daytime employees are all "adults" and not high schoolers who are annoyed that they are spending the only free five hours of their day at a job where they have to deal with old people like me buying large amounts of wine and tabloid magazines to spend their Friday evenings with (suck on <b>that</b>, teenagers!), they have a lot of local products, and this particular HEB has the <i>nicest freaking people</i> you've ever met in your life (except the high schoolers). My beef with them, though, is the good two dozen or so prime parking spots they've got out front that are designated "CUSTOMER WITH CHILD PARKING". WTF?!<br /><br />Now, I get that it's really not that big of a deal - I mean, walking an extra thirty yards or whatever isn't going to kill me - but c'mon, HEB, what the heck? Do you need <i>that many</i> parking places for your beloved yuppie-plus-spawn combos? I have zero problem with the pregnant-lady parking outside Babies R Us, or the "parent-with-sick-kid" parking outside the pharmacy. I honestly wouldn't even mind if there were maybe only eight or ten of these "customer with child parking" spots, but after you factor in the handicapped places and the cart return slots which are both completely valid and necessary, there's not a whole lot of room for the rest of us. The reason it bugs me so much, though, is for days like today, when I go to do my grocery shopping in the middle of the day and maybe only half the CWCP spots are taken but most of the parking places just beyond them are taken, because most people who are doing their grocery shopping at that hour don't have children with them. This way, I get to either stalk somebody through a partially-empty parking lot to their non-CWCP place and then wait for them to load up their car so I can take their spot, or I can park at the Starbucks down the shopping center and walk. At least that way I get to have tea.<br /><br />I've considered just saying "screw it" and parking there anyway, especially if I'm there after 10:00 pm because then at least I can come back with a "Your kid should be at home in bed" response if anybody says anything, but I don't want to have a fight in a parking lot (not after the Little HEB Smackdown of '05, at least). Plus if I got banned from that HEB I'd have to go to the one by my parents' house, which increases the chance of seeing someone I knew in high school (RUN AWAY!) and that's not fun for anybody. This also makes a pretty obvious (and obnoxious) social statement, but that's another post for another day. Maybe next time I'll get brave and just take one of those spots. After all, it says "CUSTOMER WITH CHILD PARKING" but it doesn't say "ONLY."Merehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06930415326961736834noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-860998547409885629.post-9133890155401086812009-04-02T21:41:00.000-05:002009-04-02T21:41:00.710-05:00A Mile In My (Painful) ShoesReason #2344 Why Bridal Was Not For Me: The Footwear.<br /><br />Yesterday and this morning I had things going on that required me to dress slightly more nicely than usual. No big deal, but even though it's getting warmer outside I am the <b>whitest</b> Hawaiian person you've ever seen, especially now that Lamy just got back from Key West, so my "business" attire still includes full-length slacks instead of a skirt. I'd sure hate to blind anyone with my white legs. Unfortunately, I'm 5'4" and too lazy/cheap to hem my slacks or have someone else hem them for me, so I have to cheat and wear reasonably tall heels. Now, when I worked at the bridal shop I dressed up every day - skirts, slacks, dresses, heels, all of it - and the only time my feet actually felt like they were going to kill me was at the end of very, very long Saturdays when I'd been literally running in heels for about ten hours. Those were the days when I'd take lunch on my feet (if I got lunch at all) because if I sat down the first fifteen minutes after I stood back up would be agonizing and not at all worth it. So while I don't miss having to add 3+ inches to my height every day, it very rarely bothered me back then (you know, two months ago).<br /><br />Apparently, my feet are very happy with our new arrangement where we pretty much exist together in a sandals-and-flats kind of world, because they are <i>OUCH</i>. I wore the same pair of surprisingly comfy Aldo wedges for the past two days. These are the shoes that I wore to work more than half the time not that long ago. I didn't even really have to break them in - I just bought them one day and wore them a full day at work the next. They were amazing! But currently, my toes hurt, my arches ache, and my calves have even joined in the protest. WTF?! I guess the lesson here is that quitting that awful job = good for more than just my heart.Merehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06930415326961736834noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-860998547409885629.post-47646029695367032372009-04-01T23:20:00.000-05:002009-04-01T23:21:23.287-05:00I Love LampWe all have decorating items that we like to collect, right? For some people it might be picture frames, for others maybe throw pillows. For me: lamps. I didn't even notice it until the other night at bedtime. I was about to brush my teeth and asked D to leave a lamp on for me. "Which one?" he asked. Hmm.... Sure enough, that's a tough question: there are <i>four</i> in our bedroom.<br /><br />Keep in mind, we live in a tiny one-bedroom. We do not need four lamps in the whole house, let alone one room. But we've got two red plastic Ikea lamps, one on each nightstand, plus an awesome 6' floor lamp in the corner. That one has shelves so it holds (no, not another lamp) a picture frame and a little vase. So it's kind of a lamp, but really more like a piece of furniture. And then on the dresser is an awesome beaded lamp that my mom found and gave to us. Then D brought to my attention that while we have four lamps in the bedroom, we have <i>eight</i> in the whole house. Totally an unnecessary number. Another two floor lamps, one in the living room and one by the back door, plus another table lamp on top of the bookcase behind the couch and a small blue accent lamp on a china cabinet in the dining room. Mostly from Ikea because the Swedes don't recognize "home accents" as a dangerous addiction.<br /><br />What does all of this mean, then? It means that our lamp-to-home ration is approximately 1.10 lamps per 100 square feet of our home, give or take a little. D found this hilarious and took the opportunity to laugh at me, but I don't really mind. I can't help it. I love lamp! Warm, glowey, cheerful lamp.Merehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06930415326961736834noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-860998547409885629.post-2918397800665903112009-03-31T18:15:00.007-05:002009-03-31T18:58:48.434-05:00Macaroni And Cheese With Fish BitsThey say that working with kids is one of the most rewarding jobs out there. What they often forget to include is that those little ankle biters are <i>exhausting</i>. Over the past couple of days I've been exceptionally sleep-deprived thanks to the Big Test, some random late nights (For example, late last night I decided I wanted lemon pudding. We didn't have any in the house so I actually drove to HEB, bought milk and pudding, came home and made my dessert. I'm a fat kid at heart and I'm not even sorry.) and early mornings.<br /><br />Today was weird anyway. My mom was visiting my grandma so I took over her classes (the perks of having a daughter who works in your district!). After the AWESOME televised morning announcements where we were informed that "macaroni and cheese with fish bits" was on the menu for lunch - I had the distinct honor of witnessing a very, very rough draft of some 4th graders' stage adaptation of a Roman myth. It was a wonderful mix of serious, adorable, silly, and of course WTF. They've got a week to turn their not-a-play into a play ready for the discerning entertainment tastes of second graders. My favorite part was when they were discussing things to add to it one kid said "It's for little kids so it should be funny and we should act crazy and trip randomly." Hey, Nickelodeon, I think there are some nine-year-olds in Central Texas who are on to your programming formula. Also I love that they consider the kids who are two years younger than them "little kids."<br /><br />Then I took some 5th graders to the library, where only one of them actually <i>needed</i> to check out a book. Most of them just wandered around looking for the "funniest" titled books they could find. <i>"This one's called <u>Gay Neck Pidgeon</u>!! Ahhh ha ha ha!"</i> Ooook, weirdos. But I love them.<br /><br />By the end of the day I had no energy and a room of six "gifted" third graders who were extremely excited by <i>everything</i> and not at all interested in staying on task. It was kind of like trying to organize a bunch of hamsters that had been injected with half their body weight of caffeine and then turned loose in a hamster amusement park before being brought in to a classroom and told to learn about geometry. As soon as I got two of them to focus, two more were ambling around the room "sharpening their pencils" (This is what 3rd graders do when they don't want to do their work. They walk slowly to the pencil sharpener where they take their time sharpening away, and then they walk back toward their table, making as many detours as possible. The whole process takes about five minutes and yes, it is an art.) or looking at things the other classes had done. I also discovered a previously-hidden talent I have where I am able to hold three conversations at once. Third graders apparently either don't notice or don't care if you're talking to two other people while they're having a conversation and they're too excited to wait until you're done so they just chat away!<br /><br />By the time the bell rang I was beat! The elementary school kids definitely won today, I need a nap, and probably a good run or five. All in all though even the most exhausting days are freaking wonderful. Those kids are awesome. Hooray for public school!Merehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06930415326961736834noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-860998547409885629.post-44258548919154215682009-03-30T18:08:00.002-05:002009-03-30T18:58:02.922-05:00Foreign Language Proficiency FTW!!I've been trying to break my rampant habit of procrastinating for the past few years, especially when it comes to school stuff. "Trying" is the operative word here, though, because sure enough, I'm supposed to graduate in August (that's in FOUR MONTHS) and I still have <i>three</i> semesters of foreign language to finish. WTF?! How did I manage that?? Of all the things to put off 'til the end, I managed to put off a bunch of classes that can't be taken simultaneously. Brain fail!<br /><br />So anyway, that brings us to the previously mentioned Giant Test (scroll down). In order to finish on time without having to somehow bend the space-time continuum I had to at least test out of the second course (of four) so I can take the third and fourth sequentially. I haven't had a foreign language course since 2003, and even then it was a weird thing because nobody could understand our professor. It was hard for her to pronounce my name and when she said it it sort of sounded like "Melody," so that was what everyone called me in there. I didn't bother correcting anyone, but I guess I wasn't looking forward to another semester (or three) of being Melody. <br /><br />So I bought a book, I studied it, I tried to remember as much as I could from growing up in the barrio (Ha!) and from what I learned from Crazy/Awesome Ms. Land in high school, and I signed up to take the content exam. No pressure - just one exam to determine if I have to restructure my entire summer and possibly delay my graduation once again. Meh. It actually went pretty well - I had a brilliant morning driving down to San Marcos and got an outpouring of support from my friends and family. (THANKS Y'ALL, y'all are awesome!) The test itself was not as scary or bad as I'd worried, but the freakin lady in the testing center was watching the Muppet Show or something on her computer with the sound on so while I was trying to translate rejoinders. Thanks for that, lady in the testing center.<br /><br />Then the test decided to be overly helpful and ask me 4000 times if I wanted my scores reported or if I just wanted to call the whole thing off.<br /><br /><b>Test:</b> <i>Do you want to submit your scores?</i> <br /><b>Me:</b> <i>Yes, please.</i> <br /><b>Test:</b> <i>Are you sure? Because if you quit now your score won't be recorded but if you submit them you can't take the test again for six months!</i> <br /><b>Me:</b> <i>Yeah, I already took the test. It's ok. Please submit scores.</i> <b>Test:</b> <i>Really?</i><br /><b>Me:</b> <i>Yup.</i><br /><b>Test:</b> <i>By pressing the button below you are acknowledging that you want your scores reported to the instutition you selected at the beginning of the test. After pressing the button you can't change your mind. So: are you absolutely sure you want these scores reported?</i><br /><b>Me:</b> ...?<br /><br />At this point I'm wondering: Does the test know something I don't? Like, is it trying to rescue me? You know, doing that thing where someone's like "Are you suuuuure you want to do that? Really? Really really?" But WTF?! I've been sitting here two and a half hours. I want to know my stupid score already. So I had to press "yes" like five times. Then - TADA! Score report! Not only did I test out of the second semester, I tested out of the third one, too. Sadly, I missed getting to skip the fourth and final course by <i><b>one measley point</b></i>. But really, that's ok. I can easily add one little course over the summer. So yay! I got eleven hours of foreign language credit for less than a hundred bucks and apparently I haven't been lying on my resume when I include the line "proficient in Spanish."Merehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06930415326961736834noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-860998547409885629.post-90824469963054511072009-03-27T21:44:00.004-05:002009-03-27T22:00:37.478-05:00Bonus: TToA Open Mic NightI have a monster-sized test on Monday, for those of you who don't know. It will essentially determine how much work I have to do this summer and also my eligibility for a possible bilingual certification. I'm quite the wreck this week! So since I've been holed up in my living room reviewing verb tenses and vocabulary and the Dreaded Eevil Subjunctive, I have very little to report that would make for good blog reading. Not that that's unusual, y'all have to be used to that by now! Ha, I kid. Well, kinda. Anyway: instead y'all are getting the Trivia Team Stand-Up Comedy Show. <br /><br />Apparently last Wednesday (my only real venture outside from Sun-Thurs) was Bad Joke Night at our table, and I will now share the bad jokes with you. Look for the return of more interesting, more entertaining blogstuff next week! Well, hopefully. If I don't do well on this test then you might not hear much from me until August. Motivation!<br /><br />---------<br /><b>MERE:</b> I think I need to see <i>Titanic</i> again, I forgot how it ended.<br /><b>MARY:</b> Ohh, that is a bad joke<br />---------<br /><b>DUFFY:</b> Oh crap, I forgot to read question #3. Ok, just take this next one and insert it wherever you want it.<br /><b>MERE:</b> That's what she said.<br /><b>DUFFY:</b> <i>Drops microphone on the floor in disgust and drops his head down on the bar.</i><br /><b>DUFFY:</b> <i>Into microphone:</i> Sorry, I just heard one bad joke too many.<br />---------<br /><b>DUFFY:</b> Question #6: What is the hardest substance in the human body?<br /><b>CAM:</b> MY DICK!<br />---------<br /><b>BEN:</b> What is in your mouth?<br /><b>MERE:</b> <i>Spitting food into a napkin:</i> There was a piece of bone in my food!<br /><b>MARK:</b> Wait, did you just say you had a bone in your mouth? I'm gonna have to call "That's what she said."<br /><b>MERE:</b> No! It was a choking hazard, there was a bone in my mouth and I almost choked!<br /><b>MARK:</b> <i>Stares at me for a second.</i><br /><b>MARK:</b> THAT'S WHAT SHE SAID!<br />---------<br /><br />Oh, trivia team. Y'all are awesome.Merehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06930415326961736834noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-860998547409885629.post-70429797797882778872009-03-25T08:34:00.000-05:002009-03-25T08:34:06.194-05:00Bad Mother Trucker.You are probably aware of the Saga Of The Truck. If you're not, scroll down. There you go. Anyway - we've had D's parents' Monte Carlo this week while the truck was in the shop getting a 2nd opinion (2nd opinion: Pretty much the same as the 1st opinion.) so over the weekend we took the Monte Carlo back to exchange it for the truck. FAIL ensued. Please to enjoy:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IBr6RGX70kY/SciABNuSMrI/AAAAAAAAAOQ/eaLp4ztwZWc/s1600-h/215.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IBr6RGX70kY/SciABNuSMrI/AAAAAAAAAOQ/eaLp4ztwZWc/s320/215.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316640118462886578" border="0" /></a><br />The truck won't start. This has <i>not</i> previously been a problem. Turns out when the mechanics put it back together, they somehow managed to do it in such a way that the middle brake light (the only one that was working before) stayed on, even when the truck was turned off. WTF?? Exactly. Yeah it's just one bulb, but if left on for three days...the fail. Solution?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IBr6RGX70kY/SciA8kwNfxI/AAAAAAAAAOY/F5VfLfwQ7XM/s1600-h/208.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IBr6RGX70kY/SciA8kwNfxI/AAAAAAAAAOY/F5VfLfwQ7XM/s320/208.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316641138257264402" border="0" /></a><br />We need a jump! But not just any jump. Donnie went and got Old Brown (again, for details, scroll down). At first, Dale declared "He's just showing off!" when his dad got Old Brown to start after only one try. Then they got the trucks hooked up annnnd...yeah, the Dodge still won't start. SUCK!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IBr6RGX70kY/SciBxX4SuZI/AAAAAAAAAOg/XSI3-B7_vzE/s1600-h/204.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IBr6RGX70kY/SciBxX4SuZI/AAAAAAAAAOg/XSI3-B7_vzE/s320/204.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316642045334567314" border="0" /></a><br />So now what? After about twenty minutes I snapped this lovely shot of Old Brown in all its glory. Keep in mind that for all its faults, <i>this truck starts when you tell it to</i>. And it miraculously passed inspection this year. And it's worth twice what the Dodge is worth in trade (because it's a "Classic"). And what is that, propping the hood open? If you think it looks like a giant stick/small tree limb, you're not wrong.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IBr6RGX70kY/SciCw1RbNVI/AAAAAAAAAOo/guQMrClpKMw/s1600-h/217.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IBr6RGX70kY/SciCw1RbNVI/AAAAAAAAAOo/guQMrClpKMw/s320/217.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316643135556367698" border="0" /></a><br />After half an hour, Rygel said "Screw it" and found the only shade readily available...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IBr6RGX70kY/SciDQKI1JZI/AAAAAAAAAOw/LkZeMvxxaKk/s1600-h/211.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IBr6RGX70kY/SciDQKI1JZI/AAAAAAAAAOw/LkZeMvxxaKk/s320/211.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316643673733408146" border="0" /></a><br />...and I sought alternative transportation.<br /><br />Freakin finally, after <i>an hour</i> of charging that mofo with an electrical charger <i>and</i> Old Brown, the stupid thing started. I have tried to be nicer to it, thinking that my ill-concealed hatred of it could have something to do with why it's behaving like a piece of junk, and so far we haven't had any additional problems. It starts when you turn the key, at least. But it's going to rain the rest of the week and we're going to be a one-car family because it's too much to ask to have two cars with working windshield wipers. Weak!Merehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06930415326961736834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-860998547409885629.post-76169237235176529872009-03-24T01:02:00.003-05:002009-03-24T01:19:25.664-05:00MIRACLE!Something AMAAAAZING happened today. I was doing laundry (don't look so shocked!) and as I was transferring the last of the wet clothes from the washer to the dryer, something in the bottom of the washing machine caught my eye. I had one of those moments where your heart jumps up into your throat as I hastily chunked the wet shirts into the dryer and did a double-take at the washer. Panicked, thinking "Did I just see...?" And the answer was yes. Yes, I did.<br /><br />Now back up about a week and a half when it was freaking freezing and disgusting outside. Amy and I had plans to run in the gross cold rainy weather but it was way too wet outside to go running on the trail so we agreed to meet at Mom and Dad's and run around their neighborhood. Unfortunately, I forgot both of my iPods (I had my headphones though!) so I borrowed my mom's silver shuffle and off we went. When we got home, we had to kind of rush around because we both needed to shower, etc. before dinner, so I tossed my dirty, gross clothes into my gym bag and changed into something slightly more presentable. Completely forgetting that my mom's iPod was still clipped to the inside pocket of my running jacket, which I then apparently washed yesterday. And that tiny silver iPod was the object in the bottom of the washing machine. Noooooo!<br /><br />This story <i>is</i> called "MIRACLE!" for a reason, though. I was prepared to call my mom and 'fess up to my crime (iPod waterboarding? Too soon?) and even texted Dale to let him know we were about to throw down $50 for a new iPod, when I decided to check it, just to see. I poked at the play button, but nothing. Then I plugged it in to my lap top. Nothing. But then...<b>TA-DA!</b> the little green light flicked on, the playlist popped up in iTunes and it was back, baby!! I even checked to make sure it still plays and because it's awesome <i>it does</i>. Most freaking amazing surprise of my day. Good show, Apple.<br /><br />Oh, Mom, by the way: I borrowed your iPod to go running and I got some sweat on it. Don't worry, though, I washed it for you.Merehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06930415326961736834noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-860998547409885629.post-46840842464574622542009-03-20T00:58:00.003-05:002009-03-20T01:38:11.789-05:00It Starts With "F" And Rhymes With "Truck"Turns out D's truck is BROKEN. The "little electrical problem" it's had for about six months now? Not so little after all. It turns out that the part that's gone retarded is apparently the brain that connects all of the gauges and electrical stuff in the dash and tells them what to do and how to operate. As a result, he's got one brake light, no lights in the cab at all, no horn, no windshield wipers, no blinkers, no high beams, no speedometer, no fuel gauge, no tachometer, and no temperature gauge. It does, however, still have a working A/C, stereo, and (unfortunately) the freaking Flowmasters. That brain thingy is gonna cost at LEAST $800 to get fixed. I don't know if you've heard lately but I'm about to go back to school full-time (in four days!) and we're not exactly what you would describe as "rolling in the dough." This after spending $300 to have the brakes partially fixed (THANKS, Midas!) last summer, and a recurring $150 to fix some "speed sensor" thing that's gone out four times since D got the truck brand new in '02.<br /><br />To fully understand the frustration of the situation, you have to understand where D comes from, vehicularly-speaking. At 15, he inherited Old Brown, his parents' big old brown 1988 Chevy Silverado. What's even better is that Old Brown turned the big 2-1 this year and is now considered a "Classic". It's a POS, but it still runs, and is worth twice as much as the Dodge in trade if they're both in good shape. I'm assuming it's still worth twice as much as the Dodge if they're both in crappy shape, but I'm not an expert. Donnie even drove it to town last week which is <i>hilarious</i> because those of you who know and love Old Brown will recall (from high school days, probably) that it often had to be started with jumper cables, the passenger seat didn't always lock into place the first time you tried, the radio didn't work so D had a battery-powered boom box on the floor (it also helped stop the seat from moving), the cloth cover on the ceiling has completely separated from the roof and is tacked up with thumbtacks and it constantly flaps in the wind because the A/C doesn't work so you have to roll down the windows. For a while it also only had one mirror because the rear view randomly melted and fell one day and the driver's side one was obliterated by an errant chicken on Highway 29 one spring afternoon. No, you read that right. Only in Liberty Hill would there be a chicken on the highway. Oh and keep in mind what I said earlier about the windows being down all the time because of the "broken A/C" thing. That's right: not so much fun for our driver. At one point it was made into a redneck swimming pool with a tarp and a water hose. Oh my dear sweet Lord would you look at that, I found a picture:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IBr6RGX70kY/ScM2y4ps3JI/AAAAAAAAAOI/0nyftnEDAA8/s1600-h/Redneck.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IBr6RGX70kY/ScM2y4ps3JI/AAAAAAAAAOI/0nyftnEDAA8/s320/Redneck.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5315152233055968402" /></a><br />Good days, those. Finally, I was forbidden to ride in it when <i>the driver's side door fell off</i> in front of my house toward the end of senior year. <br /><br />About two days later, D showed up with the Dodge. It's only got 70k miles on it and has been garage-kept for all but the last two years, and seeing as how D drove it almost NEVER during college because he lived and worked in the same place which happened to be right across the street from where he went to school, you'd think it'd be in pretty decent shape. But no, the truck gods choose to smite instead. What the hell, truck gods? What'd we ever do to you?Merehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06930415326961736834noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-860998547409885629.post-18573671455164183802009-03-17T15:37:00.002-05:002009-03-17T16:41:18.407-05:00SignsI had a really beautiful moment yesterday. I've been back and forth about school lately; it seems like ever since I decided to go back the universe has launched every setback it could think of at me just to see if I really want to keep chasing that funny little dream. Financial setbacks, issues with course requirements, going in and out of jobs (ok the same job) because employer(s) told me they would work with my schedule, then didn't, then I needed the money, but then once again they couldn't keep my schedule straight and I'd get scheduled during class, and then last summer's little stunt with gas prices. It's hard to drive 120 miles round-trip five times a week when gas is over $4.00 a gallon. I couldn't even take classes in the spring because of a financial aid error. <br /><br />I could have stopped, or I could have switched to a closer school, but the department that I'm in is competitive and is actually ranked in the top five in the nation for geography and environmental science and I really love it there. This sucks. But as I'm gearing up for the last big push, knowing that this summer is going to suck as much as the last one, knowing that D totally has my back but needs me to finish soon so I can help pull the weight, I just suddenly felt <i>everything</i>. Is this the right thing to do? What would I be doing instead? What could I have done differently? Is this all worth it? I've laid awake the past few nights, choking on the tightening knot in my throat, knowing that I have to make up my mind soon: yes or no. Go or don't.<br /><br />I have my answer. Yesterday I had just gotten home from girl-day with Katie and for some reason I logged on to the school's financial aid website, even though they always e-mail when anything gets approved, etc. There was a little alert in my file "You have no incomplete requirements at this time." Thinking that was odd because I hadn't heard from them since they finished reviewing my file, I opened the folder. Sure enough, there was money in there. But way more than I expected, and more than I would want to borrow if we could help it. Scrolling to look at the breakdown, my breath caught: "TEXAS STATE TUITION GRANT". As in "Here, take this money that you don't have to pay back. No, no, it's cool. We're glad you're here and think you're worth it." You're freaking kidding me. For <i>what</i>?? Hopefully, a going away present, because now I have every intention of freaking going down there every single day this summer, kicking school's butt, and being done in August.<br /><br />But really - in a <i>second</i> everything changed, like the universe, who had been tossing things at me just because it thought that was funny, finally decided that I'd passed the test, I'd stuck with it, and was acknowledging me by sending some help in my direction. I know I'm making the right choices, and I'm trusting myself. Thanks for that, Universe.Merehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06930415326961736834noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-860998547409885629.post-34523630029218160112009-03-15T19:45:00.000-05:002009-03-15T19:45:00.163-05:00First Ever Blog Award!!This rocks, <a href="http://dvkm.blogspot.com/">Rich at New Dolloian</a> has bestowed upon me this lovely Kreativ Blogger Award!<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IBr6RGX70kY/SbxQSLeeCPI/AAAAAAAAAOA/LjnkThC7uEI/s1600-h/kreativblogger.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 170px; height: 170px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IBr6RGX70kY/SbxQSLeeCPI/AAAAAAAAAOA/LjnkThC7uEI/s320/kreativblogger.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5313209933638797554" /></a><br />I'm officially kreativ <b>and</b> a blogger! Thanks for that, I love it! :-)<br /><br />7 Things I Love:<br />1) Texas Wines (Specifically <a href="http://www.llanowine.com/">Llano</a> and <a href="http://www.wimberleyvalleywinery.com/">Wimberley Valley</a>)<br />2) Historical Geography<br />3) Coffee<br />4) Very, very rainy days<br />5) Running (AND Julie's Spinning classes at 24Hour!)<br />6) Science fiction as a form of therapy (It's hilarious)<br />7) Oh fine, I love trivia. And my trivia team. And if y'all are reading this and laughing y'all can <i>suck it</i>.<br /><br />7 Bloggers I Love:<br />1) <a href="http://www.katiegebhart.blogspot.com">Katie at Your Daily Dose of Awesome</a><br />2) <a href="http://sarah-bration.blogspot.com/">Sarah at Sarahbration</a><br />3) <a href="http://salsaetcetera.blogspot.com/">Cousin Ali at Salsa Etcetera</a><br />4) <a href="http://www.nufah.com">Alex at Nufah</a><br />5) <a href="http://katybarnett.blogspot.com/">Katy Jo at Careful, You May End Up In My Blog</a><br />6) <a href="http://brainyandbeautiful.blogspot.com/">A Beautiful Mind at Brainy and Beautiful</a><br />7) <a href="http://www.bonne-vie.net/">Birdie at Bonne Vie</a><br /><br />Here are the award rules:<br />List 7 things that you love, and then pass the award on to 7 bloggers that you love! Be sure to tag them and let them know that they have won. You can copy the picture of the award and paste it on your sideboard letting the whole world know...you are Kreativ! Have fun!Merehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06930415326961736834noreply@blogger.com2