Today didn't contain anything that I would write more than about 100 words about. It did have several things worth communicating, though. So here they are, all in short form:
1. I have a Michigan accent
I went in for a pseudo-interview today. I say pseudo because it was with a temp agency that places administrative assistant types. No job, but more possibilities. Anyway, the lady at the front desk asked me very seriously if I was originally from Michigan. Apparently, I have a "really strong" accent. I guess that's what I get after becoming good friends with many people from the hand state at school. The more I deny it, though, the more it happens. Unfortunate truth.
2. I clean up well
The man who interviewed me escorted me into a little room where I could be interrogated. I mean questioned. I mean... oh, you know what I mean. Interviewed. As I sat there, he half-listened, but mostly kept looking me up and down. About halfway through, he said that if he had known that I would look "this way" an hour ago, he would have had a position for me. Cue mystified feeling. Wrapping up the interview, he warned me that they don't place all of their candidates, but he thought I had a good chance because I "seemed smart, had a college degree, didn't expect to be paid a lot, and..." He paused and looked me up and down, clearly at a loss for the appropriate words. He finally settled on "clean up well."No, I wasn't offended. I was amused at the scene. A young man, who doesn't know me and is in a professional setting, trying to figure out how to compliment my appearance. Yes, I was amused.
3. My Italian Mama is brave
Or stupid. I haven't decided which yet. We had some errands to run after my pseudo-interview. (GROSSNESS WARNING) She stopped off at a restroom and lo-and-behold, there was a large wad of paper towels in the toilet. Not wanting to make a mess, she scooped up the paper towels (eeeewwww) before using the toilet herself. The hoped-for result was that the toilet would flush without the obstruction. Then she could put the paper towels back. Unfortunately, her theory didn't hold water. But the toilet did. No flusheo. So she had to restore the paper towels to their former residence. (eeeeewwwww). I would have waited til I got home. Just saying.
23 July 2012
22 July 2012
The Down Side
So the only appeal that I can see in that uber-popular song "Call Me Maybe" are the hysterical covers that come out once in a while. Little kids singing and dancing, Cookie Monster's word change to "Share It Maybe," and finally, the rendition done by Armed Forces personnel. A well done parody or lip syncing video can make my morning.
The down side is that the song gets stuck in my head for days. And days. Dumb song. I want to shoot myself. I should start watching them with my volume muted.
The down side is that the song gets stuck in my head for days. And days. Dumb song. I want to shoot myself. I should start watching them with my volume muted.
20 July 2012
A Sad Day, A Hopeful Day
What a sorrowful Friday.
I woke this morning to news of the Aurora, CO shooting. So many lives lost or injured. I can't even imagine the horror of being in that situation.
Later in the morning, I sat on the floor, playing with two small children. I was enjoying sharing in their joy and simple happiness. As I sat there, I felt the phone in my pocket vibrate. I pulled it out and stared at the screen for a second. It was from someone I wasn't expecting to hear from for a while. It was with some trepidation that I opened it, but nothing could have prepared me for what I read.
I don't remember the exact wording, but the message was this: a student from my alma mater was struck and killed by a car early this morning. (story here)
Cue stomach drop. I stared blankly at my sister, who was across the room. She asked what was wrong and I told her the news.
It still hasn't sunk in. I can't believe it. They say little kids don't find death tragic because they don't understand what it means for someone to be gone forever. I find death tragic... but I can't claim to grasp what that really means either. Somehow you always expect they'll come back.
That's a great thing about being Catholic: we believe that, by the grace of God, we'll see those people again.
There's something to hope for.
Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord, and may the perpetual light shine upon them. May their souls and the souls of all the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace.
I woke this morning to news of the Aurora, CO shooting. So many lives lost or injured. I can't even imagine the horror of being in that situation.
Later in the morning, I sat on the floor, playing with two small children. I was enjoying sharing in their joy and simple happiness. As I sat there, I felt the phone in my pocket vibrate. I pulled it out and stared at the screen for a second. It was from someone I wasn't expecting to hear from for a while. It was with some trepidation that I opened it, but nothing could have prepared me for what I read.
I don't remember the exact wording, but the message was this: a student from my alma mater was struck and killed by a car early this morning. (story here)
Cue stomach drop. I stared blankly at my sister, who was across the room. She asked what was wrong and I told her the news.
It still hasn't sunk in. I can't believe it. They say little kids don't find death tragic because they don't understand what it means for someone to be gone forever. I find death tragic... but I can't claim to grasp what that really means either. Somehow you always expect they'll come back.
That's a great thing about being Catholic: we believe that, by the grace of God, we'll see those people again.
There's something to hope for.
Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord, and may the perpetual light shine upon them. May their souls and the souls of all the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace.
19 July 2012
The Eyes Have It
What that "it" is, I'll explain in a moment. Or, rather, show you in a moment. But first, I must warn you that this post is not for squeamish sissy wimps sensitive souls who cringe at the sight of don't like to see pictures of peoples' insides.
On numerous occasions, I have mentioned that I am not... erm... normal. My anatomy is sort of a anomaly. This fact first manifested itself when I was a baby through an extreme case of crossed eyes. For the most part, my eyes look normal from the outside now. That is, until you catch me when I'm tired or stressed and my right eye is pointing at some location up and away from where my left eye is looking.
Anyway, we were recently given photographic proof of my weirdness.
Below is Exhibit A: An image of the inside of Dad's nearly perfect eyeballs, prominently featuring an the optic nerves (those bright spots). Notice the symmetry.
This final image is the three of these images hung in a row: mine, Dad's, and my sister's.
And yes, they're on the fridge. We have eclectic decorating tastes. :)
On numerous occasions, I have mentioned that I am not... erm... normal. My anatomy is sort of a anomaly. This fact first manifested itself when I was a baby through an extreme case of crossed eyes. For the most part, my eyes look normal from the outside now. That is, until you catch me when I'm tired or stressed and my right eye is pointing at some location up and away from where my left eye is looking.
Anyway, we were recently given photographic proof of my weirdness.
Below is Exhibit A: An image of the inside of Dad's nearly perfect eyeballs, prominently featuring an the optic nerves (those bright spots). Notice the symmetry.
Exhibit B: An image of my sister's not quite perfect, but close enough for government work, eyeballs. The optic nerves are slightly off from each other, but nothing too drastic.
Exhibit C: An image of my dramatically off-kilter, but still incredibly healthy, eyeballs. My optic nerves are apparently rather relaxed about being symmetrical. This explains many, many things.
This final image is the three of these images hung in a row: mine, Dad's, and my sister's.
And yes, they're on the fridge. We have eclectic decorating tastes. :)
18 July 2012
The Girl Code: (not quite) 100% Good Advice
Diane Farr wrote a book in 2001, several years before she met and married the Giant Korean (see her book Kissing Outside the Lines for that story), which was her effort to write down the secrets of female society in one place. Everything from common terms to etiquette guidelines.
(yes, the book has the s-e-x word on it. don't freak out.)
My Italian Mama purchased this book after reading Diane Farr's other work mentioned above. We had laughed so hard at the first one that she figured we couldn't go wrong with another book by the same author.
This book is in an entirely different style. While funny, it's almost like a dictionary. A term is in bold at the top of a page, followed by it's definition. Following this are the terms, conditions, and qualifiers under which this is applicable or appropriate. Finally, it's used in an example sentence to show it's uses: as an excuse, a noun, a cry for attention, etc. I know, I know, this is a terrible description that doesn't really explain anything. You should just read it yourself. At least if you're a girl. Boys... you don't want to know. More importantly, though, is that we don't want you to know. Ignorance is bliss for you and advantageous for us.
The reason I can recommend this book is not because I thought it was perfect. She has a very different set of morals that I do. I am not going to encourage (read: strongly discourage) several of the practices mentioned in her book. The reason I can recommend this book is that it is mostly good advice.
She and I don't see eye to eye. I would dissuade a young woman from a one-night stand on moral grounds. She discourages it on different grounds. "You know the guilt that accompanies excessive drinking?," she writes, "Multiply it times ten, and now you know what to expect the day after a one-night stand. P.S. This hangover doesn't go away as fast as the drinking kind." In laying ground rules for this kind of encounter, a recurrent theme is: it's not worth it. You won't get a meaningful relationship out of it. It isn't going to fulfill you. If you were friends, well, honey, you can kiss that goodbye. If he's just around for the sex, why would you want him around anyway?
Premarital sex is a non-issue for her. Of course you'll sleep with people. Funny to think that so much of what she says about a one-nighter could be applied to a six-monther. Or any sort of not-for-the-rest-of-your-lifer. Why buy the cow if he's getting the milk for free?
Explicitly sexual issues aside, her book is solid. It covers everything from how to decide if a guy is a keeper (The Tests: Waitress Test, Car Door Test, Family Test) to how to let go of one who's not (He's Out of The Car, On the Curb, you have Raw Cookie Dough Time). She covers the rules of a girls' night out (Never Leave Your Wingman) and the importance of being loyal to your girlfriends above all else (Don't Shop In Other People's Closets).
I'll leave you with this final bit of wisdom: "Men are like buses... you sit at the stop long enough and another one comes along - but girlfriends are like Maseratis: few and far between."
(yes, the book has the s-e-x word on it. don't freak out.)
My Italian Mama purchased this book after reading Diane Farr's other work mentioned above. We had laughed so hard at the first one that she figured we couldn't go wrong with another book by the same author.
This book is in an entirely different style. While funny, it's almost like a dictionary. A term is in bold at the top of a page, followed by it's definition. Following this are the terms, conditions, and qualifiers under which this is applicable or appropriate. Finally, it's used in an example sentence to show it's uses: as an excuse, a noun, a cry for attention, etc. I know, I know, this is a terrible description that doesn't really explain anything. You should just read it yourself. At least if you're a girl. Boys... you don't want to know. More importantly, though, is that we don't want you to know. Ignorance is bliss for you and advantageous for us.
The reason I can recommend this book is not because I thought it was perfect. She has a very different set of morals that I do. I am not going to encourage (read: strongly discourage) several of the practices mentioned in her book. The reason I can recommend this book is that it is mostly good advice.
She and I don't see eye to eye. I would dissuade a young woman from a one-night stand on moral grounds. She discourages it on different grounds. "You know the guilt that accompanies excessive drinking?," she writes, "Multiply it times ten, and now you know what to expect the day after a one-night stand. P.S. This hangover doesn't go away as fast as the drinking kind." In laying ground rules for this kind of encounter, a recurrent theme is: it's not worth it. You won't get a meaningful relationship out of it. It isn't going to fulfill you. If you were friends, well, honey, you can kiss that goodbye. If he's just around for the sex, why would you want him around anyway?
Premarital sex is a non-issue for her. Of course you'll sleep with people. Funny to think that so much of what she says about a one-nighter could be applied to a six-monther. Or any sort of not-for-the-rest-of-your-lifer. Why buy the cow if he's getting the milk for free?
Explicitly sexual issues aside, her book is solid. It covers everything from how to decide if a guy is a keeper (The Tests: Waitress Test, Car Door Test, Family Test) to how to let go of one who's not (He's Out of The Car, On the Curb, you have Raw Cookie Dough Time). She covers the rules of a girls' night out (Never Leave Your Wingman) and the importance of being loyal to your girlfriends above all else (Don't Shop In Other People's Closets).
I'll leave you with this final bit of wisdom: "Men are like buses... you sit at the stop long enough and another one comes along - but girlfriends are like Maseratis: few and far between."
17 July 2012
Reality vs. Imagination
I totally get carried away in the imagination department. I always have. It usually leans toward the "panic because there's an impending disaster" kind of imagining. My recent experience was no exception.
Here are the factual events:
Sunday, 11 a.m. - I sent a text to my "big brother" in Michigan, letting him know that I'd mailed him a chocolate cake.
Sunday, 8 p.m. - Something happened that made me really, really, really want to have some big brother time, but 1) it was late in MI and 2) he hadn't ever texted me back, so he obviously wasn't around.
Monday, 9 a.m. - I got a text from him, telling me that he was just headed back from vacation so he hoped it hadn't gone bad. I told him to put ice cream on it if it was dry and then proceeded to vent at him about the other thing via text for the next seven hours. (hey, I'm a girl. These things are necessary.)
Here's what happened in my head:
Sunday, 11 a.m. - I really hope that cake didn't get lost. It really should've been there by now. I'll send a text and see if maybe he just hadn't mentioned that it had arrived.
Sunday, 12 p.m. - hm... it's been an hour. Maybe MI fell off the face of the earth.
Sunday, 3 p.m. - Ok, this is really unusual, even for him. Maybe something bad happened to him...
Sunday, 5 p.m. - OH MY GOSH, HE HAS CANCER AGAIN. I saw that facebook thing about a CT scan a while ago and never heard that he was ok so maybe he relapsed or whatever they call it when cancer comes back. Come to think of it, I haven't seen anything from him OR his dad on facebook or twitter for at least a week. OH MY GOSH, HE'S DYING. CRAP CRAP CRAP CRAP panic panic panic panic PAAANIIIIIC!!!!!!!!!
Sunday, 8 p.m. - Wow, that email totally turned my world upside down (totally different story that won't be shared... at least for like 30 years. It's going to take that long to look back on it and laugh). I I really want to talk to him about this... BUT if I'm right in my panic-stricken imaginings, my relationship problems are going to seem so trite and pathetic and unimportant and dumb and he'll hate me for bringing them up. That text would be so humiliating to receive: I'm sorry you're having this problem, but I have cancer. Keep your problems to yourself, honey. At least until you find out for sure if he's dying.
Several times throughout night - Wake up panic-stricken and pray he doesn't have cancer. I said so many Hail Mary's during those 8 hours when I should have been sleeping.
Monday, 9 a.m. - My big brother texts me letting me know that they're coming back from a 9 day vacation. Cue relief and a feeling of idiocy. Oh. He was on vacation. Ok. I can tell him about my trite, pathetic, unimportant, and dumb relationship problems now with a clean conscience.
Like I mentioned before, we texted sporadically back and forth for seven hours (with a break for my dentist visit and interview downtown). I cannot tell you how helpful it was. My Italian Mama tweeted him later to thank him for being the bringer of "sanity, perspective, and the epically placed cuss word."
Big brothers are so much better than superheros.
And I need to learn how to control my imagination.
Here are the factual events:
Sunday, 11 a.m. - I sent a text to my "big brother" in Michigan, letting him know that I'd mailed him a chocolate cake.
Sunday, 8 p.m. - Something happened that made me really, really, really want to have some big brother time, but 1) it was late in MI and 2) he hadn't ever texted me back, so he obviously wasn't around.
Monday, 9 a.m. - I got a text from him, telling me that he was just headed back from vacation so he hoped it hadn't gone bad. I told him to put ice cream on it if it was dry and then proceeded to vent at him about the other thing via text for the next seven hours. (hey, I'm a girl. These things are necessary.)
Here's what happened in my head:
Sunday, 11 a.m. - I really hope that cake didn't get lost. It really should've been there by now. I'll send a text and see if maybe he just hadn't mentioned that it had arrived.
Sunday, 12 p.m. - hm... it's been an hour. Maybe MI fell off the face of the earth.
Sunday, 3 p.m. - Ok, this is really unusual, even for him. Maybe something bad happened to him...
Sunday, 5 p.m. - OH MY GOSH, HE HAS CANCER AGAIN. I saw that facebook thing about a CT scan a while ago and never heard that he was ok so maybe he relapsed or whatever they call it when cancer comes back. Come to think of it, I haven't seen anything from him OR his dad on facebook or twitter for at least a week. OH MY GOSH, HE'S DYING. CRAP CRAP CRAP CRAP panic panic panic panic PAAANIIIIIC!!!!!!!!!
Sunday, 8 p.m. - Wow, that email totally turned my world upside down (totally different story that won't be shared... at least for like 30 years. It's going to take that long to look back on it and laugh). I I really want to talk to him about this... BUT if I'm right in my panic-stricken imaginings, my relationship problems are going to seem so trite and pathetic and unimportant and dumb and he'll hate me for bringing them up. That text would be so humiliating to receive: I'm sorry you're having this problem, but I have cancer. Keep your problems to yourself, honey. At least until you find out for sure if he's dying.
Several times throughout night - Wake up panic-stricken and pray he doesn't have cancer. I said so many Hail Mary's during those 8 hours when I should have been sleeping.
Monday, 9 a.m. - My big brother texts me letting me know that they're coming back from a 9 day vacation. Cue relief and a feeling of idiocy. Oh. He was on vacation. Ok. I can tell him about my trite, pathetic, unimportant, and dumb relationship problems now with a clean conscience.
Like I mentioned before, we texted sporadically back and forth for seven hours (with a break for my dentist visit and interview downtown). I cannot tell you how helpful it was. My Italian Mama tweeted him later to thank him for being the bringer of "sanity, perspective, and the epically placed cuss word."
Big brothers are so much better than superheros.
And I need to learn how to control my imagination.
13 July 2012
Too Poor for the Floor
I don't really think of my family as poor. We aren't. Dad has a good job... and he always has. We aren't excessive in our spending. We can't buy whatever we want, but we've always been able to afford what we needed. I've never felt poor.
Compared to the people surrounding us yesterday though, Mum and I felt poor.
We went to the mall near the airport. We've gone to almost every mall in the county, but never this one. Ok, that isn't strictly true. I've been there twice. Once when I was about 14, I went out for lunch and a movie with a couple of friends. The second time was more recently, but I went in to buy a gift certificate for someone at a store located year the entrance to the mall. On neither occasion did I peruse the shops or even really look around. Yesterday was different.
Yesterday, we entered the mall near the Bloomingdale's. Never been to Bloomingdale's before. We didn't go in, since we were search of food first. We looked at the little map thing and decided to go to the Nordstrom Cafe. It was clear on the other side of the mall, but we didn't mind the walk and (more importantly) I'd eaten there before without having an allergic reaction. So off we tromped.
Looking from side to side at the various shops we passed, we noticed two things: first, they were all designer stores (GUCCI & LOUIS VUITTON!!!) and everyone was wearing designer products (EXPENSIVE & FANCY!!!). Both of these findings were disconcerting: we were definitely in the wrong income bracket to be in this mall. We were definitely under-dressed.
Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy.
I told Mum, as we strolled through in our shorts and t-shirts, "Just exude confidence." She responded with, "Yes, just pretend you dressed this way on purpose to make a statement." Right. Ok. Into Nordstrom we went (passing a TIFFANY & CO. and NEIMEN MARCUS on the way!!!) and headed to the third level. There were pretty lights everywhere. Mirrors on all the walls. The floor was shiny as all get out. (Seriously, the white and black marble was polished to mirror standards.) Up the escalator we went.
First stop: thesuper fancy, chic lounge bathroom. It was the size of a small home. Everyone in it looked like they were going out for a nice night on the town. I felt like I was in one of those dreams where you realize you're up in front of a bunch of people completely naked. I wasn't naked, but the glares I received from the snobby rich ladies seemed to indicate that I might as well have been.
Second stop: lunch. I made a complete fool of myself, not knowing how one is supposed to order at the Nordstrom Cafe. It's a weird combo of buffet/order first/sit down meal restaurant. I was so confused. And under-dressed. Couldn't really get the under-dressed part out of my mind. We ate, while a nice man (Gustav?) waited on our table. Needless to say, we didn't much feel like lingering.
As we were trying to exit the store, Mum was having difficulty walking. Her shoes kept catching on the super shiny floor. "Look, Mum," I said, "we're too poor to even walk on the floor." We giggled to ourselves as we left, inciting annoyed stares from the snobby rich ladies.
We definitely didn't fit in around there. But we were definitely alright with that.
Compared to the people surrounding us yesterday though, Mum and I felt poor.
We went to the mall near the airport. We've gone to almost every mall in the county, but never this one. Ok, that isn't strictly true. I've been there twice. Once when I was about 14, I went out for lunch and a movie with a couple of friends. The second time was more recently, but I went in to buy a gift certificate for someone at a store located year the entrance to the mall. On neither occasion did I peruse the shops or even really look around. Yesterday was different.
Yesterday, we entered the mall near the Bloomingdale's. Never been to Bloomingdale's before. We didn't go in, since we were search of food first. We looked at the little map thing and decided to go to the Nordstrom Cafe. It was clear on the other side of the mall, but we didn't mind the walk and (more importantly) I'd eaten there before without having an allergic reaction. So off we tromped.
Looking from side to side at the various shops we passed, we noticed two things: first, they were all designer stores (GUCCI & LOUIS VUITTON!!!) and everyone was wearing designer products (EXPENSIVE & FANCY!!!). Both of these findings were disconcerting: we were definitely in the wrong income bracket to be in this mall. We were definitely under-dressed.
Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy.
I told Mum, as we strolled through in our shorts and t-shirts, "Just exude confidence." She responded with, "Yes, just pretend you dressed this way on purpose to make a statement." Right. Ok. Into Nordstrom we went (passing a TIFFANY & CO. and NEIMEN MARCUS on the way!!!) and headed to the third level. There were pretty lights everywhere. Mirrors on all the walls. The floor was shiny as all get out. (Seriously, the white and black marble was polished to mirror standards.) Up the escalator we went.
First stop: the
Second stop: lunch. I made a complete fool of myself, not knowing how one is supposed to order at the Nordstrom Cafe. It's a weird combo of buffet/order first/sit down meal restaurant. I was so confused. And under-dressed. Couldn't really get the under-dressed part out of my mind. We ate, while a nice man (Gustav?) waited on our table. Needless to say, we didn't much feel like lingering.
As we were trying to exit the store, Mum was having difficulty walking. Her shoes kept catching on the super shiny floor. "Look, Mum," I said, "we're too poor to even walk on the floor." We giggled to ourselves as we left, inciting annoyed stares from the snobby rich ladies.
We definitely didn't fit in around there. But we were definitely alright with that.
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