I am being controlled by an alien. I am being controlled by an alien and it's making me sick. I mean it, physically sick. I'm thinking doctor's-note-sick. I'm thinking crazy. (Does Gnarls Barkely rock, or what?)
I am so controlled, I'm not blogging, walking, or engaging in any activities I formerly enjoyed. That's the kind of thing they ask you in the depression tests.
One of the activities from which I previously derived enjoyment was making fun of the alien and others like it. On the weekends, I forgot about the alien. But it's all over now. (I love the Rolling Stones but couldn't stand to pass up the Valentinos.)
At first, I guess because I was previously so unfamiliar with the feeling of hating weekdays, I thought the quality of my weekends had improved and that was what was making Mondays so much more difficult. But now I realize that I had it backwards. The week days had so slowly and steadily become so much more difficult and painful, I was starting to think even those weekends which were boring and uneventful, were thrilling and wonderful. I hate Mondays.
I am so surprised the alien was able to do this but I shouldn't be. Although it took me a while, and at first I thought the alien was good, I figured out a while ago the alien is devious and mean-spirited. It's commited to complete control and it has triumphed (wow, that one is annoying, huh?).
The alien makes me so tired. Because of the alien, I have become obsessed with words like desultory and whether I am pronouncing it correctly. That's because according to the alien, I pretty much do everything wrong. That's okay though, it seems like so does everyone else.
Could the alien be myself? No, no the alien could not be myself because I am not a cow.
Saturday, February 8, 2014
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Our House Is A (very, very) FINED House
It's astonishing how two people acting together can do something so much stupider than one person acting alone. My friends' moms used to say, "two heads are better than one!" but mine never did and I think maybe she was on to something. Or maybe she knew me. I don't know; it doesn't matter.
Two people acting together can be way stupider than one and the Y Chromosome and I are proof.
We live in a pretty nice neighborhood. Except for the highway that runs through it, it's nice because people keep their lawns neat and park their cars in their garages. We try to keep up but I destroyed the landscaping one year with a small set of sharp scissors and we've combined so many households, it would be easier to burn the garage down than clean it out.
At the same time, our street is so busy if you set something out on the curb it's usually gone within about 10 minutes. We sold a piece of furniture once as we were moving it down the front steps and we nearly had a nervous breakdown last summer when our neighbors borrowed our lawnmower and left it on the sidewalk when they stopped to talk to each other.
But what we did last week was really obnoxious. Actually, it was more than a week. It was more like two weeks. We bought a new sofa and when the guys who delivered it asked me if I wanted them to take the old one out, I said, "sure."
I failed to take into consideration that it was raining and people don't want sofas that have been left out in the rain. Then again, that wouldn't be odd for me because I think it's strange anyone would want any sofa that once belonged to someone they didn't know. (Ironically however, someone did take the seat cushions. How weird is that?)
So, we live in a neighborhood where no one has a TV on their porch, no one sits outside with a fan blowing on them, people have nice cars parked inside their garages, and we decide to set our old living room furniture out on our curb.
So far you're thinking, "Wait Jen, you're the only one who's done something stupid here..."
Well....When the Y Chromosome got home he said, "No one is going to take that couch, it's been out in the rain." I said, "Well, we should bring it in." He said, "No, we'll call the City and they'll come get it."
The next day I called the City and when I told the Y Chromosome the pick up date was three weeks away I said we should bring it in. He said, "No, we can leave it there." I said, "We'll get in trouble." He said, "Our neighbors did it and they didn't get in trouble." I said, "Okay." And there it stayed.
During the week I met someone who asked where I lived and when they said, "Oh, that's a nice area," I felt compelled to admit we had an old sofa sitting out front and told them if they were driving by they should feel free to take it; if they were walking by, they should feel free to take a seat. But of course, the seats had already been taken. It was so embarrassing.
On Wednesday, the Y Chromosome told me someone from the City, in a pick up truck, one that could easily manage a sofa, stopped to photograph the sofa. We considered a lot of reasons for this: They needed to know how big it was, where it was located, which sofa needed to be picked up versus which one (that was set curbside) was currently in use by residents simply for traffic spotting. Obviously, we had justification for leaving it out there.
On Friday, we received a Citation. It said, "Specifically, the property is in violation of [the HEALTH AND SANITATION Chapter] Section 91.69."
Once again, pretty embarrassing. It's one thing if you're a landlord and you get a citation for violating Health and Sanitation codes but this is our home. I called the Y Chromosome. His somewhat delayed response? This is a direct quote: "Listen, you know what I think? I think that guy who lives across the street from the guy two houses down who's so fastidious about his leaves called the City and told on us."
Okay, so now we live in a nice neighborhood with a leaf-sweeping tattletale.
Curiously, the citation was accompanied by a black and white photo of our sofa, sitting at the end of our driveway, in front of our house.
I guess this was to prevent confusion. They thought we were so stupid they could send us a letter that cited "...any bulky items such as furniture/mattresses..." and we would have thought, "you don't think they could be talking about the sofa, do you?..."
Or maybe it was really a photo intended to mean, "HA! See the sofa!? SEE IT?!!? We've got you now, SUCKAHS!!"
Two people acting together can be way stupider than one and the Y Chromosome and I are proof.
We live in a pretty nice neighborhood. Except for the highway that runs through it, it's nice because people keep their lawns neat and park their cars in their garages. We try to keep up but I destroyed the landscaping one year with a small set of sharp scissors and we've combined so many households, it would be easier to burn the garage down than clean it out.
At the same time, our street is so busy if you set something out on the curb it's usually gone within about 10 minutes. We sold a piece of furniture once as we were moving it down the front steps and we nearly had a nervous breakdown last summer when our neighbors borrowed our lawnmower and left it on the sidewalk when they stopped to talk to each other.
But what we did last week was really obnoxious. Actually, it was more than a week. It was more like two weeks. We bought a new sofa and when the guys who delivered it asked me if I wanted them to take the old one out, I said, "sure."
I failed to take into consideration that it was raining and people don't want sofas that have been left out in the rain. Then again, that wouldn't be odd for me because I think it's strange anyone would want any sofa that once belonged to someone they didn't know. (Ironically however, someone did take the seat cushions. How weird is that?)So, we live in a neighborhood where no one has a TV on their porch, no one sits outside with a fan blowing on them, people have nice cars parked inside their garages, and we decide to set our old living room furniture out on our curb.
So far you're thinking, "Wait Jen, you're the only one who's done something stupid here..."
Well....When the Y Chromosome got home he said, "No one is going to take that couch, it's been out in the rain." I said, "Well, we should bring it in." He said, "No, we'll call the City and they'll come get it."
The next day I called the City and when I told the Y Chromosome the pick up date was three weeks away I said we should bring it in. He said, "No, we can leave it there." I said, "We'll get in trouble." He said, "Our neighbors did it and they didn't get in trouble." I said, "Okay." And there it stayed.
During the week I met someone who asked where I lived and when they said, "Oh, that's a nice area," I felt compelled to admit we had an old sofa sitting out front and told them if they were driving by they should feel free to take it; if they were walking by, they should feel free to take a seat. But of course, the seats had already been taken. It was so embarrassing.
On Wednesday, the Y Chromosome told me someone from the City, in a pick up truck, one that could easily manage a sofa, stopped to photograph the sofa. We considered a lot of reasons for this: They needed to know how big it was, where it was located, which sofa needed to be picked up versus which one (that was set curbside) was currently in use by residents simply for traffic spotting. Obviously, we had justification for leaving it out there.
On Friday, we received a Citation. It said, "Specifically, the property is in violation of [the HEALTH AND SANITATION Chapter] Section 91.69."
Once again, pretty embarrassing. It's one thing if you're a landlord and you get a citation for violating Health and Sanitation codes but this is our home. I called the Y Chromosome. His somewhat delayed response? This is a direct quote: "Listen, you know what I think? I think that guy who lives across the street from the guy two houses down who's so fastidious about his leaves called the City and told on us."
Okay, so now we live in a nice neighborhood with a leaf-sweeping tattletale.
Curiously, the citation was accompanied by a black and white photo of our sofa, sitting at the end of our driveway, in front of our house.
I guess this was to prevent confusion. They thought we were so stupid they could send us a letter that cited "...any bulky items such as furniture/mattresses..." and we would have thought, "you don't think they could be talking about the sofa, do you?..."Or maybe it was really a photo intended to mean, "HA! See the sofa!? SEE IT?!!? We've got you now, SUCKAHS!!"
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
To Marley, May He Sleep And Slobber In Great Peace
October 7, 2009 -- Marley, The Only Dog, age 12, died peacefully surrounded by family and friends.Marley was a good dog.
His interests included almost anything he could chase or eat, and he had a deep appreciation for sleep. He especially liked large sofas and he especially loved (along with his dog food and rawhide) steak, fish, shrimp, rotisserie chicken, scrambled eggs, lunch meat, pizza, mayonnaise, chips, cheese, and cookies.
Marley was loved for his free and liberated spirit. He never invested in a retirement account or worried about having a 401K. He didn't have a girlfriend but he loved all women and they loved him back. He never got his driver's license and he never voted. He never had a job or money but he was generous with happiness and love.
Although things got a lot tougher for him in his final years as his health declined, he never complained, not once.
Memorial donations in lieu of flowers may be made to any Golden Retriever rescue organization or your local SPCA.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
COMCAST TRULY CAN PROVIDE TEACHING MOMENTS
I read the Mimi Smartypants blog. She's an editor or something. I'm not really sure what she does but I am sure of what she is. She is hilarious. In one post she writes about the back of a Wheat Thins box and points out that although someone bothered to use a semi colon correctly, they didn't end the sentence with a period.I thought that was funny and I appreciated the observation. For some reason, finding something like that sends a charge of triumph through me. She might not be that petty but I am.
You can imagine, therefore, how it felt the other day when the guy from Comcast handed me a High-Speed Internet Self-Install Kit and I looked down at the box.
I've provided you with another, larger view. Click on it if you need to (just remember to use the back button and not the X to close it).
See anything strange about it?
How about Comcast's new way of spelling the word "seperately?"
Immediately, a Google search response flashed before my eyes:
Did you mean: separately
Lately Comcast is getting a lot of exposure for using Twitter. I think it's premature. They haven't even started using Spell Check.
I've also heard Comcast is winning awards for customer service (hard to believe), but I'll tell you what: they won't be winning any spelling bees. Ironically, over the last few years Comcast has started sponsoring spelling bees. That's okay, as long as they don't participate in them, but I was thinking maybe they should consider recruiting a few of the winners. Check it out here and here.
Friday, May 22, 2009
A Short Story
The Y Chromosome gave me a couple of books the other night and said, "Here, I got these for you because they were giving them away at the bookstore." (What!? Free stuff? What is it!? I'm interested!)
I asked him if "free" meant he paid the $3.98 price tag stuck to the corners but he said no, the bookstore was giving them away because they couldn't sell them. (Honey, I'm touched!) He wanted to know why I thought he was lying.
Well, I didn't think he was lying, I thought he was using "giving them away" as a euphemism for "cheap." But then I wanted to know why he thought I wanted something the bookstore couldn't sell for less than $4.
And so it goes.
I started the first book the night before last. It's a collection of "fresh fiction from the top writing programs" aptly entitled "Best New American Voices 2007." Seriously.
(Note: Not described as "fresh fiction from the top writers" and not entitled "Best New American Fiction 2007.")
Curiously enough, while I like to write and hope to entertain (myself), I'm not a fan of short stories or fictional essays that are randomly grouped together and serious. I either feel a little like a voyeur or a little like I'm with someone I just met and they're committing a serious sharing violation.
She never felt this way before. It was so unexpected. She opened her bedside drawer where she kept her bible and [some random sex toy] and placed the flower carefully between the two.
Okay, thanks, didn't expect that.
Of course, I can never read a collection of short stories without being reminded of the time I picked up a collection by Ernest Hemingway. You might have heard of him once. I didn't realize it was short stories and it took me until I finished the third "chapter" to think "this book doesn't make any sense."
I also struggle with the hanging endings. Only a few pages and you're implicated in someone's big, beautiful, complicated life. And then it's over. It reminds me of when I was a kid and the super cool insult after someone told you something was, "And then what happened?"
The writers of this collection have quite a pedigree. They write for a living and attended things like the Bread Loaf Writers' Conference. (I write, but only for my blog. I attended a Meatloaf concert.)
I've read two of the stories so far. I didn't appreciate the story lines. In fact, I wouldn't call them stories. I would call them annoying and far too intimate, but these people sure can write. Here's one phrase that has drifted all day, unbidden into my mind: "hoping to find some clue to justify her unreasonable interest in this unsuitable rose..."
The End.
I asked him if "free" meant he paid the $3.98 price tag stuck to the corners but he said no, the bookstore was giving them away because they couldn't sell them. (Honey, I'm touched!) He wanted to know why I thought he was lying.
Well, I didn't think he was lying, I thought he was using "giving them away" as a euphemism for "cheap." But then I wanted to know why he thought I wanted something the bookstore couldn't sell for less than $4.
And so it goes.
I started the first book the night before last. It's a collection of "fresh fiction from the top writing programs" aptly entitled "Best New American Voices 2007." Seriously.
(Note: Not described as "fresh fiction from the top writers" and not entitled "Best New American Fiction 2007.")
Curiously enough, while I like to write and hope to entertain (myself), I'm not a fan of short stories or fictional essays that are randomly grouped together and serious. I either feel a little like a voyeur or a little like I'm with someone I just met and they're committing a serious sharing violation.
She never felt this way before. It was so unexpected. She opened her bedside drawer where she kept her bible and [some random sex toy] and placed the flower carefully between the two.
Okay, thanks, didn't expect that.
Of course, I can never read a collection of short stories without being reminded of the time I picked up a collection by Ernest Hemingway. You might have heard of him once. I didn't realize it was short stories and it took me until I finished the third "chapter" to think "this book doesn't make any sense."
I also struggle with the hanging endings. Only a few pages and you're implicated in someone's big, beautiful, complicated life. And then it's over. It reminds me of when I was a kid and the super cool insult after someone told you something was, "And then what happened?"
The writers of this collection have quite a pedigree. They write for a living and attended things like the Bread Loaf Writers' Conference. (I write, but only for my blog. I attended a Meatloaf concert.)
I've read two of the stories so far. I didn't appreciate the story lines. In fact, I wouldn't call them stories. I would call them annoying and far too intimate, but these people sure can write. Here's one phrase that has drifted all day, unbidden into my mind: "hoping to find some clue to justify her unreasonable interest in this unsuitable rose..."
The End.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Johnny Be Good?
No, johnny be humiliating.I had to see an orthopedic doctor this week about my back pain. I have very strong opinions about orthopedic doctors and this guy didn't change any of them.
Some of it was my fault. I should have left when the nurse handed me a johnny. Why would I have to wear a johnny? I was wearing yoga pants (no, I don't do yoga; yes, I wear the pants). Any doctor, if they even needed to look at my back, could work with them.
Then I had to make that decision about where-to-sit-while-waiting-for-the-doctor. If I waited in the chair by the desk I would have a problem. The set up meant that if the doctor asked me to move to the table, it would be quite a bit more than a few steps. I would have to walk across the room. To clarify: I would have to walk across the room in a johnny (opening in the back)...with the doctor sitting at his desk behind me.
The guy finally showed up and introduced himself. Coincidentally, his first name was "Doctor." (That seems to be fairly common in orthopedics.)
He sat at the desk and asked me why I was there. I told him about my back and then he asked again why I was there.
I was stumped. For some reason, sitting there on a table, in a johnny, staring down at my little white socks, I started to feel a little at a loss for words. Maybe...Like an idiot?
He, of course, quickly concluded I had the IQ of a pet hamster. After an awkward silence he said, "Let me rephrase the question. What is it you have come here expecting me to do for you?"
At that point, it started to feel like a test. I was breaking into a nervous, clammy sweat and I was purposely trying to keep my mouth shut.
What was it I came there expecting him to do for me? Perhaps I should have suggested to him that I had come there expecting him to lend me some money. Or maybe give me the outfit they made me put on and let me wear it home.
I don't know, maybe it was crazy, but I at least expected to be treated in a respectful manner.
I don't know, maybe it was crazy, but I at least expected to be treated in a respectful manner.
The upshot (apparently): My spine looks fine.
"[Almost everyone has arthritis; 10 days of pain is not concerning or unusual. Come back in eight weeks* and if it still hurts, we'll do an MRI.]"
Thanks for the invite, I'll decline.
You would think if my experience was that common one of my friends or relatives (or perhaps the Y Chromosome Who Lives In My House) or maybe the doctor I saw at the urgent care clinic would have pointed that out to me, but they must be as ignorant as I am.
He asked if I needed more vicodin or anaprox and gave me a script for physical therapy. He got a little nicer at the end but certainly not enough to make up for his grand inquisition with regard to why I was wasting his time and certainly not enough to make up for the fact that I had to wear a johnny for no reason at all.
I have wondered how much more I would have gotten out of that appointment if I had not been wearing that stupid gown. I am sure I would have asked more questions and understood more of what was said to me. I probably would not be wasting more money, making another appointment, with a different doctor, to figure out what's wrong with my back.
I have also wondered this: wouldn't disagreements and negotiations go a whole lot better for me if I made people wear a johnny when they talked to me? THAT'S why doctors are so smart. I bet I would be a lot more successful, and I plan to try it.
*I had to live with the pain another 10 weeks before I got an MRI. It showed a protruding disk and two weeks of Prednisone fixed it. In other words, I went through all that pain, missed work, and took all those other drugs for 10 weeks because "an MRI is an expensive test." This confuses me. Was he going to pay for it himself?
"[Almost everyone has arthritis; 10 days of pain is not concerning or unusual. Come back in eight weeks* and if it still hurts, we'll do an MRI.]"
Thanks for the invite, I'll decline.
You would think if my experience was that common one of my friends or relatives (or perhaps the Y Chromosome Who Lives In My House) or maybe the doctor I saw at the urgent care clinic would have pointed that out to me, but they must be as ignorant as I am.
He asked if I needed more vicodin or anaprox and gave me a script for physical therapy. He got a little nicer at the end but certainly not enough to make up for his grand inquisition with regard to why I was wasting his time and certainly not enough to make up for the fact that I had to wear a johnny for no reason at all.
I have wondered how much more I would have gotten out of that appointment if I had not been wearing that stupid gown. I am sure I would have asked more questions and understood more of what was said to me. I probably would not be wasting more money, making another appointment, with a different doctor, to figure out what's wrong with my back.
I have also wondered this: wouldn't disagreements and negotiations go a whole lot better for me if I made people wear a johnny when they talked to me? THAT'S why doctors are so smart. I bet I would be a lot more successful, and I plan to try it.
*I had to live with the pain another 10 weeks before I got an MRI. It showed a protruding disk and two weeks of Prednisone fixed it. In other words, I went through all that pain, missed work, and took all those other drugs for 10 weeks because "an MRI is an expensive test." This confuses me. Was he going to pay for it himself?
Friday, March 27, 2009
Don't Eat It, Use It To Build A Hut
Tonight I made AMARANTH.I have no idea how it came to be in my home but it was there, and I cooked it, and I had to explain it to the Y Chromosome Who Lives In My House ("some cereal, s'posed t'be good for yah").
(I dare you to click on the photo.)
In general, the two of us try to do the healthy thing. We don't eat "white" anything too much anymore. We try to stick mostly to sweet potatoes, we love black rice and wild rice; whole wheat pasta. We like quinoa; we consider couscous a treat.
But AMARANTH?
It has this weird corn-like flavor that immediately sours in your mouth and then leaves a sour taste in your mouth. It has the consistency of paste. Sticky, thick paste. Sticky, thick, sour, paste. I do not believe that seasoning could make a difference. I am pretty sure it would ruin anything it touched, so I would be skeptical of any suggestion to mix it with something else.
When I went to look it up (which admittedly, I probably should have done before I decided to cook it instead of toss it) I found out it's sometimes also called pigweed because it was used in the past for pig fodder. Why anyone changed their mind about that and decided to put it in a cereal box is a complete mystery to me.
Amaranth is featured on health food holistic medicine sites (along with the ever respectable earcandling) and some study reported it's good for lowering lipid profiles in diabetic animals.
Well, maybe I won't throw out the rest. Maybe I'll keep it just in case the next ti
me I get my cat's cholesterol checked, the results turn up elevated. (FYI: He's eleven. In his entire life, I've taken him to the vet twice. Except for being a little cross-eyed and having a pretty consistent, overall general look of drunkeness, I think he's fine and I don't see any ancillary healthcare services in his future.)Apparently, amaranth was illegal for a while in Mexico. Considering how I feel about amaranth after tasting it tonight, this new information inspired the good idea to call my state senator and ask him to propose some legislation that bans it in NH, NOW. (After you review his profile you'll agree that he's sure to help me out with this.)
On the other hand, amaranth is also described as "Food of the Gods" and supposedly has almost 90% of total human nutritional requirements. Of course, aren't there some religions which worship pigs as gods? If I cared, I might research it a little better but I don't, and I'll get my nutritional requirements filled elsewhere thank you, please don't bother to pass the amaranth.
Here's another thing: one site I found described amaranth as "cultivated for [human consumption] too." That's just weird. I'm not suggesting that food shouldn't be cultivated for multiple species, but I'm just not going to get too excited about food that's cultivated for humans as a secondary interest.
I just know that bossy blogger SMC who's gluten-free is going to have plenty to say on this, but seriously, don't let anyone convince you that you'll like this stuff. It's just YUCK. If you really just want to eat some weed, stick with a good brownie recipe.
I'm certainly not suggesting you shouldn't try it. You definitely should. Like my mother always said in that perky voice, "You should always try new things!" I am suggesting however, that you won't like it and you won't eat it, but after you've tried it, you should keep it.
It will probably come in very handy as a bonding agent the next time you're building a hut with cement blocks.
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