It amazes me how a computer can go from completely normal to completely unusable in a span of two hours. Without even being on. It also amazes me how no one in my entire being has told me how fast a two year old with the attention span of a flea can run, or how backtalk doesn't start at puberty, but at birth. Or how no matter how quietly under your breath you whisper 'shit', the cutest, most angelic 3-year-old you have ever seen sitting across the room from you will still hear you and echo you. Again. And again. And again.
In the many weeks since my last blog, my beloved bakery filled with creepy, thong wearing men has gone out of business. Good for my waistline, bad for my bank account. (Neither of those are in correlation with the creepy men, but with the bakery itself. Just so we're clear). Luckily, my future roommate and partner in all things culinary, Kim, got me a job at the daycare that she works at. Which is fantastic. Because I ADORE kids. Seriously. No sarcasm. I'm hoping that comes across because it's really hard to tell through text if my tone matches my sentiment. Reiterating: I LOVE KIDS. Always have. Want 50. Probably will only have 2.
Moral of the story: I couldn't have been any more excited for this job if it paid in time slots spent on a beach with a naked James McAvoy. You can't tell by reading this, but I just spent 20 minutes staring into space, thinking about that image.
So I started my new job. And I got my ass kicked. For starters, we got hit by Snowpocalypse #2 (which was the dumbest name ever) and all of the older kids got to stay home from school. Which mean their parents promptly dropped their behinds off at daycare. Dealing with 8 kids ranging from 4 mos. to 5 years old is challenging enough. Throw in some 7 and 9 year olds, it's pure hell. The older kids don't like you. The older kid's won't listen to you. The older kids start a mutiny with the younger kids and the next thing you know you're getting dominoes chucked at you. Dominoes hurt.
What's one bad day? Getting back on that horse.
I learned that my main task was to entertain and prison guard the aforementioned two year old. I will code name him Gremlin because after much research, I've found that when you have him pinned down on the changing table and you tickle him in the ribs to make him stop screaming bloody murder, he smiles. And he looks like a gremlin. Which I swear is a hell of a lot cuter than it sounds.
Gremlin does not talk the way a two year old should. He screams. (He actually has a pretty decent vocabulary.) Gremlin does not walk, he sprints. And if you tell Gremlin no, whoa buddy, you just started World War 3. But at the end of the day, Gremlin is my little pal , and I treasure every hair pulling, shin kicking, head butting second of it.
Also in attendance is Cherub, who really is just too precious for words. Although I am slowly corrupting her unintentionally with my language. I swear to God she has super sonic hearing. And then there is Nightmare who scares the living daylights out of me. She's only three but she looks at you in a way that makes you sleep with a night light. I'm pretty sure she has a genius IQ. She is the most ruthless, cunning 3 year old ever. She pushed Pup (he carries around a little stuffed puppy and he has chubby cheeks and looks like a puppy and I love him, like a puppy) out of the giant fish car thing yesterday and then told me it was for his own good. She stole Cherub's princess doll and made it seemed like Skywalker did it. I only figured it out when I saw her giggling gleefully behind her hand while Skywalker got punished. She. Is. Scary.
(Skywalker told me Star Wars is his life. Plus his real name fits with his code name).
There are at least six more kids that I could describe right now but I'll save those for future torment re tellings. And there are at least 90 different stories I could tell you about how they argue and hate each other but in a split second they are all on the same team and you go from being Switzerland to the Axis of Evil and they just want to bomb the crap out of you. But I won't right now. This blog is more boring than the rest of them.
Oh also, my computer has dementia in that in can't find it's own internal hard drive even though it is right where it should be. So I have to borrow my roommates laptop. Which is like typing on a foreign planet. The shift key isn't where it is supposed to be, the mouse is way more sensitive and I keep accidentally deleting half my words. But hey, computer!! (Thank you, Heidi. I appreciate you and your computer, Heidi. I love you, Heidi.)
And I also got the flu and had to pull over and puke on some 80 year olds lawn. While he was getting his mail. In his bathrobe. He didn't like me.
Hey, at least I didn't break anything this week.
Monday, March 14, 2011
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Why You Never Take a Gypsy's Money
So this is only my second post in 9 days. It's not because nothing interesting has happened to me, but rather because I'm one of those people who has started a gazillion journals in my life, but always seems to forget about it after two or three weeks. I think the longest I made it was 2 months. Commitment issues or whatever.
To make up for it, I will run through all the embarrassing/annoying/disastrous things that have happened in the past nine days. One day this past week, has me convinced that I pissed off a gypsy and have since brought on her curse. Seriously.
For starters, last Tuesday, the day after my very first post, I embarrassed myself at work. Typical Tuesday. I was working close, and no one ever comes in the last two hours. EVER.I was mopping the floors, passionately singing Duffy's 'Seriously' into the handle, swaying my hips, flipping my hair, I was rockin' it. Then I casually notice that the deep sound I'm hearing isn't the bass, but actually a deep male voice clearing his throat trying to get my attention. Since my body does not contain a single ounce of grace, I jumped and tripped over the mop. That would have been embarrassing enough but of course I then dropped the mop which fell into the raspberry hopper, which fell and spilled raspberry donut filling all over my shoes. That sucked. Did I mention that the guy watching me this entire time was completely hot. Like, on a scale from 1 to 10, the scale is irrelevant because it can't measure how hot he was. That was day 1 after my last post.
Day 2 consisted of me wiping out on ice after purchasing a scalding hot raspberry white mocha. I was then wearing my mocha. I am happy to report, however, that if you order 'scalding' coffee from Java City on campus, they comply to your wishes. Skin tested, burn approved.
Day 3 marked the return of Thong Guy. Thong of the day: White mesh.
Thankfully days 4 through 6 didn't have much to them other than the usual falls and bruises. I received a very nice bruise on my left thigh but I can't recall which fall did it, but that might be from when I slammed my head in the car door.
Day 7 was just depressing because it was Valentine's Day and I'm single and the only men who hit on me that day were in their 60s. I did however make chocolate candies with the great and terrible Ariel. You'll learn why the 'great and terrible' later on. Maybe.
Day 8 was the day from hell. It started off good. I found $5 on the ground while doing deliveries. Which I'm now pretty sure belonged to the previously mentioned gypsy. After I found the cursed coinage my technology died. All of it. I went home to watch a movie and my DVD player blew up. I'm not exaggerating. So I turned it off and went to my laptop. Which crashed due to a virus. I later took it in to get cleaned out ($36/hr for Central's IT help desk. Another thing I tested for ya). The guy at the desk was so cute in that dorky, computer but could still be a model kind of way. But I embarrassed myself when he asked me if I had XP or Windows 7. My blank stare answered for me. Then again when he asked me my password. It was PASSWORD. He thinks I'm an idiot. (I've changed it, don't worry, I learned). Upon review it was found that I had 666 viruses. The gypsy has a sense of humor. Tech hottie did not.
After the computer fiasco, I went to work which was thankfully disaster free. Until I left and my car was dead. Completely. Turned the key, got nothin' but a click. I reiterate, day from hell.
Which leads us to today in which my partner in all things embarrassing and painful, Miss Brittany, took me to what she thought was a candy story but turned into the big, dark, damp scary warehouse. It had candy. And cigarettes. And probably rats. And I'm pretty sure Freddy Krueger has killed people there. So, if you're looking for a creepy warehouse it's on the corner of Mission and Broadway. It's hard to find because all the windows are boarded up and papered. But it's a legitimate business. I think.
And so concludes my 9 day wrap up. I tested products, places and scenarios for ya. If you know of anything else that needs to be tested, but are too scared or smart to try it, just let me know. I've probably already done it. Oh, and lay off the gypsies.
To make up for it, I will run through all the embarrassing/annoying/disastrous things that have happened in the past nine days. One day this past week, has me convinced that I pissed off a gypsy and have since brought on her curse. Seriously.
For starters, last Tuesday, the day after my very first post, I embarrassed myself at work. Typical Tuesday. I was working close, and no one ever comes in the last two hours. EVER.I was mopping the floors, passionately singing Duffy's 'Seriously' into the handle, swaying my hips, flipping my hair, I was rockin' it. Then I casually notice that the deep sound I'm hearing isn't the bass, but actually a deep male voice clearing his throat trying to get my attention. Since my body does not contain a single ounce of grace, I jumped and tripped over the mop. That would have been embarrassing enough but of course I then dropped the mop which fell into the raspberry hopper, which fell and spilled raspberry donut filling all over my shoes. That sucked. Did I mention that the guy watching me this entire time was completely hot. Like, on a scale from 1 to 10, the scale is irrelevant because it can't measure how hot he was. That was day 1 after my last post.
Day 2 consisted of me wiping out on ice after purchasing a scalding hot raspberry white mocha. I was then wearing my mocha. I am happy to report, however, that if you order 'scalding' coffee from Java City on campus, they comply to your wishes. Skin tested, burn approved.
Day 3 marked the return of Thong Guy. Thong of the day: White mesh.
Thankfully days 4 through 6 didn't have much to them other than the usual falls and bruises. I received a very nice bruise on my left thigh but I can't recall which fall did it, but that might be from when I slammed my head in the car door.
Day 7 was just depressing because it was Valentine's Day and I'm single and the only men who hit on me that day were in their 60s. I did however make chocolate candies with the great and terrible Ariel. You'll learn why the 'great and terrible' later on. Maybe.
Day 8 was the day from hell. It started off good. I found $5 on the ground while doing deliveries. Which I'm now pretty sure belonged to the previously mentioned gypsy. After I found the cursed coinage my technology died. All of it. I went home to watch a movie and my DVD player blew up. I'm not exaggerating. So I turned it off and went to my laptop. Which crashed due to a virus. I later took it in to get cleaned out ($36/hr for Central's IT help desk. Another thing I tested for ya). The guy at the desk was so cute in that dorky, computer but could still be a model kind of way. But I embarrassed myself when he asked me if I had XP or Windows 7. My blank stare answered for me. Then again when he asked me my password. It was PASSWORD. He thinks I'm an idiot. (I've changed it, don't worry, I learned). Upon review it was found that I had 666 viruses. The gypsy has a sense of humor. Tech hottie did not.
After the computer fiasco, I went to work which was thankfully disaster free. Until I left and my car was dead. Completely. Turned the key, got nothin' but a click. I reiterate, day from hell.
Which leads us to today in which my partner in all things embarrassing and painful, Miss Brittany, took me to what she thought was a candy story but turned into the big, dark, damp scary warehouse. It had candy. And cigarettes. And probably rats. And I'm pretty sure Freddy Krueger has killed people there. So, if you're looking for a creepy warehouse it's on the corner of Mission and Broadway. It's hard to find because all the windows are boarded up and papered. But it's a legitimate business. I think.
And so concludes my 9 day wrap up. I tested products, places and scenarios for ya. If you know of anything else that needs to be tested, but are too scared or smart to try it, just let me know. I've probably already done it. Oh, and lay off the gypsies.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Introduction or Why I Think the Tooth Fairy Should Make House Calls to 22 Year Olds
Some people are just good at things. Some are excellent scholars, some are able to speak 11 languages, some can throw a ball at 80 mph, and there are even a select few who can name every alien/monster/thing from Star Wars. (Don't ask me why, it makes them happy so just go with it). I am not good at any of these things. The only thing I have ever excelled at, is living my life from one disaster to the next. I know, right? Lame blog. Right here.
The only good thing about my little "adventures" as I've come to call them, is that they often are quite hilarious for my friends and family. Seriously, I have one friend who calls whenever she's had a bad day just to hear how I belly flopped in the middle of the crosswalk or managed to sleep talk in the middle of class about how attractive I think the guy next to me is. Perks her up every time.
So I decided to share my adventures with the rest of the world. And by the rest of the world, I mean the same people I've been sharing them with my whole life. This just means I only have to explain it once.
For my first entry, I will explain how last Saturday sucked. For starters, Thong Guy came into the bakery (my job) that morning. Thong Guy is a creepy man in his late 50s who works construction and hits on me by saying the most disgusting things. Oh, and he also wears women's thongs that can clearly be see when he sits down. Thong of the day: sequined hot pink. He didn't say much today, but he did go out of his way to stare at my ass. He even got up out of his seat and pressed himself against the window to watch me bend over and take the bread out of the bottom oven. My boss made me Windex the spittle off after he left.
After work, I went home and started to take my laundry out of the dryer. Inside I found my beautiful, mandarin orange iPod nano warped from being dried on high heat 3 times. Why 3 times? Because the belt to my washing machine is busted, which means my clothes come out sopping wet and 2 dries just doesn't cut it. The outside was literally warped. Sigh.
So I went to console myself with a glass of ice cold soda. You know how dentists say soda is bad for your teeth? Well apparently, so is the glass you drink it from. I guess I was concentrating so hard on my iPod that I didn't position the glass correctly, and I chipped my tooth. Top right, between the front one and the incisor. I think. I don't speak dentist so I don't really know. I'm 22, which means I'm not eligible to stay on my parents Dental Plan, which means I'm screwed. My roommate says it's not noticeable, but it feels like a huge crater, just like how every cut you get in your mouth feel ginormous but it's not even a cm. And it's SHARP. I keep catching my lip/tongue on it. So know I have a hole in my tooth, a hole in my lip and the right side of my tongue is raw.
Life would be fan-flippin-tastic if the Tooth Fairy gave money to us uninsured college kids instead of 7 year olds. What do they need 50 cents for? Come to my house, I'll give a tiny fraction of my tooth, you give me the couple hundred I need to fix it. Everyone wins. Kinda.
I now complete my first blog post. My first long, rambling, lame blog post.
The only good thing about my little "adventures" as I've come to call them, is that they often are quite hilarious for my friends and family. Seriously, I have one friend who calls whenever she's had a bad day just to hear how I belly flopped in the middle of the crosswalk or managed to sleep talk in the middle of class about how attractive I think the guy next to me is. Perks her up every time.
So I decided to share my adventures with the rest of the world. And by the rest of the world, I mean the same people I've been sharing them with my whole life. This just means I only have to explain it once.
For my first entry, I will explain how last Saturday sucked. For starters, Thong Guy came into the bakery (my job) that morning. Thong Guy is a creepy man in his late 50s who works construction and hits on me by saying the most disgusting things. Oh, and he also wears women's thongs that can clearly be see when he sits down. Thong of the day: sequined hot pink. He didn't say much today, but he did go out of his way to stare at my ass. He even got up out of his seat and pressed himself against the window to watch me bend over and take the bread out of the bottom oven. My boss made me Windex the spittle off after he left.
After work, I went home and started to take my laundry out of the dryer. Inside I found my beautiful, mandarin orange iPod nano warped from being dried on high heat 3 times. Why 3 times? Because the belt to my washing machine is busted, which means my clothes come out sopping wet and 2 dries just doesn't cut it. The outside was literally warped. Sigh.
So I went to console myself with a glass of ice cold soda. You know how dentists say soda is bad for your teeth? Well apparently, so is the glass you drink it from. I guess I was concentrating so hard on my iPod that I didn't position the glass correctly, and I chipped my tooth. Top right, between the front one and the incisor. I think. I don't speak dentist so I don't really know. I'm 22, which means I'm not eligible to stay on my parents Dental Plan, which means I'm screwed. My roommate says it's not noticeable, but it feels like a huge crater, just like how every cut you get in your mouth feel ginormous but it's not even a cm. And it's SHARP. I keep catching my lip/tongue on it. So know I have a hole in my tooth, a hole in my lip and the right side of my tongue is raw.
Life would be fan-flippin-tastic if the Tooth Fairy gave money to us uninsured college kids instead of 7 year olds. What do they need 50 cents for? Come to my house, I'll give a tiny fraction of my tooth, you give me the couple hundred I need to fix it. Everyone wins. Kinda.
I now complete my first blog post. My first long, rambling, lame blog post.
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