I went to the DMV today. I got my learner's permit. Again. Yeah. Three years of driving practice isn't quite enough for this depth-perception deprived girlie. A fourth round seems called for. I'm not sure I'll ever be comfortable with driving, but crying every time I arrive at a destination seems impractical. Gotta get that under control.
Mum and I got there at about 8:30 am. We left at 11:30. THREE HOURS. What kind of absurdity is this? Three hours?? There's something fishy going on here.
First, the system is incredibly slow. The people there seem to be working at half speed. They seem to wander around in between helping customers for no apparent reason.
Second, given the population of the surrounding area and the small number of things that have to be done in an actual DMV office (as opposed to the internet or over the phone), there should not be that many people in there. They're open 40 hours a week and there are always 100 people in there. How is this possible? We probably go to the DMV once every year and that's only because us kids are all permit/license age. Before that, we never went to the DMV. Maybe every five years. So how is there always a line that's hours and hours long? ALWAYS. They must hire people to just clog up the lines.
As I sat there, waiting for my number to get called, I had a thought. I leaned over and whispered in my Italian Mama's ear, "This must be what Hell is like." She stifled a laugh. It's true and she knows it. An inefficient system, zombie-like people who don't relate to the customers as human beings, lots of paperwork... time stretches like... salt-water taffy, for lack of a better metaphor.
By the time I actually took the test (2 hours after we got there), which only took me about 5 minutes to complete, people were leaving for lunch. So the same person was setting up tests and correcting them. There were 30 tests in the basket and no one correcting them. It took an hour for someone to look at my test and give me my fourth permit. Ridiculous. Dumb. Inane. What is the world coming to?
So now, all I have to do is learn how to drive. Ha! Or move to Europe where they have an excellent public transportation system. At this point, that seems like a more realistic course of action.
31 July 2012
30 July 2012
Mama's Musings
This morning I managed to poison myself by inhaling fumes from orange oil bug spray. What the heck? I'm still uncurling. My stomach muscles are so tight and painful. Anyway. I'm not dead, but why I'm even feeling sick is a mystery to me...
But that isn't the real point of this post. The real point is to tell you that my Italian Mama now has her own blog. We spent about an hour finding her a name and a layout that she liked. I'd give you the link... but she hasn't written anything yet. She's still hung up on that I'll-wait-until-I-have-something-important-to-say thing that new bloggers have. At least, that's what I like to think about that... thing. I certainly don't write about anything important, but I like to think what I write about is enjoyable to read. Maybe that's another... thing. You know... a syndrome-that-has-no-concise-title-so-you-connect-all-of-the-words-with-dashes thing. I'm sure she'll write soon. When she does, I'll share. Then all of you will stop reading mine and start reading hers because it's more interesting.
But that isn't the real point of this post. The real point is to tell you that my Italian Mama now has her own blog. We spent about an hour finding her a name and a layout that she liked. I'd give you the link... but she hasn't written anything yet. She's still hung up on that I'll-wait-until-I-have-something-important-to-say thing that new bloggers have. At least, that's what I like to think about that... thing. I certainly don't write about anything important, but I like to think what I write about is enjoyable to read. Maybe that's another... thing. You know... a syndrome-that-has-no-concise-title-so-you-connect-all-of-the-words-with-dashes thing. I'm sure she'll write soon. When she does, I'll share. Then all of you will stop reading mine and start reading hers because it's more interesting.
29 July 2012
Emotionally Excellent
Something they say about the Olympics: they aren't about emotions, they're about excellence.
Yeah. Right.
Human beings are emotional. Excellently emotional.
At least... I am. HA!
A large part of the fun of watching the Olympics is the emotional attachment that you develop with complete strangers just because they're from your country. National identity. 'MERICA!
When watching events, I scream. And I ain't no sissy screamer. High and loud. Our dog is going to go deaf.
The unfortunate reality of watching Olympics, is that you loooooove that Team USA, but there are too many of them. You have to pick favorites in each sport. And that is totally emotional. Ryan Lochte, for example. I fell in love with him watching him flip tires and then when he beat Phelps. But then, I developed more of a love for Phelps after the relay and I reminded myself of Lochte's green shoes and blingy grilles. Who knows tomorrow who I'll be in love with tomorrow? I don't know. Yay emotions.
Saddest story from today? Jordyn Wieber. Disqualified from the all-around women's gymnastics competition, not because she wasn't an excellent gymnast. She placed 4th overall, but 3rd of the Americans. And there can only be two. So devastatingly sad.
Like I said, emotions. Excellence is so emotional. Because we are emotional. Yay for being human.
Seriously.
Yeah. Right.
Human beings are emotional. Excellently emotional.
At least... I am. HA!
A large part of the fun of watching the Olympics is the emotional attachment that you develop with complete strangers just because they're from your country. National identity. 'MERICA!
When watching events, I scream. And I ain't no sissy screamer. High and loud. Our dog is going to go deaf.
The unfortunate reality of watching Olympics, is that you loooooove that Team USA, but there are too many of them. You have to pick favorites in each sport. And that is totally emotional. Ryan Lochte, for example. I fell in love with him watching him flip tires and then when he beat Phelps. But then, I developed more of a love for Phelps after the relay and I reminded myself of Lochte's green shoes and blingy grilles. Who knows tomorrow who I'll be in love with tomorrow? I don't know. Yay emotions.
Saddest story from today? Jordyn Wieber. Disqualified from the all-around women's gymnastics competition, not because she wasn't an excellent gymnast. She placed 4th overall, but 3rd of the Americans. And there can only be two. So devastatingly sad.
Like I said, emotions. Excellence is so emotional. Because we are emotional. Yay for being human.
Seriously.
26 July 2012
Airing the Laundry
Yeah, I posted that nice (mostly) calm bit about my quilt earlier. Out of character? Yeah, I thought so too. Let me gripe a bit and then your faith in my insanity will be restored. Ok.
So, this quilt. It's big. And I mean HUGE. The first frustration that I encountered was that I did my math wrong. I calculated square inches of a king size bedspread and the square inches yielded from one and a half yards each of eight different fabrics. I allowed for quite a bit of extra since you loose some in the seams. I gave myself a little more than that, even. Somewhere along the line, though, my multiplication on the whiteboard went awry. I think I'll hit the right size exactly... if I'm lucky. There may be bigger borders than is conventionally accepted. It'll still be pretty.
The second frustration is with the construction of the quilt. It's an easy quilt. You cut long strips of fabric, sew the long strips together, and then slice them to the appropriate widths. You then carefully arrange and line up all of the little squares in each strip. That demands a bit of pulling and wiggling of the fabric to get it just right, which wouldn't normally be a problem. But it is. Why? Because in the slicing the strips step, you slice right through your seams, leaving vulnerable-to-separation seams in your wake. Any little bit of pulling and you pop a couple of stitches. This, again, wouldn't always be a problem, since in garment sewing, you typically leave a larger seam allowance. In quilting, the seam allowance is about the size of four stitches.
The third frustration was that through my own stupidity, I sewed two of the carefully pieced, delicately assembled strips together the wrong way. So then I had to seam rip eight feet of fabric apart, trying not to rip the strips to pieces in the process. Thirty minutes of frustration.
On a more positive note, it does look beautiful.
And to make you laugh:
A literal piece of laundry being aired. It's prominently displayed on the banister. This is what happens when you drop clothes on the stairs in our house.
So, this quilt. It's big. And I mean HUGE. The first frustration that I encountered was that I did my math wrong. I calculated square inches of a king size bedspread and the square inches yielded from one and a half yards each of eight different fabrics. I allowed for quite a bit of extra since you loose some in the seams. I gave myself a little more than that, even. Somewhere along the line, though, my multiplication on the whiteboard went awry. I think I'll hit the right size exactly... if I'm lucky. There may be bigger borders than is conventionally accepted. It'll still be pretty.
The second frustration is with the construction of the quilt. It's an easy quilt. You cut long strips of fabric, sew the long strips together, and then slice them to the appropriate widths. You then carefully arrange and line up all of the little squares in each strip. That demands a bit of pulling and wiggling of the fabric to get it just right, which wouldn't normally be a problem. But it is. Why? Because in the slicing the strips step, you slice right through your seams, leaving vulnerable-to-separation seams in your wake. Any little bit of pulling and you pop a couple of stitches. This, again, wouldn't always be a problem, since in garment sewing, you typically leave a larger seam allowance. In quilting, the seam allowance is about the size of four stitches.
The third frustration was that through my own stupidity, I sewed two of the carefully pieced, delicately assembled strips together the wrong way. So then I had to seam rip eight feet of fabric apart, trying not to rip the strips to pieces in the process. Thirty minutes of frustration.
On a more positive note, it does look beautiful.
And to make you laugh:
needle and thREAD
I've jumped on this bandwagon.
Elizabeth Foss frequently has these posts where she shares what she's sewing and what she's reading. Since I share absolutely nothing about my life (haha, right), I thought you might be interested in these details. Anyway, here's my current project.
A BIG QUILT!
I've made a couple of smaller quilts for my bed at school, but I've never tackled a king-size bedspread. I'm excited about the project, but a bit nervous. I start working full time in a week and half, so my quilt making time will be severely diminished. As usual, my anxiety is probably unwarranted: the quilt is a gift for a couple of good friends who are getting married three days after Christmas. I've got time
p.s. - I'm reading a P.G. Wodehouse collection on my kindle. Three bucks, seven thousand pages. Do it. It's worth it.
23 July 2012
Random happenings
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.
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.
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.
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