How are you today? I'm superfantastic.

Ready...Set...

Sweet flaming monkeys of doom, it starts tomorrow!  Tomorrow I have to begin writing a novel that I will finish in only one month!  Well, ok not finish maybe, but write at least 50,000 words of in one month.  The thing is, I recently word-counted the novel that I began working on roughly 6 years ago, and I had 51,300 words.  And yes, it has been on and off work, with the emphasis very heavily on the OFF.  There may have even been entire years in there when I didn't even open the file because I realized what pure unadulterated crap lay within.  But still, that particular statistic has me a little bit spooked.

And yet I also cannot wait to get started!  This feels very foreign to me, wanting to write and not allowing myself.  Probably that is why I've been posting here so much.  That and a sneaking suspicion I have that I may not post so much next month.  Or the opposite could happen and I could be posting here all the damn time in an effort to procrastinate the other writing.  Only time will tell!  I do hope to at least update the word count area every day.  Then you people will be better able to guilt and shame me into completing this!  (Mmmm...taste the Internet shame.  It's rather salty, isn't it?  Perhaps it would go nicely with a margarita?)

I have finally settled on an idea (and not a moment too soon!) which I hatched a few months ago while reading Olivia Joules and the Overactive Imagination by Helen Fielding, which I highly recommend if you're into Chick Lit (which I am, Internet!  I suppose I should be heartily ashamed of that but I CAN'T HELP MYSELF.)  My story will draw heavily on my experiences working in the office of a certain non-profit where we did things like mini-golf and have elaborate rubberband wars right there in the office during working hours.  And where no one in management was ever capable of stringing together one complete sentence that did not include some hazy corporate doublespeak.  Except my fictional non-profit's shady President, instead of just seeming LIKELY to be involved in criminal activities, will be accidentally discovered by my main character to actually BE involved in criminal activities.  Suspense, hijinks, and wordiness will ensue!  Stay tuned!!!

I fully intend to apply such word padding advice as never using contractions, never hyphenating ("poorly-written" is only one word, but "poorly written" is two!), giving my characters two or three names to always be used ("Hello, Mary Kate.  This is Anthony Michael.  Sarah Jessica Parker says hi."), and just having lots of dense characters who need to endlessly repeat what they and others say.  See, they will repeat what they say and also what other characters say to them.  It will be repetitive when they do all of that repeating of what everyone says and will use more words.  The repetitiveness, I mean.

Ok then!

What's that, you wanted something about Halloween?  You'll just have to reread last year's because there is NO TIME FOR HOLIDAYS!  I've got an entire cast of characters to invent and name and a nefarious plot to both plan and uncover!  I'm swamped!  But if you stop by tonight in costume during official trick or treating hours, I might give you a Kit Kat.

Why yes, my desk IS actually a red table.

So I bought a new computer.  Oops!  But it was a very good deal!  The same computer at CompUSA cost TWO HUNDRED DOLLARS more than at Best Buy.  I intended to do all kinds of research before buying a new computer this time.  Really, I did.  But then it seemed so much more efficient to just ask the salespeople at various computery stores what I should get.  I told them that portability was key, except do you know how much they want for tiny laptops these days?!?  Sheesh!  Which is how I ended up with what feels to me like a behemoth of the laptop variety.  Look!  New Computer could EAT Old Computer:

But of course, the new computer does not require the fan set-up.

And apparently the battery in the new computer can work for up to four hours!  That is easily eight times as long as the battery in the old computer.  So I will not have to play outlet frogger when visiting a coffee shop, moving from table to table, jockeying for outlet-adjacent seats.

But still, it's a little sad to be retiring the old girl.  Not sad enough to say, keep her around though.  Can anyone tell me what a person could reasonably charge on Craig's List for a 4 year old laptop in good working condition except for a specific fan issue?  It even comes with a fancy schmancy leather Dell carrying case.  I will also throw in the blue fan!

I'd like to show you what came in my Geek Squad folder, but unfortunately I can't.  It's TOP SECRET. 

The guys (Geeks?) at the store were telling me how I could hide practically anything in there and no one could even look at it since it says TOP SECRET on the outside.  I'm not sure I'm going to try that.

In only vaguely computer-related news, I actually worked up the nerve to attend the NaNoWriMo kick off party last night!  I even talked to more than one person!  Aren't you so proud of me, Internet?

My OCD required that I round out the week of daily posts. Sorry.

After reading this I had a strong craving for a McDonald’s cheeseburger, but then I read this.  Hoo boy, no thank you!

I was reading my Newsweek last night and there was a mention of Estes Kefauver.  I recognized the name, but had no idea why.  So today I googled him (why it did not occur to me to just go straight to Wikipedia, I cannot say) and am still not entirely sure why I know the name.  Sure, I took A LOT of classes that would lend themselves to mention of such a person (American Government & Politics, Legislative Politics, Executive Legislative Relations, the list goes ON AND ON) but specifically, I am not sure.  But it’s a memorable name, right?  Maybe if I had a name like Estes Kefauver, people would have a better chance of remembering me.  Because I am not terribly memorable.  No, it’s true.  People will introduce themselves to me repeatedly.  While I most likely do not remember their names, I do recall having met them.  Probably my wallflower tendencies are mostly to blame, or the fact that I am apparently rather nondescript.  Anyway, according to Wikipedia, Estes Kefauver ran for Senate against E.H. Crump, which is another really excellent name.  I would gladly pay an inadvisable amount of money for campaign swag featuring the names Kefauver and Crump.

Yet another word that I love?  Scurvy.  It is equally enjoyable said in a piratey voice or not.

And finally, want to know what one thing you could do that would be least likely of all things in the world to make me smile?  Tell me to smile.  Why do people do this?  Why?  Even if we haven’t personally met, I bet you suspect that I am not the most effusive person out there.  I am apparently “hard to read”.  So just because I am not actively smiling, this does not mean that I am sad/angry/upset.  I was just walking down the hall at work one day and someone passing by said to me “it’s not all that bad”.  So if I’m not grinning like an idiot while on my way to check the supply cabinet, it should be assumed that I think life is somehow not worth living?  As much as I love Steel Magnolias for its sheer I feel like crying for no particular reason, so please Sally Field give me an excuse goodness (“I’m fine, I’m fine!  I could run to Texas and back, but my daughter can’t!  She never coooooould!”) the part where Dolly Parton says “Smile!  It increases your face value!” makes me angry.  If you said that to me, I would probably punch you.  Don’t test me, Internet.

In an effort to keep up with the mad daily posting insanity of this week

I gave blood yesterday.  Our company had a blood drive at the downtown office and the incentive was a pint of Blue Bell ice cream.  A pint for a pint!  (Not the sort of pint I think a lot of people were hoping for when they heard that slogan.  While my employer is not shy about workplace drinking in the form of company-sponsored happy hours, apparently they didn't think it was a good idea to serve beer to blood-deprived individuals.) 

I had no trouble with any portion of the blood-donating process.  Blood pressure?  Exceptionally low.   Why yes, I do weigh over 110 pounds, just barely.  No, in the past 10 years I haven’t accepted money or drugs for sex--thanks for asking, Texas Blood & Tissue Nurse! 

They typically have quite a bit of trouble locating a vein in either arm (I would make a terrible junkie!) but this time it went smoothly and I was done in a flash.  I tell you what, I am one speedy bleeder.  If there were ever a competition for who could most quickly fill a pint bag with his or her own blood, I would totally win!  (It's all about squeezing the little squeezy thing every 3 seconds, folks.  I give away my secret since I doubt I will ever have the opportunity to realize my blood donation championship dreams.)  I ate my complimentary cookies and then went home for lunch, pint of mint chocolate chip in hand. 

I heard today that someone saw two engineers come in, swipe cookies and leave without giving blood!  The audacity!  I earned my Nutterbutters, thankyouverymuch.

Despite having given blood many times before, I was surprised by the no caffeine for the rest of the day instruction.  And since I am an afternoon caffeine drinker, yesterday was my first totally decaf day in recent memory.  They also say not to do any kind of exercise, except I was home alone with the dogs last night and they would have driven me insane staying inside all night, totally ruining my cozy rainy night of reading.  Our backyard was one big mudpit after the rain, so I threw caution to the wind and took the dogs for a walk.

And then this morning I was fairly certain that I was going to pass out in the shower.  The other thing about mornings and me is that I have my morning routine stripped down to absolute essentials, so there is no fat to trim should I find myself running late.  (Ok, I wore glasses instead of contacts, but this saves me, what 45 seconds?)  Due to all of the sitting-still-rather-than-getting-ready time necessitated by the fainty feeling, I found myself in a serious time crunch.  So I just blowdried my hair without doing it by sections around a brush, and I swear it does not look that much worse.  And I saved probably 8 minutes.  Guess who is going to have a lot of flat hair in her future?  That is one whole extra snooze!

I figured the wooziness (woozy – another great word!) was probably caused by dehydration from walking the dogs and then not drinking enough water, so I attempted to remedy this with lots of extra water drinking this morning, with the result that I’ve been peeing every thirty seconds today.  Meaning that I am, if possible, even less productive than usual.

Not that my frequent trips to the Ladies’ are interfering with my ability to complete my actual work-related work, since there is as always very little of that.  Am I using all of my work free time to, say, write a plot outline for my quickly approaching novel?  Heck no!  I am reading about the badly-dressed celebrities!  Which is something I should probably not tell you that I enjoy quite so heartily as I do.  I’m not sure why that is, since I’m not particularly celebrity obsessed and don’t read People Magazine or Us Weekly or anything.  Maybe I just feel better about the boringness of my ubiquitous jeans and a plain colored shirt outfit, since at least I'm not wearing this.  No, Linda Hamilton.  No.

You say you want a revolution?

I was just looking at a job posting online (not while at work, OBVIOUSLY.)  It started with the job title and then said, “hereafter referred to as WORKER.”  How very proletariat.  This is the job posting of the people! 

Do you think, if I got that job, I could have that put on my business cards?  Lori Graham, Worker. 

Clearly that would be in stark contrast to what I do here.  Cruising job sites and writing pointless blog entries is SO bourgeois.

Related anecdote: I worked for a civic education non-profit in DC whose name rhymes with Klose Up, where our mission was to motivate our nation’s youth to become active citizens.  We were supposed to be multi-partisan, which is a word they made up, meaning that we covered all possible political bents, not just the big two.  And yet, when a colleague of mine had a sign on his cube that said Dave, Worker, they made him take it down because it was too political.  Too political!  First of all, that’s pretty hypocritical, right?  And second, take a joke people!  We were particularly angsty at the time anyway since they had just taken away our offices and stuck us in cubes.  The signs were made by a sympathetic coworker.  Mine said Lori, Cheesehead.  I was allowed (by The Man) to keep it.

(Also, look how prolific I am!  Three posts this week and it's only Wednesday!  This 50,000 words next month will be a piece of cake!  Especially if I write my novel like this post which probably would have been better left to just the top part and yet I just HAD to add a story because I could not possibly write a post in under 100 words.  That would be bordering on terse!  I may be many things, but efficient is not one of them.)

We now return you to your regularly scheduled silliness, already in progress.

Did you ever know anyone who started their sentences with, "not for nothing, but..."?  I don't understand that.  What does that mean?  I met this guy once, when I was living in NY and I was out at a bar with some friends.  He was a teacher from Hoboken, NJ and he started practically everything he said with "not for nothing, but..."  I found that extremely odd and more than a little irritating.  Did he do that in class?  "Not for nothing, but if a equals b and b equals c, then a equals c."  Or "Not for nothing, but the US has a bi-cameral legislature."  I don't remember what he taught.  Or maybe I didn't know in the first place.

Not for nothing, but I think Cary Grant was probably the sexiest man ever to have lived.  I've heard people compare George Clooney to him, and I'd say that's probably about as close as we're going to get.  George Clooney is the only straight actor I can think of to whom I would apply the adjective "debonair".

When I was walking the dogs one night last week, I got catcalled (catcalled at?) by two guys in a white Camaro.  Which made sense.  If you're going to go around yelling and whistling at random women, you'd want to do it from a Camaro.  Or a Trans-Am.

I got an email from a person trying to sell me something whose title was Relationship Manager.  I guess this was in reference to managing relationships with clients, but I could see this becoming a whole new career track.  Too busy to manage your own relationship?  Call on me, Lori Graham, Relationship Manager!  I would be very bad at this job, I think.

Someone got here last week by googling "her prettiness astounds me".  No joke here.  I just think that's a really nice phrase and it's stuck with me. 

I've signed up for NaNoWriMo.  Which, for those of you who don't know what that is and are too lazy to click on the link, means that I will be attempting along with thousands of people from around the world, to write a 50,000 word novel in the month of November.  This seems like a good idea since I lack self-discipline and therefore require a deadline to accomplish much of anything.  And really I have a lot of free time at work that I'm currently wasting and could be better using to write (I'd feel bad about this, except I get all of my work done and in a timely manner.  They need me there for when things come up, but I don't have nearly enough to fill the time.)  Plus there's a big NaNo group here in Austin, so it could be another way to meet people.  Writer people!

On the other hand, I am likely to chicken out of going to the events.  There's a kick-off party which would require me to willingly go solo to a purely social event and *gasp* talk to people I don't know!  I'm more likely to go to some of the write-ins since the idea is mostly to spend the time writing, not socializing.  The problem with that could be the current state of my computer.  The guy at CompUSA said it was randomly shutting down probably due to problems with the fan.  So I could pay $75 for a new fan or buy a little desk fan and point it at the computer.  This fan cost me $5 and seems to be working well so far, but may not be so practical for writing out in the world.  If I bring my own powerstrip will my fellow writers let me use 2 whole outlets for the computer/fan set-up?  Also, I tend to do my best (or most prolific anyway) writing late at night, which is not so compatible with my competing needs to be at work at 8:00 and also to get at least 7 hours of sleep.

In any case, I now have eight days to figure out what to write.  And, of course, there's the small matter of writing 1,700 words a day next month.  Maybe my main characters will start all of their sentences with "not for nothing, but", getting me a free four words with every line of dialogue!  Maybe they are two Relationship Managers riding around in a white Camaro shouting at women about their astounding prettiness while pretending to be Cary Grant and George Clooney!  Maybe this will be the WORST NOVEL EVER.

So, Internet...got a better idea?

A Streetcar Named Pop Theology

I was at church tonight and we were singing this worship song, which, like a lot of them contains some metaphors that it's best not to think too hard about.  This one was saying "may our worship be a fragrance, Oh Lord, to you."

This struck me as funny since my current favorite fragrance is Stella McCartney's thought-provokingly titled Stella.  Which I, of course, insist on pronouncing STELLLLLLLLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!! 

And I thought, if my worship were a fragrance, it would be this.  Some people's worship is probably like a Shakepearean sonnett or one of those really forcefully happy ska songs.  But mine is screaming like a maniac in the rain.  An unfaithful, drunk and mean screw-up of a maniac, begging for it all to please just not be over.

What romantic notions of faith I have.

[Note to pastors: I over-extended this metaphor while unable to pay attention past the first 20 minutes of the sermon.  I realize that I have a shorter attention span than a lot of people, but I don't think any of us need you to tell us the same thing 15 times using slightly different words.  Give us a little bit of credit here - 3 different ways will probably get the job done.  The Internet will thank you for not subjecting it to any more addlepated theology a la Lori.]

Love? Maybe next Thursday.

Because this Thursday?  Already kicking my ass.

I believe I have mentioned something about not liking mornings.  This is a vast understatement and doesn't even address how not functional I am in the morning.  I set my alarm for 6:39 so I can snooze three times and still ostensibly be up by 7:00.  Except they do the news and weather right around then, giving me an excuse to stay in bed even longer.  So then I'm running late before I'm even up.  And, much like my mother, I do not deal with light in the morning.  This is not merely a psychological aversion.  If I go straight from bed into my bathroom and turn on the lights, even with my eyes closed I will have tears running down my face.  So my dad has been kind enough to install a dimmer switch for me (I have left a trail of dimmer switches in apartments all over Texas and the East Coast - thanks, Dad!)  I crank it all the way down before turning it on, and then up just a tidge until, say, the tub becomes somewhat visible.

Which is what I did this morning.  I then reached into the tub to pick up the drain cover thingy to clean all of the hair out of it so I could start the shower.  And then I felt something crawling on my hand.  And I did what any rational, thinking person would do in my situation.  FREAKED THE HELL OUT.  I dropped the drain thingy and flung whatever it was off my hand and saw it run behind my toilet.  And as I went to get the Raid, I frantically repeated it was probably a cricket, it was probably a cricket, it was probably a cricket, or maybe an earwig.  And then I foamed it to death and as it lay on my bathroom rug, I had no choice but to deal with the reality that it was, of course, a roach.  Not a terribly big one, but still.  STILL.  It was a roach that had been ON MY HAND.  (Give me a minute while I try to figure out how to spell that sound that accompanies a big full body shudder.)

I believe I would rather encounter a snake in my bathtub than a roach.  I am pretty sure that at some point in my life I have voluntarily held a snake in my hands.  And yet, Joe Whatshisname could offer me $10,000 to let a roach crawl on me and I would tell him exactly what he could do with his money and also probably call him a lunatic. 

Was I clear enough that all of this occurred less than one minute after I had pried myself out of bed?  So now, not only do I have a serious case of the heebie jeebies and a compulsive need to wash my hands repeatedly, I could not even get in a decent frame of mind for the rest of the day.  I could not, for example, enjoy the fact that the big storm last night got the humidity out of the air, meaning that I could finally have a good hair day.  And when I walked outside into the first real sweater weather of the year, I could not muster any childlike joy at all.  Even the Safety Dance playing on my radio on the way to work could not cheer me up.  I could have danced, but I didn't want to.

If you are looking for rhyme and/or reason, this is not the post for you.

Well done, everybody!  You all exhibit excellent taste in the things and people you dislike.  And now, should I ever decide to give a party for all of us, I know exactly what we will not be listening to, watching, or eating.  We will avoid Waterworld and keep our eating noises politely to ourselves!  And we will be very careful about how we use the English language!  (You are truly people after my own heart.)  Lurkers may come to our party as well, but don't come crying to us if we have served food that makes you gag or put on your least favorite movie.  We had no way of knowing.

And now, I present (Please make a trumpet shape with your hand and do an intro here.  No, seriously.  I'LL WAIT.) The Random Round-Up!

On Friday night, I was watching Law & Order and the police used thermal imaging to find a suspect, which brought to my mind a Supreme Court case that I used to teach on back in DC, and wouldn't you know that Jack McCoy brought up that very same case to the judge!  And I was pretty excited about that!  And then I realized that this probably seals the deal on my status as a Hugely Geeky Person.  Then again, I was already watching Law & Order on a Friday night, so I suppose the ship of my coolness had already sailed.  (In my defense, Amy and I had very hiply and trendily dined out in hip and trendy SoCo earlier that evening.  Also, I don't care what you say, the Fourth Amendment is FASCINATING.  So there.)

Yesterday, late in the morning, I helped myself to a cup of coffee from the break room.  Coffee, which upon tasting, turned out to be very old and very bad.  But then I didn't go dump it out right away and I kept forgetting not to drink it and I would take a big gulp and then remember how bad it was but by then it was too late.  This happened several times.  Sometimes absent-mindedness is not all it's cracked up to be.

In an effort to finally make some friends already in this town, I have joined a community group through my church.  And I have my first friend date tomorrow!  You know what I mean.  The way that when you're trying to make a new friend it feels like you're asking them out and it's all awkward and weird at first.  But I got talking with these two girls, one of whom is also new in town and must have said three or four times how she didn't know anyone in town and missed her friends out of town before I finally worked up the nerve to say "hey, if you ever want to do something some time..."  So I am having coffee tomorrow night with two women who conveniently for me (see above re: absent-mindedness) are both named Jennifer.  I really ought to be able to retain the one name, particularly since I shouldn't have to remember not to drink my coffee.

Normally I buy my cubicle candybowl candy from Office Depot and lo, it is crappy.  Which works out well for me since I am not ever tempted to eat it.  But yesterday I bought Halloween candy and a pumpkin container for my desk, and I am thinking of requiring the engineers to say "Trick or Treat" before taking any.  Then I will guess their costumes.  Oooh!  I know!  You're a math geek!  The third one this morning! 

(My cube neighbor just stopped by for candy and said all on his own with no prompting from me that it is appropriate that I bought them Nerds.  I did not even do that on purpose.  I bought Nerds because I like them and they taste like fifth grade Saturdays at The Skatin' Place.  Also they had little bats on the boxes and I like my Halloween candy spooky-looking!)

(I am now officially adding "spooky" to my list of favorite words.  Which, by the way, also includes gelatinous, malevolent, ephemeral, lovely, frou-frou, skitter, liquid, whatnot, comical, eloquent, and fraught.  Also several more that I will think of just as soon as I post this.)

If the guy in the office near me doesn't stop repeatedly and loudly trying out all of the rings on his cell phone, I may just stuff it down his throat.  Or tell him that if he doesn't put it away right now, mister, it is going into my desk drawer and he can have it back at the end of the day.  And if it continues to be a problem, I will tell his mother that he is not allowed to bring it to class anymore.  DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?  Good, now everybody back to work.

Wish you were a Sunday.

Someone out there (what do you want from me people, research?) started this Love Thursday thing in which bloggers write love related things on Thursdays.  Well, good for Thursdays.  But we've got to get out our bitterness, angst, and frustration at some point, so I have decided to create Strong Dislike Monday.  Come, let us be grumpy, crabby, and curmudgeonly together.  In survey form.

1. What song (or songs) do you hate with a burning passion?

2. Name your least favorite movie.

3. What are your pet peeves (rational or otherwise)?

4. List some words you despise.  No one is allowed to use this knowledge against you.

5. Which celebrity would you most like to kick in the shins?

6. What food makes you gag, even just thinking about it?

7. What TV show would you willingly claw your eyes out before watching?

Want me to go first?  Ok.

1. Finally by Ce Ce Peniston.  Why are they still playing this song on the radio?  No really, I WANT TO KNOW.  Also Closing Time, since it sounds like it was written in about 2 minutes, which for some reason really irritates me.  And anything by Ace of Base.  (I always thought it was Ace of Bass.  Now, in addition to despising their music, I dislike them even more for their nonsensical name.)

2. Dumb and Dumber.  Hate me if you must; I dislike this movie.

3. People saying they're going to do something and then bailing.  This pisses me off.  People who laugh at their own jokes and look at me to make sure I'm laughing too.  Being talked to as if I were an idiot. (This means you, Person At Work!)  Also loud, open-mouthed eating.  Keep it to yourselves, folks.

4. Ointment, chunk, slacks, gristle, boobies (If you are not 12 or under, this is not a word you should continue to use.  Thank you.)

5. Ann Coulter.  You thought I was going to say Jennifer Love Hewitt, didn't you?

6. Mushrooms.  Ack.

7. Family Matters.  Why would you watch this?  Why?

Ok, readers, your turn to spread the Strong Dislike.  Let it all out...

Dry clean only? I THINK NOT.

I wore light-colored linen pants yesterday.  You know where this story is going already, don’t you?

First of all, I am not qualified to own linen clothing due to my complete inability to iron effectively.  I iron things and they tend to come out looking roughly like they did before I started, except with a new crease that I have inadvertently added.  This could be because I don’t iron very often, and therefore lack practice.  I have also not once remembered, in an estimated 300 trips to the grocery store and Target since moving here, to buy starch.

But Lisa gave me some clothes recently, which included several pair of dress pants.  This was very exciting for me since most of the pants I already own are rather ill-fitting.  Which has not been an issue for the past couple of years since I wore jeans to work every day.  And I wear jeans to this job a lot too.  But then I had a meeting at the corporate headquarters, where people dress professionally, and it occurred to me that I should wear something besides jeans. I have several nice skirts, but would clearly freeze to death in a skirt in the subarctic environment that is my cubicle.  The linen pants were the only new hand-me-downs that didn’t require hemming to be worn even with my highest of heels, so linen it was!

I ironed them, and they looked, well, not so great.  But not so terrible either.  So I put them on with my old stand-by Old Navy black button down shirt and my new fancy schmancy black boots, the effect approaching Actual Dressed-Up Professional results.  And I went to work.

And then I went home for lunch, as usual.  And I let the dogs in when I got there, as usual.  It did not occur to me to go to my room and change my pants first since the dogs never get my pants dirty.  And they didn’t get them dirty yesterday either.  They DESTROYED them.

The unusual thing was, it had rained the night before.  This does not happen often, and so I forgot what rain would mean.  Namely that Feta would be a huge furry ball of mud.  Mud which, while I toweled her off before letting her in, of course wound up all over the bottom of my right pants leg.

Then while I was eating an apple with peanut butter, Colby very sweetly laid his head on my left knee and began power-drooling.

So I thought, to end the drooling, I will give him some peanut butter!  Which of course ended up all over my right knee.

Dogs 3, Linen 0

I intended to go and change just as soon as Passions was over.  Change into what, I did not know.  And then, a lunchtime miracle happened!  The mud and drool had dried in such a way that you could not even see them!  So I wiped the peanut butter off my knee with a washcloth, blowdried the resulting wet spot and went to my fancy corporate meeting, drool, mud, peanut butter residue and all.

And then I told the Internet.

Hello, my name is...

Recently, my sister Lisa finally got around to starting her own blog.  She debated between several names before finally choosing.  She picked a name that sort of sums up her conversational style, yet also (in my opinion) reflects the nature of a blogs as sort of superfluous yet enjoyable.

Which got me thinking about how I named this blog.  Did I deliberate?  Did I carefully weigh options, considering how they would relate to my likely future content or how they would draw in readers with their cleverness?

Nope.

I was thinking of starting a blog on Typepad.  Then I wrote an email in which I used the word "superfantastic" in a decidedly sarcastic way.  I decided this was an excellent sarcastic word.  I decided that if you wrote "I'm superfantastic." with a period and not an exclamation point, it was sure to be almost universally understood to be a sarcastic statement.  And then, since I am a rather wordy writer, I added the How are you today?  Then I checked Typepad, found that superfantastic was available, and bingo-bango, I had a blog.  A blog with a long, wordy title.

Little did I know that I would be out-sarcasticked in the name department by Susanna.  Or that I would later become concerned that as I signed my comments Superfantastic, people might think that I meant Superfantastic! and that if they visited my site, they'd find gratingly chipper stories about bunnies and rainbows and possibly even unicorns or daily affirmations of how super everything is!  And fantastic!  Blech. 

I since found out that apparently I use the word fantastic quite a bit to dryly respond to un-exciting things.  I had no idea.  I hate to be in a rut, so I am making an effort to substitute "tremendous" and "outstanding" when possible.  I also find that I do tend to add super to the beginning of words, such as superexciting to convey exactly the opposite.  (A German lady I work with, on the other hand, was completely sincere when she said to me "Super thanks!" for some small thing I did and it was really very sweet.  I may start using it.  But only with a German accent.)

So anyway, how did you name your blog?  Was it an impulse name like mine?  Did you have choices and pro/con lists and informal polling of your friends and family members?  Or if you don't have a blog (Why the heck not?) what would you call it if you did have one?  Or do you have a favorite blog name that makes you giggle every time you see it or wish you had thought of it first?  Or can you think of a more fitting/witty/concise name for this blog?  Any further thoughts on blog naming which have not been covered by my virtual interrogation?

Let the mad commenting spree begin!

In which it is revealed that I am a party animal

Ok, that is not true.  I am no kind of party animal nor (as this post may imply) am I an accomplished drinker.  But I did go out two entire times this weekend!  And consume margaritas all three days!  I know!  BEAT THAT, INTERNET!

On Friday, Lissa was in town to meet up with some college friends.  And since they are all happily coupled, she asked me to go along, and who am I to force a fellow single girl to go alone into an all couple social situation?  Plus she said she'd buy my drinks.  Starting of course with margaritas with dinner.  Followed by drinks at a bar which included, I kid you not, Jell-O shots.  I would have thought that there would be some sort of age ceiling on Jell-O shots at which point a person is too old to consume them.  Maybe it is 30.

The getting carded situation has developed a new wrinkle and I am not sure how to take it.  See, I still always get carded but now the bouncer/waitress/bartender looks SHOCKED upon seeing my birthdate.  Taken aback even.  Like the girl at CompUSA who kept remarking at how good my laptop looks for being SO CRAZY OLD!  (It is almost 4.)  Apparently all of the trips to Starbucks have kept my laptop and I extremely well preserved.  I guess that is only on the outside though, since my laptop is not currently working.  And clearly neither am I!

Anyway, Lissa informed me that Saturday night was Matt’s Bottomless Margarita Party, which we had been eagerly anticipating ever since Matt, having found out that a person can rent a margarita machine, decided to host such an event.  So I not only left my house on Saturday, I drove all the way to San Antonio!

(Short digression: While en route to SA, I was tailgated by a black Dodge Magnum which then proceeded to weave lanes, flagrantly tailgate everyone else and still not get any farther than me.  As I passed him while he was driving less than two feet off the bumper of the car in front of him, I was compelled to shout YOU ARE AN UNSAFE DRIVER!  Ooooh, that showed him!  Stay on my good side, Internet, lest I unleash such a caustic verbal tirade on you!)

I drove to Lisa and Krystal’s house to do my hair, pet the cats, and scam a ride downtown.  We arrived at Matt the Lawyer’s urban hipster loft where there were chips and queso and the margaritas flowed like wine!  Except frozen!  And from a machine!  So they flowed more like soft serve ice cream, but probably wouldn’t have been good in a cone.  Or with Lucky Charms on top, which is a dessert that I invented in college thanks to the proximity of the soft serve machine to the cereal dispensers.  Magically delicious!

There's no good story behind last night's margarita consumption.  Amy and I are still working our way through the leftovers from my Birthday party.  Apparently we vastly overestimated our friends' lushiness.  And since pre-mixed margaritas are a terrible thing to waste, we are now doing our part to reduce waste in Austin by finishing the bottle.  Bottoms up!

This title is neither Fierce nor Making It Work.

Amy was out of town recently, leaving me with sole custody of the dogs.  Since they get very crazy at night without a walk or visit to the park, I finally tried my hand at walking Colby solo, despite the frightening knowledge that Colby is much stronger than I am.  But he was very good except when he saw one cat that I didn't see and practically ripped my arms out of the sockets trying to get at it.  There was also an older woman outside with her cat who said hello to us and when I mentioned that Colby would like to say hello to her cat, said "Oh, does he like cats?"  Yes, this 100 pound dog would like to make friends with your cat and have a play date.  What do you think? 

So then by the time I've walked Colby, it's getting late and there is still Feta to walk, so I decide maybe Feta and I should run part of the way.  Then we could go for a shorter and faster walk while still getting her tired enough to sleep the rest of the evening.  And Feta makes a good running buddy since she is so excited to be running!  And so confused when I slow down to a walk and she would still like to be running!  Please, let's run some more!  Wait, have I just admitted to the Internet that I can't run as far as the three legged puppy? 

We did this again last night while Amy was at work which fortunately induced both dogs to sleep all the way through Lori's Night of Reality Television Shame.  Why shame?  Because I am very sorry to tell you that I have started watching America's Next Top Model, something I swore I would never do.  But Project Runway was not on that one week when there was a 2 hour premier of ANTM and what was I to do?!?  I didn't want to watch this show because a) is that seriously the best title they could think of? and b) I can't stand Tyra Banks.  And yet I find that she is a train wreck from which I cannot look away.  Unlike my Jennifer Love Hewitt revulsion which compels me to avoid her at all costs, I am drawn to watch Tyra and despise her ever more.  So yes, I watched it last night and was very happy to see Miss I Don't Care That We All Have To Share One Bathroom, I Take A Full Hour To Shower So Deal With It get kicked off.  Deal with that, Monique.

Followed of course by Project Runway: The Reunion Hissyfit Special!  Which featured further evidence (as if we needed it) that Vincent is certifiably insane.  Did you see it when he completely flipped out and wanted to leave the show over a shirt of his that had been *gasp* machine washed?  "Do not send it to the fluff and fold," he screamed, "I WILL WEAR IT DIRTY!"  Vincent did not even have the good sense to be embarrassed about this after it was shown.  (Nor does he apparently realize that fluff and fold is The Best Invention Ever of All Time.  I miss you fluff and fold!)  And after all the Tyra, I have to say Heidi is seeming like the most sensible person of all time.  Oooh, and Cheaterpants came back to insist that he was framed!  The cheatery books were confiscated when he got to NY and Someone put them in his room without his knowledge.  Perhaps the Vast Right-Wing Conspiracy?  And next week: drama ensues when Laura accuses Jeffrey either of cheating or literally of pulling crafstmanship out of his ass.  Hard to say.

Moving right along.  Maybe it's time to step away from the puppy, turn off the television and GO GROCERY SHOPPING ALREADY.

Now that is some serious bachelor fridge.  It's possible that we also have to occasionally dust the kitchen table.  (Although Amy astutely pointed out that we wouldn't have to dust the table if we could just remember not to ever touch it.  It's the fingerprints that give the dust away.) 

Don't worry about us though, we have chocolate chips.  And margaritas!

And a busted laptop which keeps shutting itself off in apparent protest of the broadband.  So most likely after I take it to Best Buy there will be no time for grocery shopping since I must be home by 7:30 for Lori's Night of Shameless TV Joy, featuring: The Office, Grey's Anatomy, and Luka (which some of you may know as ER.)

While Amy was gone, I was also feeding the dogs (obviously) and have decided that this sign on top of Colby's food container contains the exact phrase that Colby would choose were he able to communicate one and only one message to the world:

Seriously people, feed me.  Or let me at that cat.

Sanitized for your aggravation

Hover-peers, you are officially on notice.

You know who you are.  Women whose precious butts are far too precious to actually come into contact with a public toilet seat.  So instead, you hover over said toilet seat, inevitably leaving drops of pee on the seat.  The seat which was just fine for sitting until YOU PEED ON IT.

Yes, I have strong feelings about this.

But it's not just me.  I first discovered that I was not alone when I read this important piece by a Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist.  Then Emily and I discovered our mutual outrage over this topic.  Which led to an email in which she said this:

"I went into the bathroom at work and saw that someone had put paper over the seat to sit down and then apparently flushed their business but not the toilet paper they sat on to protect them from the horrible germy seat. I knew you wouldn't approve. Why would someone who is clearly afraid of other people's butt germs leave toilet paper that their own butt sat on for someone else to touch? I am angered by this. I think we should start an official campaign against squatters and sprinklers and toilet paper seat cover users. I hate them all."

Well said, Emily.  I could not agree more.

This toilet-paper-leaving-behind person reminded me of yet another hygiene menace in our midst.  You know those people who use a paper towel to open the bathroom door, fearing that you, Person In Front of Them, have not washed your hands before exiting?  Sure, fine, whatever.  Except a woman in my workplace does this, then throws the now nasty-looking crumpled paper towel toward the trash can outside the bathroom and often misses.  And then I have to use yet another paper towel to pick up this paper towel, lest this paper towel of fastidiousness have also been used to, say, wipe the snotty snottiness from her snotty too-good-for-door-handles-but-not-for-littering nose.

In conclusion, you people with your need to keep your butts and hands free of germs are creating a squalid world for the rest of us.  Stop immediately.  Or I will be forced to personally come to your office and sneeze on your phone and/or keyboard, which Science proves is actually more germ-ridden than the toilet seat.  Well, the toilet seat before you defiled it, that is. 

Consider the campaign begun.

[Note: According to the creepy make-up man on Ten Years Younger, the toilet seat covers offered in public restrooms are made of the same material as those little oil-blotting sheets for your face, which is a use that, as I am afflicted with combination skin, I can totally get behind.  No pun intended.]