Well, it's been a while but I have made my triumphant return to the blogging world. I'm happy to be back and to be sharing my thoughts with you all (all two of you who subscribe to this blog).
I have been eating some good and good-for-me things lately, as I've resolved this year to stop shoveling crap into my body via my mouth. I know that this is probably the most popular and improbable resolution every year, but hey, at least I'm giving it a shot. Will I end up in a grease-soaked cheese-and-meat-lover's pizza stupor on my couch after not having bathed for 4 days in about 6 weeks? Probably. But hey, for now the glimmer of hope is still there and I am able to fend off these thoughts by eating Subway and cooking grilled chicken on the Foreman every night.
Jeff has been surprisingly motivational in my quest for health. He's pushing me to stand up, move around, and flail my arms about more often, so I am at least more active than I once was. Jeff's running a 5K in March (lunatic) and he's been training for over a month. I think most of his drive comes from the fact that he's racing his two good friends, Andrew and John, and he's bound and determined to win at any cost. I honestly think that if a horrible catastrophe should strike and he twisted his ankle or broke his leg during the race, he would use his arms to pull his mangled, lifeless body across the finish line. I don't know if I've ever seen him this competitive. He's been training really hard lately, and he'll come in the house after a long workout, pull me into the bathroom and show me his arms in the mirror. He'll say:
"Look, you can almost see the definition underneath all the freckles!"
He's in an eternal battle with his freckles. This is the plight of the redhead.
I've been battling this newfound desire for weight loss and health recently, however, with copious amounts of beer. It isn't my fault. The Houston Texans are in the playoffs for the first time in franchise history and I will be DAMNED if I don't celebrate that. It doesn't help that Jeff think we need to get to the bar 2 hours before the game starts "to make sure we have a good seat." That two hours can only be filled with pints and pints of Shiner Bock. See, not my fault.
Another event causing excitement in my life right now is the new season of The Bachelor on ABC. If you watched the last season of The Bachelorette, you'll know, first, that it was the worst season in the show's history. You'll also know Ben Flajnik, the super-cute, laid-back, funny wine-maker that Bachelorette Ashley gave the boot in favor of other (less appealing) option J.P.
The premier was last week and offered a pretty good 2+ hours of unrelenting female psychosis, namely in the person of Jenna, blogger and "overanalyzer" extraordinaire. Man, this girl is a complete and total basket case. A large part of me feels for her; I'm sure it can't be easy to be surrounded by cameras that are waiting for you to do or say something ridiculous, but she just reaches for the stars and gives the audience a once-in-a-lifetime show. After completely fumbling her first face-to-face meeting with Ben, she heads into the house only to harp relentlessly on how terribly she screwed up. C'mon Jenna, it's okay to be nervous, just use it to your advantage and make yourself seem goofy and quirky. DO NOT turn on the water works or start a completely unnecessary and overexaggerated argument with another woman who is vastly more mentally stable than you. Every woman watching that show wanted to scream at her to not be "that girl." There's one every season. One girl who turns her complete insecurity into an unimaginable display of jealousy, confusion, and drama.
Jenna really blasted off last night, though, after telling Ben that's she's like a guy and "not, like, a girl." She then went and cried in bed until Ben found her and gave her the boot. Good job, Ben. Way to recognize the crazy when you see it weeping in front of you. Jenna then LOST IT after the rose ceremony in what can only be described as an apoplectic fit, crying, "Are you kidding me?!" over and over and over.
Man I love good reality tv. I feel incredibly validated that I didn't watch the National Championship game last night (mainly because we are broke and don't have cable and it wasn't broadcast on public television--THANKS ESPN.) and instead watched the second episode of The Bachelor. Thank you, Jenna and Blakely for validating my television choices.
Thursday, September 20, 2012
Teller Joy
I'll be honest: being a teller wasn't my life's dream. It's paying the bills, though, and while I'm finishing up school, dammit, I've gotta do what I've gotta do.
However, there are things that really grind my gears. I've listed them here so that I don't go on a homicidal rage and hurt the people around me. Because going postal is imminent.
1. I know every single customer's name, spouse's name, account number, account balance, their overdraft limit, their PIN number, and the amount of their last deposit. I'm that good (read: I'm not that good).
2. Why yes, of course I have $2,000 in two-dollar bills. That's a common denomination used in everyday banking, so I absolutely have that amount ready to sell to you.
3. I know the date and time of every single new coin that the government releases. Even the ones they haven't thought of yet!
4. No, as a matter of fact, your daughter cannot take money out of your account if she isn't a signer. Even if she brings in your ID.
5. Seeing as the last check you deposited bounced, yes, I do have to put a hold on this one, especially since it's made out for $12,000, and you only seem to have $113 in your account.
6. I control the regulations the government places on depository banks. I, alone, control them. I am the Emperor of banking.
7. No, I'm sorry, I cannot open a new account for you. I'm not a personal banker. Yes, I recognize that it's a HUGE inconvenience to walk the 15 feet to the personal banker's desk. I apologize.
8. No, I cannot cash your check. Not only do you not have an account with us, but your check is out of date, written out for $20,000, and you don't have any form of ID to prove that you are the person to whom the check is written.
9. Your ID is expired. It's not my fault that you forgot to hop down to the DMV to have them send you a new one. Stop scowling at me.
10. I'm not lying when I tell you that the check your aunt/best friend/plumber/cable company/psychic wrote you is insufficient and therefore unable to be cashed. Really. I'm not.
11. There are a number of proper responses to the question, "Hello, how are you today?!" Some of those responses may include, "very well, thank you, and yourself?," "eh, I've been better," or "I'm awful--this is the worst day of my life, I hate everyone, and my cat shit all over my brand new white carpet." Any of these are fine. Complete silence is not a response. I just asked you a question. ANSWER IT. I'm not beneath you, I don't transform into a goat when I get off work. I'm a person, with a soul and feelings. When your wife or mother or friend asks you a question, do you ignore them? Didn't think so. Use common courtesy and provide a response. It will greatly lift my opinion of people in general.
12. Yes, I realize that you have $7.5 million dollars in your account. That is SO FANTASTIC for you! That does not mean that you can toss your ID onto my desk without looking at me. That does not mean that you are physically incapable of filling out your own deposit slip. That also does not mean that you can effectively communicate with me using grunts and nods.
13. I don't care that your husband has millions of dollars. I also do not care about the perfume business you're starting. No, I don't want "my own fabulous scent" for the low low price of $50 an ounce.
14. I'm not your therapist. I don't need to know your life story, your daughter's life story, or your dog's life story (which you've felt the need to bring inside this place of business) . I don't care that your mother-in-law didn't like the turkey you cooked for Thanksgiving.
15. It's illegal for me to tell you the balance of your husband's account. You aren't a signer on that account. Yes, I'm aware that you're his wife.
16. The signs that say "The cutoff for deposits on each business day is 3:00pm" apply to you, too. No, I cannot go into the computer and change the date on the system. I'm sorry you got here late. That's obviously my fault. I'll hop in my DeLorean and do your deposit 30 minutes ago. Let me grab my Time Turner and twist it up and change the past. No prob.
17. No, I cannot stamp and mail your bills. Stamps cost money. Sealing, stamping and taking mail to the post office also costs money. This is not the post office. This is the bank.
18. No, there's nothing wrong with the bank website. That's your internet. Your ISP's lack of service is not our fault or problem.
19. Yes, I did, personally, cause the U.S. bank collapse. Take all your frustrations out on me, because it is my fault!
20. I love anwering the phone at the bank. Here's why:
Me: Good afternoon, *name of bank*, this is Whitney, how may I direct your call?
Customer: WHAT'S MY BALANCE?
Me: One moment, sir, let me direct you to customer service, and they'll be happy to assist you.
Customer: NO, JUST TELL ME MY BALANCE, GATDAMNIT!
21. What's that? It's my fault your loan payment is late? Oh, yes, you're right. It was due Friday, April 2nd, and you put it in the night depository on Friday, April 2nd, at 11:00pm. I should have hung around and waited for you.
Assholes.
However, there are things that really grind my gears. I've listed them here so that I don't go on a homicidal rage and hurt the people around me. Because going postal is imminent.
1. I know every single customer's name, spouse's name, account number, account balance, their overdraft limit, their PIN number, and the amount of their last deposit. I'm that good (read: I'm not that good).
2. Why yes, of course I have $2,000 in two-dollar bills. That's a common denomination used in everyday banking, so I absolutely have that amount ready to sell to you.
3. I know the date and time of every single new coin that the government releases. Even the ones they haven't thought of yet!
4. No, as a matter of fact, your daughter cannot take money out of your account if she isn't a signer. Even if she brings in your ID.
5. Seeing as the last check you deposited bounced, yes, I do have to put a hold on this one, especially since it's made out for $12,000, and you only seem to have $113 in your account.
6. I control the regulations the government places on depository banks. I, alone, control them. I am the Emperor of banking.
7. No, I'm sorry, I cannot open a new account for you. I'm not a personal banker. Yes, I recognize that it's a HUGE inconvenience to walk the 15 feet to the personal banker's desk. I apologize.
8. No, I cannot cash your check. Not only do you not have an account with us, but your check is out of date, written out for $20,000, and you don't have any form of ID to prove that you are the person to whom the check is written.
9. Your ID is expired. It's not my fault that you forgot to hop down to the DMV to have them send you a new one. Stop scowling at me.
10. I'm not lying when I tell you that the check your aunt/best friend/plumber/cable company/psychic wrote you is insufficient and therefore unable to be cashed. Really. I'm not.
11. There are a number of proper responses to the question, "Hello, how are you today?!" Some of those responses may include, "very well, thank you, and yourself?," "eh, I've been better," or "I'm awful--this is the worst day of my life, I hate everyone, and my cat shit all over my brand new white carpet." Any of these are fine. Complete silence is not a response. I just asked you a question. ANSWER IT. I'm not beneath you, I don't transform into a goat when I get off work. I'm a person, with a soul and feelings. When your wife or mother or friend asks you a question, do you ignore them? Didn't think so. Use common courtesy and provide a response. It will greatly lift my opinion of people in general.
12. Yes, I realize that you have $7.5 million dollars in your account. That is SO FANTASTIC for you! That does not mean that you can toss your ID onto my desk without looking at me. That does not mean that you are physically incapable of filling out your own deposit slip. That also does not mean that you can effectively communicate with me using grunts and nods.
13. I don't care that your husband has millions of dollars. I also do not care about the perfume business you're starting. No, I don't want "my own fabulous scent" for the low low price of $50 an ounce.
14. I'm not your therapist. I don't need to know your life story, your daughter's life story, or your dog's life story (which you've felt the need to bring inside this place of business) . I don't care that your mother-in-law didn't like the turkey you cooked for Thanksgiving.
15. It's illegal for me to tell you the balance of your husband's account. You aren't a signer on that account. Yes, I'm aware that you're his wife.
16. The signs that say "The cutoff for deposits on each business day is 3:00pm" apply to you, too. No, I cannot go into the computer and change the date on the system. I'm sorry you got here late. That's obviously my fault. I'll hop in my DeLorean and do your deposit 30 minutes ago. Let me grab my Time Turner and twist it up and change the past. No prob.
17. No, I cannot stamp and mail your bills. Stamps cost money. Sealing, stamping and taking mail to the post office also costs money. This is not the post office. This is the bank.
18. No, there's nothing wrong with the bank website. That's your internet. Your ISP's lack of service is not our fault or problem.
19. Yes, I did, personally, cause the U.S. bank collapse. Take all your frustrations out on me, because it is my fault!
20. I love anwering the phone at the bank. Here's why:
Me: Good afternoon, *name of bank*, this is Whitney, how may I direct your call?
Customer: WHAT'S MY BALANCE?
Me: One moment, sir, let me direct you to customer service, and they'll be happy to assist you.
Customer: NO, JUST TELL ME MY BALANCE, GATDAMNIT!
21. What's that? It's my fault your loan payment is late? Oh, yes, you're right. It was due Friday, April 2nd, and you put it in the night depository on Friday, April 2nd, at 11:00pm. I should have hung around and waited for you.
Assholes.
A Snip Here and a Snip There
Current headlines are focusing on the elective cosmetic surgery that 23-year old Heidi Montag has recently undergone. After having both rhinoplasty and a breast augmentation three years ago, Heidi again went under the knife to have another 10 procedures done. Seventy percent of these were above the clavicle. The ten procedures included:
1) Mini brow lift
2) Botox injections in forehead and frown areas
3) Nose job revision
4) Fat injections in her cheeks
5) Chin reduction
6) Neck liposuction
7) Ears pinned back
8) Breast augmentation revision
9) Liposuction on waist, hips, and thighs
10) Buttock augmentation
The surgery took nearly 10 hours which is four more hours than what is recommended for elective cosmetic surgery. The procedure has illicited a wide variety of comments both positive and negative. Obviously, it depends on what each person finds aesthetically pleasing, whether you will find her more attractive or less. But the dominant reaction has been "Why?" Why would a beautiful, healthy, seemingly happy young woman feel the need to alter her appearance in such a drastic and scandalous way? Many have taken the cynical, cruel route and demonized Heidi for sending the message to young girls that plastic surgery is the answer to physical insecurities. Some have stated that it's sad that Heidi felt the need to do this.
I find this to be on the more unfortunate end of the spectrum. Obviously, it is absolutely her choice to have the surgery. She's an adult, she can afford it.. I will never think less of a woman who opts to go under the knife so that she can continue her life in a more secure way. I've seen firsthand what a great thing plastic surgery can be for not only women (and men) who just want a little belly fat removed, but for a breast cancer survivor who opts to have the breasts that have been removed replaced with saline so she can have sexual confidence. Hell, even for women who were just never able to get any bigger than that A-cup! For years I've considered having a nose job! I've always wondered what I'd look like without the massive witch-hump that I've had my entire life (thank you, paternal grandmother). Have I acted on that curiosity? No. Will I ever? I don't know. Not in the near future. But when and if I do, it will be a decision that I only I can make.
All of that being said, I do think Heidi's case is quite sad. She's never been America's Sweetheart, in fact she's quite the opposite. Gossip blog sites have banned writing about her and her husband. Heidi and Spencer have done damn near everything possible to garner media attention in any way imaginable. It's pretty safe to say that they are two of the least liked people in Hollywood today. They're famous for simply being famous and for being on an incredibly superficial reality TV show on MTV, called "The Hills, " which follows the lives of young girls and guys who come from incredibly wealthy families living in Southern California. Heidi and her now-husband, Spencer Pratt basically used every outing to be photographed by the papparazzi and pose in the most ridiculous and inane situations imaginable. Needless to say, they annoyed the crap out of everyone and turned the world against them.
As I was saying, Heidi's case is a little unfortunate. Is she doing this for publicity? Does she truly feel better about herself now? Is she completely batshit crazy? Where's her mother in all this? While I can defend plastic surgery when done for the right reasons, I have an incredibly hard time justifying this amount. Everyone has something about themselves they'd like to tweak or change a bit, but to completely alter the way you look?
It seems as though there are several underlying issues for Heidi. She's in a high-profile industry (but that's self-inflicted--you can stop being a reality tv star quite quickly), she's in the media spotlight and subjected to catty gossip bloggers' judgemental comments on her apperance, etc., but when the day is done, she's the one who decided to do this. You can have people call you unattractive but it takes self-confidence and a humble heart to be happy with yourself. I'm not trying to say that getting cosmetic surgery means you aren't confident, but there has to be a sane, confident base there to begin with. You have to be ok with who you are inside before you start messing with what you consider to be unattractive on the outside. I'm worried that Heidi's decision isn't coming from a desire to feel right in her own skin, but from a deep insecurity with herself as a person, and no amount of plastic surgery can change who you are.
It's similar to putting make-up over a tattoo; it may hide it for a while, but the tattoo is still there and you have to take that make-up off when you go to sleep at night. Heidi may feel more beautiful but whenever she washes her face and lays down to go to bed, she still has to come to terms with what she's made of her life and who she really is. You can't hide from yourself and your conscience and no boob or nose job can make you a good person.
I truly hope, for Heidi's sake, that she had this surgery for the right reasons. I hope she doesn't wake up at 30 and wonder what the hell she did to herself. I hope she starts to work on herself as a person, digging deep to discover what she truly wants out of life, what makes her happy, and has the courage to make the changes to become content. I wish the best for her, and pray that she has the will to maybe get out of the spotlight for a while (or forever) and start doing what makes her whole and happy.
2010
Well, well, Time, you've made a fool of me once again. You're back to taunt me with all the things I didn't do, all the things I did badly, and all the mistakes I've made over the past year.
Let's be honest, 2009 wasn't a good year for most. It was tough, if not brutal. The economy was (is) miserable, there were more homeless people holding up signs on my way home from work, ugly political battles were strewn across the tv screen and newspapers. Le sigh.
Personally, 2009 was a year of enormous lessons. I did a lot of learning and growing up. I recognized the fact that even if I don't want to, I have to be responsible for myself, which, actually issn't that bad. It's nice being self-sufficient. Terrifying, but comforting all the same.
I was laid-off in 2009. I had to move away from things and people that I love dearly (my boyfriend, his sister and brother-in-law, Cameron peeps, snow, Hill House, skiing, etc.) to make sure I could afford to pay rent for a house in which I no longer lived. My dream of living in a new state crumbled pretty quickly around my feet. It seemed like just as soon as I had gotten comfortable in Colorado, I had to come back to Texas. Not only move back, but move back into my parent's house. There are few things more humbling that having to move back in with your parents. There's nothing wrong with my parents, in fact, they're fantastic, understanding, loving, and fun to be around. It's just that I thought I was done with that. I moved over 1,000 miles away, found a job, and had a life! Then the pretty rug was snatched right out from under me. Back into my old room I went. And it wasn't even really my old room! My little brother claimed my old room the second I moved out! So, I got to move into the other, smaller, unfamiliar bedroom. Welcome home!
That was ok, though. I rationalized it by telling myself that it wasn't my fault. I was laid off. It was the economy's fault. It wasn't as though I was incomptetent or lazy. I did my job well, and had a boss that hated to see me go. Knowing that it wasn't through any fault of my own I was able to justify moving back home.
Then came "The Revelation." Those who are closest to me know what this involved and know what a toll it took on my mental state, sanity, and heart. To put it as mildly as possible, I lied to my family about something so important that I was sure I would be shunned and banished and beaten and chased with burning sticks. I should have been. It's what I deserved. But I wasn't. I was afforded the greatest lesson I may have ever learned: forgiveness. To say I have a loving, understanding and compassionate family is the most horrendous understatement ever uttered. Suffice it to say that my confession was one of the most difficult moments of my life, and I am genuinely humbled to have people in my life who love me as much as they do. That ordeal was not only the most impacting of 2009, but perhaps my life. It was definitely a pivotal moment for my morality, thought processes, and actions.
Oh, 2009, you cruel mistress. How dare you make me face adversity and trials! Don't you know I'd much prefer to have no troubles in life? Gosh! 2010, you better treat me well.
Hell, 2010 is already treating me well. I had a very calm, quite New Year celebration with Lucy at my apartment. Just what I wanted. I began working out and eating right. I even cleaned out all of the craptastic food from my fridge and pantry. Yeah, watch out! I have a budget that is realistic, that I'm able to stick with and I'll be out of debt (ALL debt) by June of this year, if things go as planned. I have an amazingly solid group of friends who I love and cherish. They provide me with advice, humor, sarcasm, shoulders to cry on, and most importantly, happiness. My family remains an omnipresent force of good. Dean will be graduating from high school in May. I am so proud. There will be a new member of the Bauml clan this year, because Jeff's sister is expecting!!! There aren't enough words (and not nearly enough happy ones) to describe how thrilled I am about this development. Karen will be a beautiful little pregnant woman and an absolutely fantastic mother. Ryan will be an amazing, loving, fun father.
There is so much to look forward to this year. I hope that I don't get bogged down in trivial crap. I hope I learn new things and become more open-minded. I hope I stand up for myself and my loved ones. I hope to make the world a better place even if it's only in some small way.
I have plenty of resolutions to attempt to follow this year, but they can be summed up in one quick sentence: Become a happier, healthier, more responsible, honorable, loving, and compassionate person. I don't think you can really go wrong with that, right?
P.S. More (trivial) things to look forward to this year: The final season of LOST, the rest of the 1st season of Glee, the 3rd season of True Blood, the new Sookie Stackhouse novel, the Universal Studios Harry Potter theme park opening, and the first instalment of the 7th Harry Potter movie! Wee!
Let's be honest, 2009 wasn't a good year for most. It was tough, if not brutal. The economy was (is) miserable, there were more homeless people holding up signs on my way home from work, ugly political battles were strewn across the tv screen and newspapers. Le sigh.
Personally, 2009 was a year of enormous lessons. I did a lot of learning and growing up. I recognized the fact that even if I don't want to, I have to be responsible for myself, which, actually issn't that bad. It's nice being self-sufficient. Terrifying, but comforting all the same.
I was laid-off in 2009. I had to move away from things and people that I love dearly (my boyfriend, his sister and brother-in-law, Cameron peeps, snow, Hill House, skiing, etc.) to make sure I could afford to pay rent for a house in which I no longer lived. My dream of living in a new state crumbled pretty quickly around my feet. It seemed like just as soon as I had gotten comfortable in Colorado, I had to come back to Texas. Not only move back, but move back into my parent's house. There are few things more humbling that having to move back in with your parents. There's nothing wrong with my parents, in fact, they're fantastic, understanding, loving, and fun to be around. It's just that I thought I was done with that. I moved over 1,000 miles away, found a job, and had a life! Then the pretty rug was snatched right out from under me. Back into my old room I went. And it wasn't even really my old room! My little brother claimed my old room the second I moved out! So, I got to move into the other, smaller, unfamiliar bedroom. Welcome home!
That was ok, though. I rationalized it by telling myself that it wasn't my fault. I was laid off. It was the economy's fault. It wasn't as though I was incomptetent or lazy. I did my job well, and had a boss that hated to see me go. Knowing that it wasn't through any fault of my own I was able to justify moving back home.
Then came "The Revelation." Those who are closest to me know what this involved and know what a toll it took on my mental state, sanity, and heart. To put it as mildly as possible, I lied to my family about something so important that I was sure I would be shunned and banished and beaten and chased with burning sticks. I should have been. It's what I deserved. But I wasn't. I was afforded the greatest lesson I may have ever learned: forgiveness. To say I have a loving, understanding and compassionate family is the most horrendous understatement ever uttered. Suffice it to say that my confession was one of the most difficult moments of my life, and I am genuinely humbled to have people in my life who love me as much as they do. That ordeal was not only the most impacting of 2009, but perhaps my life. It was definitely a pivotal moment for my morality, thought processes, and actions.
Oh, 2009, you cruel mistress. How dare you make me face adversity and trials! Don't you know I'd much prefer to have no troubles in life? Gosh! 2010, you better treat me well.
Hell, 2010 is already treating me well. I had a very calm, quite New Year celebration with Lucy at my apartment. Just what I wanted. I began working out and eating right. I even cleaned out all of the craptastic food from my fridge and pantry. Yeah, watch out! I have a budget that is realistic, that I'm able to stick with and I'll be out of debt (ALL debt) by June of this year, if things go as planned. I have an amazingly solid group of friends who I love and cherish. They provide me with advice, humor, sarcasm, shoulders to cry on, and most importantly, happiness. My family remains an omnipresent force of good. Dean will be graduating from high school in May. I am so proud. There will be a new member of the Bauml clan this year, because Jeff's sister is expecting!!! There aren't enough words (and not nearly enough happy ones) to describe how thrilled I am about this development. Karen will be a beautiful little pregnant woman and an absolutely fantastic mother. Ryan will be an amazing, loving, fun father.
There is so much to look forward to this year. I hope that I don't get bogged down in trivial crap. I hope I learn new things and become more open-minded. I hope I stand up for myself and my loved ones. I hope to make the world a better place even if it's only in some small way.
I have plenty of resolutions to attempt to follow this year, but they can be summed up in one quick sentence: Become a happier, healthier, more responsible, honorable, loving, and compassionate person. I don't think you can really go wrong with that, right?
P.S. More (trivial) things to look forward to this year: The final season of LOST, the rest of the 1st season of Glee, the 3rd season of True Blood, the new Sookie Stackhouse novel, the Universal Studios Harry Potter theme park opening, and the first instalment of the 7th Harry Potter movie! Wee!
I'm Getting Old
When my Mother e-mailed to discover what I wanted for Christmas this year, I responded with "well, I don't really want anything, but I do need some mixing bowls and a muffin pan." Mixing bowls and a muffin pan. Is this what I've become? I also requested measuring cups/spoons, a potatoe masher, a pizza slicer, a can opener, chopping knives, cookie cutters, a rolling pin, a spoon rest, a ladle, etc. I asked for a rolling pin. I'm in my mid-twenties! I am young, hip, and cool! I live in the thriving metropolis of Houston! I can literally walk to Washington Avenue and to numerous trendy, expensive restaurants! You'd think I'd need sexy heels (which I do), flashy jewelry, short skirts and shiny, low-cut tops!
Nope, just need a rolling pin.
I asked for this for a reason. I'm not just a freak. I was baking cookies the other night and I wanted to use my brand-new cookie cutters that my mother bought for me. Making cut-out cookies involves rolling the dough onto the counter in order to create a flat pallet off of which you can cut out your cookies. In order to do this, I needed a rolling pin. Well, seeing as I didn't have one, I used the next best thing: a wine bottle. After covering said wine bottle in flour, I proceeded to roll the dough out onto the counter. Incredibly unsuccessful. Dough got everywhere, particularly the places it shouldn't have been, specifically, my mouth. It was a mess. I was a mess AND I had to throw away the wine bottle because I was too lazy to wash it off and place it back on top of my cabinets in my wine bottle graveyard.
Moving on, the whole point of this story was to explain how lame I now am. Hopefully, I have successfully conveyed that message to you. If not, allow me to elaborate. I could easily be talked into not doing anything fun on New Year's Eve this year. Yeah. What the hell? For some reason, sitting at home, drinking Irish coffees and watching movies seems like the most fantastic idea in the world to me. This isn't to say that I don't have incredibly fun options: I could drive to either Austin or Dallas to attend fabulous house parties at the homes of friends. I could also hop on down to San Marcos to spend time with my amazing sister and niece, which I may do, just not on New Year's. I, too, could go home and party it up with some old high school peeps. Or I could stay in Houston and go with college friends to a pub, dress to the nines, party my ass off, and stay at a super-nice hotel. But all of these options involve money, driving somewhere, and me showering. Sitting on my ass at home, eating chicken pot pie does not, however, involve me bathing or even having to resemble a respectable human being. This option seems just glorious, and that, my friends, makes me old. And somewhat anti-social, but I can live with that.
Polished
I'll never be one of those women who always looks put together.
I wish I were. I wish I had the motivation to look simply fantastic wherever I went, even just to Target. I will forever be the jeans, t-shirt, and flip-flops kind of girl andnd I'm okay with that, really. It does, however, make me feel a little less feminine and stylish when I see a woman walking her dog at Memorial Park in the perfect dog walking outfit: fitted running pants, tailored sweater that enhances the female physique, perfectly pony-tailed/tousled I-don't-care-but-it-looks-fantastic-anyway hair, and the cute, well-behaved dog that isn't attempting to choke itself on its leash. Then, when she gets done walking the dog, they hop into their lovely, clean, un-dented vehicle that doesn't have Whataburger cups strewn about. Who lives like that?! An example of what this may look like would be Charlotte York, from Sex and the City.
That's all I would be obligated to do in the evenings: Walk Lucy. Also, I could actually not rush to try to thaw something out for dinner, maybe go to the bookstore and do a little shopping, maybe meet up with friends for a drink. I absolutely hate having to spend my free evenings doing tasks that keep me from just relaxing and enjoying myself. I could find recipes during the day, then go to the grocery store after work, pick up the necessary ingredients, and actually cook a nice meal! OH MY GOSH, THE POSSIBILITIES!!!
This is starting to sound more and more attractive. My body clock would actually work with it. Especially on weekdays, since I really enjoy hitting the hay at around 9:00pm, anyway. Oh my gosh. I could really do this! And on Sundays, I could actually not look like a hungover, bleary-eyed monster at church. Wouldn't that be a treat for all those sitting near me? The more I ponder this, the more I like the way it sounds. I could do this.
Will I hate every minute of it the first few days? Absolutely. But I really do think that it will be a good decision overall. It will definitely train me for the day (in the very, very distant future) when I have 87 (3) kids that pop up at 4am wanting something from me. I have been waking up pretty early the last few weeks, anyway (I have to be at work at 7:15am, so I've been waking up at 6:00). I don't think it would be that much of a stretch to start waking up at 4:30 or 5:00. I could have an hour at the gym, come home, shower and eat breakfast, take Lucy for a little walk, and still have some time left over.
So, maybe I can be one of those put-together women, after all. Maybe with 20% more effort, I wouldn't have to look like a greasy-haired slob. Maybe I could actually look 25, instead of 19. It sure would make me feel better. I wouldn't have to stand next to one of these stylish women and wish I would have put on clean jeans. I think, overall, it's about self-respect, and being happy with the way you present yourself. Hell, if I don't take myself seriously, who will? And to be sure, this doesn't have anything to do with self-confidence or needing approval from others; this is about approval from myself and being sure and proud enough of myself to dress and conduct my affairs in a way that shows I am a mature, respectable adult.
Which I am. Maybe.
I wish I were. I wish I had the motivation to look simply fantastic wherever I went, even just to Target. I will forever be the jeans, t-shirt, and flip-flops kind of girl andnd I'm okay with that, really. It does, however, make me feel a little less feminine and stylish when I see a woman walking her dog at Memorial Park in the perfect dog walking outfit: fitted running pants, tailored sweater that enhances the female physique, perfectly pony-tailed/tousled I-don't-care-but-it-looks-fantastic-anyway hair, and the cute, well-behaved dog that isn't attempting to choke itself on its leash. Then, when she gets done walking the dog, they hop into their lovely, clean, un-dented vehicle that doesn't have Whataburger cups strewn about. Who lives like that?! An example of what this may look like would be Charlotte York, from Sex and the City.
The only thing I can figure is that they must put out 150 times more effort than I. They're the type of people who wake up an hour early to go to the gym, eat breakfast, read the newspaper and pay bills all before they even leave for work to begin the day. I, on the other hand, hit snooze until I'm forced to launch myself out of bed in terror that I'll be late for work, leaving only enough time to brush my teeth, pull my hair back, and throw on something that hopefully matches. I don't like to think of it as laziness, I just like my sleep more than I enjoy looking halfway decent.
But can this be cured? Why couldn't I be that stylish, polished woman? Huh? I could do it! It would just mean sacrifice. I can make sacrifices. I guess it would be nice to not run around in total paranoia every morning. I could go to the gym, get my heart pumping, work up a sweat, then come home and actually cook breakfast for myself, instead of hoping and praying that one of my co-workers will bring in kolaches that day. And paying bills before work would definitely alleviate some stress. I could wash dishes and do laundry before work, too. Then, whenever I came home, the only thing I would really need to do would be to take Lucifer out to potty and... that's it. I could even take her on long walks at Memorial Park! She would love that! I would actually have time to train her to not choke herself on her leash!That's all I would be obligated to do in the evenings: Walk Lucy. Also, I could actually not rush to try to thaw something out for dinner, maybe go to the bookstore and do a little shopping, maybe meet up with friends for a drink. I absolutely hate having to spend my free evenings doing tasks that keep me from just relaxing and enjoying myself. I could find recipes during the day, then go to the grocery store after work, pick up the necessary ingredients, and actually cook a nice meal! OH MY GOSH, THE POSSIBILITIES!!!
This is starting to sound more and more attractive. My body clock would actually work with it. Especially on weekdays, since I really enjoy hitting the hay at around 9:00pm, anyway. Oh my gosh. I could really do this! And on Sundays, I could actually not look like a hungover, bleary-eyed monster at church. Wouldn't that be a treat for all those sitting near me? The more I ponder this, the more I like the way it sounds. I could do this.
Will I hate every minute of it the first few days? Absolutely. But I really do think that it will be a good decision overall. It will definitely train me for the day (in the very, very distant future) when I have 87 (3) kids that pop up at 4am wanting something from me. I have been waking up pretty early the last few weeks, anyway (I have to be at work at 7:15am, so I've been waking up at 6:00). I don't think it would be that much of a stretch to start waking up at 4:30 or 5:00. I could have an hour at the gym, come home, shower and eat breakfast, take Lucy for a little walk, and still have some time left over.
So, maybe I can be one of those put-together women, after all. Maybe with 20% more effort, I wouldn't have to look like a greasy-haired slob. Maybe I could actually look 25, instead of 19. It sure would make me feel better. I wouldn't have to stand next to one of these stylish women and wish I would have put on clean jeans. I think, overall, it's about self-respect, and being happy with the way you present yourself. Hell, if I don't take myself seriously, who will? And to be sure, this doesn't have anything to do with self-confidence or needing approval from others; this is about approval from myself and being sure and proud enough of myself to dress and conduct my affairs in a way that shows I am a mature, respectable adult.
Which I am. Maybe.
I'm Not a Horror Movie Fan
As a young girl I was quite brave. I wanted to go sky-diving, I'd jump off high cliffs into dark waters. I loved to fly in airplanes and I had no fear of heights. I welcomed scary movies and thought Scream and I Know What You Did Last Summer were mere child's play. It was a wonderful life, full of hopes and dreams.
Then I watched The Exorcist.
After seeing Linda Blair's possessed cranium spin around whilst spewing green vomit and spouting the voice of Satan, I pretty much gave up on being brave. I don't think I gave up so much as had the desire ripped from me. After watching that one film my life changed and not for the better. For instance, I used to be a little weary of snakes. Their fangs and slithery bodies freaked me out. After watching The Exorcist, though, this fear of snakes escalated to a new level. See, my rationalization was this: if little girls can be possessed by Satan, and in several accounts of Satan, he is portrayed as a snake, then surely snakes, by proxy, can possess little girls. Surely, this is Satan's means of demonically possessing human beings. Right? Of course. My logic is bulletproof.
From then on, my fear of snakes rose and to this day, I still have a little voice in the back of my head saying, "not only can snakes bite you, but they can POSSESS YOU and make you do crazy, terrifying shit that will haunt you for the rest of your life." Do you see what watching "The Exorcist" has done to me? DO YOU???
Present day me still has a difficult time watching scary movies. I can handle the stupid Jeepers Creepers, The Blob, silly movies. Blobs can't possess me. However, any film that focuses on demonic possession or presences will send me running for the hills (which may or may not have eyes, apparently).
Enter Jeff. In case you aren't aware, a movie was released recently titled Paranormal Activity. I'd read a little bit about it on the internet; reviews and such that said it was actually a good movie. It's hard to find a well-reviewed horror movie these days. A few days after I'd read about the movie, Jeff brought it up and mentioned that we should go see it. As I had read a few good reviews about it, I hesistantly conceded. Two nights ago, we went and saw it. From what I had read, it was a story about a couple who had a ghostly presence in their house. "Ok," I thought, "I can handle a fun, spooky ghost story." So, we hopped on down to the theatre and sawed of our left arms to pay for the tickets and got some soda and pickles and took our seats. The movie began innocently enough and had a few laughs. It was filmed the same way as The Blair Witch Project, meaning that they filmed everything themselves so that they could see what seemed to be haunting "Katie." The premise was ever since she was 8 years old, she had been waking up to feel and see this presence in the room with her. It followed her to a new house, to college, and now it was in the house where she was living with "Micah" her boyfriend. Apparently, it was a Katie-specific ghost. So, they call a paranormal researcher, who comes to the house to find out what is haunting Katie, and how to get rid of it.
This is when things went downhill. The paranormal researcher informs Katie and Micah that this "presence" is not, in fact, a ghost, but a demon. Yes, a Demon. At this point, I looked at Jeff and said "I can't do this shit. If this thing's a demon, we have to leave." He said "Ok," but laughed at me. From then on out I had my hand over my eyes. After something would happen, such as the "DEMON" lifting up Katie's sheets, or stomping up and down the stairs, or pulling her by her leg out of her bed, then dragging her down the stairs, I'd make the mistake of asking Jeff "what just happened?" and then he'd tell me, so that I could form a more terrifying vision in my mind. I should have never asked, never inquired, but nooooo. I was curious. So, the movie continues, and the demon's voice starts to say Katie's name, at which point I cover not only my eyes, but also my ears so I can't hear that creepy voice that will definitely be haunting my nightmares. I can still hear the bass and the screams of the rest of the audience, but the fact that I don't know what's happening is comforting. I don't see the grand finale, thank GOD, and finally the movie is over. As we're leaving I ask Jeff what happened at the end (stupid, stupid, stupid). He tells me (that asshole, he knew it would scare me) and I form the horrifying mental picture in my mind.
It's been 2 days since the movie. I'm tired at work right now because I can't fall asleep at night. I must have turned the lamp on 17 times last night alone because I thought I saw a shadow sweep across my bed, or my sheet lift up a fraction of an inch. Sunday night I didn't sleep at all. I laid there praying. I did crossword puzzles till 4 am, then read the rest of the 7 chapters of my book until I finally passed out around 5:45 am. I am now 98.9% convinced that I have a demon. A demon snake that's going to slither into my bed and into my mind and make me do weird scary things. A demon snake that will scratch it's long, gross nails down the wall beside my bed and tap on my nightstand. Yes, my demon snake has nails. He also has a grotesque half snake/half human body that can grab me and bite me and hoarsely whisper my name as I tremble in fear for my life.
I can't believe Jeff forced me to see this movie. It's all his fault. Now I have a demon and only one arm with which to fight it off.
Then I watched The Exorcist.
After seeing Linda Blair's possessed cranium spin around whilst spewing green vomit and spouting the voice of Satan, I pretty much gave up on being brave. I don't think I gave up so much as had the desire ripped from me. After watching that one film my life changed and not for the better. For instance, I used to be a little weary of snakes. Their fangs and slithery bodies freaked me out. After watching The Exorcist, though, this fear of snakes escalated to a new level. See, my rationalization was this: if little girls can be possessed by Satan, and in several accounts of Satan, he is portrayed as a snake, then surely snakes, by proxy, can possess little girls. Surely, this is Satan's means of demonically possessing human beings. Right? Of course. My logic is bulletproof.
From then on, my fear of snakes rose and to this day, I still have a little voice in the back of my head saying, "not only can snakes bite you, but they can POSSESS YOU and make you do crazy, terrifying shit that will haunt you for the rest of your life." Do you see what watching "The Exorcist" has done to me? DO YOU???
Present day me still has a difficult time watching scary movies. I can handle the stupid Jeepers Creepers, The Blob, silly movies. Blobs can't possess me. However, any film that focuses on demonic possession or presences will send me running for the hills (which may or may not have eyes, apparently).
Enter Jeff. In case you aren't aware, a movie was released recently titled Paranormal Activity. I'd read a little bit about it on the internet; reviews and such that said it was actually a good movie. It's hard to find a well-reviewed horror movie these days. A few days after I'd read about the movie, Jeff brought it up and mentioned that we should go see it. As I had read a few good reviews about it, I hesistantly conceded. Two nights ago, we went and saw it. From what I had read, it was a story about a couple who had a ghostly presence in their house. "Ok," I thought, "I can handle a fun, spooky ghost story." So, we hopped on down to the theatre and sawed of our left arms to pay for the tickets and got some soda and pickles and took our seats. The movie began innocently enough and had a few laughs. It was filmed the same way as The Blair Witch Project, meaning that they filmed everything themselves so that they could see what seemed to be haunting "Katie." The premise was ever since she was 8 years old, she had been waking up to feel and see this presence in the room with her. It followed her to a new house, to college, and now it was in the house where she was living with "Micah" her boyfriend. Apparently, it was a Katie-specific ghost. So, they call a paranormal researcher, who comes to the house to find out what is haunting Katie, and how to get rid of it.
This is when things went downhill. The paranormal researcher informs Katie and Micah that this "presence" is not, in fact, a ghost, but a demon. Yes, a Demon. At this point, I looked at Jeff and said "I can't do this shit. If this thing's a demon, we have to leave." He said "Ok," but laughed at me. From then on out I had my hand over my eyes. After something would happen, such as the "DEMON" lifting up Katie's sheets, or stomping up and down the stairs, or pulling her by her leg out of her bed, then dragging her down the stairs, I'd make the mistake of asking Jeff "what just happened?" and then he'd tell me, so that I could form a more terrifying vision in my mind. I should have never asked, never inquired, but nooooo. I was curious. So, the movie continues, and the demon's voice starts to say Katie's name, at which point I cover not only my eyes, but also my ears so I can't hear that creepy voice that will definitely be haunting my nightmares. I can still hear the bass and the screams of the rest of the audience, but the fact that I don't know what's happening is comforting. I don't see the grand finale, thank GOD, and finally the movie is over. As we're leaving I ask Jeff what happened at the end (stupid, stupid, stupid). He tells me (that asshole, he knew it would scare me) and I form the horrifying mental picture in my mind.
It's been 2 days since the movie. I'm tired at work right now because I can't fall asleep at night. I must have turned the lamp on 17 times last night alone because I thought I saw a shadow sweep across my bed, or my sheet lift up a fraction of an inch. Sunday night I didn't sleep at all. I laid there praying. I did crossword puzzles till 4 am, then read the rest of the 7 chapters of my book until I finally passed out around 5:45 am. I am now 98.9% convinced that I have a demon. A demon snake that's going to slither into my bed and into my mind and make me do weird scary things. A demon snake that will scratch it's long, gross nails down the wall beside my bed and tap on my nightstand. Yes, my demon snake has nails. He also has a grotesque half snake/half human body that can grab me and bite me and hoarsely whisper my name as I tremble in fear for my life.
I can't believe Jeff forced me to see this movie. It's all his fault. Now I have a demon and only one arm with which to fight it off.
Susan Atkins Ironically Seeks Compassion
It's been a pretty crazy week for the rehashing of old crimes. First, Susan Atkins (the despicable woman who murdered the pregnant Sharon Tate and others) passed away with brain cancer, after having her appeal to be "compassionately released" due to her illness denied. Now I hear that Roman Polanski was finally arrested in Switzerland, though not on the charges of raping an underage girl. Hm.
Since I don't know all the details of the Polanski case, I'm going to decline to comment aside from this little snippet: If his arrest has anything to do with him finally taking responsibility for raping a 13 year old girl, then I hope he get what he deserves.
Moving on, I do have a few more opinions about Susan Atkins, who brutally murdered a pregnant, innocent, unarmed woman. Here is an extremely brief rundown of what happened: An upper-echelon member of the Manson Family, a cult led by Charles Manson, Susan Atkins was 19 when she began listening to the drug-fueled rants of the Family's leader. After being told to go with fellow members to the home of Susan Tate, she and her accomplices violently murdered every person in the house, a total of four people. Eventually, she and her accomplices were caught and put on trial. At this trial, she taunted the courtroom audience by saying "You best lock your doors and watch your own kids..." She and the others were found guilty and sentenced to death originally, but California removed the death penalty a few years later and reduced their sentence to life in prison. Over the course of her incarceration Atkins had nearly 11 parole hearings, each of which were unsuccessful. During her nearly 40 years in prison, Susan found the Lord and began teaching Sunday School classes for other inmates. Upon being diagnosed with a brain tumor, she requested a "compassionate release" from prison so that she could spend her remaining days with her family, a request which was ultimately denied. Susan died on September 24th, still in prison.
That wasn't as brief as I expected, but I tried. Anyway, this woman was a monster. I'm glad that she found solace in the Lord and spent some of her time in prison encouraging others to do the same, but it was too little, too late. She murdered a pregnant woman and felt no remorse after doing so. She's lucky she lived a long life, getting married twice while in prison, receiving conjugal visits, 3 square meals a day, not working. That's more than Sharon Tate can say. I could really go on and on about this, but I won't. I personally don't like to think about it, but I just hope that the families of those that were murdered by Manson's followers someday find peace. That is all.
Since I don't know all the details of the Polanski case, I'm going to decline to comment aside from this little snippet: If his arrest has anything to do with him finally taking responsibility for raping a 13 year old girl, then I hope he get what he deserves.
Moving on, I do have a few more opinions about Susan Atkins, who brutally murdered a pregnant, innocent, unarmed woman. Here is an extremely brief rundown of what happened: An upper-echelon member of the Manson Family, a cult led by Charles Manson, Susan Atkins was 19 when she began listening to the drug-fueled rants of the Family's leader. After being told to go with fellow members to the home of Susan Tate, she and her accomplices violently murdered every person in the house, a total of four people. Eventually, she and her accomplices were caught and put on trial. At this trial, she taunted the courtroom audience by saying "You best lock your doors and watch your own kids..." She and the others were found guilty and sentenced to death originally, but California removed the death penalty a few years later and reduced their sentence to life in prison. Over the course of her incarceration Atkins had nearly 11 parole hearings, each of which were unsuccessful. During her nearly 40 years in prison, Susan found the Lord and began teaching Sunday School classes for other inmates. Upon being diagnosed with a brain tumor, she requested a "compassionate release" from prison so that she could spend her remaining days with her family, a request which was ultimately denied. Susan died on September 24th, still in prison.
That wasn't as brief as I expected, but I tried. Anyway, this woman was a monster. I'm glad that she found solace in the Lord and spent some of her time in prison encouraging others to do the same, but it was too little, too late. She murdered a pregnant woman and felt no remorse after doing so. She's lucky she lived a long life, getting married twice while in prison, receiving conjugal visits, 3 square meals a day, not working. That's more than Sharon Tate can say. I could really go on and on about this, but I won't. I personally don't like to think about it, but I just hope that the families of those that were murdered by Manson's followers someday find peace. That is all.
The Budget
I recently decided to take up budgeting. I may or may not have had to review the actual definition of the word. As my "salary" is ramen noodles away from minimum wage I figured I could probably do with some good money management practices. Just so you know, I have never, ever budgeted, aside from putting away money for weekend escapades. Don't get me wrong, I've always paid my rent and bills on time, except in college when I drank my rent money then dashed to the plasma-donation center to prostitute my fluids for cash. Beyond that, I basically view the excess cash left in my checking account as a fun times fund, never tossing back any extra for savings or emergencies. I know, Responsible, that's my middle name.
However, I am now bound and determined to get my stuff straight. I may not make a ton of money, but the money I do generate needs to stop disappearing faster than a cold front in Texas. In that light, I have created a master budget that will allow me to pay off all my debt by June (fyi, my debts include one credit card and a car that's about 75% paid for). This means that my monthly spending allowance will be around $200. I figure come June, I'll have about $500-600 a month back in my pretty little pocket.
Until June however, I'm going to be going through withdrawals. Until June I'm going to have to perform the excruciatingly painful task of saying no to friends who want me to meet them out for a beer. The task of not even walking into a Target. The task of not going out to eat Mexican food when I get the inevitable craving for complimentary chips and salsa. The task of buying the store-brand spicy mustard (which is NOT the same!) instead of the delicious super-horseradish-y brand that I usually get. The task of not getting within a 10-mile radius of a bookstore. I'll possibly have to become one of those people I despise who sit in the bookstore all night reading books but never actually buying them.
If you are a family member or close friend reading this, I apologize in advance for giving you a crappy Christmas/birthday gift this year. It will probably be something along the lines of the following:
a) A card I make with my own hands consisting of a single sheet of notebook paper folded in half with a nice little drawing on the front and a nice little note inside. Thoughtful, no?
b) A cake with 3/4 of the proper ingredients. Yum!
c) A plant or flower I dug up and stole from my apartment complex. Everyone loves getting flowers!!!
Please accept my apology in advance. When I pay off all my debt you may or may not get a better gift. (But probably not.)
Wish me luck!!!
However, I am now bound and determined to get my stuff straight. I may not make a ton of money, but the money I do generate needs to stop disappearing faster than a cold front in Texas. In that light, I have created a master budget that will allow me to pay off all my debt by June (fyi, my debts include one credit card and a car that's about 75% paid for). This means that my monthly spending allowance will be around $200. I figure come June, I'll have about $500-600 a month back in my pretty little pocket.
Until June however, I'm going to be going through withdrawals. Until June I'm going to have to perform the excruciatingly painful task of saying no to friends who want me to meet them out for a beer. The task of not even walking into a Target. The task of not going out to eat Mexican food when I get the inevitable craving for complimentary chips and salsa. The task of buying the store-brand spicy mustard (which is NOT the same!) instead of the delicious super-horseradish-y brand that I usually get. The task of not getting within a 10-mile radius of a bookstore. I'll possibly have to become one of those people I despise who sit in the bookstore all night reading books but never actually buying them.
If you are a family member or close friend reading this, I apologize in advance for giving you a crappy Christmas/birthday gift this year. It will probably be something along the lines of the following:
a) A card I make with my own hands consisting of a single sheet of notebook paper folded in half with a nice little drawing on the front and a nice little note inside. Thoughtful, no?
b) A cake with 3/4 of the proper ingredients. Yum!
c) A plant or flower I dug up and stole from my apartment complex. Everyone loves getting flowers!!!
Please accept my apology in advance. When I pay off all my debt you may or may not get a better gift. (But probably not.)
Wish me luck!!!
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