Gossip, Porn and Other Vices

"And I will start the best rumor ever because you'll never post to squash it. In fact, that's half of what the internet is for: fabricating and squashing rumors. The other half is porn." – The Big, Dumb American

So apparently I'm a lesbian now.

And I'm also tempting fate, as I seem to remember that the last time I quoted this particular source, I got flagged for inappropriate content. (Author’s Note: Hmmm. Let’s contemplate this for just a moment. Should fate choose to intervene, I’d suddenly be unable to post through no fault of my own, leaving you guys free to continue chatting amongst yourselves and leaving me completely off the hook.)

But until that happens – and before my mother and boyfriend read this and start asking questions, I guess I'd better use the internet (or half of it, anyway) for its intended purpose and start squashing some rumors.

Here goes.

I am not dead. I am not in rehab, in a cult, incarcerated, or back in Canada. I haven't been off saving the world with Bono, or sitting on a beach with Scott drinking Stellas and plotting the Greatest Blogging Comeback of Modern Times. (Though I'd be up for that.) I did not quit my job to campaign for the Republican party, or run off with JJ Redick to raise a future generation of pot-smoking, three-point-sinking poets.

And I have not become a lesbian.

So what's my excuse, then? Actually, I don't have one. I mean, sure; I could offer up a bunch of reasons for my recent lack of posts. New job, new relationship. (Author’s Note: Has any force in nature killed more blogs than that little trifecta right there? I think not.) New friends, an unlimited supply of trails to hike and places to shop, and a recent 15-hour a week swing dance addiction (on weeks when I’m exercising restraint, that is.) I’ve been busy and I’ve been happy; I guess you could say those are my reasons.

But excuses?

Well, I really don’t want to go there. You see, one of the things I’ve always liked best about blogging is its relative freedom from rules, obligations and accountability (evil flag button notwithstanding). So while I’m not about to make excuses – or too many promises – I will say that I miss my little corner of the internet. For me, writing is a creative outlet and it makes me happy; it took me a long time to figure this out and I have no intention of giving it up. I think I just need to adjust to some of the “newness” in my life and find a way to fit everything in.

And until that happens, I will do the best I can. (I guess, technically, that's a promise.) In the meantime, please feel free to continue chatting amongst yourselves for entertainment. Just keep it clean; my mother reads this.

If you're going to deceive, at least be honest about it

Overheard at the cart that sells counterfeit Prada bags in front of my office building:

Customer: "Hey man, do you sell fake watches, too?"

Cart Guy: "Watches? No, just fake bags. There's a Rolex guy three blocks up, though."

Huh. I mean, sure; it's no big secret that these things are fake. I was just surprised to hear him admit to it so openly.

And on a completely different note: Late this afternoon, I found out that something I wrote for work is getting picked up in a press release. Not a huge deal, but I worked my butt off writing this thing, so it's kind of exciting to think that someone other than my boss might actually read it. (And yes; keeping the sarcasm out took a conscious effort and a lot of self-control.)

Stoopid is as stoopid does

I never really got the meaning of that quote - let alone how it was supposed to enhance Forrest's self esteem - but now I kind of understand.

Last night, despite her lack of opposable thumbs, Oh Brilliant One unplugged my alarm clock. That's right - out of the 417 things that overload the electrical outlets in my apartment, she was able to zero in on this one and unplug it. Thank you, Dylan. And thank you also for leaving my iPod plugged in so it was all charged up for my run this morning … although the spiteful irony of that wasn't lost on me, as waking up at 6:52 made running out of the question.

So my point? Go ahead and call her 'stoopid'; I guarantee she'll somehow get the last laugh.

PS: In an attempt to balance out the recent abundance of cat posts … anyone up for NFL picks this fall? I know it's only July - and I promise to harass people individually once it gets closer - but think about it. I'll even volunteer to handle Tech Support once again, assuming that everyone has figured out how to use their e-mail by now. As anyone who did picks last year knows, it was lots of fun; besides, I also desperately need to redeem myself after March Madness.

And, ahem, some of you do as well.

Just for today, you're allowed to call her 'Stoopid'

See that innocent face? Ooooh, don't be fooled; that cat has all the attitude of a rebellious teenager. (A rebellious teenager who's just spoiled enough to have her own bathroom.)

As in: "Sure, you go ahead and work your 12 hour days. Whatever. And while you're doing that, I'm just gonna sit here and, like, take every last piece of poop I can find in my litter box and stick it in the drain. And just to make it really hard to clean up, I'm gonna cram a whole bunch of extra litter down there, too."

Ew. Just .... ew. And putting her litter box in the bathtub seemed like such a good idea at the time.

So while I'd planned on writing an actual real post tonight, then going to sleep at a halfway decent hour, I ended up disinfecting the entire bathroom (twice) and writing about cat poop.

A new low, guys; I'm well aware of that. Sorry.

A Mathematical Riddle

Q: How many U.S. Navy guys does it take to safely back a trailer out of a parking space, without hitting anyone's car in the process?

A: Apparently, more than 3.

Yeah. I came out of work today and found 3 contrite-looking gentlemen in Navy uniforms standing next to my car - which had a nice, shiny, new dent in the back. I know it could have been worse - much worse, since a lot of people wouldn't have stuck around - but getting this fixed will still be a PITA.

And I was having such a good day ....

Rapture

(Author's Note: This is based on a true story.)

"How do I know which way is East?"

We all stopped eating dinner and stared at my sister as if she'd just asked what color the sky was. See, my family lived at the beach, where any 7-year-old with an IQ above 80 would have learned years ago that the sun rises over the ocean (East) and sets over the bay (West). Sensing the need for redemption, she quickly added: "I mean if I'm not here; if I can't see the ocean. How do I know which way is East?"

My dad launched into a dissertation beginning with "Well, that's a very good question" and ending with something about "a compass", "landmarks" and "one's innate sense of direction"; my sister started to cry.

Turns out that earlier that day, our slightly crazy/extremely Born-Again neighbor had terrorized her with tales of the Rapture. Now I may mess up some details here as I'm not very religious - not to mention that I'm relaying something that was explained to me by a petrified child over 20 years ago - but here goes:

"When the world comes to an end, Jesus will come from the East, but he won't look like Jesus, and Satan will come from the West, but he won't look like Satan. Good people (ie: Saved Christians) will know to follow Jesus, who will lead them to Heaven. Bad people (ie: Sinners) will have no choice but to follow Satan, who will lead them straight to Hell. Everyone else (ie: Unbaptized Heathens, like my family) will become hopelessly confused, thus standing a 50/50 chance of guessing incorrectly, following Satan, and burning in The Hot Place for all of eternity."

Huh. Now that's a pretty harsh punishment for having a crappy sense of direction, don't you think? Which, funny enough, is exactly the message my sister took away from Crazy Neighbor's lecture. Not: "Get yourself saved, little heathen girl" (as I'm fairly sure was the intent), but: "You better make damned sure that, ocean or no ocean, you always know which way is East."

I'd forgotten all about this, until a recent chat about childhood antics revived its memory and raised the following question: "Should there be an Apocalyptic showdown in 2006, what form would Satan take?" Hmmm. That would have to be quite the powerful image: Something that millions of people would turn to in hope of salvation, only to later discover that it was really the Devil incarnate. I had a few ideas, but none were very good; then I read Kelley's post and I had it.

Yes, that's right; the dude would appear as a giant, freaking cell phone.

I should confess that with this particular technology, I was a late adapter; I didn't even have a cell phone until 6 months ago. Why? Because I hated them. I hated their annoying ringtones and the mind-numbing conversations they subjected me to, and how they promised to bring us closer but only succeeded in bringing out our very worst. I hated how they made us louder, ruder, and even more oblivious to the world around us; how they set expectations of 24/7 reachability; and how they robbed us of the simple pleasure of focusing on one thing (or one person) at a time. And most of all, I hated how all of this had become acceptable. 'Cell phones', I would tell anyone who would listen, 'are the Devil'.

And then I got one.

And the Devil got me.

I'm surprised by how quickly I became one of 'Those People', doing all the things I'd once considered loud and rude and oblivious. I started calling my mom as I drove around town running errands, even though I suspected it hurt her feelings to not have my undivided attention. I learned that I could entertain myself in line at Target by texting my friends, instead of by saying hello to the person in line behind me, or - God forbid - enjoying the peace and quiet of my own thoughts. More than once, I'm sure I stopped in an inconvenient place while walking or inadvertantly cut someone off in traffic. In short, when the Devil offered up temptation in the form of a shiny, beeping, TXT-enabled gadget, I fell right into his trap.

So now I'm trying to mend my evil ways; or at least modify them by using technology in a more socially responsible fashion. (Author's Note: This means if I ever call you from the checkout line - or if you catch me walking into a tree while composing a text - please hit me with something.) On the bright side, though: Should 'Apocalypse 2006' actually take place, I think I'll come out okay. I mean, the Devil may have tricked me once; but since he's shown his cards, he doesn't stand a chance of tricking me again.

Unless he chooses to appear as a giant iPod, in which case I'm screwed.

Another One Bites the Dust?

Yeah, yeah; I know what you guys are thinking: "Little Miss Hiker finally gets a job, only to join the ever-growing ranks of 'People Who Don't Post Anymore'. Well, rest assured that this is not my intent, as I've been doing this for far too long and enjoy it far too much to let a silly little thing like a job get in my way. It's just that after three months of being "between projects", my first week of gainful employment has been a bit of a shock to the old system.

Let me back up a step. I'm enjoying my new job; I'm just freaking exhausted when I get home at night, to the point where I can barely find the energy to watch a dvd, let alone write. If you're wondering what I do, exactly, as 'Project Manager Girl' (aka: 'Chief Cat Herder'), I make order out of chaos. And doing this is not always easy, as Chaos is a tough competitor who doesn't like to go down without a fight. So most nights this week, I've come home feeling that - despite my best efforts - Chaos just kicked Order's ass.

So please be patient as I get used to the new routine, as well as re-acquaint myself with concepts such as the Alarm Clock and the Three Hour Conference Call. And while I'll probably be back on the 'Nights and Weekends Blogging Plan', I won't be going anywhere any time soon.

Except to sleep for the next 12 hours.

To Nancy, if You're Reading This ...

First of all, I must confess that I know way too much about your life.

Way, way too much; in fact, it's starting to get a bit embarrassing. So in order to preserve what's left of your dignity - not to mention my sanity - may I suggest that you please tell your friends, family, enemies and acquaintences that you've changed your cell phone number?

Starting with these folks:

- Your dad, who misses you.

- Work, so that the next time you fail to show up for a 6 a.m. shift on a Saturday morning, I don't need to hear about it.

- Your drunken friends in Chicago. (Actually, scratch that; they're kind of entertaining. Can't text worth crap, though.)

- Your dentist, because - oh, lucky you! - it's time for your 6-month checkup.

- Whoever the hell you know who lives in Nevada.

- Paranoid Persistent Guy. No clue who he is, but I'm guessing he might be at least partially responsible for the fact that you even have a new cell phone number. He doesn't quite believe me when I tell him I don't know where you are or even who you are, but if he calls one more time, I may tell him to just give up because you've joined a convent. Or like girls now. Or whatever seems funny at the time.

I do believe that's it. And while we're on the subject, I'm happy to report that in the two months I've had this number, you have not received a single call from a telemarketer, a collection agency, or anyone calling collect from prison.

(Oh, and to the lucky person who got my old Toronto cell number? Um, sorry.)

Curiosity May Not Kill the Cat

In Spanish, there are two different words for 'fish':

Fish that are alive and swimming around are called peces; fish that are dead on a plate, under a slice of cheese on a hamburger bun or wrapped up in a taco are referred to as pescado. To phrase it another way: Pescado is eaten, peces are fed.

Dylan, who no habla español, is therefore unaware of this fundamental difference.

Couple Things ...

(1) Asking for what you want can be a daunting task, especially when the request has the potential to steer the conversation into uncomfortable waters. But asking and getting? Best feeling in the world.

(2) I got a job!

While I don't generally blog about work, for those of you who've been following I will say this: It's not in higher ed, but it's not programming, either. I'll still be doing IT consulting, but in an area that's become a specialty of mine: Helping turn around projects that have 'issues'. Believe it or not, I love doing this, I'm very excited about the project, and I start on Monday.

So for everyone who's been crossing their fingers for me: Thank you. And yes, you can stop now, before you hurt something.

And now I'm off to enjoy the weekend ....