I'm sitting in the dental chair receiving the 67 minute root canal from hell and all the while my endodontist (a fancy dentist) is breathing over me with the worst breath ever. Is this an example of irony? A dentist with bad breath?
Here are the progression of thoughts running through my head during said root canal:
- He doesn't have a wedding band, I'm pretty sure he's single.
- With a unibrow like that it's no wonder he's single.
- I wonder what his dates think when he leans in for the kiss, all the night explaining his job as a dentist, and his mouth smells like a cat litter box.
- I'd think he was lying about being a dentist, saying that just to try and impress me.
- It's just not possible for a dentist to have bad breath, that goes against every ad campaign Crest and Colgate have supported!
- What made him decide it would be fun to drill holes in peoples teeth for a living?
- Perhaps he started out in construction but since he's a rather small man he wasn't strong enough to drill holes in the ground so he moved onto more proportionate objects.
- I wonder when they're going to finish the construction on the off-ramp for Pomerado road. I am so sick of waiting an additional twenty minutes to get to school.
- I should email my professor tonight and tell him I wont be in class because of this root canal. I can't feel the left side of my body and I'm pretty sure my cheeks resemble Alvin the chipmunk, in a non-cute way.
And we've come full circle.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Monday, September 8, 2008
How many stupid people did you encounter today?
Not as many as I did.
1. Mr. Blabblypants.
In the middle of a horrendous Monday, I flopped down on one of the couches in the student lounge and closed my eyes to enjoy my first solitary moment of the day. In walks Mr. Blabblypants who proceeds to ask me useless questions:
me: (upon seeing soon-to-be-Blabblypants walk in) **sigh**
MBP: Hi! What program are you in??
me: MFT, PsyD (I open one eye and glare slightly)
MBP: Oh cool! Where are you from??
I proceed with a similar response, terse and clearly annoyed. Mr. Blabbypants apparently realizes this:
MBP: Ha! Here I am asking you all these questions...
me: ...and I'm trying to sleep!
2. Little miss know-it-all
I began teaching undergraduates which has become more work, and more irritation, then I anticipated. Today:
Student: So my friends, sisters', cousins', boyfriend who she broke up with last week has an aunt who manages a pet store and she hired her brother who is a sex offender, can you believe that?? I mean there are kids in that store!
me (and the rest of the class): Well... it's a pet store... so technically he's not in direct contact with children...
Student: Yeah, but he is around kids all the time!
me (and the rest of the class): Yeah... but if they didn't hire him based on the fact that he was a sex offender, he could sue the company for discrimination...
Student: But he's around kids all the time!
me: **sigh**
3. The person who thought my lunch pail had a baby in it
Stupid Person #3: Hey, you got a baby in there?!?! (motions to my lunch pail)
me: (pause to assess if the question was in fact what I thought I heard) In there?? (points to lunch pail)
SP3: Yeah! It looks like you do!
me: Um, it's a lunch pail, I don't have any kids...?
SP3: No, not a baby, like a baby, like a dog.
me: I don't have a dog either...?
**sigh**
1. Mr. Blabblypants.
In the middle of a horrendous Monday, I flopped down on one of the couches in the student lounge and closed my eyes to enjoy my first solitary moment of the day. In walks Mr. Blabblypants who proceeds to ask me useless questions:
me: (upon seeing soon-to-be-Blabblypants walk in) **sigh**
MBP: Hi! What program are you in??
me: MFT, PsyD (I open one eye and glare slightly)
MBP: Oh cool! Where are you from??
I proceed with a similar response, terse and clearly annoyed. Mr. Blabbypants apparently realizes this:
MBP: Ha! Here I am asking you all these questions...
me: ...and I'm trying to sleep!
2. Little miss know-it-all
I began teaching undergraduates which has become more work, and more irritation, then I anticipated. Today:
Student: So my friends, sisters', cousins', boyfriend who she broke up with last week has an aunt who manages a pet store and she hired her brother who is a sex offender, can you believe that?? I mean there are kids in that store!
me (and the rest of the class): Well... it's a pet store... so technically he's not in direct contact with children...
Student: Yeah, but he is around kids all the time!
me (and the rest of the class): Yeah... but if they didn't hire him based on the fact that he was a sex offender, he could sue the company for discrimination...
Student: But he's around kids all the time!
me: **sigh**
3. The person who thought my lunch pail had a baby in it
Stupid Person #3: Hey, you got a baby in there?!?! (motions to my lunch pail)
me: (pause to assess if the question was in fact what I thought I heard) In there?? (points to lunch pail)
SP3: Yeah! It looks like you do!
me: Um, it's a lunch pail, I don't have any kids...?
SP3: No, not a baby, like a baby, like a dog.
me: I don't have a dog either...?
**sigh**
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
My adventure with caulk
I've decided to dedicate my line of 'adventure' blogs to my grandfather, rest in peace grandpa, as he was the one who taught me how to use a power drill, 'measure twice, cut once,' and told me I'd never need a man for anything, not even for caulk.
Okay... so maybe he left out the caulk part (but gawd knows I didn't *insert perverted laugh here*) but he meant what he said. He showed me enough tricks of the trade that I'd be able to assemble, measure, estimate, drill, saw or fix most of the important daily things in life. I think he inspired this 'adventure' side of me, my drive to do things people don't think I can, or at least women in general can't.
Now that I am without roommate, I am thrilled to once again be able to take baths and not think about anothers foot fungus beneath me. I got to thinking about a bath and realized I would have been staring at this:
(I wasn't TLC-enough to take decent before pictures, but just imagine that multiplied to the extent of the whole tub, totally gross.)
The bathroom is actually getting a pretty decent makeover: new paint, new shelves, new shower curtain. You see, I now live in a studio the size of a shoebox and the bathroom is really the only "room" I have. So I've decided to spoil it (and myself) and create a fantastic space.
I know, I rent and I could have called the landlord but he probably would have hired some creepy guy who would have done a crappy job, and I do live in a studio meaning I would have been no more then 5 feet from him the entire time he was here, and he probably would have smelled, and tried to talk to me the whole time, and then he would have asked me where I was from.... I just didn't have the energy for all that.
So I went to eHow and got the basic tips, picked up the supplies at the raddest Hardware store ever (go Hillcrest Ace!) and so the project began. I was informed I should 'tape' around the area. At first I thought it was for sissies who couldn't keep their arm steady but I decided I should respect eHow as they do know all. I bought one of those nifty caulk smoother things, yeah that was a complete waste of $2.99, just made things worse. The best thing to use for smoothing? A standard index finger. But of course I used more then one finger, in fact I used all ten, and apparently the caulk gun and soap bottle as well. To demonstrate what a complete mess I made see inserts below:
Good thing I followed directions regarding the tape.
The gun is not supposed to have caulk on it, only the tub and first finger are.
Even the poor Ajax bottle couldn't escape.
My hands, raw from scrubbing with the scour brush in multiple, pathetic attempts to remove the caulk.
Shelly's advice for re-caulking your tub:
1. Don't.
2. Procrastinate
3. Make jokes with your friend about how you're not very good with 'caulk' and how it's so sticky and hard to handle and you're not really sure what to do with the caulk...
4. Get the guy next door who is happily married and likes to be helpful to others do it in exchange for a 6-pack.
5. Hire someone
After much mess and nearly half a bottle of soap for clean-up, here are the results:
Voila! A beautiful, bath worthy tub.
No, I will not caulk your tub EVER, and yes you are free to make as many 'caulk' jokes to me as you like.
Now, who's ready for another adventure!?!
Okay... so maybe he left out the caulk part (but gawd knows I didn't *insert perverted laugh here*) but he meant what he said. He showed me enough tricks of the trade that I'd be able to assemble, measure, estimate, drill, saw or fix most of the important daily things in life. I think he inspired this 'adventure' side of me, my drive to do things people don't think I can, or at least women in general can't.
Now that I am without roommate, I am thrilled to once again be able to take baths and not think about anothers foot fungus beneath me. I got to thinking about a bath and realized I would have been staring at this:
(I wasn't TLC-enough to take decent before pictures, but just imagine that multiplied to the extent of the whole tub, totally gross.)
The bathroom is actually getting a pretty decent makeover: new paint, new shelves, new shower curtain. You see, I now live in a studio the size of a shoebox and the bathroom is really the only "room" I have. So I've decided to spoil it (and myself) and create a fantastic space.
I know, I rent and I could have called the landlord but he probably would have hired some creepy guy who would have done a crappy job, and I do live in a studio meaning I would have been no more then 5 feet from him the entire time he was here, and he probably would have smelled, and tried to talk to me the whole time, and then he would have asked me where I was from.... I just didn't have the energy for all that.
So I went to eHow and got the basic tips, picked up the supplies at the raddest Hardware store ever (go Hillcrest Ace!) and so the project began. I was informed I should 'tape' around the area. At first I thought it was for sissies who couldn't keep their arm steady but I decided I should respect eHow as they do know all. I bought one of those nifty caulk smoother things, yeah that was a complete waste of $2.99, just made things worse. The best thing to use for smoothing? A standard index finger. But of course I used more then one finger, in fact I used all ten, and apparently the caulk gun and soap bottle as well. To demonstrate what a complete mess I made see inserts below:
Good thing I followed directions regarding the tape.
The gun is not supposed to have caulk on it, only the tub and first finger are.
Even the poor Ajax bottle couldn't escape.
My hands, raw from scrubbing with the scour brush in multiple, pathetic attempts to remove the caulk.
Shelly's advice for re-caulking your tub:
1. Don't.
2. Procrastinate
3. Make jokes with your friend about how you're not very good with 'caulk' and how it's so sticky and hard to handle and you're not really sure what to do with the caulk...
4. Get the guy next door who is happily married and likes to be helpful to others do it in exchange for a 6-pack.
5. Hire someone
After much mess and nearly half a bottle of soap for clean-up, here are the results:
Voila! A beautiful, bath worthy tub.
No, I will not caulk your tub EVER, and yes you are free to make as many 'caulk' jokes to me as you like.
Now, who's ready for another adventure!?!
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Life in the corporate world
I got a temp job as admin assistant until my life clears through the freakin' state (it is the most ridiculous process: as if thousands in students loans and a year of unpaid internship weren't enough, I must continue to wait to make money as a therapist). So I sit in a cubicle all day, receiving emails from people who are insanely important and make more money in one day then I will ever make in my life from this ginormous company. Somehow, I am in the middle of this large process and these people come to me for answers. However, I've been here for less then a month and essentially have no idea what I'm doing. Thank gawd they didn't give me a phone extension otherwise people would call me and I'd have to give them instant answers, instead of going through my supervisor who is endlessly patient with me.
In the beginning I was pretty stoked on the deal. Good money for not doing a whole lot, really nice supervisors, company laptop (I've asked around about this, temps NEVER get company laptops that they can take home, I've totally got it made), it's close to home, flexible scheduling, I can request time off when I need it and they have a cafeteria which serves Snickers Ice Cream bars.
After a few weeks I've begun to see the downsides of corporate employment.
As I mentioned, I sit in a cubicle. Cubicles have got to be one of, if not the, worst things in the world. No privacy whatsoever, people walking by with the ability to see your work (or lack of work, meaning looking for free stuff on Craigslist, or... blogging), and you cannot escape listening to the conversations of those around you. I sit between human resources and the finance department. Why on earth I was placed between the two I will never know. Not that I expected a private office with an ocean view, but why here?
First off, I feel absolutely horrible for anyone who has to work in human resources. To my left, I listen, day in and day out, to phone interviews done by this one particularly cheerful lady. She's the type of lady they hire to do the voice prompts for answering machine services. Sweet, clear, intelligent voice, proper grammar and you can tell she is smiling the entire time she is talking. But the people she talks to, oh my! "Yes, sir, I understand you are currently making $11 an hour, and are requesting an increase to $23 an hour, can I ask why the large increase?" And then there are the people who have clearly never turned on, let alone operated a computer before, and they try to convince her that they have. "Ma'am, it's perfectly acceptable if you do not have familiarity with Adobe or Microsoft Office, I just need to be clear on the skills you do possess." These people scream at her! I can hear them through the phone and she sits 6 feet, and one lousy cubicle wall, away from me!
To my right, I have cat lady. Her cubicle is covered in pictures of her cats. And across the way is her cat-lady friend. They gossip about Tiger and Muffy and how they are awaken by their 'delightful' pets at 4 am, when their bellies are all dirty from rolling around in the mud but they still let them crawl into bed all wet and dirty because they are just the sweetest little blah blah blah.... who freakin' cares!? Shut up and get back to financing what ever the hell it is you finance and let me get back to my spreadsheet in peace!
And not too far is the new guy, meaning he started like 20 minutes after I did. He keeps asking me questions, "Shelly, can you run me through an SAP transaction?" "Shelly, do you know the procedure for requesting time off?" "Hey Shelly, do you know where the nearest Bank of America is?" Every time I remind: "I'm a temp, I do admin stuff, I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Oh yeah, sorry about that."
And my favorite is bad shirt guy. He's about 3 cubicles down and is in some position of authority as evidenced by his overly bossy communication with everyone and how people pretend to act busy when they see him approaching. Each day he comes in with an absolutely terrible shirt, like straight from Express for Men. Looks like he rinsed it in starch so it refuses to wrinkle and makes this terrible crinkle noise when he walks by, I mean, I can hear the guy coming and laugh a little when he passes me. This is totoally the guy you see at happy hour and he starts to hit on you and you pee yourself a little in laughter because he thinks he has a chance with you. He does the 'finance-this' and 'important-person-that' talk and you roll your eyes and happily give him a false phone number in exchange for a free drink.
This job has completely confirmed my career decision. I like dealing with crazy people, but only for one hour a week, thankyouverymuch.
In the beginning I was pretty stoked on the deal. Good money for not doing a whole lot, really nice supervisors, company laptop (I've asked around about this, temps NEVER get company laptops that they can take home, I've totally got it made), it's close to home, flexible scheduling, I can request time off when I need it and they have a cafeteria which serves Snickers Ice Cream bars.
After a few weeks I've begun to see the downsides of corporate employment.
As I mentioned, I sit in a cubicle. Cubicles have got to be one of, if not the, worst things in the world. No privacy whatsoever, people walking by with the ability to see your work (or lack of work, meaning looking for free stuff on Craigslist, or... blogging), and you cannot escape listening to the conversations of those around you. I sit between human resources and the finance department. Why on earth I was placed between the two I will never know. Not that I expected a private office with an ocean view, but why here?
First off, I feel absolutely horrible for anyone who has to work in human resources. To my left, I listen, day in and day out, to phone interviews done by this one particularly cheerful lady. She's the type of lady they hire to do the voice prompts for answering machine services. Sweet, clear, intelligent voice, proper grammar and you can tell she is smiling the entire time she is talking. But the people she talks to, oh my! "Yes, sir, I understand you are currently making $11 an hour, and are requesting an increase to $23 an hour, can I ask why the large increase?" And then there are the people who have clearly never turned on, let alone operated a computer before, and they try to convince her that they have. "Ma'am, it's perfectly acceptable if you do not have familiarity with Adobe or Microsoft Office, I just need to be clear on the skills you do possess." These people scream at her! I can hear them through the phone and she sits 6 feet, and one lousy cubicle wall, away from me!
To my right, I have cat lady. Her cubicle is covered in pictures of her cats. And across the way is her cat-lady friend. They gossip about Tiger and Muffy and how they are awaken by their 'delightful' pets at 4 am, when their bellies are all dirty from rolling around in the mud but they still let them crawl into bed all wet and dirty because they are just the sweetest little blah blah blah.... who freakin' cares!? Shut up and get back to financing what ever the hell it is you finance and let me get back to my spreadsheet in peace!
And not too far is the new guy, meaning he started like 20 minutes after I did. He keeps asking me questions, "Shelly, can you run me through an SAP transaction?" "Shelly, do you know the procedure for requesting time off?" "Hey Shelly, do you know where the nearest Bank of America is?" Every time I remind: "I'm a temp, I do admin stuff, I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Oh yeah, sorry about that."
And my favorite is bad shirt guy. He's about 3 cubicles down and is in some position of authority as evidenced by his overly bossy communication with everyone and how people pretend to act busy when they see him approaching. Each day he comes in with an absolutely terrible shirt, like straight from Express for Men. Looks like he rinsed it in starch so it refuses to wrinkle and makes this terrible crinkle noise when he walks by, I mean, I can hear the guy coming and laugh a little when he passes me. This is totoally the guy you see at happy hour and he starts to hit on you and you pee yourself a little in laughter because he thinks he has a chance with you. He does the 'finance-this' and 'important-person-that' talk and you roll your eyes and happily give him a false phone number in exchange for a free drink.
This job has completely confirmed my career decision. I like dealing with crazy people, but only for one hour a week, thankyouverymuch.
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Might As Well Face It, I'm Addicted to Martin
This year I decided I would try something new and use my graduation money for an actual gift, rather then bills or a night at the bar as is my typical fashion. I did some research and purchased a GPS, which I subsequently set to the male UK accent and named Martin (pronounced: Maah-tin). I was driving home the other day, all the while Martin was guiding me with his pleasant and accurate directions, and I began to think how a great dependency on him could easily develop.
Martin and I haven't even been together a week and I already don't know what I'd do without him. He comforts me not only in times of confusion but loneliness and excitement. He was the first person I told about my awesome (and not so awesome) job interviews. He was the first to see apartments I was viewing (and failed to notify me that most of them were completely scary, what's up with that Martin?). Without him, who would give me an 800-meter notification that I need to "stay to the right and exit right off the motorway"??? Who would notify me if I came into a situation of traffic, explaining how many minutes this traffic would add to my trip and would I like an alternate route?!?!
There are other ways I rely on Martin to provide support and to help others perceive me as competent and knowledgeable on technology. For instance, when prospective employers provide their address for an interview they frequently ask, "Now Shelly, would you like me to give you directions?" And I say with a slight hint of pride, "Oh, well actually, I have a GPS." This is terrific! They perceive me as additionally organized prior to even meeting me!
My beloved Martin, how did I ever survive before him?
However, I've come to see this dependence isn't the healthiest thing in the world. After all Martin did try to take me through a one-way trolley track in downtown San Diego where I almost met head-on with a trolley full of tourists and important business people. Perhaps it's best I continue to pay a moderate amount of attention to where it is I'm headed rather then assume a robotic-like form, following the commands of a small screen on the dash.
I dread the day I takeoff for a unknown location and halfway there I realize I have left Martin at home. What ever will I do then?! I will most likely fall into 'Martin withdrawals' complete with the sweats, shortness of breath and cravings for directions.
Oh Martin, I see the games you play and I will not surrender. While you are always there for me when I'm at my worst, I refuse to foster total dependence on you and will come to know the streets of San Diego. When I arrive at an unfamiliar intersection, I will not give into my desire for you. I will find the 5, without you, and will make my way home... on my own!
Martin and I haven't even been together a week and I already don't know what I'd do without him. He comforts me not only in times of confusion but loneliness and excitement. He was the first person I told about my awesome (and not so awesome) job interviews. He was the first to see apartments I was viewing (and failed to notify me that most of them were completely scary, what's up with that Martin?). Without him, who would give me an 800-meter notification that I need to "stay to the right and exit right off the motorway"??? Who would notify me if I came into a situation of traffic, explaining how many minutes this traffic would add to my trip and would I like an alternate route?!?!
There are other ways I rely on Martin to provide support and to help others perceive me as competent and knowledgeable on technology. For instance, when prospective employers provide their address for an interview they frequently ask, "Now Shelly, would you like me to give you directions?" And I say with a slight hint of pride, "Oh, well actually, I have a GPS." This is terrific! They perceive me as additionally organized prior to even meeting me!
My beloved Martin, how did I ever survive before him?
However, I've come to see this dependence isn't the healthiest thing in the world. After all Martin did try to take me through a one-way trolley track in downtown San Diego where I almost met head-on with a trolley full of tourists and important business people. Perhaps it's best I continue to pay a moderate amount of attention to where it is I'm headed rather then assume a robotic-like form, following the commands of a small screen on the dash.
I dread the day I takeoff for a unknown location and halfway there I realize I have left Martin at home. What ever will I do then?! I will most likely fall into 'Martin withdrawals' complete with the sweats, shortness of breath and cravings for directions.
Oh Martin, I see the games you play and I will not surrender. While you are always there for me when I'm at my worst, I refuse to foster total dependence on you and will come to know the streets of San Diego. When I arrive at an unfamiliar intersection, I will not give into my desire for you. I will find the 5, without you, and will make my way home... on my own!
Monday, March 17, 2008
Luck be a lady tonight?
This morning I was getting ready to leave the house for work. I had taken care of most things required to get my tush out the door: hair and makeup, breakfast, pack lunch, and clothing. Being a 'holiday' I of course had on my snazzy new St. Patrick's Day t-shirt, which pictures a 4-leaf clover. I was ready for some serious good luck. But of course... as usual... things took an unusual turn.
As I placed my purse on the mantel to open the door that I was to head out of, the giant mirror which nicely complements said mantel crashed to the floor.
I broke a mirror on St. Patrick's Day.
I decided the lucky shirt cancels out the broken mirror, especially since I didn't look into the broken pieces of the mirror (my roommate, bless her, informed me that only when you look into the pieces of the broken mirror does it initiate the curse of 7 unlucky years)... thoughts?
As I placed my purse on the mantel to open the door that I was to head out of, the giant mirror which nicely complements said mantel crashed to the floor.
I broke a mirror on St. Patrick's Day.
I decided the lucky shirt cancels out the broken mirror, especially since I didn't look into the broken pieces of the mirror (my roommate, bless her, informed me that only when you look into the pieces of the broken mirror does it initiate the curse of 7 unlucky years)... thoughts?
Sunday, March 2, 2008
Adventure at the car wash
I was overly zealous with my to-do list today and included washing my car. I hope to marry a man that enjoys washing cars, or at least will take it to the wash so I don't have to. There are other moments I wish I had a husband; few and far between, but they occur. Like when I was shopping for a computer and the guy at Best Buy is going on and on about Ram and mega-something and "do you have a digital camera because that will have an impact on what kind of computer you should get." Or when car salesmen were stalking me around the dealership and I was already emotional since my car was stolen and now I've got this creepy guy following me around asking me quasi-personal questions and I just want to scream at him and kick him in the shins. Or when basically anything automotive comes up that I have to deal with, such as the car wash today.
Of course I'm too cheap to actually pay to have someone else wash it, and I wanted the 'exercise' (although I got more then I bargained for there as will be explained later) so I went to one of those places you pull in and put quarters in the machine and the sprayer turns on and you proceed to drive to another area where you insert more quarters and the super powered vacuum finishes the job rather nicely.
As I got things ready I realized the place was completely creepy. Like, really creepy. There was some guy in the stall next to me with a truck bed full of crap. I don't know what he was doing but he certainly wasn't washing his truck (this is another one of those moments I wish I had a husband, and one of those moments when I think to myself "I do not want to make my TV debut on the 5 o'clock news, be smart Shelly"). He was the only person around for a good 50 yards, so it was basically me against the world on this one.
In pulls another vehicle: teal green early '90s Rav-4 with a white soft-top. And out steps a man who is dressed way too nicely to be driving that car. "Strange," I thought to myself, but proceeded. I wash, and wash and wash (the snowboarding trip 2 days prior left a nice sheet of salty muck, so it took a while). I'm just about done and can feel my spray time running out. Up walks Rav-4 man and asks:
R4: "Do you have a quarter?"
Shell: (blank stare, backs away slightly)
R4: (completely unaffected by blank stare) "Do you have a quarter?"
*I feel I must educate on social cues as he did not seem to understand: When a young girl gives you blank stare and does not answer your question, you should walk away. This means she does not want to talk to you and is slightly freaked out that you have approached her.**
I realize he is harmless (and there's a good chance not attracted to females based upon his attire, vehicle, voice and strut) and try to help him out, but the timer is flashing in the back of my mind.
Shell: um... yeah, well, hold on a sec, just let me finish this.
R4: (As timer beeps and water turns off) Well I don't mean to interrupt you.
Shell: (thinking) "Really? Because actually that's exactly what you did. You interrupted me and now the final portion of my car is still dirty, jerkface. I'm assuming you know these things are on a timer as would be indicated by your request for a quarter, meaning you have probably operated this before."
I hand him a quarter and he puts his hand out to offer 2 dimes and 1 nickel. A nice gesture, but seriously, keep the change buddy. I managed to clean up the remainder of the bumper ultra-ghetto style with some paper towels and dollar store windex.
Once the car is dry I head over to the vacuum area. Rav-4 and truck-o-crap guy have since left and now I'm feeling even more scared if such a thing were possible. At the vacuum I notice all the trash in my back seat and on the floor and start scooping it so I can find my floor and vacuum it. However, there's no trash can... How you operate a car wash without a trash can is beyond me but these people seem to do it. So I proceed to the dumpster and back to the vacuum.
I also managed to pick a day with a wind advisory to wash my car upon. My floor-mats are blowing away, I'm blowing away, practically the whole car is blowing away (here's where I got all my exercise). I gained more respect for the people who work at car washes and vow to tip them better next time.
I could have washed my car at home, in my driveway, like I successfully have before. But I was looking for a reason to get out of the house, an adventure if you will. Well, an adventure I got.
Of course I'm too cheap to actually pay to have someone else wash it, and I wanted the 'exercise' (although I got more then I bargained for there as will be explained later) so I went to one of those places you pull in and put quarters in the machine and the sprayer turns on and you proceed to drive to another area where you insert more quarters and the super powered vacuum finishes the job rather nicely.
As I got things ready I realized the place was completely creepy. Like, really creepy. There was some guy in the stall next to me with a truck bed full of crap. I don't know what he was doing but he certainly wasn't washing his truck (this is another one of those moments I wish I had a husband, and one of those moments when I think to myself "I do not want to make my TV debut on the 5 o'clock news, be smart Shelly"). He was the only person around for a good 50 yards, so it was basically me against the world on this one.
In pulls another vehicle: teal green early '90s Rav-4 with a white soft-top. And out steps a man who is dressed way too nicely to be driving that car. "Strange," I thought to myself, but proceeded. I wash, and wash and wash (the snowboarding trip 2 days prior left a nice sheet of salty muck, so it took a while). I'm just about done and can feel my spray time running out. Up walks Rav-4 man and asks:
R4: "Do you have a quarter?"
Shell: (blank stare, backs away slightly)
R4: (completely unaffected by blank stare) "Do you have a quarter?"
*I feel I must educate on social cues as he did not seem to understand: When a young girl gives you blank stare and does not answer your question, you should walk away. This means she does not want to talk to you and is slightly freaked out that you have approached her.**
I realize he is harmless (and there's a good chance not attracted to females based upon his attire, vehicle, voice and strut) and try to help him out, but the timer is flashing in the back of my mind.
Shell: um... yeah, well, hold on a sec, just let me finish this.
R4: (As timer beeps and water turns off) Well I don't mean to interrupt you.
Shell: (thinking) "Really? Because actually that's exactly what you did. You interrupted me and now the final portion of my car is still dirty, jerkface. I'm assuming you know these things are on a timer as would be indicated by your request for a quarter, meaning you have probably operated this before."
I hand him a quarter and he puts his hand out to offer 2 dimes and 1 nickel. A nice gesture, but seriously, keep the change buddy. I managed to clean up the remainder of the bumper ultra-ghetto style with some paper towels and dollar store windex.
Once the car is dry I head over to the vacuum area. Rav-4 and truck-o-crap guy have since left and now I'm feeling even more scared if such a thing were possible. At the vacuum I notice all the trash in my back seat and on the floor and start scooping it so I can find my floor and vacuum it. However, there's no trash can... How you operate a car wash without a trash can is beyond me but these people seem to do it. So I proceed to the dumpster and back to the vacuum.
I also managed to pick a day with a wind advisory to wash my car upon. My floor-mats are blowing away, I'm blowing away, practically the whole car is blowing away (here's where I got all my exercise). I gained more respect for the people who work at car washes and vow to tip them better next time.
I could have washed my car at home, in my driveway, like I successfully have before. But I was looking for a reason to get out of the house, an adventure if you will. Well, an adventure I got.
Thursday, January 10, 2008
I'm the worst Buckeye in the whole damn land
Monday was to be a day of greatness. A day of victory for my Buckeyes. A night where I could sit on a friends couch, eat hot dogs with Tony Packos sauce (it's an Ohio thing), drink beer and cheer for my boys.
Monday did not go as planned.
Now I know the California folk think they understand how 'awesome' and 'huge' football is. They have the Raiders and the Chargers and some other teams I can't remember because I think professional football is stupid... did I say that out loud? For those of us who attended a real university (i.e. Big 10), we know what football really means. It means waking up at 8 am on a Saturday when you're hungover as all get-out from the previous nights stupidity to head to the nearest fraternity house for 'kegs and eggs'. Eventually making your way to The Horseshoe where you spend the entire day screaming obscenities at people you don't even know and would probably like if you took the time to get to know them, but that would never happen simply because they are wearing a color other then scarlet or gray. The majority of the game is surrounded by tradition, such as the classic cheer "O-H!" "I-O!" (and yes, we are excited that we can spell the name of the stated we reside in). The day concludes with an outstanding walk home, high-fiving people from your Econ 101 class that you'll never again make eye contact with and others with so many wrinkles it's a miracle their knees still function well enough for them to stand. You come together simply because of the colors you're wearing, the greatest colors of all time... scarlet and gray.
But back to Monday...
As I pulled on my "2002 National Championship" t-shirt, classic Ohio State football hoodie, and Ohio State socks, something was missing...
"Where is my necklace?!?!?"
The buckeye necklace is the essential accessory.
I turned my entire room upside down. Looked through every box/bin/drawer/dresser/bag and could not find my Buckeye necklace anywhere! Then it occurred to me! The boyfriend! You see, he cheers for what Woody Hayes would call 'the team up north'. I will enlighten those who do not understand: The boyfriend went to Michigan for undergrad, I went to Ohio State. Ohio State/Michigan has been called possibly the biggest rivalry in all of sports. ALL. College, professional, international, ALL. So take that feeling you get for USC as a UCLA fan and multiply it by infinity, at least twice. Then, maybe, you'll experience a hint of what it feels like to think about a Michigan fan. College football is a hot topic for he and I, we usually avoid the subject entirely. However this time I acted on my suspicions via text message:
Shell: Did you take my Buckeye necklace?!"
Boyfriend: "No, but I wish I had thought of it!"
I took his word for it, with a hint of doubt in the back of my mind, and kept searching. Kick-off was in less than 15 minutes and I had to be at a friends house for the game. I found all kinds of things I wasn't looking for but was delighted to have found, "Oh there's my cowboy boots!" "Do I really need this much wrapping paper?" I also found my banner from the Fiesta bowl a couple years back, recognizing OSU had taken the Tostitos so many times everybody had lost count:
Yes, the game was televised on ABC and yes I wanted to get on TV.
My search was unsuccessful and I still haven't found my necklace. Watching the game was more painful then ever without my buckeye security blanket. I somehow feel responsible for the ending result... failure, two years in a row. I guess you can't win every year, what fun would that be? Oh I know, it'd be like professional football which is really boring and the players are overpaid and they all beat their wives and bet on dog fights... am I thinking out loud again?
**UPDATE!! In my recent nightmare of a move the necklace was located and boyfriend has been cleared of all charges.**
Monday did not go as planned.
Now I know the California folk think they understand how 'awesome' and 'huge' football is. They have the Raiders and the Chargers and some other teams I can't remember because I think professional football is stupid... did I say that out loud? For those of us who attended a real university (i.e. Big 10), we know what football really means. It means waking up at 8 am on a Saturday when you're hungover as all get-out from the previous nights stupidity to head to the nearest fraternity house for 'kegs and eggs'. Eventually making your way to The Horseshoe where you spend the entire day screaming obscenities at people you don't even know and would probably like if you took the time to get to know them, but that would never happen simply because they are wearing a color other then scarlet or gray. The majority of the game is surrounded by tradition, such as the classic cheer "O-H!" "I-O!" (and yes, we are excited that we can spell the name of the stated we reside in). The day concludes with an outstanding walk home, high-fiving people from your Econ 101 class that you'll never again make eye contact with and others with so many wrinkles it's a miracle their knees still function well enough for them to stand. You come together simply because of the colors you're wearing, the greatest colors of all time... scarlet and gray.
But back to Monday...
As I pulled on my "2002 National Championship" t-shirt, classic Ohio State football hoodie, and Ohio State socks, something was missing...
"Where is my necklace?!?!?"
The buckeye necklace is the essential accessory.
I turned my entire room upside down. Looked through every box/bin/drawer/dresser/bag and could not find my Buckeye necklace anywhere! Then it occurred to me! The boyfriend! You see, he cheers for what Woody Hayes would call 'the team up north'. I will enlighten those who do not understand: The boyfriend went to Michigan for undergrad, I went to Ohio State. Ohio State/Michigan has been called possibly the biggest rivalry in all of sports. ALL. College, professional, international, ALL. So take that feeling you get for USC as a UCLA fan and multiply it by infinity, at least twice. Then, maybe, you'll experience a hint of what it feels like to think about a Michigan fan. College football is a hot topic for he and I, we usually avoid the subject entirely. However this time I acted on my suspicions via text message:
Shell: Did you take my Buckeye necklace?!"
Boyfriend: "No, but I wish I had thought of it!"
I took his word for it, with a hint of doubt in the back of my mind, and kept searching. Kick-off was in less than 15 minutes and I had to be at a friends house for the game. I found all kinds of things I wasn't looking for but was delighted to have found, "Oh there's my cowboy boots!" "Do I really need this much wrapping paper?" I also found my banner from the Fiesta bowl a couple years back, recognizing OSU had taken the Tostitos so many times everybody had lost count:
Yes, the game was televised on ABC and yes I wanted to get on TV.
My search was unsuccessful and I still haven't found my necklace. Watching the game was more painful then ever without my buckeye security blanket. I somehow feel responsible for the ending result... failure, two years in a row. I guess you can't win every year, what fun would that be? Oh I know, it'd be like professional football which is really boring and the players are overpaid and they all beat their wives and bet on dog fights... am I thinking out loud again?
**UPDATE!! In my recent nightmare of a move the necklace was located and boyfriend has been cleared of all charges.**
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