Slightly Unbalanced Haiku

Life's little pleasures....

2006-03-16T18:48:00.000-08:00

And now, a list of life's smallest pleasures, those little things that allow you to feel as though you are the windshield and not the bug.

1. Not getting lost on your way to work (Yay me!)
2. A really night's sleep.
3. A kickass outfit.
4. Your cat refraining from barfing all over the basement floor....especially when he tends to do this running and barfing maneuver that leaves little piles of barf in a line on the carpet.
5. The annoying ego-maniac at work getting shot down when he asks a dumb question.
6. Good chocolate, nay GREAT chocolate.
7. A hot shower.
8. The perfectly-coifed barbie-like girl with 32DD's and a 24 inch waist coming out of the bathroom with toilet paper on her shoe. (ok, so that's a little mean, but tell me you havent felt more normal when stuff like that happens...and it's not to you.)
9. Bailey's Irish Cream on St. Patty's day. (Oh yes, I plan to indulge. You bet your sweet Irish ass.)
10. Bulbs blooming.
11. Snow days. (Please dear god, may it be so tomorrow.)
12. Backrubs....not the sketchy happy ending kind, just the nice friend or boyfriend or husband kind.

Sing with me, "When the dog bites, when the bees sting....when I'm feeling SAAAAAAD, I think of some of my favorite things...and then I doonnnnttttt feeeeeeeellll sooooooooooo bbaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad."

Signing off now, I have a whole suit to make out of the drapes in my living room, and only hours before morning.

And so it begins.....

2006-03-14T13:42:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, on my way to my very first day of grownup work, I got lost. Yessirree I did. It was horrible. I was already running a touch late because I had been having hair difficulty and was trying to show up at work looking decent instead of looking like I got my hair inspiration from Yoda.

So I found myself on a) the wrong road b) going the opposite direction from the way I wanted to go and c) definitely late.

Good times. Here's the thing. I knew exactly where I was, which is kind of the worst kind of lost because you're kicking yourself screaming at the steering wheel..."You're so stupid, how could you be this stupid, dont you know its your very first day of grownup job?"....

Thankfully, I made it home alright. Got on the right road, made it home....all ok.

This morning.....

I GOT LOST AGAIN. Oh my damn. On a totally different road, going a whole new wrong way, really SUPER fabulously late for work even though I left a whole 15 minutes earlier and didnt have to be in until later in the morning.

I sure did. Being lost must be my new favorite thing. This time, I pulled out all the stops. I cursed, I prayed....I pleaded for the traffic gods to have mercy on my poor soul because really....I was late, my hair looked like a helmet, and I was stuck on a one way road going the wrong way.

Far be it from me to get home alright. Oh no....on the way home...I managed to take a wrong turn. Yeah I did. So then I had to backtrack AGAIN.

I swear I am not this stupid, but apparently I am incapable of just getting to the place I need to go....there are few things in the whole world than arriving late to work, parking in the farthest parking space in the lot, hoofing it to the office, hair all askew and sweaty.....and then having your new co-worker who YOU JUST MET YESTERDAY say to the group...."well hey, look who finally decided to show up."

Good times.

Maybe tomorrow I'll only get lost once.

Who knows.

Losing the will to blog....

2006-03-09T06:17:00.000-08:00

Ok, so it's not really the will, but more like the ability. I've had blogger's block. That and Ive been busier than Dr. Spock at a Star Trek convention, so I just havent had the time.

What of the myriad hours wasting away at the go nowhere job you ask?

That ship has sailed my friends.

You see, last Friday was my very last day with wackadoodle boss. Hot temp has transitioned, I departed with much fanfare and an embarrassing amount of sparkling cider and this week, I've been on vacation.

Some days I think I could make a whole life out of being a stay at home wife.

Daily schedule includes:

Running errands
watching TV
napping
doing laundry
cooking
knitting

I swear, some days I think women's lib was actually an idea invented by men and whispered in the ears of women because men realized that housewives had a good thing going.

Ok, not really...but yknow what I mean.

So I now have 3.5 days until THE BIG DAY. The big day of starting my very first super real high pressure "you're a grownup now girlfriend" job.

And I have no shoes.

I have shoes, but they're not right. They lack perfection, and I lack cash...so we're at an impass. I actually called a friend on Tuesday from the mall nearly in tears at the DSW bemoaning the fact that all shoes cost 1.5 million dollars a pair and have gold lame on them somewhere. (At least this season they do....have you been to a shoestore lately? It's like Carmen Miranda threw up in there.)

The problem with me buying shoes for myself (have I mentioned this before?) is that I cannot be trusted. You see, I buy man shoes. Anything comfortable that looks like a loafer is my friend. I particularly like stitching on shoes....and I know I shouldnt, and I know it's wrong, and I know I need something sleek with a kitten heel and a small amount of tassle....but good shoe taste be damned, if it doesnt look like it belongs at an Indigo Girls concert....I dont want it.

Im trying to change, really I am. Im in a 12 step program. I have shoe sponsor. I run all shoe purchases by her before committing to them. She is my Shoeru. It's a real word we coined to define her role in my fashion life.

Oh great Shoeru lead me.

But anyway, Ive developed an inordinate amount of anxiety about my new job. Really, I just need to chill and look forward to it...but well, Ive tried that and I cant seem to master the "chill" part. I keep wondering if I'm going to show up to work the first day and all of my co-workers will point and laugh and then look at my shoes and say "sister please".

Because when you think about it, starting a new job is kind of like your first day at junior high. You've just left the comfort zone of your old job- and even if your old job sucked and your old boss was the equivalent of the kid who ate paste in your elementary school, you knew the parameters there. You were comfortable. You knew the cool kids, you knew the jerks.

Enter new job. Scary, unknown world, full of bullies and buddies and new bosses and wacky oddballs. BUT YOU DONT KNOW WHO ANY OF THEM ARE. It takes a while to figure these things out. You have to observe quietly, see who's cool, who's wacky, who's going to be your new best bud because they too have terrifically awful shoe fashion and an undeniably off beat sense of humor. So you wait.

Almost immediately, you begin to recognize personalities emerge. Most often it's that The Devil Wears Prada type girl.....the super-perfectly coifed perfect shoe girl who has perfect hair and is a perfect size two....oh and she went to Harvard. She's got piles of money too. Now- on the surface, you want to hate her because she's got perfect shoes and she's everything you're not....but you cant hate immediately...you have to wait, because sadly enough...sometimes perfect people are cool.

It happens. It's not fair, but it happens. And all the funny fat girls in the room said "Damn". I know, because I'm one of them.

And then, there are the oddballs....lunches comprised of chocolate milk and raisinets, hair pulled back in scunchies matching 80's retro work inappropriate outfits. Again, you may want to rush to judgement.....but you have to wait. They could be cool....or they could be PSYCHO. You just dont know.

Your new boss may seem awesome all fun and nice and taking you to lunch the first day, but you have to wait to see if he's cool....or if he becomes the beign of your existence, making you work late and on weekends and calling you "sweet cheeks".

A new job is like Sweet Valley High meets Revenge of the Nerds, and there you are- standing in the middle of the whole thing, forgetting everything you learned in graduate school wondering if after two weeks they'll even remember why they hired you. You'll fantasize about how you were downsized from Jr. Account Manager to Head Washer of Floors and Scrubber of Toilets because you brain farted in a meeting and forgot your own name.

So Ive decided that there's nothing to do but a) panic, and then b) be prepared. I am basically assuming the following will happen on my first day:

1. I will forget my own name and stutter when someone asks it.
2. I will spill food on myself
3. I will have the "deer in headlights" look at least once.
4. I will say something dumb. I always do.
5. I will ask inane questions in an attempt to sound smart.

Im thinking, if I can just accept the inevitable, and give myself a "First Day of Work Free Pass to be an Ass" card (hey it rhymes) then everything will probably be ok.

Enter Hot Temp.

2006-03-01T11:42:00.000-08:00

All hail the hot temp. All hail.

Hot temp has arrived, signaling the end of Shewhohaiku's tenure as chief underbitch to the Secretary of Craziness. Only three more days!

Hot temp has no idea what he is in for, but lucky for me and all of my female co-workers, he is hot.

At least that's one thing he can do right.

The last temp wasn't hot and he couldn't use Excel either, so basically he was useless to me.

The hardest thing about my interview with hot temp was that I was trying to sell him on a job I wouldn't want my worst enemy to have. So that's sad, but hey, he needs the cash right, and well....bosslady needs a minion. He'll probably last a couple of weeks, which will be long enough for it to officially not be my problem anymore.

Who knows though, maybe he'll love it and stay here forever, singing the praises of crazy boss and be her ever-present yes-man.

"Cha, and monkeys might fly out of my butt."

But anyway, so here's hot temp's resume in brief.
Dark hair, dark eyes, killer nose....

Oh and he went to Georgetown too. Good times.

I liked hot temp immediately because he seemed at one with himself. In fact, despite the usual nerves of being on an interview, he seemed like a really calm guy. And the best part is he might even have a sense of humor. He didn't whip it out during the interview, but afterward seemed pretty cool.

And all the ladies swooned....hot and a sense of humor, where can I get me one of those?

Bosslady of course loved him immediately because he's a he....she's got a thing for the gentlemen and is sort of a dirty old lady in her own right. Who am I to judge? (Who am I trying to kid, that won't stop me.) She's 70+ years old, her libido should have gone extinct when the dinosaurs did....but it did not. It is up and running and I think hot temp made her a little hot and bothered under the collar, which is why....

he got a big cube.

Oh yes he did. The guy isnt even here yet and he gets a spanky corner cube with a big ass window and a killer view.

Meanwhile, I am stuck here in Glade scented plug-in's hell (cubemate LOVES them) listening to the slow jams and Backstreet Boys marathons she tortures my ears with all the live long day.

Oh the humanity.

As of tomorrow, I will be delegating all of my responsibilities to the hot temp in the big cube. I'll smell fresh as a pine tree and my ears will be bleeding from listening to Montel Jordan's "This is How We Do It" for the 4 thousandth time.

Friday 5pm can't come soon enough.

The San Francisco Treat

2006-02-28T05:14:00.000-08:00

"Francisco, that's a funny word."....Love that movie.

So I just returned from a 4 day jaunt to San Francisco to visit a great friend and her husband and kiddo. Kudos to the kid for being about as cute as any kid can be.

But this post is not about cute kids. Oh no my friends, it is not.

In fact, if there are any cute kids in close proximity to the computer while you're reading this and they too can read, you might shoo them away. Scandalous tales of San Fran are about to be told.

On Friday night, friend and I decided to BART our way to downtown SF to have dinner and do some window shopping. After hauling ass up Powell street - I could have used rock climbing gear to get up that bad boy,- we find the restaurant, have a lovely meal....and then, attempt to walk back to the BART station to make our way home.

I know this is boring, but I swear, I'm getting to the good part.

Anyhow, we wanted to avoid the ass-kicking hill of Powell street, so we cut down and over on a few others and found ourselves in some rather questionable territory.

Foxy ladies that we are, we were careful not to attract unwanted attention....or so we thought.

Ladies and Gentlemen, allow me to spell it out for you in brief.

Ahem.

We were propositioned by a woman who asked us to engage in a threesome in exchange for crack.

I kid you not. NO REALLY, I kid you not.

A threesome people! For crack! CRACK COCAINE!

Now, Im not as square as I used to be and I'd like to think Im even a little adventurous, but MY GOODNESS, never in my life has some woman asked me to engage in relations with my dear friend in order to obtain an illegal substance.

I think it goes without saying that the woman doing the propositioning was not, as we say, "all there", but still....who does that?

I grant you, the two of us walking down the street are quite the image. We were the very definition of bootylicious. And we were decked out for a nice dinner (bonus) as opposed to our usual jeans and sweater fare, but nothing about us said "we like crack". In fact, nothing about us even said "we like to party like MaryKate and Ashley".

And we certainly didn't give off the aura of being girlfriends. But hey, its SF, so live and let live in that department.

Anyhoo....when she made the offer, I didnt quite know what to say. I think I laughed actually, but then did I say "No thank you" or "That's quite a lovely offer, but I'll have to decline as we've got a previous engagement"?

Y'know, I didnt. I frankly don't remember what I said. I was a little taken aback as anyone might be when they're offered such an opportunity.

To be clear though, we did decline.

Wait, why even write that? OF COURSE we declined. A strange woman offered us drugs for sex.

And that my friends, is how my night in SF went. Brilliant meal, awesome company, excellent weather, and to top it all off....I got hit on by a crack head who thought my friend and I would be delightful company.

At least I still got it.

Speaking of kilts....

2006-02-22T12:55:00.000-08:00

So last night the man and I went over to our friend's house to hang with her and her muffinhead kids. They dont have heads like muffins....I just call little things I like muffinheads.

Enough about me.

So anyway, all the sudden...for no reason really, friend busts out with telling us about men who wear kilts...like all the time. Not the Scotsmen playing their bagpipes... (At this point, allow me to interject my thoughts on bagpipes which go a little something like this. A bagpipe is an instrument that basically looks like a penis with teets. A man blows on it and out come weird noises. Hmmmm. Who decided this sounded like a good way to solidify Scotland's place in the world?) ...but like, office workers and other folk.

Apparently, they're called "Utilikilts" and here is their illustrious website. http://www.utilikilts.com/

Ta-da. Utilikilts, for all your kilting needs.

The men featured in those kilt modeling shots have some nice calves. Very shapely.

My friend, in discussing the utilikilt phenomenon mentioned that apparently some construction workers wear them on the job. She then said, "yknow, to hold their nail guns and stuff."

Mmmm, hmmm. And stuff.

No actually, to back up, the joke is in the nail gun comment. My husband and I look at eachother and with the glee of 13-year old boys in a locker room commenced making all manner of kilt -nail gun jokes including.....

....wearing a kilt gives me easy access to my nail gun.
....my nail gun would have gone off inside my kilt if I hadnt had the safety on

and
At work today I shot someone with my nail gun while wearing my kilt. It was surprisingly easy.

Oh yes, we are children.

Of course, it gave me something to blog about....something besides this.

Warning, potentially culturally insensitive story to follow.

So apparently in Tehran they've decided to stop calling Danishes (as in the pastry) "Danishes". Henceforth they will be referred to as "Roses of Mohammed". This is obviously a move to remove the Danes completely from the lives of Iranians. (Who knew they were so intricately connected?) the sad thing is, Roses of Mohammed takes alot longer to say, and no more can you walk into the Dunkin Donuts in Tehran and order a Coffee and a Danish to go.

It's a sad world we live in. Even sadder when people consider a pastry to be at the root of the world's cultural disputes. What'd a little pastry ever do to you except caress your lips with glaze and line your thighs with an extra layer of body warmth?

Unclean, unclean....

2006-02-21T14:43:00.000-08:00

So I have conjunctivitis (better known as "pink eye") in both eyes.

I am SO freakin sexy I cant even look at myself in the mirror without getting turned on. It's awesome.

Waking up with your eyes crusted over, priceless.

What the heck man? I feel like I have had every abnormal malady a person can have over the last year. It's so odd. I dont think of myself as "sickly" either, but according to my co-worker, I am "cootie-rific" and my other co-worker said I need to wear a hazmat suit because they're all afraid of me.

Psycho bosslady told me I must have a little virus working its way through all the parts of my body.

Thank you, Dr. Nutcase for that spot-on diagnosis.

And here's the best part. I havent left the house without eye makeup in ages. I am VA-AAAIN when it comes to my eyes. (Don't hate me because I'm beautiful.) And now, in addition to no eye makeup, I also get to wear my very Velma from Scooby-Do inspired glasses everywhere I go for like a week.

As Paris would say, "That's hot."

So, since I look like Swamp Thing in nerd glasses, here's a little Pink Eye Haiku, just for you on a Tuesday.

Conjunctivitis

That's hot I think as
I wear my nerd glasses oh
wowza, what a babe.

Crusty eyes, ew gross
I think I look like something
from Scary Movie.

Bright pink eye balls so
glamorous. Thank goodness new
job starts in two weeks.

By then, I'll be free
Free from ooze and puss and gross
eyes. Free from glasses.

Antibiotics
Are my friend. Eye drops keep me
sane. Pink eyes are hot.

How the flock did I
get pink eye? I have no clue
Just lucky I guess.

I shot an arrow into the air....

2006-02-14T12:20:00.000-08:00

Happy Valentine's Days ladies and germs. Here's what I love about V-day. People are more tacky on Valentine's Day than on any other day of the year.

For example, today while at CVS picking up some sundries I saw the following men perusing the store for "gifts". I say "gifts" because they were shopping in CVS. Unless your Valentine thinks condoms and a bag of M&M's say "I love you", you're in the wrong place.

The gentlemen:
1. One young guy who looked totally bewildered. He probably hooked up with some girl like a week ago and now she's putting on the full court press about how this will be his first valentine's day with someone. GAG.

2. A middle-aged guy in a suit, carrying around a card...and not much else. Yeah, if your wife is expecting a diamond tennis bracelet not even a Hallmark card is going to fix your problems.

3. A guy who decided in the absence of taste and foresight he was going to buy THE BIGGEST CARD EVER. It was laminated and had multiple pages in it- like a booklet. On the cover was a photograph of some roses and a piano. Barftastic man. No doubt the woman he's bringing it too will love it though....he was also carrying partially wilted roses.
Niiiiice.

4. Bike messenger....picked up a card no doubt the contents of which were "You're super-awesome, want to do it?"

But seriously folks, Valentine's Day makes me reflect on the most significant things in my life....or at least I tried to reflect and all I got was that in junior high they made us memorize this poem and then recite it dramatically. I thought I was going to die, and I was creeped out by the poem. Not to mention the school forbid any display of Valentine's Day because it was of course somehow connected to the devil's work (buh?). The whole thing was whacked. I hate the poem.

Cupid Swallowed
T'other day as I was twining
Roses, for a crown to dine in,
What, of all things, 'midst the heap
Should I light on, fast asleep,
But the desperate little elf,
The tiny traitor, Love himself!
By the wings I pinched him up
Like a bee, and in a cup
Of my wine I plunged and sank him,
And what d'ye think I did? -- I drank him.
'Faith, I thought him dead, Not he!
There he lives with tenfold glee;
And now this moment with his wings
I feel him tickling my heart-strings.

She swallowed cupid? What?

I'll do Leigh Hunt one better, here's my Valentine's Day Haiku:

Sex and Candy
As we celebrate
All things red and lovely I
say, give me a break.

Men bring chocolate
Hoping for sex, a fair trade?
I think not. Seems that

I should get a car
Or at least a bike, that might
be a fair exchange.

Whitman's Sampler please.
you get nothing from me, I
should get Godiva.

Bring me a red box
filled with nougat and I will
tell you, bu-bye now.

If you want the good
loving, it doesn't take much
clean my house, oh yes!

Then I will shriek with
delight. I will rip clothes off
It will be so on.

Leave your candy at
the store. Grab a mop and broom
Lingerie happens.

Care to dust for me?
Striptease I will do for you
Oh yes! Good times. Clean.

Swedish for cheap....

2006-02-13T06:50:00.000-08:00

Praise be to Ikea. It saved my marriage. Ok, well, perhaps a slight overstatement, but trust me...it helped.

See, I am a bit, er, well....hmmm, anal retentive. Ok, I confess, I am ALOT anal retentive, particularly when it comes to the state of my house. My husband, is the human equivalent of a Jimmy Buffet song....his little parrothead feathers havent been ruffled in well, ever.

He is ruffleless.

We are yin and yang. A pefect match. Aaaawwwwww. NOT.

Basically, I get on his last nerve because I get overwrought with existential questions such as "Where the heck is the other green sock? I put two in the washer and only one came out of the dryer" and "Why is there a spot in the carpet? I just Resolved the whole living room the other day". I come unglued.

Seriously.

And the ruffleless man just looks at me, says "breathe" and then goes and puts his Ipod on some Joy Division and forgets I'm upstairs freaking out about the lost sock. Ah, Saturdays. They're like clockwork.

There are days when I think about it that I wonder why he puts up with my crazy, anal retentive self, and then I realize...it's the righteous rack I sport. Freaking A man, they're beautiful.

Anyhow, back to Ikea....

So yesterday, after we trudged around in the new fallen snow so Ruffles could take pictures with his spanky camera, we decided to take a brief roadtrip up to the Swedish mecca and look around for a piece of furniture that would allow me to reorganize our house such that we could find all of our stuff and I could live in the Martha Stewart-like existence I've always dreamed of.

Yeah, you're saying, so you went to Ikea, because I bet Martha shops there ALL THE TIME.

Hey, if Martha were broke, she'd shop there, trust me.

Anyhow....praise be to Ikea, possessor of all most wonderful items (and a few scary ones....such as a giant children's top shaped like a dragon....) we found this most obscenely wonderful storage system. It is a thing of beauty.

It took us 5 hours to put together. The ruffleless man actually shouted profanities at one point, but now, it stands erect in our bedroom (haaa haaaa haa....too many jokes....) and tonight, I shall go home to fill it with all of my worldly possessions.

The green sock will be found. And tonight, it will have a place to call home.

Oh yeah, Vice President Cheney shot a guy in the face and abdomen while hunting. I love this country. Freaking hilarious. As if the Bush administration needed anything else right? Can you imagine that conversation?

"Hi there George?"
"Dick is that you old buddy?"
"Yessir, um, George, I shot a man in the face while hunting"
"^&*@#. We are so screwed. Nice going tubs."

Stop looking at me swan....

2006-02-09T09:15:00.000-08:00

Er, that should be penguin. This one to be exact:

You see crackpipe boss asked me to make this "poster" about our program. Mental slip - her program not my program. I won't own it. No way no how.

Anyhow, she wanted this really ridiculous thing with a three-legged stool and a teacher sitting on top of said stool...but I had no picture of the teacher, so I used Wheezy the Penguin from Toy Story as a "place holder" until I could get my digital camera and get a picture.

PS- crackpipe boss (or crusty troll if you're my co-worker) hand-picked which teacher should be used on the basis of gender and ethnicity. Never have I wanted to crotch punch someone more.

ARG.

Anyhow, now I have this damned penguin poster hanging on my bulletin board mocking me. Why you ask? (Or let's be honest, you're not asking "Why"...you're still back at Wheezy the penguin going "jigga wha?".
It's ok...roll with it. It will never become clear so you just have to trust me on this one.

I tried to take pictures of the chosen teacher last night. I positioned him, I photographed him, I got him to sign 5346 releases making it ok for me to take his picture and use it without compensating him.

Bottom line.

The poster looks like something a kindergartener would do if he could use Excel.

It sucks. It sucks beyond measure. It sucks more than Britney driving with little Sean Preston in her lap (poor kid btw). It's terrible.

And here's what I know. I knew it was going to suck when crackpipe boss asked me to do it. I looked at her chicken scratch hand-done rendition and thought, "My gosh this is never going to work. Ever. In a million years this will never not look like crap."

And yet, I tried. I tried to make it work. Me, who has ZERO design skills. I used a freakin' penguin as a placeholder for a teacher. I am not qualified to do this stuff.

Fo' real.

And now I feel like a total loser for not being able to make it look professional. Me, a penguin/teacher poster -making failure.

I feel inadequate.

On some level it's probably good. It forever confirms in my brain that despite the promise of a swanky new cube, the decision to leave this place could not have come at a better time.

Count down to the end - t-minus 14 working days.

Praise to the god of all penguins.

Get you some....

2006-02-08T12:05:00.000-08:00

"Buzzing Undies Make Shopper Faint."
London-(The SunA Woman collapsed in a supermarket when her vibrating panties made her faint with pleasure. The kinky 33 year old housewife was wearing a pair of battery operated Passion Pants, bought from a sex shop, while she did her shopping, according to the british tabloid The Sun. But she got so stimulated by the 6cm bullet in the panties that she lost conciousness. She fell and hit her head in the crowded supermarket in Swansea, Wales. When paramedics arrived, they found her black imitation leather knickers still buzzing. They took them off before the ambulance took her to the hospital. The woman whose identity has been kept private, suffered no long lasting ill-effects. And as she left the hospital, a paramedic gave her back the Passion Pants in a plastic bag. A spokesman for the supermarket chain told the Sun: " We like to think that shopping with us is exciting enough already."

.....black imitation knickers at the grocery store. My oh my. And they say the Brits are boring. I faint with pleasure at the grocery store all the time, but it's usually from walking down the cookie aisle.

File that under "not my job"

2006-02-07T12:37:00.000-08:00

Dear Anna Gasteyer,

You don't know me, and let's face it, I dont know you either. I'm writing you nonetheless because, well, my boss is insane. Not your problem you say? Well, you're right, except for the fact that she's trying to find you.

I'm not making it up Anna. Really I'm not. You see, my boss swears she "knows" you. I know, now you're shaking. It's ok, I'm not letting her find you. Or should I say, I refuse to use my working hours to spend time searching the net for your contact information. If bosslady's going to smoke the crazy crackpipe she can do it on her own. I won't play Bonnie to her Clyde.

Apparently, back in the day, your mom made a dress for her kid. Again, I have no way of knowing if this is true, Im just telling you what she told me. It's hard to tell what she's saying alot of times because it's all so insane, but I think this is what I got.

When I told my co-worker about how insane-o boss was trying to find you, this is the email she sent me. She's such a crack-up.

dear haikuer,
so my best friend's sister's boyfriend's brother's girlfriend heard from this guy who knows this kid who's going with the girl who saw ferris pass out at 31 flavors last night wearing a dress that ana gasteyer's mom made. could you please find her contact information for me so i can send her a note?
thanks,
crusty troll.

Crusty troll of course references my boss, not your fair-haired funniness. (Not to make this letter all about me, but your "Pete's Schweaty Balls" skit is one of my favorites. Kudos.)

So anyway, I should warn you that boss is coming to one of your shows sometime in the near future. Something about a opera of pennies? Again, it's like playing telephone with this woman, you think you're getting what she's saying, but then.....you've lost her. She's totally off the reservation, so if you happen to be performing, and you get charged by a 5'1'' blonde old lady, run, do not walk to your nearest exit and sequester yourself for a full 24 hours until you can be sure she's left town.

Consider yourself warned.

Faithfully yours,

Haikuer

Movin' on up....

2006-02-06T06:34:00.000-08:00

It's a milestone. Really, it is. I feel so special, so important, so.....privileged.

We got cable.

Oh yes we did. In nearly 4 years of being married, the man and I have never shelled out money for cable. We have been broke for the better part of that time and simply could not afford it.

Well, Saturday night I had a meltdown. Darn near a tantrum. After playing with the antennae for 20 minutes trying to get a semi-clear picture for one of our 5 channels, I was through.

Done I tell you.

I ranted and raged against the machine. I made my husband give me the "what the hell" face. I marched my behind upstairs and weighed our options.

Comcast vs. Verizon. The battle to end all battles.

I'll spare you the drama, Verizon was the clear winner. Or should I say, Comcast's options were just so bad I couldnt even think of dealing with them.

So now we're the proud new owners of 155 channels.

Wait, what? 155 channels? Who the heck needs 155 channels?

Channel 147: Japanese access television
Channel 152: Fishing today
Channel: 136 Pantyhose and other fascinating devices
Channel 128: The water channel

All I wanted was to be able to watch LOST and only see one of Charlie. I wanted to be able to watch the nightly news without it sounding like banchees had overtaken Bob Scheiffer's voice. All I wanted was to be able to occassionally watch Antique Roadshow and be able to tell what it was they were trying to sell.

That's all.

But now, thanks to the FCC and the miracles of modern entertainment, I am 155 channels richer.

It's a miracle.

In other news, Ive almost completed my taxes for this year. Sad to say, they're not so impressive, but because we're so poor, the government is seeing fit to give us some of our money back, kind souls that they are. With the spanky new job that Im getting we'll finally be out of financial ruin (hence the cable tv splurge) so it's all good, but I gotta say- its a little bit sad that I got four W-2's for one year, and the grand total equals about half of what I paid for one year of college. Where's the justice in that? At least I have daddy warbucks the history teacher to buy me my diamonds.

Yeah that's right, my milkshakes bring all the boys out to the yard.

Happy Monday.

"Out of my anus will flow orangutans"

2006-02-01T07:08:00.000-08:00

You read correctly.

After a particularly raucous car ride with some friends last night, we decided this is how "cha, and monkeys might fly out of my butt" (a la Wayne's World) might be interpreted if it were translated into another language. The language in question was Arabic, but hey- it could be French or Italian or anything else really.

Give us gold stars, we're a bunch of six year olds.

So last night was a wonderful opportunity to listen to dear old Dubs drone on and on, (and on) about nothing and everything in particular. Ah yes, the State of the Union Address. What a happy way to spend a Tuesday night.

The thing of it was, as I sat on my ratty old couch in my midget basement (so named because the ceiling is like 5'10"), I felt as though I were transported back in time to....

LAST YEAR.

I think Bushie just re-read the same speech he gave last year. State of our Union is strong, blahdy blahdy blah, we will get the terrorists (pronoused terrarrrists of course), blahdy blahdy, blah, oil is bad but we need it, yada yada yada.....bipartisanship has to stop (but the Republicans kick so much ass its like Chuck Norris is their god) and oh yeah, sorry about the war, it'll be over when its over.

The end.

So here are my thoughts. Y'know how alot of times when you go to church the preacher/pastor person tries to liven things up by telling a fun story at the beginning or putting the sermon to song or using puppets (no? hmmmm, maybe just my church then.) Anyway, I think maybe Dubya should use puppets, or sing a song.

He could have a little elephant and a donkey having a conversation. It could be a little play.

Donkey: So Harriet Meiers huh?
Elephant: Shut up.
Donkey: No seriously, what were you thinking?
Elephant: Um, she's a woman. Sandra's a woman...seemed like a fair trade.
Donkey: Except that it wasn't.
Elephant: So I noticed.
Donkey: And about the war. When's it gonna end? Folks at home need jobs.
Elephant: Have you even seen it over there recently? The Iraqis love us. We're like gods to them.
Donkey: Um, no you're not.
Elephant: Yes we are.
Donkey: No you're not.
Elephant: Your mom.
Donkey: Nice.
Elephant: So got any good candidates for '08?
Donkey: We're working on it. Dont you worry.
Elephant: Well, if by "working on it" you mean Hillary, you might want to work harder.
Donkey: What's wrong with Hillary?
Elephant: Um, EVERYTHING. Did you even see what she wore tonight?
Donkey: You have gay Republicans now?
Elephant: Ha, ha. Very funny.
Donkey: Seriously though, could we have any more corruption scandals, I mean, Tom Delay? Jack Abramoff? Really. It's embarrassing.
Elephant: Jim Traficant.
Donkey: That was years ago.
Elephant: Whatever, he was a lunatic. Beam me up Scottie!
Donkey: Bite me.
Elephant: So John Kerry's hair is looking very poofy lately, is he using a new conditioner?
Donkey: Elephant, its the State of the Union Address, try to stay on topic.
Elephant: Fine. Mid-term elections. We're going to kick your ass. (Get it, ass!)
Donkey: Not bloody likely.
Elephant: Nice retort. That all you got? At least we got a plan.
Donkey: Oh yeah, and what's that?
Elephant: "Fiscal conservatism is for sissies. Vote Republican."
Donkey: Wow, yeah I can see how that would really get the votes in.
Elephant: Whatever, it will. Got anything better?
Donkey: "Spend what your momma gave you: Say no to Social Security reform."
Elephant: A clear winner.
Donkey: I told ya.
Elephant: So who's going to win the SuperBowl?
Donkey: Really? This is what we're talking about?
Elephant: It's what the American people want! Give the people what they want!
Donkey: Fine. The Steelers will win because they're from Pittsburg and folks in Pittsburg are miners who are all members of unions and unions are democratic. The clear choice is for a more democratic win of the SuperBowl.
Elephant: You lost me.
Donkey: Shocking.

When we last left our hero....

2006-01-30T06:49:00.000-08:00

she was discussing the merits of anal leakage. This week's topic?

Barfing.

I hate it SO MUCH. Which is why I was completely pissed off when on Thursday night I found myself sitting in sweaty pj's on my bathroom floor, barfing my guts out.

My guts contained a Wendy's frosty- which was all I had been able to ingest all day.

Good times.

Lemme tell ya, a Wendy's frosty coming back up does NOT look nearly as appetizing as it does going down.

The flu sucks.

Thankfully, that was the low point. I type before you today a mostly healed haikuer.

Being sick has its advantages, but none of them involve Oprah, which is basically the only thing on when you're sick.
She's so focking irritating. I mean really, how much self-adoration can a person take before they choose to watch Judge Hatchett over an expose on avian bird flu which somehow happens to turn into a whole hour of Oprah talking about how much she rocks.

"Well I just think that avian bird flu has made me realize the sacredness of human life and the value of loving ourselves,.....blahdy blahdy blah..."

Of course, I did learn a ton from Dr. Phil. The man's a genius. Wife and husband fight all the time because wife spends $7,000 a month on shoes.

Dr. Phil says, "Shoe's ain't gonna make ya happy darlin'."....

Thank you Dr. Phil. My eyes have been opened. My soul is reawakened. My heart lifted....

shoes cannot make me happy.

He makes how much a year for telling people this stuff?

The merits of being sick pretty much involve the following things.

1. I did not have to go to work.
2. My husband waited on me hand and foot.
3. I slept alot, and wore jammies for like 4 solid days.
4. I lost 4.5 pounds. IN ONE WEEK.

Now, obviously, I would not advocate anyone becoming or making themselves sick to lose weight, but if you have to be home with a burning fever, listening to Oprah love on herself, eating nothing but toast and flat soda, it's a nice side effect. No doubt I'll be able to layer those bad boys back onto my rear and stomach before you can say "bacon double cheeseburger".

Now that I'm mostly well, I'm sitting here at work on this Monday morning, staring down the barrel of another work week, and its almost enough to make me miss my sweaty pj's and the bathmat beneath my feet....

The only consolation is that today dear friends is the day I give my notice. Only 25 more days of misery. New job here I come. Oprah be praised.

Anal Leakage isnt so bad...

2006-01-24T07:10:00.000-08:00

Prepare yourselves, I am about to go on a rampage. Why? I have been reading the newspaper. Dangerous stuff these days. Basically, it is one horrifyingly depressing story after another- Iraq, West Virginia, kids being abused, kids being shot, etc. etc. etc. Makes you want to cry. In fact, I am not ashamed to admit that it does make me cry.

But then, on the other hand, I am overwhelmed with a sense of embarrassment with what we as Americans consider newsworthy.

In the last three days, I have seen news articles on the following topics:
1. Skating with the Stars / American Idol / Survivor's Richard Hatch
2. Britney Spear/ Angelina Jolie / Jennifer Aniston etc.
3. JOEY BUTTAFUCO. No lie. (Reminds me of a funny episode of Newsradio where Andy Dick's character says "buttafuco" wrong on the radio broadcast and the station gets in trouble with the FCC, but anyway.)

And then, dear friends, found on the front page of the Washington Post's website this morning, is this amazing article discussing a brand new weight-loss drug.

Wake up America, you're fat. Get off your bubble butt and go for a walk.

The weight-loss drug, still needing approval from the FDA but supported by a panel of "experts", will allow patients to lose 5-10 percent of their body fat, as long as they up their activity level and eat better.

Um, news-FAHlash. I did that this summer without any pill. And, lucky for me, I avoided the lovely side-effects of this "miracle" drug. I simply closed my trap and went for a walk. VOILA- 15 lbs gone. Granted, Im still working on the other 15, but again, no side effects for me. The side effects of this pill include....

ANAL LEAKAGE people. ANAL LEAKAGE.

Oh, and "gastrointestinal issues" such as excessive flatulance and diarrhea.

Who cares if your skinny if you spend your whole life in the bathroom? Or worse, who wants to be the thin guy at the club who cant stop farting?

Ew, gross.

Not to mention that um, hi, there are more important things in this world to read about in the newspaper than a pill that may help you lose weight but will also make your tushy leak.
So while it's no shock to all you smart readers out there, I am beginning to get more than annoyed that the American media serves as the feeder (chubby chaser if you will) to all of us stupid Americans who want nothing more than a junk food diet for our bodies and our minds. People are dying all over the world, this week we commemorate 33 years of having the right to end the lives growing within our own bodies, and just this morning a little girl was shot at her daycare because another little boy brought a gun to school.

Of course, what could be more newsworthy than a diet pill that gives us gas? Simon Cowell be praised, we are the dumbest nation on earth.

Bronchitis blows.

2006-01-23T06:12:00.000-08:00

So I had a very boring weekend. Like, intensely boring. Our car died, and the husband has bronchitis, so I was basically a shut-in all weekend. I almost lost my mind. And I learned something. When I cant get out of my own house, I get really depressed. I was a crying fool this weekend. What's up with that?

I have no idea.

So let's see, highlights of the MOST BORING WEEKEND EVER.

1. Vacuumed under my bed, found an old pair of shoes I forgot I was missing. Threw shoes out.
2. Bought yarn on ebay- WOW. I am so old.
3. Did every piece of laundry in our house.
4. Baked a cake to fatten my ass in the name of "being nice to my husband who was sick and clearly needed chocolate." Yeah, whatever. Im a lying liar who lies on that one.
5. Yelled at the student loan people over the phone.

Allow me to interject a story about the student loan people. Morons if I ever met one. Since I owe more money from student loans than some third world countries owe the World Bank, I am very familiar with the process. They send you a bill, you pay the bill, one month later they send you another bill. Rinse repeat. It's not hard.

Of course, in my case, it is hard, because I am trying to consolidate the damn things. I should have known better. It would have been easier for me to be a Victoria's Secret underwear model than to convince these schmoes that I dont want to pay $1.5 billion in interest and still be writing student loan checks from my nursing home in Miami 50 years from now.

Anyhoo. Saturday afternoon I am lying in bed (MOST BORING WEEKEND EVER) and the phone rings. Please dear God I think, let it be someone with a car inviting me to do something fun. But alas, it was an automated voice on the other end of the phone, asking me to please hold because I require their assistance.

HUH?

You called me dumbass, wouldnt that make it YOU who needs MY assistance?

But whatever, there's a tiny part of me that thinks maybe I won the lottery that I didnt play, so I continue to hold like an idiot, bobbing my head to muzaked "You are Not Alone". (By the by, I wonder if they've translated that into Arabic now that he lives in Bahrain? hmmmm, food for thought.)

Finally, some woman picks up all flustered and whispers something. I say, "excuse me" and she whispers again. Getting tired of the charade, I say "I CANT HEAR YOU" and she repeats, "Is this SheWhoHaikus?".....yes, blah blah blah....

"Your account is back due and you currently owe $650.00 blah blah blah."

Um, no I dont.

I calmly state that I paid the last bill, which would mean that I owe them nothing, until the next bill is due (see standard procedure discussed above).

She claims I never paid.

Im thinking, if I never paid, how come my account is empty and Im sitting here in my house on a perfectly happy Saturday doing nothing?

So I get out of bed (grrr #1, I was almost asleep) and go to the computer, where Bank of America's website takes forever and one dayto load (grrr #2) , but when it does, and I look at the bill pay, it says indeed that I did pay (go me.) and that the bill had been sent 2 weeks ago and cleared my account.

BOOO YAH stupid student loan people.

So I tell the drone on the other end of the phone this and what does she say?

"You never paid"

Um, hi, I have confirmation from my bank. I repeat the information, give her exact amounts and say I can prove to her that I paid, to which she says....

"You never paid, but we'll look for it and see if we can find it, if we cant we'll call you back."

Yeah, you do that.

Morons.

And now you can understand how boring my weekend was since you had to sit through this intensely boring story.

In conclusion, I'd like to point out one thing.

If Meredith and McDreamy do not get back together, I will cry. I almost cried last night when he said "I'll just tell her it doesnt mean anything".

SO SAD. Oh my damn I love that show.

Ah, Wednesdays.

2006-01-18T16:41:00.000-08:00

Sometimes, I stalk people on the internet. Don't tell. My sister gave me the blog of some girl we grew up with and Ive become addicted. She's an ooooolllldddd friend from when we were kids and reading her blog makes me remember all of the crazy in its purest most unadulterated form.

Is it wrong to stalk over the internet? If it is, I dont want to be right.

This is why I keep my blog "anonymous". Cant find it by googling my name, which is always a plus.

I am so super secret.

So, ready for me to drop some knowledge on you? Here's what my boss said to me today. Now, I know most of you don't speak Crazy, but try to understand the deep deep meaning of her words.

Ready.

Prepare.

It's coming.

Here it is.

"Haikuer, dont be the elevator door, be the bridge."

HUH?

I just smiled and gave her the kind eyes, yknow the kind of eyes you give a total stranger who looks like they've had a bad day, or an animal at the zoo, the kind of eyes that say "I have no idea what else to do, so here....my kind eyes blinking placidly at you."

And then I thought to myself,

Lady, you so crazy.

I could write a whole book about my boss. In fact, my super secret co-worker who rules and I have already named it and are working on the chapters. Maybe Ive mentioned it? My soon-to-be bestseller I Cant Spell in Italics (which is something the crazy boss lady told me once) will be the definitive work on how to survive at work when your boss is INSANE.

Chapter 1: How to drink at work when no one is looking.
Chapter 2: Making it through the day: Sarcasm and you
Chapter 3: I know you are but what am I?
Chapter 4: Screaming on the Inside
Chapter 5: When crying doesn't work
Chapter 6: Finding something to laugh about, your bosses crazy shoes, the office temp and more
Chapter 7: Finding inner peace at the copy machine: The Tao of Double-Sided, Three-hole punched, stapled in the upper left hand corner
Chapter 8: Translating the crazy (glossary included)
Chapter 9: Finding a new job
Chapter 10: What to do when you realize your new job is just like your old one.

Ready, and smile. Another day is half over. Friday's just around the corner, and you can survive if you only breathe.

Or at least that's what I tell myself.

Not to be all anticlimactic but.....

2006-01-17T10:42:00.000-08:00

Life is going to stay basically the same. Sad day. I havent had time to update between catching the flu of death and running around all weekend, but that's the basic news. Don't you worry, your little haikuing friend is going nowhere.

That being said, here's a Tuesday Haiku.

Stupid work. How I hate
thee. You make me want to poke
my eyes out with tongs.

Ouch, that would hurt but
not as much as work does
Over the edge I am

Idiotic boss
Bereft of normality
Why torment me thus?

Tuesday. Today is
Not my day. I wish to go
back to my warm bed.

Today is the big day.

2006-01-10T08:17:00.000-08:00

Our whole life might change. Then again, it might not. We'll just have to wait until tomorrow to find out.

The numbers never saw this coming....

2006-01-09T06:57:00.000-08:00

The bubble has burst on my ill-fated TV crush. Oh yes, its true. When Im not lusting over Grey's Anatomy's "Dr. McDreamy"....the delightfully sexy and good-haired Patrick Dempsey, I've been known to swoon over LOST's Hotty McHotterton Naveen Andrews.

See picture here:

Now, to you he might not look like much, but for those of us who like the sad bastard, my life sucks because I used to be in the Iraqi national guard pulling people's finger nails out but before that I was a British soldier during world war II named Kip big-nosed guys....ooh baby.

Here's the problem. My love for a tv character tends to die when I find out he's a dink in real life.

Strike # 1 against Naveen: I found out his "long-time love" is Barbara Hershey. Barbara-I-havent-made-a-decent-movie-in-20-years-Hershey.

Here's your visual:

Yeah, she's so old her birthstone is lava. (Not mine, but isnt it funny?) She's been his sugar momma for years, ever since he stopped sniffing crack and started acting again. (Cue the sad bastard music.)

Strike #2: Apparently, Naveen and Ms. Havisham "were on a break" a while back and Naveen saw fit to impregnate some fertile young creature. He and Dino Hershey have since re-united.

Ew, gross.

He now states that he'll make proper arrangements for the care of the child. Sounds like he's talking about a dog he puts in a kennel while on holiday.

Lucky for me, LOST is rife with beautiful men running away from monsters and polar bears....next stop, Josh Holloway.

One last visual:

Yeah baby, yeah.

Home for the Holidays....oh what fun it is to ride....

2006-01-03T07:32:00.000-08:00

in a one-horsed open sleigh of insanity.

Before I delve into the magic that was my holiday break, please consider which punchline is funnier.

Yesterday the husband and I were out roaming northern Virginia in search of a new vaccuum cleaner. Ours died. I was in a particularly punchy mood having just endurred the after-holiday crowd at the Best Buy and as we drove by an Afghan restaurant. Never one to pass up an opportunity to be culturally insensitive, I look out the window and say "Afghan restaurants, where every meal tastes like yarn."....get it, Afghans are blankets....

I promptly become hysterical at my own joke.

(I know, it's not that funny, like I say, I was in a wacky mood.)

My husband starts laughing and after a while it comes out that he didnt think I said "yarn", he thought I said "Eyeore"....as in "where everything tastes like Eyeore..."......I didnt think that was funny at all, but he thought that was funnier than "yarn". So you be the judge. Which dumb punchline is better , Eyeore, or yarn?

Anywho.....my trip home was a trial for the will. Eleven people crammed into a house. Eleven people between the ages of 10 and 50 trying not to kill eachother and still have a Merry Christmas. It was something else. We stayed at the Super 8 down the street because there was no room at the house. Despite the name, the Super 8 was not Super. It should have been called the "It's Ok if you have no other choice but to stay here 8". The bed was just a box spring I swear and the floors were a weird color. I felt like the only thing the room was missing was a chalk outline....it could have featured prominently in any CSI: Miami episode.

Im getting off track though. I feel like when you return to your parents house as an adult there are three stages that you can go through. It's almost like you have to go through all the phases of childhood before you can adjust to act like the adult you are.

Here are the stages I went through.

1. Infant/toddler: Adjusting to a house full of noisy people is no fun. I am an introvert. I like peace and quiet. In reverting back to an infact/toddler like state, I threw mental temper tantrums the first few days I was there. They were something to behold. Full on yelling, screaming, and total reckless abandon of reason all within the confines of my inner monologue. More than one tantrum had to do with the fact that apparently, despite all being over 18, none of my brothers know how to put the seat down after they've used the toilet, and they love to pull that trick where they leave 1 square of tp on the roll so they don't have to change it.

2. Adolescent. I proceeded from infant/toddler stage to adopt the "I dont care" attitude. It works quite well if you can manage to relinquish control long enough not to care, but apparently I am incapable of that, so phase 2 was brief, lasting all of 5 minutes on December 26th.

3. Phase three, full on teenager. Again, all of this behavior was purely internal, but teenager stage was all about me exercising my independence. If I could have stayed out past curfew and made snotty remarks to my parents all the while making out with my boyfriend on the living room floor, I would have. Basically, everything my parents do drives me batty. Ok, that's an overstatement, but in case you havent noticed, I am an anal-retentive control freak, and I dont do well when I feel like people arent doing things "correctly". (I know, you're thinking to yourself, all the therapy in the world wont make this girl normal....trust me, you're not the first to think so.) My family does everything wacky. They prioritize oddly, they dont make the kids eat their vegetables, they leave the doors to the house unlocked at all times. So what did I do??

I ran away to Boston. True story. The husband and I packed up the minivan and drove ourselves to Beantown where we had a gloriously-family free day.

When I got back, I felt like I hadnt spent enough time with the clan and then felt sad when we had to leave.

What the flock is that all about? Five whole days of feeling like I was going to go stark raving lunatic mad, only to leave feeling like I hadnt spent enough time with anyone.

That my friends, is what a week of being with family does. It makes you crazy, and it leaves you wanting more. Of course, if you got any more you'd have to be institutionalized....but that's just the price of admission.

This just in.

2005-12-31T15:25:00.000-08:00

My mother receives Taste of Home cooking magazine, the very same magazine with the hideous ham stuffed with stuffing noted below.

Oh the humanity.

Stay tuned for more tales from Christmas vacation. I promise, they won't disappoint.

Need a laugh?

2005-12-21T07:24:00.000-08:00

I know I do, and since I've got nothing really of interest to share this week, you'll have to enjoy this website.

http://www.goingjesus.com/cavalcade1.shtml

It's so hilarious, I was laughing out loud and made my cubemate come look at it with me.

Happy Friday

2005-12-16T06:40:00.000-08:00

Words of wisdom from Happy Bunny. I love this guy.

Just when you think you've run out of things to blog about....

2005-12-15T06:41:00.000-08:00

the universe smiles on you and sends you something so ridiculous, you have to share it with all of humanity.

Think of it as a Christmas (er, holiday) gift from me to you.

This morning I arrived at work and did the menial tasks assigned to me, including check my mail box. Usually, my box is pathetically empty. It is mocked by those mailboxes around it that are brimming with holiday cheer from vendors and clients.

But not this morning bob.

Inside my mailbox was my very own holiday greeting from none other than the temp agency I used to work for. Oh joy! First off, I never liked temping for this place, it was like being the unpopular girl at a sorority event. I just got the shaft over and over and I always felt like they were talking about me behind my back.

Ah, how the tables have turned.

I opened the card, which was very schmancy for a temp agency holiday card, and inside it there was....

A photo of all of the office staff.

(Give us more you say, that's not wacky enough.)

Each member of the staff was wearing a fair isle sweater

(Still, not so ridiculous people do wear those and the Gap says they're stylish.)

All of the sweaters matched all of the other sweaters.

(You're getting warmer.)

In the middle of the picture, the sole male employee (also clad in the matching fair isle sweater) is wrapped in a garland and has snowflake ornaments hanging from said garland.

(You've won! You've hit the crazy nail on the head. That is truly the most ridiculous thing I've heard all day.)

Thank you thank you. You can thank the toolish employees at the agency. What the flock were they thinking?

They're all smiling oddly like the Hilton family minus the rat-like canines. They seem to actually think that all offices put their employees in matching outfits and take a "we are family" picture around one of the members of the staff dressed up like a Christmas tree.

Huh?

Next year, I think they should take it a step further. Each should choose which one of Santa's reindeer they want to be and then harness themselves to the president of the company who dress up like Santa. It could be good semi-S&M times.

Ham.

2005-12-14T06:09:00.000-08:00

This my friends, is a recipe found in a magazine called Taste of Home. I do not receive this magazine, and perhaps for good reason. This "recipe" is for a ham stuffed with you guessed it, stuffing.

Poor little ham.

For those who doubt, here is a link to the story about the dear woman who won the recipe contest and took home $500.00 for her delightful creation.

http://www.tasteofhome.com/2006/DJ06/mainFeature04.aspx

Someone paid her to invent a food item that looks like a football stuffed with barf. What is this world coming too?

I have a shadow.

2005-12-13T06:52:00.000-08:00

And its freakin' annoying.

I feel as though the stars are aligned to screw with me. Call me paranoid, but if you had had the year I've had, you'd feel like someone was out to get you too.

But, over the last couple of weeks Ive been able to survive at work by using the ever-relevant "I know you are but what am I" refrain and the often-abused "kiss my ass"retort. It works well, and as long as I dont say either out loud, I feel vindicated and am allowed to keep my sad bastard job. My boss, maniacal wackjob that she can be is making me CRAZY. By Friday afternoon I was so wound up with a combination of rage and confusion I nearly exploded, tiny bits of me covering the pathetically small cube that is my "office".

Despite all my rage, Im still just a rat in a cage.

But anyhow. My shadow is my most delightful office manager, the beign of my existence and nearly every other drone on this floor. I think she truly believes that her job is the most important one here, and perhaps that's what she needs to believe in order to sleep at night, otherwise she'd be cryin herself to sleep on her enormous pillow and the next day would be even more miserable for the peons as she exacted her unfulfilled life's rage on us.

You see, there seems to be an interesting dichotemy between the "senior" folk around here and the lowly worker bees. The worker bees are a group of sharp, over-educated, witty and generally capable individuals that operate a massive e-mail ring by which we all communicate our loathing for the seniors. The seniors, are clueless and would not survive without us.

Think Im making this up in order to sound self-important? Consider this vignette:

One of the assistants in the office was called into her boss's office to help the boss with a task. Apparently, the boss had lost a sandwhich in her office. The assistant's task. To find said sandwhich because it had been missing so long, it was beginning to stink up the office.

People- a) you LOST a sandwhich in your office. How messy does your office have to be for that to happen? b) It is NOT a college educated assistant's job to play "where's waldo" with your week old turkey pesto panini. I feel that somewhere in the employee handbook there should be a note that says,

"Any employee who loses any item of food in his or her office is responsible for the retrieval of said item. Assistant's precious time shall not be wasted on such search and rescue maneuvers."

Now, Im new here, so it's altogether possible that I know nothing, in fact, it's likely....but I here tell that it's been this way over here at XYZ Enterprises for many moons. And we wonder why office morale is low?

My shadow decided we should have an office potluck. Joy unspeakable. Of course no office potluck would be complete without a theme, so our theme is "Home for the Holidays" and we were instructed to bring foods that remind us of our own family holiday experiences.

Huh, I wonder if anyone will bring a 40 oz and a sawed-off shotgun. Or perhaps velveeta "nacho" cheese dip with stale tortilla chips. Or maybe a fifth of scotch and some mixed nuts.

More than likely we will have an over-abundance of store-bought items, cookies and chips surrounding one Martha Stewart-like item which some poor overachieving individual brings in an attempt to raise the bar on the office potluck. Yeah, good luck with that.

Merry Christmas everyone. Enjoy a lovely spread of Chips Ahoy!, Cheez-its, and shrimp diablo al forno made by Lisa in finance.

And we wonder why people go nuts at the holidays.

Oh the humanity.

2005-12-07T07:04:00.000-08:00

I'm sick. So sick in fact I have ceased to sound like myself and have taken on a bizarrely attractive voice that oscillates between deep and throaty and high pitched and cracked.
I have a runny nose, a sore throat, my eyes are all sickly looking and the only thing that keeps running through my mind is that episode of Friends where Monica doesn't want to admit she's sick so she tries to seduce Chandler with Vapo Rub.

I know I'm hot, but not when I sound like Darth Vader's bastard daughter.

My husband, since he's no use of course, has begun referring to me as Bea Arthur, y'know, Madge or Midge or whatever from the Golden Girls. Here's your visual:

She has this very deep masculine but somehow sexy voice. Sadly, I just have the low manish thing going on. Yesterday, I had to call a bunch of people for work and I swear I sounded like someone from the Transvestite Women's League...

"Hi, this is ShewhoHaiku's calling to let you know about xyz"....

I might as well have been saying,

"Hello, this is Leslie from the transvestite women's league. Mark your calendar's ladies, because at our next meeting we'll be having a seminar on how to remove unsightly facial hair."

It's scary.

To add insult to injury, I got this evil illness on my birthday, the 26th anniversary of my illustrious entrance into this world.

Which reminds me of a funny story. (Back to my life in a minute.)

So my husband was walking through Dupont Circle a month or two ago and caught the following conversation between two gentleman lovers.

Dude 1: Next week's my birthday ya know.
Dude 2: Yes, I know.
Dude 1: It's so amazing to think that 29 years ago this week my mother was walking around all pregnant with me....
Dude 2: Girl, yes, it's awesome isn't it?
Dude 1: She was all huge and bloated, and then one week later, that bitch popped this diva out. (He then spread his hands wide, made spirit fingers and did a little waltz.)

My husband nearly fell out he was laughing so hard.

That's why I love this city. Never a dull moment.

So back to me.....

Anyway, so Im sick, and I got sick on my birthday, so I had to cancel my plans with friends to go out to eat the most amazing dessert on God's green earth (That would be banana pudding from The Carlyle Grand restaurant, in case you were wondering.). Instead, I put on my flannel jammies and lay on the couch, sandwhiched between two felines, and watched Beauty Shop.

Two words.

Djimon Hounsou. Sister please, that man could nurse me back to health any day. The movie itself was almost entirely lacking in plot, but did I care? Heck no. Because my man Djimon just walked around in a tool belt in every frame, and I would have watched him change light bulbs for 2 hours. Didn't matter to me.

But I digress. Actually, this whole post is a little random. Still I ask you, who could bring Bea and Djimon together as I can? It must be the drugs people, that Sudafed is some scary stuff.

And now, a sick Haiku miniature. My brain's not functioning well enough to do a full on thing.

Sick Day Haiku

Tissues, kleenex, what
is the difference? Brand name?
Aloe, lotion, soothe

Headache, backache, wish
I were comatose. If so
I would dream Djimon.

He would nurse me back
to health so well, sexy voice
not scratchy like mine.

In case you were wondering....

2005-12-01T11:16:00.000-08:00

I am not obese.

However, I might as well be after the discussions of chocolate-covered pretzels yesterday and now what I am about to tell you today.....

NEWS F-AHLASH (a la Dakota Fanning in Uptown Girls)

I just enjoyed some funnel cake.

FUNNEL CAKE PEOPLE.

Melt in your mouth, batter fried goodness, bathed in powdered sugar.....

right here in the middle of the city.

I havent seen funnel cake in months, years maybe.

As my co-worker and I walked back to the office, there were people eyeing us enviously wondering where we had procured such deliciousness.

Truth is, we stumbled upon it while exploring the unfortunate "Holiday Bazaar" that was being held in the parking lot across from the office. By unfortunate I mean that they were selling huge velour Tweetie bird blankets that said "You're in Twouble", knockoff handbags, and a lovely assortment of carpet squares.

Good times.

We were about to give up all hope when we noticed an entire row of the bazaar dedicated to fried foods. Not to be thought of as un-American, we weighed our fried food options. Fish, potatoes, or funnel cake batter. What would we fry?

Trust me, the fish was out before we even considered our options. The funnel cake had me at powdered sugar.

Goodbye waistline, hello powdery lips. Today my mantra has become "Big is beautiful, and anything fried and topped with sugar kicks ass."

Haiku miniature:

Funnel cake

dough fried in oil clear
makes my heart skip beats and fear
arteries clogging

Nevermind that says
I, its funnel cake! So great!
Lips smack of delight.

I am losing my grip on reality....

2005-11-30T07:35:00.000-08:00

Say it ain't so, but it is.

So I made the chocolate covered pretzels. Minus the cauliflower and "special sauce" (is that like the Big Mac's special sauce?) of course.

They were a rousing success. So successful in fact I have decided to order a whole line of elastic waisted clothing from QVC. Luckily for me, they still had 180 sets in the aqua-marine left, so I should be receiving mine (+ 4.95 shipping and handling) withing 5 to 7 business days. This is fortuitous because at the rate Im going 5 to 7 days will be exactly the amount of time it will take me to outgrow my current wardrobe.

Anyhow, I brought them to the office today to share the wealth. Here's what happened.

1. My office manager ran down the hall screaming that I couldnt make her eat them.
2. Another woman in the office told me I was evil.
3. A gentleman in the office who rarely speaks told me he never eats anymore. (Buh?) And yet, he keeps showing up to work looking moderately well-nourished.

Apparently, I make people crazy. It's catching and in turn, my grip on reality has loosened to an impersonal handshake at best.

I have only one person to blame for this - my boss.

Ive decided she is totally certifiable. Thankfully she's the nice-ish ( to me) sort of nutso, but still....she makes me want to run away screaming.

Yesterday she got into a pissing contest with another senior person in our office and had it not been for my trusty co-worker who listens intently to all of these pissing contests, I would have never known that they were arguing about whether my boss is "condescending and unprofessional" as supposedly someone else had accused her of being.

I'll take "Things that are True" for $500 Alex.

You see, my boss is fairly universally hated by everyone else in the office, but for some unknown reason, she loves me.

Here are my guesses as to why.

1. I have to kiss her ass or Im out of a job.
2. I do all of her photocopying, filing, bill paying etc.
3. I am so darned cute and likable she cant help herself.
4. I am the only one that will put up with her talking in a baby voice to get what she wants.

All plausible, though 1 and 4 are the clear winners.

And so, in honor of hump day, a haiku for the boss who makes me want to rock in a corner.

You So Crazy

Sitting here today
I think of all the crazy
Ways you make me nuts

Baby voices, whine
Petulance becomes you not
Act like a grown up

Who does this? I mean
really. Baby voice? You think
I will respond well?

Think again. Each time
You tell me I am a "nice
lady" I revolt.

I plan my escape
to a place without nutty
bosses. Like Fiji.

Brad Pitt meets me there.
We lay in the sand, Jolie
nowhere to be found.

Ah, dreams get me through
the day of crazy. And you think
I love this job. HA!

What's to love? You are
INSANE. Make everyone
nuts with wackiness.

Someday soon I will
run away. And then who will
file your stuff? Not me.

I think in your head
You say "dance monkey dance!" well,
not for long sucker.

Soon, I will be gone
And then, your baby voice will
go unheard. So there.

I am not making this up.

2005-11-29T12:11:00.000-08:00

I found this recipe on the internet while looking for a Chocolate Covered Pretzel recipe:

CHOCOLATE COVERED PRETZELS

FOR PRETZELS:

Salt
Flour
Bread crust

FOR CHOCOLATE:
2 c. milk
Sugar
Cauliflower
Special syrup

Mix 2 cups milk around in a bowl, add sugar, cauliflower and special syrup. Cook on stove. Mix salt and flour with a wooden spoon, add bread crust, let rise. Spray pan. Put in oven, bake at 2 degrees. Dip and dry.

And to prove Im not making it up, the website: http://www.cooks.com/rec/doc/0,171,149186-227192,00.html

Looks like they have the internet over the asylum eh?

I key the cars that make the whole world sing....

2005-11-29T06:16:00.000-08:00

So says the lovely individual that was kind enough to adorn our car with a delightful phrase describing how he truly feels about us. It's as if Christmas came early this year. Come here a story about the miracle of the holidays.

Once upon a midnight clear, armed with trusty keys and a fearless heart, a giftbearer laden with gifts aplenty approached a little red Toyota. He trode lightly, so as not to wake the sleeping neighbors nearby. Quietly, steathily, he bestowed his gift upon the car. And to himself he thought, "I have done a good work tonight. I have brought holiday cheer to my fellow man."

But the gift was a secret. For neither neighbor nor owner noticed the giftbearer's gift. For days, perhaps weeks, it went unnoticed. And then, one magical night, as the little car's owners walked out of the store and to their car, the streetlight shone down upon it and low, the gift was revealed. A festivus miracle! The owners peered more closely at the hood of their car to make out the very important message of the season, that message that might bring hope and joy to little children, scampering field animals, and elderly neighbors. A message that might make the music swell and brighten the little cartoon image of their home, little blue birds chirping on the telephone wires, creating a scene fitting of any pre-Michael Eisner Disney movie.

Finally, the message etched in the top of the car's hood was visible. As the owners of the car began to read, they came to understand the true meaning of the giftbearer's writings. For written there, in scrawling script lay the poetic phrase...

Fuck U.

And the owners danced with joy, hearts warmed by the message of the season.

Or not. I tell you, what could be more welcoming to anyone as they settle into a neighborhood than the kind of fanfare we have so enjoyed over the last few weeks. First, there was the fireworks display, culminating in one poor man being shot in the back outside our home. Really makes you feel welcome when people are willing to shoot their fellow man just to let you know how much you mean to them. Then, when in our horrified state we did not understand the gift, but called the police to tell them about the fireworks and its victim, we were fingered by the cops to the "gentlemen" who shot at eachother, who in turn retaliated and decorated our perfectly good tires with their ice picks, poking delightfully whimsical holes in them. So symmetrical were they that Martha herself would have been proud.

Y'know, I was beginning to feel that this neighborhood wasnt very welcoming, that people didnt really think about making sure you felt part of the community, but after all of the lovely things that have happened recently, I can only hope to open my door one of these days to a flaming bag of dog poo and an inflatable Santa giving me the finger.

Now that would make me feel welcome.

A little like Manatee....

2005-11-23T07:32:00.000-08:00

Today's post is dedicated to a dear friend, we'll call him 10 Klacks. It's his gangsta name.

You see, a couple of years ago, after a birthday dinner for yours truly, some of us went for a walk and on that walk began to discuss what would have happened if the turkey had become our national bird. The hypothesis was that if indeed the noble creature that we now slaughter en masse for our Thanksgiving celebrations had become the national bird that we as Americans might find ourselves eating bald eagle for Thanksgiving dinner. Of course, hilarity ensued (of course? you're thinking to yourself, this has got to be the dumbest conversation I've ever had relayed to me...but I assure you, it was funny, and real funny too, not fake funny or According to Jim funny, real honest to goodness, Arrested Development, Two and a Half Men funny.)...back to the hilarity.

So anyway, 10 Klacks busts out with the idea of an endangered species buffet, and told a great joke in which one attendee of the buffets asks another what cheetah tastes like and the other attendee answers "hmmm, a little like manatee".

So now, on Thanksgiving and on my birthday, I think of that joke, and it makes me smile.

And now, a Thanksgiving Haiku...

Girl Eats All the Sweet Potatoes in the World

Orangey goodness
How I love thee, smothered in
pecans, syrup, mmmmm.

Marshmallows, walnuts
butter too. Yams, the other
name. Are they not same?

What does it matter?
SO tasty, with stuffing and
TURKEY. Pumpkin pie.

I sit, rotund with
feelings of gluttony spare
me weight gain please God!

Chocolate pecan
pie, pumpkin roll, apple pie
pretzel jello, OH!

We give thanks for a
year nearly over, how sweet
to be rid of it.

Sad times goodbye now.
Happier days to come hope
I, blessed days for all.

Eat till we puke how
American, wish loved ones
remain and hopes grow.

New life, more love more
pumpkin pie. Enjoy the feast
Wear turkey day pants.

Elastic waist, how
sexy. Make it easier
to eat much more pie.

And we wonder why the world makes fun of us....

2005-11-21T10:37:00.000-08:00

So you know how everyone makes fun of the French? Well folks, I think the joke might be on us soon. Two incidents this weekend have forced me to reconsider my American citizenship and think about heading north to the land of the cold friendly people.

First episode:

I went to see Pride and Prejudice this weekend with some friends. Yes, its a chick flick, but a darned good one, and well, to have a man say to me "you have bewitched me body and soul" would pretty much keep me in a constant state of "happy to keep you happy" nakedness. Yeah, as if that would happen...a girl can dream though right?

Anyway, getting back to my point, as we got up to leave the theatre, there were a couple of college-aged girls talking about the film and discussing its merits. One says to the other "Is the book as hard to understand?", to which the other replies "No, it's not as bad, it doesn't have as many big words."

BIG WORDS PEOPLE. She thought Pride and Prejudice was hard to understand. I grant you, it's no Austin Powers or Animal House, but it's also not Gosford Park or some other desperately difficult film to understand. (Mind you, I have no idea what the plot of Gosford Park was, I couldnt understand the accents to follow the dialogue, perhaps that makes me the dumb one.)

NOT TO MENTION that it's Jane Austen. Brilliant classic author, visionary, skilled storyteller....

If college educated American adults cannot understand the movie version of Pride and Prejudice, we are in serious trouble. SER-I-OUS.

Second episode:

Now the second episode is even more embarrassing than the first a) because it was on national television and b) because it only further demonstrates that not only do we fail to understand our own language, we cannot even speak it.

Over the weekend, in the Seattle suburb of Tacoma, Washington, a gun man opened fire in a shopping mall.

This, in it of itself, is a tragedy, and demonstrates that the moral fiber of the American public can now be likened to generic brand paper towels, you look at it wrong and its completely shredded.

BUT, what is not worse in my opinion, but indeed more embarrassing, is that when they interviewed survivors of the episode, people doing their shopping on a Sunday afternoon in rainy Tacoma, one woman interviewed said, and I quote:

"He was shot in the stomach, you know, in the adoman."

No, Im sorry, Ive never heard of an "adoman", is that serious? Life threatening? I mean, oh my heavens, I never even knew I had an adoman, and now someone's been shot in his and what if doctors can't repair it.

I believe the word she was looking for is ABDOMEN.

ABDOMEN, as in, the region between your rib cage and your pelvis.

Im not doctor people, but I know where my abdomen is, and I know how to spell it too.

And don't accuse me of being elitist. I don't think everyone should have to be highly educated, though I do think everyone is capable of it.

So this is what's wrong with America. It can be reduced simply down to spelling and reading comprehension...or at least movie viewing comprehension. Something that allows us to fill the space between our ears, no doubt called by many the "brane", with information that allows us the capacity to reason, to understand, to choose between right and wrong, and for heaven's sakes, to learn how to spell and speak the only language we ignorant Americans know.

Hmmmmm, if only I could find out about....

2005-11-18T06:11:00.000-08:00

Road construction of PA.

I wonder where I could find information about that. Think! Why can't I think of anywhere that would be able to give me some information about that. If only I was smarter, prettier, possessed a certain je ne c'est quoi...

If only...

Oh, and just so you know, my cube mate is looking for a place to take her 2 month old to have glamour shots done.

I spam you not.

And the icing on the low-fat cake of my day is.....

2005-11-17T16:48:00.000-08:00

I spilled a full cup on hot chocolate (that cost me $3.50) all over my desk. I might as well have thrown it because there were full on splatters all over the wall of my cube. I got hot chocolate IN my stapler. Ask me how that's possible.

I swear, had this day not been a total day from H-E-double hockey sticks I totally would have been over it in about 5 minutes. But, because of numerous previous events, I was torn between either a) hopping up on the desk and lapping the hot chocolate up off my desk with my tongue or b) going to the roof top employee lounge and hurling myself from the top of the building.

Luckily, the sound of my cubemate's breast pump lulled me into indecision and I ended up just cleaning it up and bitching about it the rest of the day.

Just when I thought I had nothing to laugh about....

2005-11-17T07:31:00.000-08:00

http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/recipe_views/views/105591

Alexandre Dumas

2005-11-15T13:25:00.000-08:00

"How is it that little children are so intelligent and men so stupid? It must be education that does it. " - Alexandre Dumas

So I have a story about a stupid man today. In honor of Shawshank Redemption where Tim Robbin's prisonmate calls Dumas "dumbass", I will protect the stupid and call my guy Dumas.

Oh, and just so you all know how smart I am, the quote above is really from the actual Alexandre Dumas.

So anyway, back to my story.

Dumas is one of the teachers I work with. He is unintelligent to say the least as exhibited by the following examples.

1. He did not bother to remember that he was owed a check from my organization for $450.00.
2. The reason he did not remember: he did not attend the class for which he was registered, and did not sign for his check.
3. He never called us or tried to find out why he never got paid.
4. When I took over this job, I tried to contact him about his failure to sign for his check so that I could send it to him.
5. He proceeds to in the same breath, thank me for telling him about the $, and then ask me why he was never reimbursed for parking or mileage.

BUH?

6. He never submitted receipts for said parking or mileage, and yet expected me to know all about it.
7. He swears up and down that he filled out an expense report. In the 6 months Ive been here, no teacher has ever filled out an expense report. I fill out all of them.
8. He proceeded to call and bitch, bitch and call, despite the fact that I told him "Sir, if I dont have receipts, I cannot pay you."
9. He assured me that a temp that worked here for 1 week was a long-standing employee of the company that I not he, work for. I never even knew this temp's name. We called him "British guy" because he was in fact, British.
10. He gave us the school address as his home address on his application. He was then upset when I sent the paperwork to the address he provided.
11. When I was told by Dumas that he had never received the paperwork (despite the fact that I mailed it more than 2 weeks ago), he suggested that rather than going to the office of his school to check to see if they had it, that I should resend it to him, this time to a totally different address - one which he had not provided previously.
12. He even attempted to blame me for his school's disorganization.
13. He then INFORMED me that he was going to come to the office to get my boss (my 72 year old boss who has been traveling non-stop for the funeral of her very close friend and a major conference) to load software on to his laptop. It is now NOVEMBER, the class ended in AUGUST.
14. When I told him that she was out of the office and that he would have to wait until after the holiday, he WENT ABOVE MY HEAD and called my 72 year old boss who has been traveling non-stop for the funeral of her very close friend and a major conference on her cell phone, despite knowing FULL WELL what I had told him about her whereabouts.
15. My boss of course, told me that he called. When I told her what I had told him, she told me to call him and tell him that I WAS RIGHT AND THAT HE WOULD HAVE TO WAIT.

OOOOOOOH-RAH. I did an end zone dance in my head that had cheerleaders joining me shaking their pom-poms and glittered behinds.

16. When I attempted to call him at his school, Dumas had not set up his personal voice mail, so I was unable to leave him a personal message. Instead, I had to leave one in the general mailbox where everyone and their mom could find out exactly how Dumas he is. (As if they dont already know.)

17. As the piece-de-resistance, I fax him the paperwork, wait for the confirmation, then put the cover sheet, confirmation sheet and a nice letter, along with the very important paperwork in an envelope and mail it to him. The nice letter basically said, "Listen Dumas, if you don't get your ass in gear, this will never work. I am not your mom, your babysitter, or your girlfriend. Clean up your own messes, fill out your paperwork, and make my life a little easier."

It felt SO good to write that.

18. Finally, Dumas attempts to fax me back the forms. Oh YAY! But, of course, because he is DUMAS, he tries to fax them to me at my PHONE NUMBER. I gave him the FAX number multiple times and wrote it on the fax cover sheet that I sent him.

But does he listen? NOOOOOOO.
So I have to call the school and tell them, "Uh, Dumas is trying to fax me something to my phone line. Could you get him to stop please?"

Tuesdays man. Always good for a laugh.

Things that I love and then some....

2005-11-10T10:24:00.000-08:00

So, it's been a while. Basically, here's what happened.

Finger surgery
shooting
tires slashed
family drama
friend drama
personal drama
medical drama
work drama

....not in that order, all in the span of 2 weeks.

Oh my damn people. We've been up to our ears in drama. It's been ridiculous. Book-a-whole-O.R.-for-one-little-finger drama. Replace-all-four-tires-because-some-idiot-slashed-them drama.

DRA-MA.

Which reminds me as an aside, how much do you hate those stupid Yoplait commercials where the girls are sucking down fat free yogurt like its crack-laced chocolate talking about how its "new boyfriend" good and "new car smell" good and "hocking a loogie" good...

Ok, so not that last one, that one's mine, but you know what I'm talking about.

That commercial is second only to the Mucinex commercial with the little talking ball of phlegm. Or maybe the one with the nail fungus that crawls up into your big toe through a trap-door like toenail.

EW GROSS people. We know how gross real toe fungus is, who needs cartoon fungus?

(If you have toe fungus, Im sorry. Im sure you're a very nice person, but Tinanctin that foot and talk to me when you're not fuzzy anymore.)

But enough about funguses. Here is my list of things I love, in no particular order. Im determined not to be such a downer anymore, so Im perking it up.

List O' Love

1. Grey's Anatomy. It's quickly replacing LOST (I know, Im going straight to TV hell) as my favorite show. Witty writing, Patrick Dempsey, what more could you want?

2. Chocolate. Any form, anywhere, on anything (except fungus infected toes)

3. Getting out of town and going on vacation. T-minus 13 days. No family, no friends, no pets, no people...except the hunk o' man meat I call my spouse. Dont come a knockin'....(Im kidding, you can stop making that face now.)

4. Friends ( I know, cheeeezzzeeeeeee...but well, hold me and sing a Stevie Wonder song.)

5. Butternut Squash soup. People, I tell you, it freakin rocks. I made it this week and it is so darned tasty, and good for the waistline too...Cooking Light. It's my cooking bible.

6. Boss out of town for three whole days. PAR-TAY.

7. Getting highlights in my hair. Im oh so sassy now, kind of like the fat nun from Sister Act...Kathy Naji something.

8. Sister coming to visit. A whole weekend of shopping, good food, and chick flicks. Oooo-rah.

9. A clean house. Not that I know what one looks like, but I can dream, can't I?

10. Diet Coke. I love it so much it hurts sometimes.

11. LOST. Loves it baby. Hobbity goodness, Party of Fiver, Kip from English Patient...it's like all of my favorite characters did a "Surreal Life" only this show is freakin great. I cant wait for Walt to come back and tell us where he's been. Probably playing with polar bears or something. Poor Shannon. Na na naa naa, naa naa naaaa naa....hey hey hey, buuubyyyeeee.

12. Cube mate gone for the day. No rap music, no crazy breast pump noises, just me thinking my own thoughts. Joy unspeakable.

13. Christmastime! Woo hoo. So close. I love buying Christmas gifts. It makes me so happy.

14. NEW JOB! It wont start for a while, but still. NEW JOB! More money, real job, real work, real stuff....no more being someone's secrebitch.

15. Paper clips.

16. Clothes that fit.

17. My shoe stretcher. It rules and no more owie toes.

18. Sleeping in, and not having to rush around to go anywhere.

19. Ray LaMontagne. Please buy his album. He's so excellent.

20. Blogging. I love the attention. It's so sick. It's like having a captive audience for all of my insane ramblings. Even if no one's reading this, I dream of an adoring public, people who think Im the next Dave Barry. As I write, my head swells.

Problem of Pain

2005-11-03T11:25:00.000-08:00

So, I've been reading the Problem of Pain by C.S. Lewis recently. It's one fantastic book, and has really opened up some things to me, not the least of which is the way people who believe in God somehow discount His pain when terrible things happen. Having experienced my own fair share of crap in my lifetime, it's made me think about who I believe God really is- and if He's one giant meanie, or if He actually does care.

(In case you haven't picked up on it yet, this morning's post is not really so silly...check back tomorrow when no doubt I'll be revisiting something childish.)

Because here's the thing. Alot of crap has happened lately. A-LOT. And for all of the family members of the 73,000 people who died in Pakistan from the earthquake, God doesn't seem so present. In fact, to them, it may feel like God is mocking their vulnerability.

Sitting in my little house that hasnt fallen to the ground, I feel much the same way. When I think about it, it seems so often like He's sitting up there torturing us with His omnipotence, letting us know exactly who is boss, and how there's no way we could make it on our own.

Lewis has this quote at the front of Problem of Pain, (forgive me I forget who by) that says in effect that Jesus suffered everything that He suffered so that when we suffer, we might know that He has felt what we feel.

Hmmmm. Interesting idea, and yet- I kind of feel like maybe that's not fair. It's like when I was little and my mom would bite us if we bit one of our siblings. ( I am not making this up, she really did it.) While we felt pain when we were bitten, we weren't necessarily injured in the same way because we saw it coming. We knew that we had bitten, and therefore, my mom was going to sit us down with the lecture about how biting hurts, and then bite us to prove it.

But the sibling who was just pounced on and bitten for no reason never saw it coming. Part of the sting of that biting was the fact that it was so unexpected, and from such a seemingly good source (unless you hated your siblings in which case they totally expected you to hurt them).

My point being that while I get (in my head) that Jesus felt everything we feel, that his pain on the cross, the rejection of those around him, alienation from his Father, he still knew when he came down here that he was going to have to do it. He knew that. He knew it wouldn't be all fun and games and he knew it would end badly. It had to. The story could not have gone on without an ending where His sacrifice was required.

When bad stuff happens to me or to my friends or loved-ones, very rarely does one of them say "I saw it coming, I knew it had to happen, I was expecting it."...No, it's like blunt force trauma to the temple....and you're knocked on your ass, cartoon birds chirping above your head, and all the sudden you're life blows.

All the sudden everything you thought you had gets ripped away. The loneliness becomes unbearable.

I'm not saying Im right, Im not even saying I'll feel this way tomorrow, but what I am saying, is that if I look at that from the perspective of someone who doesn't believe in God, has no relationship with Him and feels no allegiance to Him, it seems like a pretty crappy way to live.

And yet, we who believe dig in our nails and grip so hard our fingers cramp because we have to know that there's a reason. We have to think that one some level, we do know this God who cries, even when all around us screams that He is long gone, sitting high above us, mocking us in our pain, and allowing the world to crash down on us without any rescue.

I think today this God who cries is crying alot. I know if I was looking down at the earth I'd be crying. Heck, I cried with friends this morning over their loss, and I cry over my own losses with great regularity.

On this sad little planet on which we live, each day hoping for another despite the pain associated with the day we've been given, where is the assurance that the God we love is up there loving us back, crying with us, heart breaking with those who are so broken? I know it's there, I guess lately I've just been having trouble finding it. I've been too busy trying to stay upright, trying to hang on, trying to know that this too shall pass.

The question is then, is my faith relevant only when I am happy, or is it that my faith when I am happy is the skewed version in which God's omnipotence provides sunshine and light upon my world, preventing pain and anything bad? Perhaps, the truth is that my faith only becomes real when I experience pain and continue to believe.

I'm not sure.

Since my haiku was such a downer....

2005-11-02T14:30:00.000-08:00

Please visit this website for a laugh. My friend who rocks sent it to me and its freakin' hysterical:

http://www.amalah.com/photos/the_company_cookbook/index.html

Blogger's Block

2005-11-02T12:00:00.000-08:00

Smushed Mind

Smushed mind, full of thoughts
Cannot express them at all
Brain is stuck here now.

Writing haiku may
help me. Or it might make me
count all the day long.

Work is slow. Life is
stuck. Feeling inadequate
bad feeling it is.

Go nowhere job. I
muddle through each day allowed
no outlet for brain.

Brilliance abounds here
Egoist? Who me? Not me?
Simply feeling dumb.

Twenty-six is near
When will my life begin? Now?
Or later? not now.

Each night I think of
Things I could be doing but
each morning I work.

Adventure, lives far
away from here. I am stuck in
here and now. Stifling.

haiku girl finds small
comfort in ability
to haiku. Oh joy!

Perhaps some day I
will see my haiku bathroom
book on best sellers!

Highly unlikely. More
likely to photocopy
for entire lifetime.

Sitting here, cube all
cold and forlorn, I think this
is my Alamo.

To copy, to sit,
Perchance to dream of big life
far away from here.

More Cowbell.

2005-10-31T12:48:00.000-08:00

For anyone remotely interested, here's Patrick in all his glory. Story to follow.

First off, its not my fault the photo sucks. I blame the camera, which incidentally I dont know how to use very well, and therefore, I suppose, it could possibly be construed as my fault. Still, being perpetually right and all, I cannot possibly take responsibility, and so blame technology....

(Insert Technology Song also known as "Always and Forever" a la Napoleon Dynamite)

"Yes I love technology
But not as much as you, you see
But I still love technology
Always and forever "

Good times.

So my weekend kind of blew. Not that you asked or anything, but seriously, must all family functions be a gathering of insane people eating mediocre food? B and I felt like we were on an episode of Arrested Development, only there was no hot Jason Bateman to keep us company. (At this point, B would not doubt like me to point out that he does not fancy Jason Bateman, and never has, but at one point was in love with Justine Bateman, aka Mallory on Family Ties.)
Not to mention the fact that all of the conversation was so inane that at points I seriously wondered if I was high on painkillers and didn't know it. Like my morning vitamin had actually been crack or something.

Stranger things have been known to happen.

The title of today's post comes from one of the comments from last week, from who I dont know, but it reminded me of the great SNL skit (Im just full of pop culture references today aren't I?) where Will Farrel plays cowbell on that Blue Oyster Cult song, which I really like incidentally. It's really one of the funnier skits Will Farrell ever did with SNL. If you haven't seen it, march your little self over to google.com and try to find that bastard.

And now, wrapping up weekend business, I move on to today's rant (I really should put in a whole section for ranting).

Today, we had an all-staff staff meeting. Oh, it was good times. First off, we were promised candy. HA! Despite the fact that it is a) Halloween and b) a freakin staff meeting and c) we were promised it....there was NO candy at the staff meeting.

I know. I too was horrified.

Then, for approximately 90 minutes of my life I was forced to listen to people drone on about problems that could have easily been put in an email. I don't need to know that you need to update your version of Adobe Acrobate. I file that under "Things That Aren't My Problem". That file is HUUUUUUGE. What I do need to know is why we didn't get any candy, EVEN THOUGH WE WERE PROMISED IT.

When we got back upstairs after the meeting, there was much rumbling about the candy.

Well, we were instead offered Carrot Cake.

Sister please, I am not even trying to believe that carrot cake is an adequate replacement for Halloween Candy.

Carrots = vegetables, Halloween candy = sugar.

I already had enough rabbit food in my office to keep the entire cast of Watership Down fed, I didn't need more vegetables.

But that's what I got.

Next time they make me sit through 90 minutes of "who knows when the deadline for the proposal to keep this meeting to an 80 minute schedule, on a bi-weekly calendar, written in red, is due".....

they better give me some freakin' candy.

And now, your Halloween Haiku.

T.P. and Eggs

Candy corn, sugar
Delightful treats of sweetness
Fill my round belly.

Toilet paper, eggs
Better not touch my house hear?
Leave my lawn alone.

I pretend to pass
On sugary treats so small
but I cannot. Yum.

This year I'll go as
a fat girl dressed in clothes
too tight. Candy corn.

Chocolate, hersheys.
Kisses and corns and crunches
Oink oink feed me more.

Harriet, Sweet Harriet...

2005-10-27T11:54:00.000-07:00

Hard Hearted Harbinger of Haggis

Adios Harriet
Dont let the door hit you where
you know who split you.

So sad to see the
blowhards happy to see small
Miers go. Bad hair.

Perhaps that is what
the real reason was. Bad hair.
Edward Scissorhands?

Bush's friend leaves us
Who might follow? Idiot?
I know not. Smart one?

We'll see. Though if Bush
gets to choose, likely stupid
move. Where's Rovey now?

Chillin with Scooter.
Another dummy, same old
stuff. Democrats now!

Words I never thought
I'd utter. "Not them" party.
Not them works for me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ah, good haiku times. Y'know, with all that's wrong in this world, its good to know that haiku is never wrong. Words to live by.

For those interested, I carved my pumpkin last night and it became none other than Patrick. It looks pretty ok if I do say so myself, and when the candle is lit, little Patrick emerges from the orangey glow looking a little forlorn, but also a little happy to be free of the menacing sink sponge.

Which brings me to another point. No, not really, I just couldn't figure out a good segway. Someone at work stole my three hole punch. It's a travesty of the highest proportions, (do travesties have proportions?) and now that I am without a hole making implement, I am caused to wonder, where did it go?

Apparently, while I was out on sick leave last week, someone saw fit to pilfer it from me. In a never ending attempt to be nice and not go all Baby Stewie on them, I sent out a very nice little email making a joke about how someone must have taken it as part of a prank because I am the newest employee.

Here's what the email really said if you were reading between the lines.

"Dear irritating co-workers most of which haven't bothered to learn my name and still call me temp,

Listen chumps. It's not funny. I want my three hole punch back. It validates my pathetic sense of mission and gives me purpose in my directionless life. Taking my hole punch was just mean and if you don't give it back I'll steal all the money out of the "pay for your own coffee" cup in the kitchen and use it to by drugs, giving up my clean living lifestyle in a desperate attempt to gain acceptance and love from those around me.

Once high I will return to the office and take from every one of you your very favorite office supply item and then hold them ransom until you talk me down off the ledge with promises of rehab in some posh Arizona facility where no doubt I could meet many a Hollywood celebrity and remarry a rich and kept woman. In doing so, I could leave this cruddy job and become a lady of leisure, my new ambition in life.

Furthermore, your hatred of me communicated through the theft of my three hole punch only fuels the fire of my hatred for you. So there. Rubber and glue people. You are everything I aspire not to be you directionless clones. Corporate environments give me the creeps, this cube farm makes me want to scream , "Two feet bad, four feet good!".

Now give it back fockers, before I take some inspiration from my little red stapler toting friend and burn this place down.

Your newest team member,
Haiku-er."

How is it that someone named Scooter got to be anything more than a dump truck driver?

2005-10-26T10:08:00.000-07:00

I mean really. I don't get it. When the Washington Post refers to you by your nickname which you no doubt either got as a small child being toted around by a mother who refused to call you
"I. Lewis" or in college because you drank all the water in the fishtank and its contents including a small maimed fish named Scooter...you must have arrived. I mean really. If I ever got my name in the Post, (no doubt it would be either in the classified section because I was selling something or in the obituaries because I got run over by a garbage truck), no one would be refering to me as NAME NAME "Chocolate Chip Hips" LAST NAME blah blah blah....

Which leads me to think that Scooter must have really publicized the nickname. He must hate "I. Lewis" so much (can you Plame him? HAA HAA HAA, I kill me.) that he was like, "no, no, please call me Scooter" whenever he started a new job.

What's worse is that Karl Rove and Dick Cheney, and all those other fat guys over there at the Manse thought to hire a guy named Scooter. What was that conversation like?

"Uh guys, we have three candidates for chief ass kisser, a guy named William, a guy named Robert, and a guy named Scooter".... "Let's pick Scooter. That sounds original, and no other administration has had a guy named Scooter. " "Well, there was that guy in Reagan's administration named Ears, but he just cleaned the toilets."

"Scooter it is."

BUH?

Not to make this all about me or anything, but I have a totally normal (if slightly granny) name, and I have plugged away for years trying to get a good job working my tail off, interning, and generally working for a pittance just to try to better myself and my future. If I had only known that putting "Chocolate Chip Hips" (yes, that was my childhood nickname, please feel free to send donations to pay for therapy) LASTNAME on my resume would have gotten me the job, I would have done it years ago.

Not to mention that Scooter, idiot that he is, is now in a world of hurt playing scapegoat to the leaning towers of white man chub, Messrs Rove and Cheney. Should this whole thing go anywhere...like if he gets indicted and sent to jail (fat chance I know, but a girl can dream) he's going to be everyone's girlfriend because his name is Scooter.

Tell me, who in jail wouldn't want a girlfriend named Scooter? It's way better than Bob or Sam or any of the other regularly named people in there. Now might be a good time to switch back to I. Lewis, don't you think?

Tuesdays suck

2005-10-25T14:41:00.000-07:00

Original title I know. I must wow you with my amazing ability to define emotions in time and space. Try not to faint or anything.

So I'd like to offer a very random Tuesday post. I have a haiku for those of you who were worried and are too lazy to scroll down to find out. Also, I have a list of why this particular Tuesday sucks, and then I'd like to offer up an introduction to Patrick, seeing as one of the peanuts didnt know who is he.

Here goes.

Top 10 Reasons Why This Particular Tuesday Sucks

10. My shirt is ill-fitting and is bothering me. I keep having to tug at it.

9. It is raining ICY cold rain outside, and once again I have a) no umbrella and b) no raincoat.

8. I tried to remedy the raincoat situation and headed to a department store at lunch. Yeah, raincoats are hard to find. And when you do find them, you think to yourself either a) huh, I finally know where Grandma got hers b) my, my, I could show up to dear husband's office in that and some fishnets and give his co-workers something to talk about or c) how the hell is fur water-resistant? So I still have no raincoat. The search continues.

7. My breakfast was bad. And when you're consistently starving yourself in the name of elusive beauty as I am, a bad breakfast is tantamount to declaring war on Leichtenstein. It's just not fair, they have no defenses.

6. I had to get up at 6:30.

5. To go to the gynecologist. SEE, do you not understand why today sucks now! I mean really people, the hits keep on coming. Nothing like gettin' the good lovin' from your gyn at some ungodly hour before you've had even a moment to yourself.

4. I had to sit through a benefits meeting at work. ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ.

3. One of my jobs at work today is to arrange parking for people attending a class. Talk about a good use of a college degree. I almost blew my own mind I handled it so brilliantly.

2. I cannot listen to music at work not because Im not allowed, but because I have no speakers.

1. I didn't sleep well at all last night because I kept having the recurring nightmare that my cats were scratching my favorite chair. This is the dream I always have when I am stressed. As a result, I barely slept, and apparently, my subconscious is stressed out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Now for the Haiku. It's for a friend whose cats pee on her nightstand table.

Natasha and Big R

Peeing cats. thinking
to themselves, where can I whiz?
Upon the nightstand!

Oh yes! It is the
perfect place to urinate
Ah, sweetest release.

Empty bladder, stand
wet with smells so unpleasant
Welcome home 'Lyssa.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
And now a tutorial on who Patrick is.

I should have known that googling "spongebob" might have gotten me into "not safe at work" territory....so how do I begin.

Patrick is a character on a cartoon show called Spongebog Squarepants about a kitchen sponge of the same name who lives under the sea. He has all sorts of adventures with his friend, the starfish, Patrick. Patrick is not so very bright, and SBSP is well, guillable, so the two often create lots of kid friendly mayhem while annoying most adults with their insipid chatter. My husband is a big fan of course. I did say "most" adults.

Should you need an internet reference to help with your Patrick research, might I suggest the following:
http://www.nick.com/all_nick/movies/spongebob/

http://www.spongebobworld.com/

Your votes are needed!

2005-10-24T10:45:00.000-07:00

Here are the options for the pumpkin carving. Truthfully, Im leaning towards Patrick, but Im open to other thoughts. The penguins are great too, but the reference is a little obscure if you're not into mediocre animated movies. And of course Bart is a standard, but Maisy is awfully cute. Would that I had a thousand pumpkins to carve!

I'm back, aren't you excited?

2005-10-24T10:00:00.000-07:00

So it's been a while, and not without good reason. My life got all sad, and I've been working on dealing with my real life, which means my internet life (ie blogging) has taken a beating.

But hey, the important thing is that I'm back now right? Everyone can sit back and relax. I have not disappeared, and now I can regale you with all the exciting things I've done to sooth my pain over the last week.

The list is extensive, and sadly, includes alot of food. Apparently I have some sort of "food as happiness" problem. Could explain the lovely marshmellow shape my body's taken over the last few years....

Or, perhaps that's just my genes right? I mean, its so much easier to just blame your genetics on things like a marshmellow-shaped body or funky-shaped toes, or anything else we dont like about ourselves, but in reality- it's probably that I eat too much and consistently wear shoes that are too tight.

Here's the list:

The Things I've Done to Feel Better (Feel free to try them, some of them work.)

1. Scrub my tub. No seriously, it made me feel better. I think what it was really was the smell of amonia crippling my mind's ability to think, but I did get a clean tub out of it, so does it really matter why it helped?

2. Sleep.

3. Cook. I love to cook. I find it so relaxing, and since my dear gullable husband made me a deal when we got married that I would cook and he would do dishes, I get to have all of the fun without ever having to handle a nasty sponge.

4. Watch Gilmore Girls. By far, the best pick me up show out there...witty banter, plus Michel, my very favorite character. http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0874129/ He is SO not hot on the show, but OMD he's quite nice on his IMDB picture.

5. Make fun of my friends. Not away from their presence of course, but while we're all hanging out. For example, I made a great joke about meatballs and bridal showers this week that utilized both my historical knowledge of a good friend of mine, and gave me the ability to poke fun at her quirky Pennsylvania Amish country heritage. To repeat the joke would be of no use because really, it's only funny if you know her....but still, I was proud of it.

I also got in some really quippy stuff about Slim Jim's. I know, it doesn't sound funny, but really it was.

6. Make fun of my husband. Oh yes, it's so much fun, and when we can laugh together...not to get all sappy, but man...I was laughing so hard I couldn't talk. I of course got the "Bert look" from him... Here's a funny picture of Bert, that kind of captures the look Brad does when he's pretending to be irritated at me. It's eyebrows together, and then all pursed lips and funny eye thing....He likes to act like he doesnt think I'm funny, but then he'll invariably at least laugh at my dumb laugh (which is really more of an odd air through teeth sound)...and then we're laughing together. It's priceless.

7. People, I ate my weight in kettle corn. True story. We went out to a pumpkin farm yesterday to get a pumpkin and go apple picking. A wonderful event in it of itself, but then there was kettle corn. Not the lame kind you buy at the grocery store, but the real kind. The kind that fakes you into thinking its just popcorn so it must be healthy, and then shoots your arteries full of sugar and salt and so much butter you glisten. Man, it was heaven. And, lucky for me, Brad doesn't like kettle corn...so I got it all to myself.

8. Aforementioned pumpkin patch. We do this every year. It's kind of a thing with us. We leave DC and travel some ungodly distance to find "the country" and pick a pumpkin and then drive all the way back, and put it on our step. This year, we wound up with three pumpkins. One we'll leave in tact, and the other two will get carved. Brad always does the standard jack o' lantern, but last year I managed to carve Nemo out of my pumpkin, and this year Im determined to do something equally innovative. Feel free to offer suggestions.

9. Hot apple cider. I had some for the first time in my life this weekend, and it was A-mazing.

10. More food in no particular order (it's sad I know, but grief makes you hungry): homemade apple pie, freshly baked chocolate chip cookies from the farmer's market, roast chicken, South African white wine, Canadian oreos (yes, there's a difference), fresh mozarella.

See, now you're all caught up on me. Since this is supposed to be a haiku blog, and so far there isnt one, I'll try to think up a topic and include one later. Believe it or not, I have to go work now. Fascists.

2005-10-17T10:18:00.000-07:00

FUCK.

Please visit this blog

2005-10-14T10:09:00.000-07:00

So I have a friend who has a co-worker. For weeks and months we have been regaled with the tales of "Overshare". Overshare has a real name, but it cant be said, because well, it would just be too embarrassing for this poor girl's life to go public like that.

Here's the blog.

http://amazingovershare.blogspot.com

You will not believe it, but I swear it is true. This girl is a TMI machine. She says stuff at work most of us wouldn't say to our closest friends. And what's worse, she has NO IDEA that she's as inappropriate as she is.

But oh my damn people, she's waaaaaaay over the top.

Personally, I live for a new Overshare story, and hope that each week when I see my friend she will have new fodder. For now, may I offer up an Overshare haiku.

Oversharing Her Heart Out

Poor girl, so unsure
Of what to say at work, she has
to keep it quiet.

It's so sad, yet fun
To hear the stories of her
Errors. I giggle.

Oh its true. Sharer
Tells all of escapades with
strangers. Friend afraid.

What comes next? What will
She say that could be worse? Dont
ask. She'll tell you more.

Officemates scared. Boss runs
Overshare continues to
share too much. Discharge?

Ewww gross. I wonder
Does she think its bad to tell
so much? Perhaps not.

She seems to like it
When everyone makes face
like they have gas. OH!

The horror, the tales.
The adventures of this girl
Are funny. Not lies.

Ah, the distraction of writing haiku

2005-10-13T07:56:00.000-07:00

Yknow how when life sucks all you really want is a giant bowl of Moose Mix, a large cocktail and some good chick flicks circa 1985? No? Hmm, you should try it. Moose Mix is damn good stuff.
Anyhow, today is one of those days. Im home sick from work, the doctor's office is giving me the run around, and my stupid pair of cats wont leave me alone long enough to use the bathroom. I kid you not. The stupid cat hops right up on the bowl as soon as I stand up, begging for a q-tip. You heard it here first, my freak cat loves q-tips. They're like some strange kitty crack. He pulls the fuzz off the ends and then tears around the house with the skinny part in his teeth, growling like he's an extra on Wild America. (BTW- where did Marty Stouffer go anyway? I bet you anything he works in some basement office at PBS muttering about the "good old days" when he was a star. Do you think he dresses in drag? Something tells me he does).

ANYHOW....

In honor of a sucky day with no moose mix in sight (the size of my ass thanks me for that, moose mix is lethal that way) a haiku about sucking days.

Ode to the Sucking Day

Sucking day. Raining, cold
Stupid cats running amuck
Need a good chick flick.

None to be seen here.
No Eric Stolz, no Rob Lowe
Not even Judd Nelson

Food looks gross to me
Sleep eludes me. Oh its true.
Not want to shower.

Tony Danza Show?
Who the flock came up with that?
Very dumb idea.

What is worse? MARTHA
Stewart man. Shoulda kept her
locked up. Wreaths of twigs?

She wouldn't know a
good time if it bit her big
bum. Remove stick please!

Price is Right? No thanks.
Public Television? UH,
rather poke eye out.

Sucky day, wishing
For good tv, and moose mix
That's the life for me.

Spam

2005-10-12T13:49:00.000-07:00

Spam, like ham sucks
Takes up space, faking comments
you I do not like.

How in one tiny
nanosecond did you find
me? WOW. You rule.

NOT. Actually
You kind of suck. (see a theme!)
Stop spamming me now.

How is it that she has time to Haiku?

2005-10-12T13:24:00.000-07:00

Good question. And I'll tell you because really, its no big secret.

I am underemployed.

The horror. It's true though. Sadly, I am a girl with too many degrees in a teeny tiny field. As such, I work as a girl friday to a very old lady mathematician. People, I could not make this up if I wanted to.

Today's jobs, in no specific order have included:

Washing apples (sounds dirty doesn't it, but its not)
making transparencies
attending a congratulations and birthday office celebration. (never have I wished to be nearer to David Brent)
talking to random teachers on the phone about their math programs
making food trays for teachers attending a class

See, it's not hard. In fact, that only took about 25 minutes. OUT OF AN 8 HOUR DAY. I tell you people, its a wonder I dont blog more. I mean, really, how is it that I havent written a freakin' opus by now.

It's a question for the ages.

A Haiku for a Friend

2005-10-12T12:19:00.000-07:00

So here's one I wrote today. It's for my friend who has an ex-husband who sucks. Really, he sucks. So I wrote her a haiku to cheer her up.

Thomas, tiny shit, >
I could not give about you.>
You make me so ill.>

>Stupid voicemail spell>
everything out. I know>
you're slow. it happens.>

>Ridiculous is>
what you are. Wonky bastard.>
Your wife is fat. YUP.>

>So sue me. One fat
>girl calling another fat.>
I dont care. Its true.>

>And you, stupid chef of>
your own. Food matters? What the?>
Idiotic name.>

>Fluff brains. Balls of steel.>
I hope they drag on the ground>
And make sparks.Ouchy.