Hear ye all, and cringe.
I'm seeing a chiropractor. I know. Shut up. I hurt.
I went to one way back when (I think I was still in high school) and she took all these X-rays and showed me my spine and how if I didn't get chiropractic care RIGHT NOW AND FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE my back was going to snap like a twig and leave me quadriplegic. She didn't say that, but she did say a lot of scary things and shine a bright light in my face and make me sign a confession...er, a contract. She was always smiling bigger than her mouth looked like it was supposed to stretch and saying that pills are evil. She was really nice, but in that unnerving way that makes you suspect she's a cult member. Or a coke head.
There was no way I was going back to that particular chiropractor, but Mom (who still goes diligently) hooked me up with a different one. This one seems more normal, for a chiropractor, and her plan involves three months of treatment as opposed to FOREVER. But I've been to her office three days in a row, and I'm supposed to go back Monday. Who has time for this shit?
Ooh ooh, and guess what? She called me last night at home, a little after 9 pm...get this...to make sure I was putting ice on my back.
I'm going to be a good girl for this next three months and do everything I'm supposed to. I'll be chronicling my experiences here, along with my findings. Pray I'm not discovered, but if the police tell you I died accidentally from a snapped neck, DON'T BELIEVE THEM.
7.29.2005
7.28.2005
Bad Day
Every day that I have to deal with a customer complaint in person is a bad day. The LizBot is not properly wired for confrontation.
You would think people would be meaner on the phone than they are in person, what with the whole you-can't-hit-me-because-I'm-20-miles-away factor. I've found the opposite to be true. They act all nice and understanding to lure you to their property, where they can spew curses at you and threaten to cancel their service, which you secretly REALLY want them to do.
Sometimes, of course, they're justified in being unhappy. But apparently today was National Irrational Behavior Day, or maybe Bitch At The Hired Help Day, or Confuse The Nice Innocent Service Provider With Baseless Complaints When She Can See Perfectly Well That Nothing Is Wrong Day. Whatever. Footwear gets a holiday. I wouldn't be surprised. I just wish it were like April Fools or Candid Camera, where they tell you at the end that it's all a big fat joke and we can be happy again.
I hate people. No I don't. Yes I do.
You would think people would be meaner on the phone than they are in person, what with the whole you-can't-hit-me-because-I'm-20-miles-away factor. I've found the opposite to be true. They act all nice and understanding to lure you to their property, where they can spew curses at you and threaten to cancel their service, which you secretly REALLY want them to do.
Sometimes, of course, they're justified in being unhappy. But apparently today was National Irrational Behavior Day, or maybe Bitch At The Hired Help Day, or Confuse The Nice Innocent Service Provider With Baseless Complaints When She Can See Perfectly Well That Nothing Is Wrong Day. Whatever. Footwear gets a holiday. I wouldn't be surprised. I just wish it were like April Fools or Candid Camera, where they tell you at the end that it's all a big fat joke and we can be happy again.
I hate people. No I don't. Yes I do.
7.27.2005
Diversionary Tactics
Reading: A Grief Observed by C. S. Lewis
I know the title sounds like oodles of fun, but don't be deceived. This is not the kind of book that you just pick up and read because you're bored...like I did. I found this one during a routine raid of my dad's bookcase. I thought it was just one of Lewis's essays, but it turned out to be his published journals from the days and weeks immediately following his wife's death. It's a characteristically insightful read, but I recommend mental preparation.
Listening to: Garden State soundtrack
I think I'll submit a suggestion to Merriam-Webster that they redefine mellow as "an adjective describing the experience of listening to Coldplay, Colin Hay, Nick Drake, and Simon & Garfunkel in rapid succession". I go from the Black Eyed Peas straight to this. My musical tastes strike me as not so much well-rounded as schizophrenic.
Watching: Firefly
It's coming on Sci-Fi now and I'm trying to resist the temptation to rent the whole season. I'm doing my penance for not being a faithful enough Whedon fan by resolving to watch them one at a time, on television, with commercials, one week apart. That way I get to share in some of the experience of those who were there for it the first time around. I'll probably break down and rent it in September when the movie comes out, but just because I'll have to have seen all the episodes before I watch the movie.
I know the title sounds like oodles of fun, but don't be deceived. This is not the kind of book that you just pick up and read because you're bored...like I did. I found this one during a routine raid of my dad's bookcase. I thought it was just one of Lewis's essays, but it turned out to be his published journals from the days and weeks immediately following his wife's death. It's a characteristically insightful read, but I recommend mental preparation.
Listening to: Garden State soundtrack
I think I'll submit a suggestion to Merriam-Webster that they redefine mellow as "an adjective describing the experience of listening to Coldplay, Colin Hay, Nick Drake, and Simon & Garfunkel in rapid succession". I go from the Black Eyed Peas straight to this. My musical tastes strike me as not so much well-rounded as schizophrenic.
Watching: Firefly
It's coming on Sci-Fi now and I'm trying to resist the temptation to rent the whole season. I'm doing my penance for not being a faithful enough Whedon fan by resolving to watch them one at a time, on television, with commercials, one week apart. That way I get to share in some of the experience of those who were there for it the first time around. I'll probably break down and rent it in September when the movie comes out, but just because I'll have to have seen all the episodes before I watch the movie.
7.20.2005
workplay
I spent the better part of the day yesterday refilling ink cartridges that I probably just ended up breaking somehow so that they won't work and I'll have to buy new ones anyway. I felt like I was performing surgery, only I still just had that one degree in Communications. I think my patient died on the table, only I'm not sure because I didn't know how to check the pulse.
The thing is, that was ridiculously hard. The HP cartridges are not so bad, other than the fact that there were three colors and I only had one syringe so I had to keep washing it out and that's a P-A-I-N. But the Canon cartridge. Damn you, Canon. Damn you to hell. At first glance, it looked like it would be easier. That's before I knew I had to make my own hole in the ink well with a thumb screw. And then I had to plug it back up and BY GOD IT BETTER BE AIR TIGHT OR YOU'LL DIE IN YOUR SLEEP! That's what the directions said. Almost.
Anyway, long story short (and the story could never live up to you being there to see me ridiculously fumbling with dozens of ink-soaked paper towels), I now know why most people just bend over and buy the damn cartridges. Yeah, I thought I was being the savvy consumer. The lesson I learned yesterday is this: you're gonna take it in the ass from someone; at least take it from a gentleman.
That was not fun, but what was fun was Kris's birthday party this past weekend. I had a monster headache the whole time which the sangria didn't help one bit, but I still had a good time and that is the mark of a great party.
The highlight of the evening was the impromptu hiphop performance. We had three children in attendance, one girl and two boys, who danced the night away to the Black Eyed Peas. Now, I've already commented on the hilarity of the hump song. But you'd have to multiply that by I don't know what to achieve the hilarity of watching that song being roleplayed by three adorable little white kids. They weren't intentionally roleplaying, or else I think I would've been more disturbed, but it was just so perfect. At one point when the lyrics went "you can look but you can't touch", I swear that little Ivy put her hand all up in Jesse's face as if to tell him he could just talk to it.
The thing is, that was ridiculously hard. The HP cartridges are not so bad, other than the fact that there were three colors and I only had one syringe so I had to keep washing it out and that's a P-A-I-N. But the Canon cartridge. Damn you, Canon. Damn you to hell. At first glance, it looked like it would be easier. That's before I knew I had to make my own hole in the ink well with a thumb screw. And then I had to plug it back up and BY GOD IT BETTER BE AIR TIGHT OR YOU'LL DIE IN YOUR SLEEP! That's what the directions said. Almost.
Anyway, long story short (and the story could never live up to you being there to see me ridiculously fumbling with dozens of ink-soaked paper towels), I now know why most people just bend over and buy the damn cartridges. Yeah, I thought I was being the savvy consumer. The lesson I learned yesterday is this: you're gonna take it in the ass from someone; at least take it from a gentleman.
That was not fun, but what was fun was Kris's birthday party this past weekend. I had a monster headache the whole time which the sangria didn't help one bit, but I still had a good time and that is the mark of a great party.
The highlight of the evening was the impromptu hiphop performance. We had three children in attendance, one girl and two boys, who danced the night away to the Black Eyed Peas. Now, I've already commented on the hilarity of the hump song. But you'd have to multiply that by I don't know what to achieve the hilarity of watching that song being roleplayed by three adorable little white kids. They weren't intentionally roleplaying, or else I think I would've been more disturbed, but it was just so perfect. At one point when the lyrics went "you can look but you can't touch", I swear that little Ivy put her hand all up in Jesse's face as if to tell him he could just talk to it.
7.13.2005
While we're all on the subject
Following are the top ten movies I'm ashamed to love, in no particular order:
While I'm at it, my apologies for not liking the following:
Clueless (probably just the Rudd factor)
Tremors
Clash of the Titans (actually, I make no apologies for this one)
Speed
The Abyss (at least I'm told I should be ashamed)
Stargate (I think I'm really only ashamed of how much I love this movie)
The Fifth Element (Yes, I saw the parts with Gary Oldman in them. No, I don't care.)
Dirty Dancing
Dune (the Kyle McLachlan version, not the interminable miniseries)
Any Jane Austen adaptation (even Emma)
While I'm at it, my apologies for not liking the following:
Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory (many have tried and failed to correct this greivous error in judgment)
2001: A Space Odyssey (suck it, Kubrick)
Dances With Wolves (ironically, I liked Waterworld)
Time Bandits (I tried. I really did.)
The Breakfast Club (Dear Chris, please don't divorce me. Love, Liz)
7.12.2005
You don't want no drama
Oh. My. God. The laughing.
Laura copied me the new Black Eyed Peas CD, so I popped it in on my way home. I'm all rockin' out to these songs, and it gets to this one called "My Humps".
"Whatcha gonna do with all that junk, all that junk inside your trunk?"
Snkkt.
"I'm gonna get you drunk, get you love drunk off my hump."
Bah! Bahahaha!
But then THEN she keeps saying the word hump OVER AND OVER AND OVER and I'm all, "Please stop saying 'hump'" and then she finally stops. And then she says "my lovely lady lumps" and that's it. I'm in tears and I can't breathe and that's just it.
Laura, was that the song you were talking about? Because so help me God if I start absent-mindedly singing about my hump in the line at the bank I'm blaming you.
Laura copied me the new Black Eyed Peas CD, so I popped it in on my way home. I'm all rockin' out to these songs, and it gets to this one called "My Humps".
"Whatcha gonna do with all that junk, all that junk inside your trunk?"
Snkkt.
"I'm gonna get you drunk, get you love drunk off my hump."
Bah! Bahahaha!
But then THEN she keeps saying the word hump OVER AND OVER AND OVER and I'm all, "Please stop saying 'hump'" and then she finally stops. And then she says "my lovely lady lumps" and that's it. I'm in tears and I can't breathe and that's just it.
Laura, was that the song you were talking about? Because so help me God if I start absent-mindedly singing about my hump in the line at the bank I'm blaming you.
Get Involved
If you're a blogger, you should go do your part to demystify the art. And hurry, I think they're almost done compiling.
Take a pill, Jaimes
Hey, all you Northeast Alabamians, how 'bout that big scary hurricane yesterday. Whoo! Cancel school! Close the roads! Call in the Red Cross! We're all gonna DIHEEEEEE!
Performance anxiety, maybe?
This has been a landmark week. The landmark is a sun-baked pile of shit, but I guess you don't really get to choose.
My rantings today (and they would be rantings) would tend to focus on a turn of events that I'm not sure how much liberty I have to discuss. Since this particular development is the only damn thing I can think about at the moment (and ooooh if you knew you would be SO MAD), I continue to be at a loss for words. Just pray I don't go renegade and assassinate a public figure. While you're at it, pray that somebody else does. Hee.
Performance anxiety, maybe?
This has been a landmark week. The landmark is a sun-baked pile of shit, but I guess you don't really get to choose.
My rantings today (and they would be rantings) would tend to focus on a turn of events that I'm not sure how much liberty I have to discuss. Since this particular development is the only damn thing I can think about at the moment (and ooooh if you knew you would be SO MAD), I continue to be at a loss for words. Just pray I don't go renegade and assassinate a public figure. While you're at it, pray that somebody else does. Hee.
7.06.2005
The Power of Song
I was getting waxy-eyed at work, so sometimes when that happens I pull out a CD to help me snap out of it. Today, I looked through everything I had and didn't want to listen to any of it. Then I found this Lori Chaffer CD that I haven't listened to in at least a year.
For those of you who don't know, Lori Chaffer and her husband Don front the band Waterdeep, which is my favorite band in such the way that I didn't know what a "favorite band" was before I heard them. For this reason, I consider it mildly dangerous to listen to their music (including solo albums). Almost every song they've ever produced has integrated itself into my DNA and has the ability to recall specific moments, emotions, thoughts, or events. Most of these life snippets, oddly enough, are painful. That's part of what made them my favorite band. They console the inconsolable. And that's part of what makes me afraid to put them in the disc changer. I never know what I'll remember.
Today, I remembered my contemplative commutes to school to the tune of "Make No Protest", and "You Can Sing" almost brought me to tears like it used to at a time when I was worried about some people I loved. All in all, it could've been worse. God forbid, it could've been Sink or Swim.
For those of you who don't know, Lori Chaffer and her husband Don front the band Waterdeep, which is my favorite band in such the way that I didn't know what a "favorite band" was before I heard them. For this reason, I consider it mildly dangerous to listen to their music (including solo albums). Almost every song they've ever produced has integrated itself into my DNA and has the ability to recall specific moments, emotions, thoughts, or events. Most of these life snippets, oddly enough, are painful. That's part of what made them my favorite band. They console the inconsolable. And that's part of what makes me afraid to put them in the disc changer. I never know what I'll remember.
Today, I remembered my contemplative commutes to school to the tune of "Make No Protest", and "You Can Sing" almost brought me to tears like it used to at a time when I was worried about some people I loved. All in all, it could've been worse. God forbid, it could've been Sink or Swim.
7.05.2005
The old man can NOT be sleeping through this.
Chris had to work yesterday during our Wet'n'Wild Independence Day extravaganza over at Jaimie's parents' house. So we decided to celebrate the 5th of July today. Naturally, today is the day Tropical Storm YourNameHere decided to catch up with us. West is walking in now with a bag of fireworks. Lose some, lose some.
Damn you, weather! If you don't think I'm going to enjoy our pattie melts ALL THE MORE, you've got another thing coming.
Damn you, weather! If you don't think I'm going to enjoy our pattie melts ALL THE MORE, you've got another thing coming.
No hair-pulling on the playground!
I'm so glad I got a good long weekend before having to face this morning. I hate hate HATE it when people get pissed off for being asked a question that legitimately pertains to THEIR JOB. I do my job, and I answer questions about it all damn day, and I do it with a smile on my face because that's just part of it. Somebody's getting a Valium and Ecstacy cocktail for lunch. My treat.
Really, though, this is nothing compared to the frustration I experienced last week in the process of trying to get a car title transferred. It went a little something like this.
Day 1 - Went to courthouse toting title. Waited in line. Lady examined my title and showed me that the date of sale on the back had been "written over in error". This is a term I would later become very familiar with. Lady filled out an affadavit for me to get signed and notarized.
Day 2 - Went to seller's home to get his signature. He wasn't home. Left affadavit for him to sign.
Day 3 - Went to seller's home to pick up signed affadavit attesting to date of sale. Resident notary was already gone for the day.
Day 4 - Asked notary to please work her mojo on the magic paper. Affadavit was returned with the date of notarization "written over in error". Yeah, that's right. Called courthouse to confirm my suspicion that no, that would not fly.
Day 5 - Returned to courthouse for a new magic paper. Waited in line. Took paper back to seller's home, where he of course, was not. Waited around for him to get back from playing golf and got him to sign again. Got it notarized again, noting to please be careful about the date.
Day 6 - Returned to courthouse. Waited in line. Magic paper was examined and I was told that the notary notarized the wrong signature. Ha. Hahaha. Lady gave me a new paper, laughed, and commented that the third time's a charm. Indeed. Got seller to meet me and the notary so this could all get taken care of at once. Returned to courthouse later the same day. Waited in line. Lady examined magic paper, heaved a sigh of relief, and asked for $18.
Just after that, I got to wait in an even longer line to get my tag. It looked like a roller coaster line, except without the TVs that play cartoons and Six Flags commercials on a loop. That was just one of those things that wasn't really anyone's fault...well, actually it was about three people's fault, including mine. But it just makes you sit back and wonder when life got so amazingly more complicated than it was ever supposed to be.
Really, though, this is nothing compared to the frustration I experienced last week in the process of trying to get a car title transferred. It went a little something like this.
Day 1 - Went to courthouse toting title. Waited in line. Lady examined my title and showed me that the date of sale on the back had been "written over in error". This is a term I would later become very familiar with. Lady filled out an affadavit for me to get signed and notarized.
Day 2 - Went to seller's home to get his signature. He wasn't home. Left affadavit for him to sign.
Day 3 - Went to seller's home to pick up signed affadavit attesting to date of sale. Resident notary was already gone for the day.
Day 4 - Asked notary to please work her mojo on the magic paper. Affadavit was returned with the date of notarization "written over in error". Yeah, that's right. Called courthouse to confirm my suspicion that no, that would not fly.
Day 5 - Returned to courthouse for a new magic paper. Waited in line. Took paper back to seller's home, where he of course, was not. Waited around for him to get back from playing golf and got him to sign again. Got it notarized again, noting to please be careful about the date.
Day 6 - Returned to courthouse. Waited in line. Magic paper was examined and I was told that the notary notarized the wrong signature. Ha. Hahaha. Lady gave me a new paper, laughed, and commented that the third time's a charm. Indeed. Got seller to meet me and the notary so this could all get taken care of at once. Returned to courthouse later the same day. Waited in line. Lady examined magic paper, heaved a sigh of relief, and asked for $18.
Just after that, I got to wait in an even longer line to get my tag. It looked like a roller coaster line, except without the TVs that play cartoons and Six Flags commercials on a loop. That was just one of those things that wasn't really anyone's fault...well, actually it was about three people's fault, including mine. But it just makes you sit back and wonder when life got so amazingly more complicated than it was ever supposed to be.
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