February 28, 2006
Land of Losers
Yesterday morning the Dunking Donuts drive-thru guy hit on me. Fabulous. Time to switch my special-morning-treat routine... the coffee at Muddy Cup is better anyway.
I now get to add to my trophy case the title of Queen of the Totally Inappropriate Suitors in addition to my reigning title, Queen of the Nerds (ask my high school friends about that one).
I now get to add to my trophy case the title of Queen of the Totally Inappropriate Suitors in addition to my reigning title, Queen of the Nerds (ask my high school friends about that one).
February 27, 2006
QOTD 2/27/06
Power always thinks it has a great soul and vast views
beyond the comprehension of the weak; and that it is
doing God's service when it is violating all his laws.
--John Adams, 2nd US president
A woman is handicapped by her sex, and handicaps society,
either by slavishly copying the pattern of man's advance
in the professions, or by refusing to compete with man at
all.
--Betty Friedan, Feminist, author
beyond the comprehension of the weak; and that it is
doing God's service when it is violating all his laws.
--John Adams, 2nd US president
A woman is handicapped by her sex, and handicaps society,
either by slavishly copying the pattern of man's advance
in the professions, or by refusing to compete with man at
all.
--Betty Friedan, Feminist, author
February 24, 2006
February 21, 2006
Better Than Chocolate
Quite often I believe that the perfect cup of French Vanilla coffee is better than sex (from what I remember). And chocolate. No contest.
February 19, 2006
Bubble Girl
Here's my little tidbit for the day -
It's been mentioned recently that I have personal space issues. I guess I never realized that I may have a little bit more of an issue with others invading my "bubble" than most of my fellow Americans, but it's been made clear that I do. Let me make my personal space issues clear and irrefutable right here, right now:
[I am pointedly referencing this to the creepy grad students at work who lean over my desk, one or two specific coworkers from the past and present, disgusting drunk men at bars, the creepy ice patrol guy who totally ended my wonderful re-enactment of my childhood ice skating adventures yesterday, and every shmuck who's ever tried to grab my ass/boob/arm/leg while waitressing... to name a few.]
You are not allowed in my bubble without an explicit invitation. That's it. That's the rule, period. There are no exceptions to this rule. You've either been invited in or you haven't. It's like a vampire entering a mortal's house. If it is unclear as to whether or not you've been invited - maybe it's murky, maybe you're reading signals that you don't recognize, whatever - then you have not been invited in. End of story.
I also have the right to rescind said invitation whenever and however I feel like it. I'm sorry if this seems cruel and unusual to you, but it's just the way it is. You'll have to find someone else to grope if you find my rule so grievously offensive.
So there it is. I hope this helps all of you navigate the waters of your relationship with me (whether real or imaginary) with safety and enjoyment.
It's been mentioned recently that I have personal space issues. I guess I never realized that I may have a little bit more of an issue with others invading my "bubble" than most of my fellow Americans, but it's been made clear that I do. Let me make my personal space issues clear and irrefutable right here, right now:
[I am pointedly referencing this to the creepy grad students at work who lean over my desk, one or two specific coworkers from the past and present, disgusting drunk men at bars, the creepy ice patrol guy who totally ended my wonderful re-enactment of my childhood ice skating adventures yesterday, and every shmuck who's ever tried to grab my ass/boob/arm/leg while waitressing... to name a few.]
You are not allowed in my bubble without an explicit invitation. That's it. That's the rule, period. There are no exceptions to this rule. You've either been invited in or you haven't. It's like a vampire entering a mortal's house. If it is unclear as to whether or not you've been invited - maybe it's murky, maybe you're reading signals that you don't recognize, whatever - then you have not been invited in. End of story.
I also have the right to rescind said invitation whenever and however I feel like it. I'm sorry if this seems cruel and unusual to you, but it's just the way it is. You'll have to find someone else to grope if you find my rule so grievously offensive.
So there it is. I hope this helps all of you navigate the waters of your relationship with me (whether real or imaginary) with safety and enjoyment.
February 17, 2006
Top 10 List of Things That Make Me Want To Quit My Job
In no particular order:
1. Don't ask me if I'm the bursar's office. If I were, in my greeting I would say, "this is the bursar's office" not "this is the student solution center".
2. Don't call to argue with me about your late fee and how you 'plan' to pay your bill. Your bill was due 2 months ago - you DESERVE a late fee.
3. Loud coworkers who say stupid, ignorant things on a regular basis.
4. Snotty, bratty 20 year old undergraduates
5. Snotty, bratty 45 year old graduate students
6. Parents who intterupt and ask me if I'm a work-study student while I am patiently explaining to them how federal student aid regulations work.
7. People who ask "how are you" on the phone. They don't REALLY care, and never wait for a response. Don't bother, just ask your damn question so we can end this conversation.
8. Parents/students who calll and give me a first and last name, expecting me to instantaneously remember her/him out of the 3,500 people who attend the college.
9. Anyone who calls and says, "hi, who is this?" That REALLY pisses me off. Who the fuck are YOU, and what do you want? You're calling me, buddy.
10. Self-involved, bloated college professors who expect me to fill out ALL of their paperwork for them because they're too busy to do 'menial' tasks like inputting the correct grades for their students.
1. Don't ask me if I'm the bursar's office. If I were, in my greeting I would say, "this is the bursar's office" not "this is the student solution center".
2. Don't call to argue with me about your late fee and how you 'plan' to pay your bill. Your bill was due 2 months ago - you DESERVE a late fee.
3. Loud coworkers who say stupid, ignorant things on a regular basis.
4. Snotty, bratty 20 year old undergraduates
5. Snotty, bratty 45 year old graduate students
6. Parents who intterupt and ask me if I'm a work-study student while I am patiently explaining to them how federal student aid regulations work.
7. People who ask "how are you" on the phone. They don't REALLY care, and never wait for a response. Don't bother, just ask your damn question so we can end this conversation.
8. Parents/students who calll and give me a first and last name, expecting me to instantaneously remember her/him out of the 3,500 people who attend the college.
9. Anyone who calls and says, "hi, who is this?" That REALLY pisses me off. Who the fuck are YOU, and what do you want? You're calling me, buddy.
10. Self-involved, bloated college professors who expect me to fill out ALL of their paperwork for them because they're too busy to do 'menial' tasks like inputting the correct grades for their students.
February 16, 2006
Taking Over One Plush Toy At A Time
To steal a phrase from this guy (whom I found hysterical in college, but now that he's sold out totally sucks ass, so don't ask why I just linked him), here's something I was "ruminating" on today...
I get emails from Victoria's Secret on a relatively regular basis. This is because I frequently purchase underwear from them online. If there's one thing that's easy to shop for via the internet, it's panties. Let's face it - the more you have, the less frequent your trips to the washing machine become. They're a pretty universal garment... I mean, a large is a large is a large. And you always need more. I'm not really worried about how they're going to look ON - if the rhinestone phrase "Rockstar" looks cute in the picture, it'll probably look about the same plastered across my ass. And (usually) I'm wearing pants anyway.
[Full disclosure: I do not own ANY garment with the word "Rockstar" emblazoned across it - rhinestone or otherwise].
Anyway, Victoria's Secret likes to send me email fliers about their latest promotions. This week's promotion states, "Free PINK mini dog with any PINK purchase." And it shows a picture of the 'mini dog'. The 'mini dog' is a pink and white polka-dot stuffed dog... wearing a t-shirt. It's not even soft and fuzzy - it's made out of some burlap-like material. So, basically, what they're telling me is that if I buy a $35 bra, I get a stuffed dog that's about the size of a nerf football, for free. That's great. It's fan-fucking-tastic. What the fuck am I going to do with a stuffed dog? For real. What part of my life is this useless piece of crap going to enhance, and how does this particular promotion inspire me to part with my hard-earned money? I'm buying your stupid underwear anyway. You know what would be a better promotion? I buy the bra, you DON'T send me the dog, and instead donate the $1 it cost to produce the damn thing to a battered women's shelter. I know this is America - land of the free, home of the telemarketer (wait, I'm sorry - we outsourced them all and fired the Americans) - but don't we have ENOUGH USELESS CRAP? Does the marketing company for Victoria's Secret really think that this is the way to increase sales?
[Full disclosure #2: I actually was given a stuffed dog with purchase once before. I gave it to my cat as a chew toy.]
I get emails from Victoria's Secret on a relatively regular basis. This is because I frequently purchase underwear from them online. If there's one thing that's easy to shop for via the internet, it's panties. Let's face it - the more you have, the less frequent your trips to the washing machine become. They're a pretty universal garment... I mean, a large is a large is a large. And you always need more. I'm not really worried about how they're going to look ON - if the rhinestone phrase "Rockstar" looks cute in the picture, it'll probably look about the same plastered across my ass. And (usually) I'm wearing pants anyway.
[Full disclosure: I do not own ANY garment with the word "Rockstar" emblazoned across it - rhinestone or otherwise].
Anyway, Victoria's Secret likes to send me email fliers about their latest promotions. This week's promotion states, "Free PINK mini dog with any PINK purchase." And it shows a picture of the 'mini dog'. The 'mini dog' is a pink and white polka-dot stuffed dog... wearing a t-shirt. It's not even soft and fuzzy - it's made out of some burlap-like material. So, basically, what they're telling me is that if I buy a $35 bra, I get a stuffed dog that's about the size of a nerf football, for free. That's great. It's fan-fucking-tastic. What the fuck am I going to do with a stuffed dog? For real. What part of my life is this useless piece of crap going to enhance, and how does this particular promotion inspire me to part with my hard-earned money? I'm buying your stupid underwear anyway. You know what would be a better promotion? I buy the bra, you DON'T send me the dog, and instead donate the $1 it cost to produce the damn thing to a battered women's shelter. I know this is America - land of the free, home of the telemarketer (wait, I'm sorry - we outsourced them all and fired the Americans) - but don't we have ENOUGH USELESS CRAP? Does the marketing company for Victoria's Secret really think that this is the way to increase sales?
[Full disclosure #2: I actually was given a stuffed dog with purchase once before. I gave it to my cat as a chew toy.]
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