Sunday, April 3, 2005 12:44:19 PM
I went to a place last night that is, to say the least, fascinating. Number One Daughter and I went out on the town, a girls night out. I am unattached at the moment and her hubby was unfortunate enough to have to work. (Don't feel sorry for him. If he wasn't working, he would have been watching something on the TV that involves a ball or a car and would not have joined the adventure anyway.) So, off we two gorgeous girls went, dressed to the nines and looking GREAT!
The downtown area of Ocala is awakening from a long sleep. It has been slow awakening, to be certain, but the Powers That Be
are attempting to revive the old girl by encouraging new businesses to move in, thereby encouraging more people to frequent these businesses, thereby waking up the sleeping town. The other part of the story you need to know, dear readers, is that Ocala is chock-a-block full of retirees from colder and more hostile climes, so the principle business moving into Ocala are primarily eating establishments.
Side note: There is a stretch of road from Interstate 75 to Pine Street in Ocala that was once in the Guiness Book of World Records for having the most restaurants in a one mile patch of road.
Number One and I went to a new place called Reno's Southwestern Grill and received our first surprise of the evening. The food was fantastic. When I say that word, I mean it. It was 5-Star restaurant quality. I ordered a shrimp stir fry and GreatJumpingJehosophat,
the shrimp was cooked PREFECTLY! When I bit into it, it seemed to burst open in my mouth with just the right texture and the proper amount of flavor. Neat trick if you can do it and most places don't.
Side Note #2: I am a closet food critic.
Then, the second surprise of the evening was when, upon returning to my car, walking down streets that were, only a year ago, dangerous after dark, we spotted a tiny place that was brightly lit and beckoning.
Downstairs was a shop that offered a variety of wines, most of the them regional. Now, to say the southern US doesn't offer the best in wine is an understatement and the local favorite, made by local vintners is called (and I am not kidding about this) Horse's Ass Wine. It is OK as far as wine goes, but it tends to be on the bitter side, overly dry and not very fruity (my personal preference). At any rate, discovering the local winery wasn't the fun part, but the little bistro that was upstairs was.
This little place was tiny, with only 9 tables, extremely gaudy furnishings and treatments, a fabulous 2-piece ensemble that played Elvis, Bob Dylan and Jimmy Buffet on 12 string acoustic and tamborine. It was completely loaded with atmosphere. Every table was full and the "band" passed around maracas, tamborines and other noise makers to the patrons so that we could join in the fun. Which is a good idea until everyone is well into their second bottle of Horse's Ass.
Sunday, April 3, 2005 12:09:22 PM
To the guy driving around downtown Ocala yesterday afternoon wearing sun glasses and a muscle shirt sporting a totally awesome red convertible (I am a girl, I don't know what kind of convertible it is).
Your attempts to look cool are largely negated by your playing N Sync's "Bye Bye Bye" at volume 14.
Thursday, March 31, 2005 6:33:32 PM
I have been lethargic about posting for a few days... it is not posting that I am lethargic about, but just generally lethargic. It is the FLU! I could write long stories about Redcel and Whytecel battling for supremacy of a poor hapless disease wracked body, but instead I will whine. I do that very well, you know.
"I'm SICK and I want my Mommy!" Wait! What am I saying? I am a grown up woman and I shouldn't want my Mommy! Ok, Maybe not Mommy, but I definately want to be pampered and petted and I feel rejected when people don't automatically KNOW this and just hop right on the proverbial band wagon to bring me soup and 7-Up and ice cream. I am sick, dammit, and I don't want to be grown-up and adult. I want my binky! I want my TV! I want my Seagram's Seven!
How about this for a good, all-purpose remedy: A 7-Up float with Seagram's. Would that be a 7 and 7 Float? (Looking in the Bartender's Bible)
But, that isn't what I wanted to tell you, dear readers.
I called my doctor's office to get an appointment and hopefully some well needed prescribed GOOD drugs, and the recording says, "If this is an emergency or if you have poison in your eye, dial 9 for the nurse."
I always thought they were the same thing... I am glad to know that getting poison in my eye is classified as something other than an emergency.
But, laughter is good medicine, so maybe that was the plan to deter patients from seeking much needed medical care... with or without poison in their eye.
Tuesday, March 22, 2005 12:29:08 PM
I read a couple of different newspapers during the day, but nothing in them compares to the wonderful newspaper
on my refridgerator door.
This is where I get the current events that pertain to ME. First, there are several cutsey magnets: A cow with a blue ribbon around her neck, a pig with a red ribblon around her neck, 3 smiley faces, a rock that proclaims SUCCESS
, Legolas, a bouquet of flowers, a two-inch wide skyline of St.Louis, and a pineapple. The list seems endless. What are the purpose of these fridgies?
They hold the scraps of paper with messages of many varieties:
--An envelope fragment that encourages someone to Buy Milk
--A grocery list--milk, mayo, bread, toilet paper
--A coupon to Pizza Hut that gives us FREE BREAD STICKS
--The drawing Number One Daughter's neice made of a boot and a cat
--A phone number for who-knows-who?
--A picture of my dream cottage on the beach
wonderful photo of all three of my kids and their mates.
--The universal messaging center.
"Mom, Went to the Pool,xxoo, R" and
"R...Pick me up at 9, S" and
"R, don't buy milk. I went to store, xo, Mom"
"Party at Nicole's SAT 8PM"
Well, you get the idea, dear readers. These little scraps are more pertinent to my life than any newspaper in the world.
My own mother protests that the hodge-podge on my refridgerator is a Mess
with a capitol "M". Please, give me a break. Where else can you find such valuable information? A fountain that bubbles forth! It is better than voice mail! This so-called mess
is a reflection of the personality of the houseshold. It is in the heart of the house because EVERYBODY goes to the refridgerator several times a day.
I am very suspect of any pristine refridgerator. Those clear and bright appliances that look like they just came from the factory have no personality. They scream for attention. To me, it is not a sign of neatness to have a starkly naked refridgerator door. It is a sign that the owner has no real life of their own or at the very least, no personality. A boring person.
So, if you have a naked fridge, go buy a fridgie
or two. That's all it takes to get you started. Within a few months, you too will have an exciting local current events newspaper.
(See below for instructions on how to get started)
Friday, March 18, 2005 11:41:27 PM
Interesting event today.
I was at a store today to buy drugs (for those across the ocean, you would call it Chemist, but we in the Tropics call it a Pharmacy) But, that's not the topic.
Here in my town, we have a large homeless population because of temperate weather and a large number of organizations who provide food for homeless people. I read an article in the newspaper recently that indicated there were 1,500 living here which means, of course, there 3 - 4 times that many. Shocking figures! How can the "richest" country in the world have so many ill housed and ill fed?
We have many people who hold hand made signs, advertising their plight...Will Work for Food
...Buddy, can you spare a $10
. They don't work for food because these people just want money.
Anyway, back to my story: At the pharmacy, there are a lot of things available... food items, toiletries, clothing, small appliances. And prescription drugs. And over the counter drugs.
As I approached the front of the store, a man stopped me and asked me for a dollar "To buy some food." He was very shabbily dressed, with a hole in the khaki pants that didn't fit well, a dirty shirt and ragged jacket to arm him against the chill in the air. His shoes were held together by worn duct tape.
I gave the man $5 because that was the smallest denomination I had with me.
The man ended up inside the store and I assumed he was to buy the food he requested the money for. I picked up my drugs and went to the check stand to pay. The shabby man was in front of me. With the $5 that I gave him, he bought two pack of cigarettes.
I don't begrudge the man a smoke, but why is it, that every time I see a homeless person, they are smoking? Cigarettes cost about $2.50 - $3.00 a pack and homeless, unemployeed people ALL seem to smoke. How do they do that? If I did smoke, I certainly cannot afford that expenisve habit and I have a job!
Do they actually get enough money from people like me to smoke every day? Perhaps if I had thought about it, I would have declined, knowing the man could go to one of many shelters and food banks here in in my town to get his food.
I have thought about him many times today.
And all day, I looked at the people who sit in clusters at street corners, congregate in the front of convenience stores, sit on park benches.
All were shabby and none had a smile. Neither did I because I felt sad when I looked at them and wondered... how does a person get to that state? How would I handle it if I lost my home? I hope I never find out the answer to that question.
Friday, March 18, 2005 2:39:08 AM
I am passing this on to you because it definitely worked for me and we all could use more calm in our lives. By following the simple advice I heard on a Dr. Phil show, I have finally found inner peace. Dr. Phil
proclaimed "The way to achieve inner peace is to finish all the things you've started."
So I looked around my house to see all the things I started and hadn't finished, and before leaving the house this morning, I finished off a bottle of Merlot, a bottle of White Zinfandel, a bottle of Bailey's, a bottle of Kahlua, a package of Oreos, the rest of the cheesecake, some saltines and a box of chocolates.
You have no idea how freaking good I feel. Please pass this on to those you feel are in need of inner peace.
Tuesday, March 15, 2005 12:36:43 PM
I don't know about your town, but here in Central Florida, the world is different. First of all, we have a huge population of retired people. The attraction is the glorious weather, I am certain. They have migrated to the Tropics from the frozen wasteland in the NORTH. There is also the fact that retired people have a kind of magnetism that draws them together. This is a universal magnetism as well as local.
Secondly, those retired people LOVE to shop. They will buy anything, which is great for the local economy. But to shop, they have to drive to where the stuff is they are going to buy.
Which brings me to the topic at hand. Parking lots. Every store has a parking lot because they want their patrons to have easy access to their store.
Fairly common occurance and we don't mind at all-- "WE" being the regular inhabitants of the Tropics who live here because we have jobs here or because we were born here or both and not as a result of migration--At any rate, there are actually people who live here who DESIGN the parking lots in front of these stores. And these people have a cruel streak, to say the least.
Never before, in my entire life, have I seen more squirrelly parking lot designs. It is almost as if the people who design the parking lots have a huge vengence against the older citizens in this community. I can almost hear the guy saying "Heh heh heh heh. I am gonna screw with them old people really bad!"
Once you are in the car parking area and you try to find your way out, you can't. Where an exit would logically be, there is none. So, people end up driving around aimlessly for hours before accidently finding that ONE row that leads to salvation and escape.
Last night, Number One Daughter and I went to Barnes and Noble. // I would like to take a moment to interject something here. I absolutely LOVE book stores. I love the way they smell and they way they sound. I love just touching the books. But only someone who has many close personal relationships with books will say that! I will save book stores for another day's topic.//The parking lot in front of Barnes and Noble is more squirrilley than most. Even I, who is very familiar with this parking arrangement, got lost last night when I was trying to leave. I believe the conversation went like this:
--No, Mom, you go to the left. I SAID LEFT!
--It's not there. Look, I can see the exit way over there!
--That's not it
--Wait. That's not it.
--I said that.
--Who is driving?
--I would like to get home before dawn
--Do we have any bottles of water?
--No, just a nearly empty bottle of Sierra Mist
--At least I won't die of thirst while you try to get us out of here.
--Just wait 'till I get you home
--That would be nice. Mom, go LEFT!
--There it is! See? I told you I would get you out of here.
--And all before midnight
--You're a smart ass!
--Apple don't fall too far from the tree now does it?
Then, just as I was ready to exit, an older man and his wife (I assume), in their 2005 Ford Expedition, whipped into the parking lot right in front of me.
"Oh no, they can't do that! They don't know the danger they're in." I say to Number One Daughter, fairly well wailing.
"They look like such nice people, too."
I get out of my car and begin running toward them. "Come back! I'll save you. COME BACK! PPPLLLEEEEAAASSSSSSEEEEEEE!"
They ignored me and got lost in the parking mire, any way. Just like all of Henny Penny's friends, they ignored the warnings and charged blindly forward.
I woke up twice last night wondering if they got home okay. It's probably a good thing they have a Ford Expedition because they went on one, for a certainity.
Friday, March 11, 2005 4:40:57 PM
Here at the office, we have a tradition that has continued for the past three years that I know about. Whenever someone has a birthday, we have a party.
I have a philosophy about parties. Sometimes the very best are very impromptu affairs. Like the one I had with my neighbor, she on one side of the patio gate and I on the other. We started talking about our common neighbors who live in the apartment above me and pretty soon, it was a party! Michelle and I chatted and laughed and discussed. She drank her glass of orange juice and I my cuppa coffee while we dissed the three kids and dog who had moved in upstairs. These kids were (and are) very loud and very boistrous. I think they either are on a boy-girl wrestling team and they practiced upstairs or they are on a bowling league and practice by rolling the ball down the hallway. At any rate, there is a lot of thumping and banging and shouting and swearing. It is very entertaining until one is ready for bed and then the mysterious noises wear a little thin.
There was a fabulous party had when Number Three Son and I went to a local pub and began talking with a delightful woman from Germany and her Irish hubby. It only took one glass of Guiness each for that party to begin. We spent the evening laughing and talking and drinking. It was great fun!
Which brings me to the office party, which is a PLANNED affair and not impromptu, at all. The day before the birthday, the non-birthday people loiter around the office, pretending to have lots of things to accomplish, waiting for the birthday girl to leave. As soon as she vacates her office, we attack, en masse.
We begin the process of decorating the office. I should point out at this time, that the decorations we use are the SAME decorations that have appeared mysteriously at every party for at least three years. When I say the same,
I mean EXACTLY the same. Not newly purchased items that look like the old decorations, but the SAME old decorations.
Dear readers, after three years and countless birthdays, these decorations are, to say the least, threadbare and sad. The segmented paper banner that used to say H-A-P-P-Y B-I-R-T-H-D-A-Y now says, A-P-P-Y B-I-R-T-H-D-A because over three years of continual use, some of the segments have been torn asunder. But, that doesn't deter our party decorating spirit, no siree! Balloons are a must. Every color and size imaginable are blown up with each of us participating. (except for Mary who can't blow up balloons because her dentures come out of her mouth.)
We use crepe paper streamers in the least festive colors imaginable... White and ecru... and make a spider web of paper from one side of the office to the other. We wrap computer monitors and chairs in crepe paper and stick balloons to the telephones, the walls, and the birthday girl's favorite pen. We make the birthday girl wear a little red tiara that say Hap Birthd.
A couple of letters are missing there, too.
All of this so when the birthday girl arrives at work the next morning, she will be TOTALLY surprised. Yeah, right!
Today we have another birthday. Imagine the tacky decorations, fourteen women who collectively, cannot carry a tune in a proverbial bucket singing the age-old ditty, Happy Brithday,
and sounding more like they are at the funeral of their favorite aunt, and the birthday girl trying to look happy that she was chosen by the random chance of a birth date to be the latest sacrificial victim to the Birthday gods, long may they live! Yeah, right, again!
Then, we get to eat CAKE! I think I hear Marie Antionette suggesting this. "Let them eat cake!" Normally, we whoof down a small slice so we can return to our toils without too much disruption. And better and better, the Birthday Girl normally cleans up the mess, takes down the decorations and returns them to the file cabinet file labeled B DAY.
It's like being punished for being born.
But, at least this is the last human sacrifice until the next PLANNED party on May 30.
Maybe we can arrange an IMPROMPTU affair after work, today...
Thursday, March 10, 2005 5:08:07 PM
First stop in the mornings on the way to the office... STARBUCKS. It happens to be a word I can utter in my sleep. That and LatteGrande.
To explain further...
I dunno about your town, but here in the Tropics people have pretty much invented their own language in regards to their espresso selections. It's like one of those native American languages where, instead of constructing sentences, they instead express complex thoughts by taking a base sound and then modifying it with a series of prefixes and suffixes, so the net result is a single, gargantuan word, spoken in single breath. Tropicans take a root like "mocha" and tack on a bunch of qualifiers to the point where, when asked for their order, they spit out some monstrosity like TripleSoyExtraHotmochaWithWhipAndCinnamon.
Number One Daughter's word is LowFatSugarFreeHazelnutDecafLatteGrande
Low Fat Milk, Sugar Free Hazelnut syrup, Lareg, Decaff espresso? I am like, why bother? There is nothing in it. Hot water would work as well.
My word is LatteGrandeInMyOwnCup
That's relatively new. Until a few weeks ago my word was DecafLatteGrandeInMyOwnCup
. But I've fallen off the non-caffinated wagon, so the "decaf" prefix has been dropped to form the simpler word. It is also easier to utter in one's sleep.
Well, it's supposed to be dropped. But here's the thing: now that I'm readdicted to caffeine, anything I do before my LatteGrandeInMyOwnCup
is done in a fog. And every once in a while I'll accidentally get my old word and my new word mixed up and unknowingly blurt out the wrong one.
It's basically a crapshoot which of the two words I utter on any given morning. It's the worst of both worlds: since I'm again dependant on caffeine, accidentally ordering a decaf leaves me lethargic for the remainder of the morning; since I'm drinking decaf every third day, my caffeine tolerance isn't rising, and a LatteGrandeInMyOwnCup
therefore hits me like a jolt of electricity. And since the two drinks taste the same, I don't even know what I'm drinking as I stumble back to the office, obliviously drinking from my adult version of the toddler's sipper cup.
In fact, on a typical day I pretty much have no clue as to what I've ingested until 40 minutes later, when, during a conference call with my boss, I either nod off or leap to my feet and cry "LET'S KICK SOME SALES ASS, LET'S KICK IT!"
Wednesday, March 9, 2005 12:40:17 PM
I am completely amazed at how much dust is accumulated in my house. I am not doing anything that should create dust, I wouldn't think. But, when I found out that much of the dust in there is ME I wigged out. Yes, flaked off skin cells, (Can you say EEEEEEWWWWWWW!
) and spider's eyes, (I didn't know they had a habit of loosing those things) and lint from our clothes and bed linens. Maybe I am responsible for that STUFF!
(well, except for the spider's eyes. I don't go around removing them, FerPetesSake.)
I was thinking about that as I have my hands inside the monster and that stuff was floating around in the air as I attempted my repairs. I even approached the monster with latex gloves and a dust mask, making me look more like a surgeon than a vacuum cleaner repairman (person). But really, it is really creepy when you think about what that gray fluffy stuff really is. I really wish I had skipped that chapter in my science book when I was in school.
I almost wish I had paid the man to fix my vacuum for me.
And they give it such a cute name! Dust
Dust Bunny? It is GROSS! That is like calling a pan of worms, "Cutsey Squiggles".
It is just not happening for me. I KNOW what a dust bunny is really made out of and maybe I am being a little bit prejudiced here, but I don't want them in my house and they are, in no way, CUTE!
I think I need to go to the store to buy more cleaning products... after I take a long hot shower.
Tuesday, March 8, 2005 4:17:48 PM
My weekend was nowhere near the disaster that some have described involving hair dryers. Mine involved my Hoover Super-Dooper Upright Sucks-the-carpet-off-the-floor Vacuum.
I was merrily (ok, maybe not) Hoovering the carpets and I heard a gawd-awful clattering and then smelled something that was like a car just caught on fire in my dining room. Smoke was coming out of my Hoover!
The belt was toast. Not to worry. I have managed to wrestle the beast into submission before this. I found the appropriate screw-driver and disassembled the vacuum. The tattered belt was easy to remove. I quickly located the spare in the drawer that every has that is full of nails, batteries, phone cords, pens, paper clips, defunct cell phones, THAT thing that used to be on the TV... you know the drawer. Anyway, I rummaged until I found the vacuum cleaner belt.
To put the new belt on requires the strength of Hercules and the stamina of Hercules. Or it takes a subliminal knowledge of leverage. Now, friends, I place my feet firmly on the beast from a sitting position, place the belt around the pulley on one end of it's assigned location. It is a lot like stretching a HUGE rubber band into place, but I pull and stretch and pull and finally, success.
I only broke three nails and pinched two fingers, raising a blister on one, but the belt was in on!
(doing the butter dance at my desk) Go K4, Go K4, You rock!
Then, I put the vacuum back together and completed the task I had begun thirty minutes prior.
My apartment still smells like a melted car, by the way. I think I need some industrial strength room freshner.
And then there is my friend who lost a washing machine and a coffee maker in the same day. He lives in Washington State and works for the same company I do. Look at at map of the US and you will find that Washington is about as far away from Florida as you can get and still be in the continental US.
Anyway, he told me after describing the terrible losses to ordinary household appliances, "We have laundry mats and dry cleaning service, so I am not worried about the washer. But, the coffee maker! That is a different story!" He has one of those that grinds the beans, puts in the water, gets the filter out of the cabinet, shops for coffee and washes the coffee mugs. After the grinding process, there was a BALL BEARING in with the ground coffee. Further investigation revealed that the grinder part of the coffee maker was on the fritz.
He immediately left his house to buy another coffee maker, after dropping his laundry off at the dry cleaners.
But, because of the difficulties with machinery and ordinary household gadgets, I wonder if we were invaded by gadget eating aliens over the weekend... either that or the hole in the ozone layer got bigger.
Saturday, March 5, 2005 1:48:40 PM
...And I don't have to work, today. I get these ideas in my head, like, I am going to sleep late today because I don't have to work. Well, guess what? I awoke at the same time I always awaken. What??? No way! It used to work when I was a youngster, this sleeping late on the weekends.
Sadly, I think I have become creature of habit, always getting up at the same time, going to bed at the same time, eating meals at the same time. It happened to my Mom and Dad and I remember thinking, that is NEVER going to happen to me. Yeah, right.
When I was a teenager and listened to those radicals like the Beatles, or our radical native sons, The Beach Boys, my parents would yell at me to turn the music off and how could I listen to that crap? My Dad's favortie line was, "Get that junk outta here or you're going with it."
I told myself, When I have kids, I will NEVER do that to them!!! Ah, to be young and foolish, again! Because, I have done that to them. But really, have you HEARD Jimmy Eats World? For those of you who haven't, they start with pretty nice music and then the guy starts to scream...oops, I mean sing. It is like he just saw a room full of spiders or something. I start thinking, That poor boy is going to need throat surgery by the end of the song.
Then, try as I may, I cannot keep the words from coming out of my mouth. "IF YOU DON'T GET THAT JUNK OUTTA HERE, YOU ARE GOING WITH IT."
Number One Daughter is used to my quirky antics and fortunately, our muscial tastes are the same for the most part. However, she is not into my hard core JAZZ music that is all saxophones and bass fiddles and I am not into her guys who shriek the lyrics to music. So, I kept the jazz to a minimum around her and she keeps the shrieking men to a minimum around me. It works.
And just two days ago, I heard Number One say, "I will never tell MY kids to turn off their music."
Friday, March 4, 2005 3:20:05 PM
Jerry, my aforementioned boss, discerned that I may not like to have all the fingers pointed in my direction.
So, he telephoned to apologize. HHHHHEEEELLLLLLOOOOOOOOO, K. Now, you know I didn't mean all that stuff.
If that is true, why did he say it to begin with? It was not a terribly sincere apology, by the way. He kinda sang "Hello", like that was supposed to make everything better. Jerry is happy, so the rest of the world must be. I suggested he send an email retraction. I told him, "You told everybody in the company that I am not doing my job, now I feel as if it is your responsiblity to tell them that you were mistaken and I am doing my job."
Well, folks, that went over like a fart in church.
He explained how sending a retraction would make him look bad and of course we don't want that.
So, back to the office this morning, with my dignity in shreds and my office mate happy as a lark and singing Beatle's songs, loudly and off-key. (My apologies to Eleanor Rigby)
I, too am acting like a horse's ass, because I am refusing to interact with the hero of the day (that lying, two-faced, self-serving, bad Beatle song singing...ad infinitum). I am not discussing her little life with her this morning.(That is a story that NEVER changes anyway and I know it chapter and verse) In fact, I am pointedly ignoring her. Besides, she got enough praise and adoration from our fearless leader in that ill-sent email. Pouting, pouting, pouting.
So, in viewing the picture above, it hard to tell which ass is Jerry's, which is Mary, and which is me. We all kinda look the same in my opinion.
And that is the rest of the story
Thursday, March 3, 2005 8:15:54 PM
I work for a company that sells pool and patio furniture on a commercial level. This is not rocket science or a crucial industry. I ASSIST 9 outside sales representatives by mailing catalogs for them, taking phone messages, faxing, phoning, filing, emailing... all the usual office stuff.
At any rate sales are down company wide because of the general state of the economy, the war in the Middle east, terrorist threats, the hole in the ozone layer, global warming and a hundred other reasons. The company president asked the sales reps why they aren't selling as much... this is a typical question from him. At least three times a week he calls all the reps just for the purpose of yelling at them.
This week, the general excuse given by the sales reps is because nobody is calling them as a result of the flyer being mailed out all over the country a couple of weeks ago.
So, my boss, let's call him Jerry because that is his name, calls to ask if we are getting calls as a result of the flyer mailout. Yes, we are getting calls. One other girl and I work in this office answering the phone ALL DAY. Are we letting the sales reps know that they are getting calls... not directly, but we are mailing catalogs with the reps contact information on the cover, and yes, we are giving people the reps name and phone number.
Well, this wasn't good enough, obviously.
This is the email Jerry sent to everyone in the corporation:
"Oh well, I found some of the problem with the mailer. K in Ocala (that would be me) is receiving a lot of calls and not passing the information to you..." What the HELL is he talking about??? To continue... I think K said that people don't want a call back, just a catalog (That is true in some cases but not all) So, starting today, K will get phone numbers from EVERYONE. Starting Today, K will go back the last few weeks and tell everyone who called and give you the address. K did not get phone numbers so you will have to look them up. I am very sorry she isn't doing her job.
Mary says she is calling all reps and passing the leads on to you. Great job Mary!
Well, Mary just lies better than I do. She hasn't let anybody know anything EVER. But, she said she did, so guess what? She is the hero of the day.
Now, I have been sitting at this desk for 3 years and never ONCE has there been an order issued to annoy people by gathering all their personal info BEFORE sending them to their sales reps.
I resent getting in trouble for not doing something that I was never told to do. I hung 12 copies of the disrespectful email throughout my office as a reminder to FIND ANOTHER JOB ASAP.
Now, 4 of the 9 sales reps have called me to apologize for getting me into trouble. "We know it's not true. We just had to tell Jerry something. What about telling Jerry the truth? There is a WAR going on, Pal. Global warming has scared the crap out of everyone. What about, "I am a lazy sales rep and I am tired of rejection." Instead, they picked on the first person they thought about. And it seems to me that their ASSISTANT should be the LAST person they piss off.
Geez, I SOOOOOOOOOO have to get out of this place!
Wednesday, March 2, 2005 1:10:00 AM
I have to make this confession to one and to all. I adore Adrian Paul.
Ordinarily, I am not what you would call a silly fan or anything. I like a lot of actors and actresses, poets, painters, philosophers, singers, dancers,politicians, comedians (oh, I said that twice. In K4's world politician=comedian, but that is for another day. Today is Adrian Paul Day) At any rate, I don't go crazy when Barry Manilow comes to town. I rarely swoon when I see Hugh Grant on the big screen. I never have sent a fan letter to anyone other than Neill DeGrasse Tyson.
But, I did go and stand in line for three hours to get Adrian Paul's autograph. Really! I did! That was after driving two hours to get the place where he was making a public appearance.
I work in an office with fourteen women (no men, but that too is another story) We began a discussion around the coffee pot in the morning of who was the SEXIEST man in the world. We collected a list of 25 names from each person. There were some inevitable duplicate names, such as Sean Connery and Brad Pitt. Next, we narrowed the field to the top ten sexiest men. Adrian Paul was on that list, of course. Each of us took an opportunity to discuss the virtues of every man on the list and then we took a final vote. Adrian won, hands down. It was unanimous.
This was our coffee discussion for at least three weeks before we reached the final vote and the final decision. That is to let everyone know just how serious this discussion was.
Now, we have a photo of Adrian on the wall of our break room with a sign beside his picture that says: Voted Sexiest Man Alive, June 14, 2003. We have never attempted to duplicate our vote. The winner is and always will be Adrian.
I have a bought a CD that was signed by him and it arrived two days ago. I have the photo he signed for me after I stood in line for three hours hanging in my bedroom.
But I must say this: After signing autographs for 3 hours or more, he was still very friendly and very animated and not the least bit tired or short or grumpy with any of us silly American women (and men). He was incredibly charming and just oozed charisma. If I didn't love him before I met him and shook his hand, I certainly did afterward.
Adrian Paul ROX!
Tuesday, March 1, 2005 5:24:18 PM
I am a full time college student, but I go to college online. I am in my 4th year and plan to graduate in December with a Bachelor's Degree in Information Technology with Project Management emphasis.
Going to school online is convenient, but I miss the interaction with other students... hanging out at the student union, meeting in study groups, getting little personal competitions going to give each other a little extra incentive. There is interaction with students in the online format, but not the same extent. It is limited to email, conferences and occasional IMs. It is a completely different atmosphere.
After having been at an online university for more than a year, I can say with conviction, this is mostly a self-taught genre. Anything I have learned has been on my own. I feel as if I am missing a lot, too. I am planning on achieving a Master's degree in IT and maybe I will attempt a brick and morter university for that stage of my education. I am planning on relocating, anyway, to a big city that offers many more opportunities than the small town I live in, now. There should be many more educational opportunities there, too.
Now... where to go?
Sunday, February 27, 2005 1:50:54 PM
I spent most of the day yesterday tweaking my new website. Actually, it was closer to beating it into submission.
I work with Dreamweaver, which is a really cool application. I haven't found anything that it won't do as far as developing a web site.
But, for some reason, I was having trouble with the flash buttons. That is all the flash I wanted on my site because otherwise they get too buys with all kinds a things wiggling, pulsing, moving. Keep it simple. Keep it sweet.
But, I just LOVE the new color scheme.
My old Web site instructor would freak out if he saw my code and my assets list. He wanted everything organized, with the pics all in one folder, the templates in one, the pages in one, the music in one. I prefer to have them all in a single folder. It doesn't look as neat, but everything is alphabetized, so I don't have any trouble finding anything.
Anyway, check out my new website and if you find anything that needs to be changed, let me know... you know, a broken link, etc.
Karen's Web site<http://www.karenvertigan.com
Saturday, February 26, 2005 12:32:03 PM
This is my first attempt to add a picture to my journal. Of course because of rules and regulations, the constitution a al Opera, and other dandy stuff, this is not actually Evelyn, the star of my previous three journal posts. But, this cat looks enough like Evelyn to be her sister.
It should be noted at this time that this cat is a Birman, which is a medium haired Siamese. Most people mistake her for a Himalayan, but she has a regular cat face and a true Himmy has a smashed Persian face. Himmys also have much longer hair than a Birman.
Evelyn's pedigree is questionable because she was rescued by some folks who do that sort of thing and I adopted her from them.
To a long and happy life with my cute kitty...
Friday, February 25, 2005 7:48:21 PM
Because of a suggestion by a dear reader and close observation of Evelyn's behavior, the alignment of the planets, the Theory of RElativity and the hole in the ozone layer, I have finally solved the Pill Dilemma.
Evelyn is a slave to her stomach, as are most animals. We THINK they love us, but what they really love is food. Simply put. I am thoroughly convinced that she thinks that I am HUNTING every time I leave the apartment because when I get back, she automatically wants to be fed. She does her cute kitty routine (refer to Puss-in-Boots in the movie Shrek 2 to completely understand this.) She looks at me with her great big blue eyes. She gives me her sweet little meow as if she is saying, "Mommy, I know you are the best hunter in the world, so please share a meager bit of your good fortune with me because how can you resist such a cute face and you know I never ask for much from you and how can you resist such an utterly cute face with such big adorable eyes?" Yeah, right!
I dump food in Cute Kitty's bowl and she is happy. But, underneath all of this, she has five lethal weapons on each foot and some righteous teeth in her mouth! She may give me "cute-kitty", but I now know that underneath she is saying, "Fear me, if you dare!"
The truth is out: This demon possessed animal has a MAJOR weakness. Chicken.
Yep, I made broiled chicken with fresh lemon zest and sweet creamery butter (which is a little slice of heaven and so very delish...) Evelyn pranced and gave me a lot of cute kitty hoping to score a chunk of chicken. I made an entire piece of chicken breast for THE CAT. I ripped a piece of chicken from the bone, shoved the pill inside and gave her the treat on a ceramic dessert plate that my younger brother designed and made for me years ago. Presentation is everything!
She gulped it down, never aware of the pill inside the lemon chicken creation.
Good sense and reason and logic prevailed! Once again, I am the master of my domain. (doing the butter dance at my desk) Yes! All right! YESSSSSS! I am once again THE QUEEN OF EVERYTHING. Go, K4! Go, K4! (patting myself on the back and tooting my own horn)
I put the rest of Evelyn's chicken in the freezer because this pill escapade will continue for the rest of her life. I simply have to thaw a bit, cleverly hide the pill insde and present it to Miss Evelyn on her proverbial silver platter.
The deed is accomplished without any blood or broken furniture!
Thursday, February 24, 2005 2:16:44 PM
Everyone likes to feel as if they are the master of their domaine and I did, until it was time to attempt another round of medication for THE CAT. Evelyn and I are matching wits and the big question is, which one of us will prevail.
For round two, I ignored her. I pretended my precious baby didn't exist for several hours, hoping to disarm her with inattention. But, she was too wise for that maneuver. As soon as I picked her up, the game was afoot once again. Number One Daughter and I wrestled the villian to the kitchen floor and the my daughter SAT on her. That's right, she sat on the cat, effectively pinning her to the floor. (Now, I realize this sounds cruel, but Number One Daughter acutally knelt on the floor with the cat between her knees and angled her feet so that the cat couldn't back out of the impromptu prison) Number One opened the cat's mouth and I stuck the pill as far down her throat as I could. Number One held her mouth closed for at least a minute.
We didn't let her go, just in case. That was one of the best ideas we had. Evelyn spit the pill on the floor, except now it is wet and slimy and the cat is PISSED. I mean she is hissing and growling and howling like a banshee. I am beginning to fear for Number One's life, although the cat is still subdued. Number One can't stay on the floor of the kitchen forever and as soon as she lets the cat up, there may be consequences.
Once again, we try the shove-the-pill-down-the-cat's-throat-while-sitting-on-her-in-the-middle-of-the-kitchen-floor technique. Success! She has swallowed the second pill, but she is no less angry than she was a moment before. Number One stands up, releasing the harpy who is still screaming her distress. Evelyn runs under the bed leaving a deep scratch in the kitchen linoleum. We haven't seen her since.
There has be a better way to do this without suffering blood shed or have damage to inanimate objects. If this keeps up, I am afraid that Miss Evelyn will move to another house where this sort of thing doesn't happen. I will ponder this problem today at work... hmmmmm.
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