Plasma TV For The Puppy

Ok I couldn't help but put this picture up. I walked around the corner out of my room this morning and this is what I saw:


Yea that's my puppy. And yes he's watching the fish in our fish tank. Nope it's not enough to watch me run around the house like an idiot trailing his toy rabbit behind me shouting "IT'S PETER COTTONTAIL TIME!" He has to watch the two fish (both roughly the size of a jellybean) swim back and forth from one end to the other of our ridiculously over sized tank.

Love you too Sam.

Spying

Yesterday I got caught spying on my neighbors.

I'm not really a spying kind of girl I'm just very curious. Which is code for "I was REALLY bored and couldn't bring myself to leave the house in search of more interesting forms of entertainment."

I wasn't intentionally spying. I didn't have some little command station set up at my kitchen window in hopes of seeing some unlucky individual exit their house in such a manner that I felt the need to snatch up my binoculars and frighten the poor person to death. In fact I hadn't even consciously decided I was going to spy. It just sort of happened to me. Much like how a really bad outfit can sort of just happen to you. Maybe you didn't plan it - or maybe all of its pieces looked great on their own - but together this little outfit is by and far something that should never happen again.

I was the victim here of this unfortunate mischance. The victim I tell you. Not that I'm "playing the victim" for those of you that subscribe to those types of notions - merely that sometimes people find themselves in situations beyond their control and are, as a result, victimized by their circumstances (and not their subconscious). And it was in one of these situations that I found myself when I stood up from the small computer workstation I've assembled on the floor of my living room and happened to be standing directly in front of the window - out of which I could see my next door neighbors arguing out on their front lawn.

Now Utah is like the poster child/state for "Don't Wash Your Dirty Laundry In Public." The people here are largely Mormon and as a result they tend to be very private with not only their personal affairs but their lives in general. They gossip incessantly but never actually confront each other with the information they are privy to. They also happen to be especially wary of us "Non-Mormon's". My family doesn't attend church - hasn't since I was in middle school and because of this we are somewhat removed from our neighborhood social circle. I know my neighbors on the left have too many cats, an obnoxious redheaded daughter, and are going through a divorce. My neighbors on the right are teachers, travelers, and I suspect them of having a sex life akin to that of a twenty-something PR bachelor (they have a video camera that sits in their window - information I could have lived without).

So of course when I see my Neighbors Of The Left arguing in such a public fashion I do what any normal person would. I stand there and stare like some sort of dumb turkey. It's like when there's a nearby fire and the entire county gets in their cars and goes and drives towards it even though all of our smart-people-instincts are telling us that its probably not a good idea to head in the direction that the twenty-foot flames are spewing from.

Regardless of the fact that I am actually a somewhat capable/intelligent person, when I stood up and saw this man and woman arguing outside I literally could not stop myself. I had to stand there and watch. Which is exactly what I did. Except I also moved up closer to the window and pressed my nose up against the glass in an effort to hear more - my theory here being that if you're going to watch the cheesy soap opera you might as well full-on watch it - and not just let it play while the TV is muted.

I don't know exactly where the conscious part of my brain went (maybe it went to its therapy session so it could understand why I was behaving in such a ridiculous fashion) but where ever it was - it wasn't doing it's job. So when the man, who is still chewing out his wife for one reason or another, turns and looks at me (Face: Still Pressed Into Glass) I didn't immediately realize that oh yea - he's looking at me. Moments later - brain came back from therapy and figured out that OH SHIT HE'S LOOKING AT ME. At which point I proceed to drop to the floor like some sort of retarded sloth that woke up on the wrong side of the tree branch.

I haven't felt that dumb in a really long time. It's actually kind of refreshing. However I topped it by feeling even more stupid as I crawled out of my living room on my hands and knees (to avoid being seen by Arguing Man, his wife, or anyone else who could laugh at me) into my bedroom where I spent the remainder of the night contemplating the fact that I could never leave my house again.

This is what happens when I'm left alone for the weekend with no one to talk to but the Puppy.

Community College

Ok this was not part of my planned post but when I opened up Blogger I somehow accidentally did something nifty with my mouse (its never on purpose) and this little graphic: - the one we Blogger users all know and love as our faithful spelling-fixer-upper - magicked its way down into my post. And I can't just delete it. Look how cute it is! Plus I cant figure out what I did or how I got it down here with me and thus can't replicate the effect and give my little spelling graphic any friends - so instead of being deleted off to Discard-O-Land he's coming along for the ride. I'm sure he feels very special to be the only one of his buddies that got mentioned/placed in a post. Even if I didn't intend it. I have also saved him to my picture folder soooo be sure to be on the lookout for him again. He's too adorable not to come poking back around, looking for more posts to interrupt. I think at some point we'll have to name him. Along with a few other various characters that are trying to weasel their way into my posts.

Anyways! What I really wanted to share will all of you is how much I absolutely cannot stand when I am on the phone and get put on hold/transferred to 8 or 9 various departments and end up talking to a ridiculous amount of people - none of whom seem to know the answer to my question.

I was calling down to one of the community colleges in my state, trying to figure out why I couldn't log into my little See Your School Shit On The Web If We Feel Like Letting You Today thing. Obviously today was not one of those days. I put in my little user name and request a change of password since its been AGES since I had to log in there and - lo and behold - the evil site tells me that my information doesn't match what they have. Well. Last time I checked I knew how to spell my own name. I also happen to know my birth date. (May 14 for those of you that want to send me presents! Like a Kindle! Ohmigod I would looooooooove a Kindle. Apparently you can read blogs and all kinds of fun stuff on them. Not that I expect you guys to send me one since they're like 400 dollars and....this is so not what I'm posting about right now. Damn.) I typed in my little student ID number right too. I checked. Many times! So finally I get the bright idea to call up the little student help center and after a gazillion rings some lady who is clearly not a student, and doesn't care for the breed either, answers in the most nasally voice I have ever heard.

"Yes?"

Yea - no "Student Help Center this is *insert creepy name here*" Just a "yes?" Great way to start off.

"Um for some reason I cant seem to log into your website. I have all my information and I've tried it several times so I know I'm putting it in right. It says it doesn't match what's in your records. Is there any way you can tell me what information you guys have so I can get it changed?

"Well are you putting it all in there right?

.... Uh...did I NOT JUST SAY THAT?! "Yes. I'm doing it right" (*side note: This is where Crayon would say "That's What She Said!" and get this cute smug look on his ridiculously handsome face.)

"Well I guess something don't match what our Data Center has on ya"

Lady. I just said that. Without a Utahan accent that could make birds fly into walls.

"Yes I'm positive that everything I've entered is correct."

"Well I'ma transfer you to the Data Center now."

"Great. Thanks" *terribly 1990's hold music ensues - please god let me avoid hearing "Holiday" by Madonna ever again*

"Data Center" Wow. A greeting. Must be a normal guy.

"Hi I was having trouble logging into the web page and-"

"OhyouneedtheStudentHelpCenterforthatI'lltransferyou!" I can hardly understand what the dude said because he was in such a rush to spit out his words and get me off the phone that his tongue has probably collapsed like a fat cat on a windowsill after spending too much effort chasing the neighbors canary bird. Had the guy even listened to me he would have known that NO - I do not need the Student Help Center or Ms. Utah Nasal back there who is probably sitting at her desk eating pork rinds while laughing about me, the poor girl who will surely never find her way out of this tangled maze of phone tag.

"Yeeeeeesssssss" She draws it out in this annoyed tone of voice. God forbid we have to answer the phone TWICE in an hour.

"Hi - look its me again, the Data Center transferred me back here. I really need to get that information changed so I can log in to the website."

"Oh. Well how come you didn't say so? I haaave a computer."

Wow. Is that what that big square thing sitting on your desk is? Thank you Nancy Drew now I can return to my life with the piece of mind that somewhere in the world there is a person with the deductive abilities to realize that she, like every other office worker on the planet, has a computer available to use at her disposal. This is the part where I seriously considered reaching through the phone and strangling this woman.

"Lovely." (Which is code in my language for "You stupid stupid person.") "So can we change that then?" I give her all my info, wondering if this woman is smart enough to attempt Identity Theft.

*long awkward pause*

"Um hello?" There is no way this lady hung up on me. So help me god I will drive down to Salt Lake and raise hell in the Student Help Center if I must.

"I'm getting it, hold on." Yea - as if she's the one who should be impatient.

"Well it looks like they didn't have your Social Security number so they made one up for ya and that's why you cant log in. So you WEREN'T puttin' all your stuff in right."

"I'm sorry, hold on. They made up a Social Security number for me? They just made one up?"

"That's our policy"

"Your policy is to make up peoples information if you don't have it? Right ok. Well can you give it to me so I can try logging in with that number."

"I'm sorry I cant give out Social Security numbers over the phone." You have got to be kidding me.

"It's not real! It's not a social - its just made up numbers!" I say in disbelief. "Well can I change it and put mine in there instead?"

"No you have to come do that here in person. I don't do that over the phone." (*Another "That's What She Said" for Crayon)

"Well then how am I supposed to get into my account?"

"Here I'll give you the number." Uh - ok? Did we not just establish that we cant do that? I want to say something snotty but instead I remain quiet in case this lady's bipolar memory starts coming back. She gives me my little number and I hang up, thanking her for some unknown reason, to which she promptly slams the phone down on the receiver, as if I'm some sort of huge inconvenience to her. All this for the sake of viewing my transcripts.

I type my little number in, wait patiently for it to load...and....YES! IGOTONTHESTUPIDWEBSITE-NEENERNEENERNEENER!

Only to find out there's a hold on my account which: prevents me from viewing my transcripts.

So now I have to call the Accounts Department, which I promptly do. Only to find out that Monotone Brittany only works from 9-4. It's currently 3:15. Apparently, since I keep getting nothing but her voicemail - leading me to believe she's gone home an hour early, the entire community college is a magnet for incompetence and anti-work syndrome.

I may have to burn it to the ground. If only to improve the gene pool by doing so.

This is why I'm a writer. So that I don't have to deal with the massive amount of insane people that occupy this state on a daily basis.

Alright. Off to go call them again. *Hums "Holiday"*

Popcorn Popping

Me: Tell me what my Christmas present is!

Crayon: No.

Me: Come on!

Crayon: Nope.

Me: You better tell me. Or else.

Crayon: Or else what?

Me: I'm going to fill your car with popcorn kernels, roll up all the windows, and let you have a field day watching our 100 degree weather turn your car into a portable microwave.

Crayon: ......

Me: You're car is gonna smell like popcorn FOREVER.

Crayon: ......

Me: And you'll never get all the popcorn out of the seats and the carpeting.

Crayon: ....

Me: Not to mention you'll attract every seagull in the state with that popcorn smell. I can already see you weaving through traffic trying to escape them as they dive through your sun roof in hopes of a beak-full of buttery delicious-ness.

Crayon: ......Really?

Me: *feigns innocence* Really. That is - unless you want to tell me what my Christmas present is?

Crayon: I'll take my chances with the seagulls.

Me: Oh. My. God. Fine. I'm so doing the popcorn thing. Just you wait.

Crayon: If you put popcorn in my car you can't have your Christmas present.

Me: *pouts* Fine.

I wont put it in his car. I'll just put it on his sunroof. Nice surprise for when he opens it.

Frank

Me: So what are you up to tonight?

Crayon: Heading up to Mel's place to work on the car. I miss it. And the bunnies.

Me: The bunnies?

Crayon: Yeah. The ones that run around in Mel's backyard. I've named them all.

Me: You've named the bunnies? Let's hear it.

Crayon: Furry One, Furry Two, Momma Furry, Baby Furry, and Frank.

Me: Ummm....Frank?

Crayon: Yeah. Frank. He's the fearless one. I've caught him chasing the deer twice!

Me: Frank. The bunny. Chases deer?

Crayon: Yeah. Duh.

Me: *I'm-not-buying-this-pause*

Crayon: He tackles them too....

King Of The Flip Flops

Dont you just love being right? Or, for that matter, who doesnt love when they get to tell someone that may or may not have been teasing them about something that they themselves were in fact RIGHT? And even better than being right is when, on the rare occassion, something percieved to be odd, different, or just plain out of the ordinary - is actually THE COOLEST THING IN THE WORLD.

J (the boyfriend/fiance - who will henceforth be known as Crayon) has, since we started dating, been teasing me because of the fact that my second toe (the one normal people wear toe rings on) is slightly longer than all my other toes. However, today I have news for him, and anyone else that might have been subject to this form of discriminatory prefrence when it comes to toes.

Stephanie Klein (of the blog Greek Tragedy - see the blog list ---->) has not only mentioned this affliction/talent. She has given it a name.

*ahem* Royalty Toe.

Brilliant isn't it? SO HA!

No longer will my Royalty Toe take any negative criticism, or poking fun at. It will stand proud - nay King-Like, to be compared with all the other nifty body anomalies such as joint dislocation, ear dancing, double-jointedness, and all varieties of tongue origami.

And since I can do none of the above I am quite proud of my Royalty Toe.

I will be spending the day wearing new flip flops as a reward for my Royalty Toe's modesty in light of this new discovery.


Lizzy