Saturday, December 31, 2005
And it didn't even have a red dot on it
Yesterday, I left work three hours early and then bought a cashmere sweater for $10. Now, as I and anyone else who's ever seen 200 Cigarettes know, New Year's Eve is a night fraught with so many expectations that it can't possibly live up to them and is therefore bound to be disappointing. But I fear that I may have added an extra level of pressure by having such an awesome day yesterday. I mean, the plans for this evening include going with a group of boys to a massive dance party, so it's at least got a fighting chance, but really? It's awfully hard to top a $10 cashmere sweater.
Yesterday, I left work three hours early and then bought a cashmere sweater for $10. Now, as I and anyone else who's ever seen 200 Cigarettes know, New Year's Eve is a night fraught with so many expectations that it can't possibly live up to them and is therefore bound to be disappointing. But I fear that I may have added an extra level of pressure by having such an awesome day yesterday. I mean, the plans for this evening include going with a group of boys to a massive dance party, so it's at least got a fighting chance, but really? It's awfully hard to top a $10 cashmere sweater.
Friday, December 30, 2005
I've got the music in me
I've noticed something this week as I've started accompanying my runs with my carefully selected iPod playlist, which is that certain lyrics to certain songs suddenly seem to take on new meaning in such context. It's like the singers are speaking directly to me, offering me the encouragement I need to keep going. When Kelly Clarkson says, "I can breathe for the first time," she's really reminding me to take deeper breaths. The Killers help me out with my pacing struggles (I tend to want to run as fast as I can the whole time so the running is over sooner, which I don't think is what you're supposed to do) by telling me, "Pace yourself from me." Ashlee Simpson brings out my inner masochist and encourages me to take pleasure in the pain when she says, "I like it better when it hurts." But perhaps my biggest supporter is none other than Britney Spears, who tells me that "I am stronger than yesterday," and "Now is nothing but a mile away."
And while OutKast doesn't offer that much in the way of encouragement, per se, they do always make me smile when they say, "Lend me some sugar. I am your neighbor." And for me, smiling while running is a feat in and of itself.
I've noticed something this week as I've started accompanying my runs with my carefully selected iPod playlist, which is that certain lyrics to certain songs suddenly seem to take on new meaning in such context. It's like the singers are speaking directly to me, offering me the encouragement I need to keep going. When Kelly Clarkson says, "I can breathe for the first time," she's really reminding me to take deeper breaths. The Killers help me out with my pacing struggles (I tend to want to run as fast as I can the whole time so the running is over sooner, which I don't think is what you're supposed to do) by telling me, "Pace yourself from me." Ashlee Simpson brings out my inner masochist and encourages me to take pleasure in the pain when she says, "I like it better when it hurts." But perhaps my biggest supporter is none other than Britney Spears, who tells me that "I am stronger than yesterday," and "Now is nothing but a mile away."
And while OutKast doesn't offer that much in the way of encouragement, per se, they do always make me smile when they say, "Lend me some sugar. I am your neighbor." And for me, smiling while running is a feat in and of itself.
Wednesday, December 28, 2005
Some things to keep in mind
-When you borrow a book from your grandmother, and it contains a good number of somewhat detailed sex scenes, it's generally a good idea to try to forget the first part of that sentence.
-No matter how hard you try, you will not be able to forget the first part of that sentence.
-Make sure that book is not one she has checked out from her local library, because, despite what you may think about your ability to walk away from silly, throwaway chick lit right in the middle of the story, you actually have been known to become quite addicted to such books, despite any weirdness resulting from reading a grandmother-recommended book that contains a good number of somewhat detailed sex scenes.
-When you borrow a book from your grandmother, and it contains a good number of somewhat detailed sex scenes, it's generally a good idea to try to forget the first part of that sentence.
-No matter how hard you try, you will not be able to forget the first part of that sentence.
-Make sure that book is not one she has checked out from her local library, because, despite what you may think about your ability to walk away from silly, throwaway chick lit right in the middle of the story, you actually have been known to become quite addicted to such books, despite any weirdness resulting from reading a grandmother-recommended book that contains a good number of somewhat detailed sex scenes.
Tuesday, December 27, 2005
Miracle iPod cures all ills!
All right, so I still haven't figured out how to get my iPod to function as a heater, and, as of yet, no one has proved that it can actually cure cancer, but I've found that it comes in handy in dealing with several other unpleasant situations. Observe:
The dilemma: Boring car ride through eastern Mississippi/western Alabama threatens to induce ill-advised bouts of exhaustion.
iPod to the rescue: Cue up entire Britney Spears lexicon; sing along at top of lungs
The dilemma: Annoying car alarm right outside apartment goes off at bedtime; will not stop
iPod to the rescue: Put on soothing Iron & Wine; drown out noise and lull self to sleep*
*Note: I haven't actually tested this use yet, as the car alarm finally, blessedly stopped last night just before I got into bed--but I've already heard it go off once again today, so this is the plan should such a situation arise.
The dilemma: Still training for 5K in February even though still hate running; must kick training into high gear, as cannot yet run more than half a mile in one stretch
iPod to the rescue: The Killers' "Somebody Told Me" and Kelly Clarkson's "Since U Been Gone" do not make pain go away, but are very good at distracting self from pain; can keep running
The dilemma: Co-worker seems unable to perform job without constant stream of narration; is more than a little distracting while trying to concentrate on own gigantic pile of work
iPod to the rescue: Turn up Ryan Adams; pretend not to realize she is talking
All right, so I still haven't figured out how to get my iPod to function as a heater, and, as of yet, no one has proved that it can actually cure cancer, but I've found that it comes in handy in dealing with several other unpleasant situations. Observe:
The dilemma: Boring car ride through eastern Mississippi/western Alabama threatens to induce ill-advised bouts of exhaustion.
iPod to the rescue: Cue up entire Britney Spears lexicon; sing along at top of lungs
The dilemma: Annoying car alarm right outside apartment goes off at bedtime; will not stop
iPod to the rescue: Put on soothing Iron & Wine; drown out noise and lull self to sleep*
*Note: I haven't actually tested this use yet, as the car alarm finally, blessedly stopped last night just before I got into bed--but I've already heard it go off once again today, so this is the plan should such a situation arise.
The dilemma: Still training for 5K in February even though still hate running; must kick training into high gear, as cannot yet run more than half a mile in one stretch
iPod to the rescue: The Killers' "Somebody Told Me" and Kelly Clarkson's "Since U Been Gone" do not make pain go away, but are very good at distracting self from pain; can keep running
The dilemma: Co-worker seems unable to perform job without constant stream of narration; is more than a little distracting while trying to concentrate on own gigantic pile of work
iPod to the rescue: Turn up Ryan Adams; pretend not to realize she is talking
Monday, December 26, 2005
...and Nikki's got her love
Well, I was pretty happy with my new iPod (its inefficiency as a heating device notwithstanding) until I read this. Then again, my family did go to a lot of trouble to fulfill my crazy request for a discontinued model, so even though my version didn't come with a pre-recorded message from the love of my life, it's still pretty awesome.
(And see? I was the last person on earth to get an iPod, since Nikki received hers a few days before Christmas.)
Well, I was pretty happy with my new iPod (its inefficiency as a heating device notwithstanding) until I read this. Then again, my family did go to a lot of trouble to fulfill my crazy request for a discontinued model, so even though my version didn't come with a pre-recorded message from the love of my life, it's still pretty awesome.
(And see? I was the last person on earth to get an iPod, since Nikki received hers a few days before Christmas.)
I've got my iPod to keep me warm
Actually, that's not true at all. Unlike iBooks, iPods are not really very good at distributing warmth. For one thing, they're kind of small. And they are, or at least mine appears to be, metal, which means they tend to get even colder when in a cold room...as I discovered early this morning when I reached for mine in my grandmother's freezing cold living room to check the time and determine how much longer I had to lie there and freeze before she would be getting up to turn on the heat.
The iPod is, however, good for playing music, but you probably already know that, dear readers, as I am in fact the last person on earth to get an iPod. And just to prove how backwards I truly am, I refused to be swayed by the fancy new Nano and the photo- and video-capable iPod proper; no, I insisted that I must have the now-discontinued Mini. Despite what my parents might tell you, this desire was not predicated on creating extra headaches for them--I just felt like the Mini and I would be a good fit. (The Nano being too small and the iPod proper being too large--or, as I put it to my dad, "Have we learned nothing from The Three Bears?") Fortunately, my sister lives in a state that's just as backwards as me, so she was able to find plenty of Minis left at Wal-Mart to choose from. (Her boyfriend surmised that the excess inventory was due to the fact that West Virginians are too poor to buy iPods.)
So here I am, finally caught up with the rest of the world, circa 2003. Now if you don't mind, I'm going to continue warming my hands by the iBook.
Actually, that's not true at all. Unlike iBooks, iPods are not really very good at distributing warmth. For one thing, they're kind of small. And they are, or at least mine appears to be, metal, which means they tend to get even colder when in a cold room...as I discovered early this morning when I reached for mine in my grandmother's freezing cold living room to check the time and determine how much longer I had to lie there and freeze before she would be getting up to turn on the heat.
The iPod is, however, good for playing music, but you probably already know that, dear readers, as I am in fact the last person on earth to get an iPod. And just to prove how backwards I truly am, I refused to be swayed by the fancy new Nano and the photo- and video-capable iPod proper; no, I insisted that I must have the now-discontinued Mini. Despite what my parents might tell you, this desire was not predicated on creating extra headaches for them--I just felt like the Mini and I would be a good fit. (The Nano being too small and the iPod proper being too large--or, as I put it to my dad, "Have we learned nothing from The Three Bears?") Fortunately, my sister lives in a state that's just as backwards as me, so she was able to find plenty of Minis left at Wal-Mart to choose from. (Her boyfriend surmised that the excess inventory was due to the fact that West Virginians are too poor to buy iPods.)
So here I am, finally caught up with the rest of the world, circa 2003. Now if you don't mind, I'm going to continue warming my hands by the iBook.
Wednesday, December 21, 2005
The vindication begins
So I bet you all thought I was joking the other day when I said I was going to get my dress into a magazine to vindicate it from the scorn of Katherine Heigl, right? Oh, dear readers, how you underestimate me. Because I have, in fact, managed to get my dress (which I realized when I got home the other night is not in fact the exact same dress Katherine Heigl was wearing underneath that pea-green monstrosity, but it's close enough that I feel this point needs to be made) into a magazine.
This morning, one of our photo stylists was walking around, looking for people who might be around next Tuesday and could model some hats for a photo shoot. At first I demurred, but then she mentioned that the models would have to bring their own spring dresses. To which I replied, "Do you have any hats that would go with a yellow dress?" As a matter of fact, she did. Take that, Katherine Heigl.
I realize this is a bit of a deviation from my original plan. Since the focus of the photos will be on the hats, the dress probably won't be seen in all of its glory. And the magazine in question isn't exactly in the vein of People, Us Weekly, InTouch, etc., which lessens the chances that the Go Fug Yourself girls will see it and feel compelled to run a retraction on their site. But still. My dress is going to be in a magazine. Take that, Katherine Heigl.
So I bet you all thought I was joking the other day when I said I was going to get my dress into a magazine to vindicate it from the scorn of Katherine Heigl, right? Oh, dear readers, how you underestimate me. Because I have, in fact, managed to get my dress (which I realized when I got home the other night is not in fact the exact same dress Katherine Heigl was wearing underneath that pea-green monstrosity, but it's close enough that I feel this point needs to be made) into a magazine.
This morning, one of our photo stylists was walking around, looking for people who might be around next Tuesday and could model some hats for a photo shoot. At first I demurred, but then she mentioned that the models would have to bring their own spring dresses. To which I replied, "Do you have any hats that would go with a yellow dress?" As a matter of fact, she did. Take that, Katherine Heigl.
I realize this is a bit of a deviation from my original plan. Since the focus of the photos will be on the hats, the dress probably won't be seen in all of its glory. And the magazine in question isn't exactly in the vein of People, Us Weekly, InTouch, etc., which lessens the chances that the Go Fug Yourself girls will see it and feel compelled to run a retraction on their site. But still. My dress is going to be in a magazine. Take that, Katherine Heigl.
Monday, December 19, 2005
Katherine Heigl, are you trying to hurt me?
And if so, why? I have been nothing but nice to you, Katherine Heigl. You are my favorite character on Grey's Anatomy. Some weeks, you are the only reason I actually watch Grey's Anatomy and defend its honor to my friends. (All right, fine, I really like Sandra Oh, too, but you're still my favorite.) So why, why, in the name of all that is good and pure, would you do something so heinous to me?
What am I talking about? This!
It's not that Katherine Heigl has made her way onto Go Fug Yourself. To be honest, I couldn't care less whether Katherine Heigl wants to fug herself. What incenses me is that what landed Katherine Heigl on Go Fug Yourself is this horribly bastardized version of my dress. Yes, I'm talking about the yellow-rose dress that resulted in me being showered with compliments, only apparently Katherine Heigl doesn't particularly enjoy compliments, because she (or some cracked-out designer or wardrobe stylist) has covered what should be a perfectly lovely dress with some split-pea-colored chiffon cowl-necked crap, rendering it the kind of ensemble that is right at home on this site.
The good news here is that I've finally found an occasion on which to wear the dress (since all of my friends still keep wanting to get married in October, like would it kill one of you to get married anywhere in the vicinity of spring or summer?): I must wear it to a Hollywood premiere, if only to demonstrate the way the dress should be worn and save it from the lifetime of scorn heaped upon it by Katherine Heigl. Now I just need to get invited to a Hollywood premiere, then convince the paparazzi that I am worthy of being photographed, then convince the editors of top celebrity magazines that my photo is worthy of being shown next to the likes of Lindsay Lohan and Jessica Simpson. Shouldn't be too difficult.
Also, is it just me, or does Katherine Heigl have ginormous feet?
And if so, why? I have been nothing but nice to you, Katherine Heigl. You are my favorite character on Grey's Anatomy. Some weeks, you are the only reason I actually watch Grey's Anatomy and defend its honor to my friends. (All right, fine, I really like Sandra Oh, too, but you're still my favorite.) So why, why, in the name of all that is good and pure, would you do something so heinous to me?
What am I talking about? This!
It's not that Katherine Heigl has made her way onto Go Fug Yourself. To be honest, I couldn't care less whether Katherine Heigl wants to fug herself. What incenses me is that what landed Katherine Heigl on Go Fug Yourself is this horribly bastardized version of my dress. Yes, I'm talking about the yellow-rose dress that resulted in me being showered with compliments, only apparently Katherine Heigl doesn't particularly enjoy compliments, because she (or some cracked-out designer or wardrobe stylist) has covered what should be a perfectly lovely dress with some split-pea-colored chiffon cowl-necked crap, rendering it the kind of ensemble that is right at home on this site.
The good news here is that I've finally found an occasion on which to wear the dress (since all of my friends still keep wanting to get married in October, like would it kill one of you to get married anywhere in the vicinity of spring or summer?): I must wear it to a Hollywood premiere, if only to demonstrate the way the dress should be worn and save it from the lifetime of scorn heaped upon it by Katherine Heigl. Now I just need to get invited to a Hollywood premiere, then convince the paparazzi that I am worthy of being photographed, then convince the editors of top celebrity magazines that my photo is worthy of being shown next to the likes of Lindsay Lohan and Jessica Simpson. Shouldn't be too difficult.
Also, is it just me, or does Katherine Heigl have ginormous feet?
Saturday, December 17, 2005
Oh, Martha, what would we do without you?
There's part of me that really hates the way the Martha Stewart gift wrap has coordinating bows and tags, and it's all labeled with some quaint phrase like "First Snowfall" or "Woodland Holiday," as if going into a store and finding gift wrap and bows and tags that have already been matched for me is in some way stifling my creativity while simultaneously representing everything that is wrong with America.
But then there's also the part of me that's relieved to be able to go into K-Mart on a Saturday during the holidays and find everything I need in 5 seconds flat, all because Martha has gone to the trouble to match it for me and label it all so I don't even have to stop and think about what might look good together. This is the part that won out today. Thank you, Martha.
There's part of me that really hates the way the Martha Stewart gift wrap has coordinating bows and tags, and it's all labeled with some quaint phrase like "First Snowfall" or "Woodland Holiday," as if going into a store and finding gift wrap and bows and tags that have already been matched for me is in some way stifling my creativity while simultaneously representing everything that is wrong with America.
But then there's also the part of me that's relieved to be able to go into K-Mart on a Saturday during the holidays and find everything I need in 5 seconds flat, all because Martha has gone to the trouble to match it for me and label it all so I don't even have to stop and think about what might look good together. This is the part that won out today. Thank you, Martha.
Friday, December 16, 2005
False hope
Last night as I was leaving work, I noted that the sky appeared to be a bit lighter than it has been in recent weeks, and I thought to myself, "Wow, the days are already getting longer." Then I realized that we're still nearly a week away from the winter solstice, so the days are, in fact, still getting shorter. Which means it's not even officially winter yet. Great.
Before all you hearty Midwesterners jump on me for complaining about winter, let me just state for the record that my general abhorrence of the season (cross-country skiing and snow angels excluded) may explain why I live in Alabama. It does not, however, explain why I just applied for a job in Boston.
Last night as I was leaving work, I noted that the sky appeared to be a bit lighter than it has been in recent weeks, and I thought to myself, "Wow, the days are already getting longer." Then I realized that we're still nearly a week away from the winter solstice, so the days are, in fact, still getting shorter. Which means it's not even officially winter yet. Great.
Before all you hearty Midwesterners jump on me for complaining about winter, let me just state for the record that my general abhorrence of the season (cross-country skiing and snow angels excluded) may explain why I live in Alabama. It does not, however, explain why I just applied for a job in Boston.
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
Go go gadget iBook!
Somewhere between receiving a couple of early Christmas gifts from some super-efficient friends, being struck with the realization that many online retailers' Christmas shipping deadlines are swiftly approaching (great--as if I didn't have enough deadlines to deal with at work), and my friend Robyn yelling at me, "You haven't started shopping yet?! Christmas is next week!", I've come to realize that I've been a bit of a slacker this holiday season. Sure, I've had most of my Christmas gifts planned out for months...I just haven't gotten around to actually purchasing them yet. Oops.
So last night, I finally sat down and penned the Christmas list that had been swirling in my head since roughly September, and tonight I pulled out the iBook and the debit card and got to work. Within half an hour, I'd managed to cross nearly half of the items off my list. Sweet. Whatever did we do before the Internet?
Somewhere between receiving a couple of early Christmas gifts from some super-efficient friends, being struck with the realization that many online retailers' Christmas shipping deadlines are swiftly approaching (great--as if I didn't have enough deadlines to deal with at work), and my friend Robyn yelling at me, "You haven't started shopping yet?! Christmas is next week!", I've come to realize that I've been a bit of a slacker this holiday season. Sure, I've had most of my Christmas gifts planned out for months...I just haven't gotten around to actually purchasing them yet. Oops.
So last night, I finally sat down and penned the Christmas list that had been swirling in my head since roughly September, and tonight I pulled out the iBook and the debit card and got to work. Within half an hour, I'd managed to cross nearly half of the items off my list. Sweet. Whatever did we do before the Internet?
Monday, December 12, 2005
Is this what our busy lives hath wrought?
I knew way back in 2002, when I first became dependent on my day planner, that the possibility that I would ever return to the carefree, laid-back, go-with-the-flow lifestyle I had once enjoyed (you know, when I got around to doing my work two days after it was due) was slim at best. But it wasn't until today that I realized just how out of control things have gotten.
I just scheduled a conference call with my friends.
Yes, that's right. Not only are we all so insanely busy that we actually have to schedule time to talk to each other, we can't even manage to fit in separate times to talk. You should have seen the joy that erupted when Nikki realized that her phone had a three-way calling feature and then found instructions on how to use it. It was kind of sad, really, how excited we were that we could consolidate our allotted phone-call time. (I have to admit, though, that part of my joy stemmed from the thought of being able to talk to two of my friends at once, which will make it seem more like we're in the same room rather than several states apart. But still.) I'd like to blame the insane busy-ness on the holidays, but the reality is that things will probably be just as hectic in January (for me, at least).
The real irony here is that, as busy as I am, I've actually done surprisingly little today. Much of my day has been consumed with the scheduling and re-scheduling of appointments, all the while commiserating with everyone I talk to about how busy we all are.
I knew way back in 2002, when I first became dependent on my day planner, that the possibility that I would ever return to the carefree, laid-back, go-with-the-flow lifestyle I had once enjoyed (you know, when I got around to doing my work two days after it was due) was slim at best. But it wasn't until today that I realized just how out of control things have gotten.
I just scheduled a conference call with my friends.
Yes, that's right. Not only are we all so insanely busy that we actually have to schedule time to talk to each other, we can't even manage to fit in separate times to talk. You should have seen the joy that erupted when Nikki realized that her phone had a three-way calling feature and then found instructions on how to use it. It was kind of sad, really, how excited we were that we could consolidate our allotted phone-call time. (I have to admit, though, that part of my joy stemmed from the thought of being able to talk to two of my friends at once, which will make it seem more like we're in the same room rather than several states apart. But still.) I'd like to blame the insane busy-ness on the holidays, but the reality is that things will probably be just as hectic in January (for me, at least).
The real irony here is that, as busy as I am, I've actually done surprisingly little today. Much of my day has been consumed with the scheduling and re-scheduling of appointments, all the while commiserating with everyone I talk to about how busy we all are.
Sunday, December 11, 2005
Back to life, back to reality
For reasons that are far too special to mention in such a public forum (although I realize that, in saying such things, I will probably compel at least half of you to call or e-mail me, begging me to tell you what I mean), this weekend was rather like a dream. And so it follows that I must eventually wake up. The dream must end, and reality must creep in again. The reality of an unbalanced checkbook, piles of dirty dishes, freelance work that needs to be completed. And then there's also the reality of bruises left behind by being thrown off a mechanical bull one too many times. (I know what you're thinking, and no, the bull actually had very little to do with the aforementioned special-ness. So don't go getting any ideas.) But I've still got the dinner-and-Desperate-Housewives ritual tonight with friends I haven't seen in weeks, so maybe I can put this reality nonsense off for just a little longer.
I'm not so sure that's going to work.
For reasons that are far too special to mention in such a public forum (although I realize that, in saying such things, I will probably compel at least half of you to call or e-mail me, begging me to tell you what I mean), this weekend was rather like a dream. And so it follows that I must eventually wake up. The dream must end, and reality must creep in again. The reality of an unbalanced checkbook, piles of dirty dishes, freelance work that needs to be completed. And then there's also the reality of bruises left behind by being thrown off a mechanical bull one too many times. (I know what you're thinking, and no, the bull actually had very little to do with the aforementioned special-ness. So don't go getting any ideas.) But I've still got the dinner-and-Desperate-Housewives ritual tonight with friends I haven't seen in weeks, so maybe I can put this reality nonsense off for just a little longer.
I'm not so sure that's going to work.
Wednesday, December 07, 2005
I thought I was an idiot
And then I met one of my neighbors.
So the entrance for my apartment's parking garage is located on an alley behind the building. Being an alley, it is rather narrow, leaving room for only one car to drive on it and on the cobblestone street that connects it to the main road. I had a feeling this was going to be a problem from the start, but on the rare occasion that I do meet another car in the alley, a more civilized form of "chicken" usually ensues, whereby one person gets out of the way to let the other through. In the two years I've been living there, I have yet to have a problem getting through the alley. Until today, thanks to the aforementioned idiot.
This morning, I pulled down the ramp from my garage and started to turn left (which is the direction of the wider entrance to the alley, hence the one I almost always use) when I noticed that the entire alley was blocked by a cherry-picker, from which a guy was trimming some trees. Looking to my right, I saw a guy in a Nissan Altima facing the cherry-picker, clearly miffed that it was blocking his exit. Realizing I wasn't going to win a game of chicken with a cherry-picker, I moved in the direction of the Altima, figuring he would play along and back into the parking lot next to him so we could both turn and leave by the other, narrower exit. (In fact, I was kind of wondering why he hadn't already started turning, but I would soon find out it is because he's an idiot.)
As I turn my car toward him, Altima Guy doesn't budge, instead giving me the "What can I do?" shrug/arm raise. I respond by giving him the "You can start by getting the fuck out of my way" shrug/arm raise, which he counters with a "Nope, can't do that" shrug/arm raise. I give him the ol' "Like hell you can't" finger point in the direction of the exit behind him. Apparently this still is not enough to get the message across, because now he's getting out of his car. So I say what I thought I had conveyed clearly enough through my various hand gestures: "Um, can't you go out the other way?" "It looks pretty narrow," he responds. Well, be that as it may, asshole, it doesn't mean you have to sit there and block the exit for everyone else just because you're afraid to give it a go. Besides which, if my Corolla can fit through, I think your Altima can handle it, too. It's not like you're driving a monster truck here. Instead of all that, though, I just said, "I've done it before."
Apparently this was enough to convince him, because he backed into the parking lot, then followed me out the other exit. I wonder what would've happened if I hadn't come along. Like, would he have just sat there for the rest of the morning, waiting on the cherry-picker? I shudder to think.
And then I met one of my neighbors.
So the entrance for my apartment's parking garage is located on an alley behind the building. Being an alley, it is rather narrow, leaving room for only one car to drive on it and on the cobblestone street that connects it to the main road. I had a feeling this was going to be a problem from the start, but on the rare occasion that I do meet another car in the alley, a more civilized form of "chicken" usually ensues, whereby one person gets out of the way to let the other through. In the two years I've been living there, I have yet to have a problem getting through the alley. Until today, thanks to the aforementioned idiot.
This morning, I pulled down the ramp from my garage and started to turn left (which is the direction of the wider entrance to the alley, hence the one I almost always use) when I noticed that the entire alley was blocked by a cherry-picker, from which a guy was trimming some trees. Looking to my right, I saw a guy in a Nissan Altima facing the cherry-picker, clearly miffed that it was blocking his exit. Realizing I wasn't going to win a game of chicken with a cherry-picker, I moved in the direction of the Altima, figuring he would play along and back into the parking lot next to him so we could both turn and leave by the other, narrower exit. (In fact, I was kind of wondering why he hadn't already started turning, but I would soon find out it is because he's an idiot.)
As I turn my car toward him, Altima Guy doesn't budge, instead giving me the "What can I do?" shrug/arm raise. I respond by giving him the "You can start by getting the fuck out of my way" shrug/arm raise, which he counters with a "Nope, can't do that" shrug/arm raise. I give him the ol' "Like hell you can't" finger point in the direction of the exit behind him. Apparently this still is not enough to get the message across, because now he's getting out of his car. So I say what I thought I had conveyed clearly enough through my various hand gestures: "Um, can't you go out the other way?" "It looks pretty narrow," he responds. Well, be that as it may, asshole, it doesn't mean you have to sit there and block the exit for everyone else just because you're afraid to give it a go. Besides which, if my Corolla can fit through, I think your Altima can handle it, too. It's not like you're driving a monster truck here. Instead of all that, though, I just said, "I've done it before."
Apparently this was enough to convince him, because he backed into the parking lot, then followed me out the other exit. I wonder what would've happened if I hadn't come along. Like, would he have just sat there for the rest of the morning, waiting on the cherry-picker? I shudder to think.
Monday, December 05, 2005
Hi, I'm an idiot
And also, apparently, a scofflaw. But I'm not really very successful at the latter, as you're about to find out.
If you will recall, way back in September, Dave and I made our second trip of the year to Delaware. While there, after getting our asses handed to us by the angry sea (or at least I got my ass handed to me, along with what remained of my bathing suit), we returned to the rental car 10 minutes after the meter had expired to find that the super-efficient Delaware meter maid had already left a ticket.
For various reasons that I now realize defy all logic (reasons such as "Hey, it's a rental car" and "Parking tickets in Delaware don't mean anything because Delaware doesn't really exist"), I decided not to pay the $15 parking ticket. I mean, what does the City of Rehoboth Beach care if some scofflaw from Alabama comes to their town once and doesn't pay a parking ticket? I didn't really think I'd ever be going back to Delaware; I've been there twice already, and that's more than enough to satisfy my curiosity.
But apparently I underestimated the anger of Delaware following my campaign to convince people it doesn't exist. If you've ever wondered what happens if you get a parking ticket on a rental car and then don't pay it, it goes something like this: The city tracks the license number back to the rental car agency and informs them that the ticket issued a few months ago now carries a much heftier fine and must be paid immediately. The rental car company then takes it upon themselves to charge the credit card they have on file for you the total of the fine, plus an extra $25 "convenience fee," meaning that the $15 parking ticket you got because you didn't put an extra 10 cents in the meter is now a whopping $75. Plus interest.
Ouch.
And also, apparently, a scofflaw. But I'm not really very successful at the latter, as you're about to find out.
If you will recall, way back in September, Dave and I made our second trip of the year to Delaware. While there, after getting our asses handed to us by the angry sea (or at least I got my ass handed to me, along with what remained of my bathing suit), we returned to the rental car 10 minutes after the meter had expired to find that the super-efficient Delaware meter maid had already left a ticket.
For various reasons that I now realize defy all logic (reasons such as "Hey, it's a rental car" and "Parking tickets in Delaware don't mean anything because Delaware doesn't really exist"), I decided not to pay the $15 parking ticket. I mean, what does the City of Rehoboth Beach care if some scofflaw from Alabama comes to their town once and doesn't pay a parking ticket? I didn't really think I'd ever be going back to Delaware; I've been there twice already, and that's more than enough to satisfy my curiosity.
But apparently I underestimated the anger of Delaware following my campaign to convince people it doesn't exist. If you've ever wondered what happens if you get a parking ticket on a rental car and then don't pay it, it goes something like this: The city tracks the license number back to the rental car agency and informs them that the ticket issued a few months ago now carries a much heftier fine and must be paid immediately. The rental car company then takes it upon themselves to charge the credit card they have on file for you the total of the fine, plus an extra $25 "convenience fee," meaning that the $15 parking ticket you got because you didn't put an extra 10 cents in the meter is now a whopping $75. Plus interest.
Ouch.
Sunday, December 04, 2005
The problem with sleeping on custom mattresses...
Is that when you get home, your regular mattress, which has always seemed quite comfortable (not that I've ever considered myself a particularly mattress-sensitive person), now feels like crap. (I think maybe the awesome mattress turned me into a mattress-sensitive person, too, which can't be good.) I'm also missing the super-fluffy down pillows and the four-kajillion thread count sheets. And I don't have an extra deep soaking tub or a bath concierge. My apartment sucks.
Is that when you get home, your regular mattress, which has always seemed quite comfortable (not that I've ever considered myself a particularly mattress-sensitive person), now feels like crap. (I think maybe the awesome mattress turned me into a mattress-sensitive person, too, which can't be good.) I'm also missing the super-fluffy down pillows and the four-kajillion thread count sheets. And I don't have an extra deep soaking tub or a bath concierge. My apartment sucks.
Friday, December 02, 2005
This is the life
God love press trips. Yesterday, after a super-long day that began at 6:15 and didn't end until 11 (during which, I must admit, I got to eat some pretty fabulous food, including lobster and brie mac and cheese), I came back to my room at one of the poshest hotels in Nashville, slipped into my plush robe and slippers, and drew a warm lavender aromatherapy bath in my extra-deep soaking tub (technically, I could have had the "bath concierge" come in and draw it for me, but come on, I've got to draw the line of indulgence somewhere), after which I fell asleep on a bed with a custom-made mattress and four kajillion thread count sheets. But the best part I discovered this morning, after feasting on the cookies that were part of the turn-down service--the acoustics of the shower make you sound like a country music star. I wonder if that was intentional.
I've already informed the hotel's sales director (who hosted us for afternoon tea yesterday) that I plan to live in her hotel for the rest of my life. I'll be like Eloise, only here instead of at the Plaza. Because really, pumpkin pie and Lost have nothing on this.
God love press trips. Yesterday, after a super-long day that began at 6:15 and didn't end until 11 (during which, I must admit, I got to eat some pretty fabulous food, including lobster and brie mac and cheese), I came back to my room at one of the poshest hotels in Nashville, slipped into my plush robe and slippers, and drew a warm lavender aromatherapy bath in my extra-deep soaking tub (technically, I could have had the "bath concierge" come in and draw it for me, but come on, I've got to draw the line of indulgence somewhere), after which I fell asleep on a bed with a custom-made mattress and four kajillion thread count sheets. But the best part I discovered this morning, after feasting on the cookies that were part of the turn-down service--the acoustics of the shower make you sound like a country music star. I wonder if that was intentional.
I've already informed the hotel's sales director (who hosted us for afternoon tea yesterday) that I plan to live in her hotel for the rest of my life. I'll be like Eloise, only here instead of at the Plaza. Because really, pumpkin pie and Lost have nothing on this.
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