No Pain, No Gain

Shane and I were driving down Market Street during lunch hour when he noticed a woman walking down said street. "Why is she walking like that?" he wondered.

I observed the woman in question for a few moments. "Her shoes hurt and they're too big." Then I reconsidered, watching her shuffling along in her white slingbacks. "Wait, I don't know if they hurt but they're definitely too big. She's pushing her weight forward to keep them on her feet and that's why she's walking funny."

"Why do women do stuff like that?" Shane asked, genuinely baffled by the female of the species. For the record, he admires women who "just throw on some flip-flops and go."

I ... had no answer for him. I have some cute shoes that hurt like hell, but I only wear them when I know I'm not going to be walking anywhere. I'm rarely guilty of masochism in the name of fashion.

On the other hand, I did just spend the past hour using my new epilator on my legs, shrieking, "ShitshitSHIT" all the while.

Vacation

I've been laying low this week, especially when it comes to spending time on the computer. If I had my way, I'd never take time off in the summer -- it's too hot to relax -- but HR says "use 'em or lose 'em" and I'll be damned if I'm going to lose a single hour of paid time off. So I've been off since last Friday and I don't go back until the day after Labor Day. Sweet.

Operation UOMA has hit a huge roadblock: the bike we bought, while awesome, was too small for Shane to use and even I'm not selfish enough to insist we keep it. We upgraded to an elliptical machine, but it still wasn't quite right so now we have this:



Ta da! It's the Nordictrack AudioStrider 800, and my lord, is that thing massive. (Also, way to showcase your electrical wires online, tackhead.) That's just how the AudioStrider looks when it's folded up. I have to tell you, I'm a little bit afraid of the AudioStrider. I prefer to do my working out from a seated position, and I just know this thing is going to wear my ass out. Don't spread that around though; I'm pretty sure it can smell fear.

Oh, did I mention we can't use it yet? No? Well, I put THREE fitness machines together in the past month (okay, so Shane helped with two of them) and now I can't even use this thing. Do you want to know WHY I can't use it? No? Well, I'll tell you anyway. It's because it is MISSING A PART. The very last part we were supposed to attach, I shit you not. Damn you, damaged right link arm! And it's going to take three whole weeks before we can get a replacement.

It's like the universe doesn't want my pants to fit.

I Am A Commotion

As you can probably guess from looking at my header, I'm a big fan of Wicked. Both the book and the musical, although in this case I'm talking about the latter. They really are two completely different animals. Anyway, I'm a big BIG fan, is the point I'm trying to make. My ringtone on my new phone is "Defying Gravity" (RIP, "Lois & Clark" theme song). The Wicked soundtrack is in heavy rotation on my iPod. If I ever get invited to a serious costume party, I'm totally going as Elphaba Thropp, green makeup and all. If I'd started this blog in 2006 instead of 2004, it would probably be called Beautifully Tragic or something like that.



Saturday night I saw Wicked for the second time. I had a kick-ass seat (Row C! Woooo!), which made it an even better experience than the first time. I'm sure it also helped that I knew all of the lyrics and a good chunk of the dialogue this time around. Yeah, I'm that girl. I would have been even worse if the Grimmerie I ordered had made its way to me in time. (Dammit.)

The touring production is running through August of next year, and if you have a chance I highly recommend you see it.

Stop: Spammer Time!

I have been meaning to blog about this for-e-vah, but I just ... forgot? Yeah, I guess I forgot. Now normally I hate spam, like most rational people with at least one e-mail address, but the stuff I get at work really cracks my shit up.

You can't make this up. I mean someone did, but it wasn't me.

From: Christian Pineda
Subject: :), nectar-bearing
This one made me giggle because it's marketing spam for Cialis and I am a 13-year-old boy at heart. Hee, "nectar." Also, ew.

From: Angelita
Subject: All love enhancers on one portal
Um, is this some kind of kinky Trekkie thing?

From: IRIZARRY GAYLORD
Subject: Whatever you do ... keep this on the lowdown!
Okay, who even cares what this is about because seriously? IRIZARRY GAYLORD. How hilarious is that?

From: Roxanne
Subject: Recent stuff Every man wants it
... and you don't even have to put on the red light.

From: Dylan Todd
Subject: Your health, parcel-guilty
For a while I was getting a lot of spam with this subject format, all "your random noun, hyphenated sometimes not-real word." "Your money, money-grasping." "Your health, palm-starch." "Your future, oil-gland." "Your cash, nettle-potato." I am not making any of these up. This one makes my list of faves because Dylan Todd totally sounds like a character on a soap opera, doesn't it? Like some guy with money and a lot of chest hair. His second wife is really his half-sister, but he doesn't realize it until she loses their baby after her car goes off a cliff. Sad.

From: Blasphemer J. Hesse
Subject: Re: Clay Aiken. Win and play.
Another excellent fake name.
Blasphemer J. Hesse: You know, if Clay Aiken (period) doesn't bring them in, I don't know what will.
Blasphemer's co-worker: You're probably right, but let's also tell them they can win and play, just to be on the safe side.

From: monkeyvoid
Subject: Do you want Erectile Dysfunction to die forever in your life?
Well ... hell. So ... just die, or die forever? I mean, I don't not want that to happen. I guess. Wait, what?

From: Leona Sutton
Subject: :), mildew-proof
This is another one for Cialis, which ... "mildew-proof"? Ew. Do I even want to know?

From: Letitia
Subject: She wants a better sex? All you need's here.
I can't help but imagine Letitia as some blowsy madam with a stereotypical Italian accent. "You want-a two girls, three, four, what? They give-a you satisfaction-a, guaranteed."

From: Galina S.
Subject: hello from Galya S.
Hell, this one can't even spell her own name right.

From: lord_butt
Subject: She thinks you are perfect and a wonderful choice for her
Aw, how romantic. It's for Viagra, of course.

From: n0179223549
Subject: You always wanted to use your penis as a billiards cue.
Hot damn, it's like they're reading my mind! Seriously, though? I know men tend to think bigger is better, but are there really guys out there lamenting the fact that their penises aren't big enough to use as pool cues? Are there guys out there who know from experience that this is true? 'Cause if so, that's really fucking scary. Think about it.

From: Sweeney
Subject: Trust me - it will be a great surprise for your girl!
Oddly enough, Sweeney, I do trust you. Hey ... waitaminute ... I don't have a girl. Is that the surprise?

From: rittersonkeys
Subject: You are a businessman and have no time for a long sexual stimulation
You know what, Mr. Businessman? You know what? Maybe -- just maybe -- it's not ALL ABOUT YOU. Asshole.

I Promise I'm Not Always That Weird

This weekend was the big Philly blogger meet-up, and I feel like I almost have to write a post about it, lest I become known not only as That Bitch Who Didn't Talk but as That Bitch Who Didn't Even Blog About It, God What a Stuck-Up Bitch.

Okay, I'm sure no one was calling me a bitch (at least, I hope not) but I do feel (as I so often do after initial or early interactions with people) that I need to explain myself. I wasn't in pain or mad; my face just looks that way when I'm not doing anything with it, alas. I actually enjoyed myself immensely, once I got over my initial bout of nerves. It was nice to get out of the house, and to spend time with other women who are not my family and therefore insane. I found a new place to eat (always welcome), and got some good tips about maternity care in the Philadelphia area.

(Not that I need that now, or anything. Don't go jumping to conclusions, Internet. It's just nice to know these things, should it ever become necessary.)

Anyway, even though we didn't quite get the turn-out we expected (it went from nine to seven to four in the space of a day), it was very nice to see girlfiend again and to meet Doodlebug. I suppose I should also point out that it was nice to meet Gabbiana, but I sort of feel like I've known her a bit longer, possibly because she reminds me of my cousin Em. Very funny girl, that Gabbiana. Also, she is adorably tiny! Actually, all my lunch companions on Saturday were on the small side; I sort of felt like Gulliver's dumpy sister. And two of these women have had babies. I really need to get Operation Up Off My Ass back on track.

Are you wondering, like I am, what's with the overly formal tone in this post? (Up until the reference to Operation UOMA, I mean.) Maybe it's latent anxiety from Saturday afternoon, and I'm still trying to be all proper and polite and not embarrass myself too badly. Somebody needs to give me a good shake, like quit trying so hard, weirdo.

Purgatory Is Your Local IKEA

No, I'm serious. Think about it. On the one hand: they lure you in with their shiny happy catalog, now in a convenient smaller size. The store is laid out in an open plan. One department gives way to another without any rhyme or reason; it's like a treasure hunt, only with housewares! I don't know what they're pumping in through the vents, but being in IKEA gives me the warm fuzzies. They want me to save money, they want me to have nice things without going broke! Y'all, I bought a set of fairly large canisters and a microplane for 15 dollars and some change. To quote Brian Fellows, that's crazy! I don't even like vanilla ice cream, but I feel like I should have bought one because it was only a dollar. A dollar!

Plus, IKEA cares about saving the environment! Their signs telling me they're now charging five cents apiece for the thinnest plastic bags ever told me so. Maybe you break your back and your car hauling your new TV stand home, but isn't the fact that they somehow packed it into only two boxes worth it? Everything in IKEA is bright, and shiny, and new. And I know it's like that in other stores too (except maybe for Wal-Mart), but everything in IKEA has its own name; it's like they're inviting me to be friends with everything I see. I want to marry IKEA and have its babies. We'll call them Weewun and Littöt. It'll be awesome.

On the other hand...

The damn catalog, much like the store, is big on showcasing entire rooms, rather than itemizing products so they're easier to find and examine. Once you're actually in the store, one department gives way to another without rhyme or reason; it's like being a lab rat in a brightly colored maze. You'll find yourself wandering, feet aching and mouth parched, wondering what button you have to push to get a damn fish biscuit, already. Is that the exit? Is that it? But the sign(s) said it was this waaaaaayyyy! Those clever bastards figured out a way to ensure you have to damn near walk through the entire store to get to the checkout registers. Pretty sneaky, sis.

Also, don't think I forgot about Hemnesgate 2003. Or the Great Dresser Collapse of 2001. Smooth running drawers, my ass. Yet there Jokkmokk sits in our apartment, a rather recent purchase, waiting to mokk our asses when it inevitably falls apart on us. I wish I knew how to quit you, IKEA.

Baby Necks and Other Delicacies

My youngest siblet, J. ONE of the many Js in my family, anyway. I like how he was cracking up (I was tickling him), yet he would not relinquish that pacifier. This is only the second time I've seen him since he was born (Bad aunt!), yet he came to me with no problem. He was basically like, "Somebody new to play Peekaboo and Baby Toss with me? Awesome." Babies really like me for some reason. Shane thinks it's because I smell like a baby. He is Teh Crazy.

So ... Hot ... Can't ... Breathe...

It's incredibly gross out there, is what I'm getting at. It's supposed to be 97 freaking degrees today, and the air already feels like soup. Something vile like minestrone, no doubt. Other things I am hating on lately:

• Our new house phones. I say "new" as opposed to the "old" ones we recently got rid of. Shane didn't like them because the buttons didn't light up, making it hard for him to dial up his secret lover while I was asleep. The new phones su-diddly-uck, however, because they won't fucking stop lighting up. There's a little blue light at the top that blinks to tell you you have new messages, or the Martians are making a landing, or some damn thing. And I'm mysteriously locked out of our voice mailbox (secret lover, is that you?) so the blue light won't. stop. blinking. Ever. Plus, the entire keypad lights up at random times throughout the night. We could return the phones to Best Buy, but we'd have to exchange them and the pickings are pretty slim at Best Buy when it comes to cordless phones. I suppose I could be a grown-up and get the phone company to reset our voice mail password. I could, but for now I'm stashing the phone next to the bed at night with some clothes draped over it, and hoping like hell that anybody who really has something to tell me will just call back.
• CVS's new prescription drug label. Hi, I'm using the Internetwebs to bitch about my pharmacy. I'm officially 80 years old. Seriously, though, it's a hot-ass mess. I understand that they were required to make some changes, but they could have made it easier to read. Now it tells you what your fucking pill is supposed to look like, so in case the pharmacist screws up and gives you the wrong drug it's less likely to kill you. That assumes, of course, that people are actually going to read the damn thing, not to mention know what their pills are supposed to look like, which ha, fat chance. The new label also includes all of the necessary warnings, instead of those stickers they used to use. What all this additional information means is that the important stuff has to be squished onto this itty bitty label, and apparently nobody thought about what order would make the most sense. The name of the drug is all huge now and completely useless if you're using the automated phone refill system. The number of the scrip, which you do need to get your refills by phone, is now way down at the bottom of the label, next to the pharmacy phone number. Which is now nowhere near the damn pharmacy address, so now you're forced to perform this kind of quality assurance test to make sure you're calling the right branch. Gah. FUCKING GAH, is what I'm saying. I just want my drugs, man.
• The weather. Did I mention that it's supposed to be 97 degrees today? Oh. Well, did I mention that it's supposed to cool down, down to ... oh, about NINETY degrees by 8 PM? I'm be damned if I'm going to try to sleep in that nonsense. Looks like we'll be running the air for at least the next four days. This is going to kill ...
• Our next electricity bill. Oh my damn, am I scared to see how much we'll owe by the end of the month.

In the interest of fairness, here's some stuff I'm digging on right now:

• Minute Maid single serving orange juice. So good, unlike the (supposedly same) stuff in the carton.
• Tide pens. They work! A product that does what it says it does, hallelujah!
• Air conditioning. Oh sweet eight-pound-six ounce baby Jesus, do I love the fact that we have central air. It's not excellent central air, as maintenance has yet to deliver on their promise to fix it, but it'll do, pig. It'll do.
• Netflix. Um, hi. Hello? Confession time: I heard everybody talking about Netflix and how great it was, but somehow I got it stuck in my head that it would be complicated. But it's not! It's totally easy! Just like everybody said it would be!

I'm still not buying that whole "it's not the heat, it's the humidity bit" though. Not a chance.

Yo Mama: She Ain't Here

Because I know you like YouTube and I know you like cheese:

Some words of wisdom from Mr. T. Okay, seriously? Why is that grown-ass lady playing the dozens with a little kid anyway?

A hilarious parody (an hilarious parody? I dunno, it's late) of the Peer Pressure ottoman-humping video I posted a while back. "Yo, what's goin' on? My name is Bacon Bit. This is how I do." Hee!

And in case you haven't seen it yet (and I don't know how that happened), a bunch of foreign prisoners doing the dance routine from Michael Jackson's "Thriller." I have no words.