I hold an irrational hatred of the Chevy HHR and the Chrysler PT Cruiser. The fact of the hate is certainly rational: those are two hideous eyesores of cars. However, the degree of hate may be a bit much. When I see these cars, I am so very tempted to leave a note. "You have an ugly ass car and it is contributing to the aesthetic downfall of the city. Your kids are embarrassed."
Two years ago, when I was only exposed to only one or two of these monstrosities a month, the feelings were not be so extreme. I'd see a PT Cruiser (I didn't have the misfortune of seeing an HHR until last year,) shake my head, and go on my way. Unfortunately, I live in a neighborhood with several of each car. One of them belongs to my boss.
The HHR is an embodiment of the worst qualities of my boss and her family. There are definite Napoleon issues. In my boss, this is manifested in her theatrical insistence that people won't take her seriously, and an accompanying dismissal of personal responsibility for this. In her husband, it's an overly macho attitude, a Porsche, and a partially unbuttoned shirt which reveals gold chains and a hairy chest. (No, he's not Italian.) They pride themselves on their collection of overpriced art and wine. Loudly. The HHR does get one noticed, which they seem to desperately want.
Should a state, local, or the federal government ever wish to institute a d-bag tax, below is a list of suggested signals that a person should be subject to the tax.
-has worn a tunic with tights past the age of 11
-has ever worn UGGs with shorts
-for males, has worn a short sleeved, button-down shirt with more than 2 buttons unbuttoned. (The wearing of a short-sleeved, button-down dress shirt with 2 or fewer buttons unbuttoned when not required to wear said shirt for work makes a person a dork, but otherwise imparts no character flaw.)
-has appeared on more than one reality show
-dislikes dogs
-praises crappy modern art such as http://www.fpaa.org/WhatsNew_Lichtenstein.html
-ownership of an HHR, PT Cruiser*, or Hummer
*An exception applies if the owner is over 70 years old, and their response to the question of why they purchased the PT Cruiser is, "Oh, it's just so darned quaint."
Monday, June 21, 2010
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
One sentence; two meanings
I write this post in an attempt to illustrate depression. This is just one example of how someone with depression might look at things differently than others. I say "might" for two reasons: one, I am not every depression sufferer, and don't pretend to know what we all feel like or that we are all the same. Two, being someone with depression, I don't have personal experience being a non-sufferer, though on good days, properly medicated days, I think I come closer to thinking normally.
Today, I turn 30. Many people approach this birthday with trepidation and the thought, "Man, 30. I've lived a third of my life."* This was my thought several days ago. The normal person might be a little down on themselves, wanting to have achieved more by this point in their lives - at least have an idea of what they want to do with their lives. Perhaps this person is anxious that there's only so much time left to buy a house, have kids, buy a bigger house to house those kids, save money for college for the kids, get the kids out of the house, achieve some professional goal, and save money to retire. Unless you're one of those blessed few who knows what they want to do, earned their millions, and bought their island by now, in which case, fuck you, collar-popping turdburger I am so happy for you.
For me on that day, a day which had been preceded by about two weeks of not taking meds, the idea that a third of my life was over was relieving. Very much the same way it's relieving when you are exercising and not digging it and you look at the clock and say, okay I only need to do what I've just done two more times. Depression makes life feel like an unpleasant workout: it's exhausting, headache-inducing, and you just want to get it over with already. So on that day, and to a lesser degree today, I'm pretty at peace with getting older. Weird that depression is helping me cope with what can be a stressful time.
*Some people call everything between 20 and 35 the quarter-life crisis, but let's be honest: do we really expect to live past about 95? The quarter-life crisis ends by 24, though the crisis feeling may continue for many years.
Today, I turn 30. Many people approach this birthday with trepidation and the thought, "Man, 30. I've lived a third of my life."* This was my thought several days ago. The normal person might be a little down on themselves, wanting to have achieved more by this point in their lives - at least have an idea of what they want to do with their lives. Perhaps this person is anxious that there's only so much time left to buy a house, have kids, buy a bigger house to house those kids, save money for college for the kids, get the kids out of the house, achieve some professional goal, and save money to retire. Unless you're one of those blessed few who knows what they want to do, earned their millions, and bought their island by now, in which case,
For me on that day, a day which had been preceded by about two weeks of not taking meds, the idea that a third of my life was over was relieving. Very much the same way it's relieving when you are exercising and not digging it and you look at the clock and say, okay I only need to do what I've just done two more times. Depression makes life feel like an unpleasant workout: it's exhausting, headache-inducing, and you just want to get it over with already. So on that day, and to a lesser degree today, I'm pretty at peace with getting older. Weird that depression is helping me cope with what can be a stressful time.
*Some people call everything between 20 and 35 the quarter-life crisis, but let's be honest: do we really expect to live past about 95? The quarter-life crisis ends by 24, though the crisis feeling may continue for many years.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Lord knows this isn't my thing
In mid-December 2008, I lost my job. Shortly thereafter, I started this blog. Yes, ANOTHER recession story blog, though, I hoped, a little more fun since I hated my old job. (Illustration: The last time I cried about losing that job was within 24 hours of losing it, and I am absolutely a crier. Unless I need to - like if I get pulled over. Then the tears will not come, but back to... whatever my point is.) I also thought this blog would be a nice chronicle of my job search, which would naturally lead to at least a tolerable position for more money than I was making at my old job after a couple of months of searching, which would give me time to unwind and improve myself. A healthy mixing of clever posts about new product and store finds, adventures with my dog, the funny habits of my now-husband, and coping with depression would appear.
This blog would continue through my new job until I'd raised the money to establish a bed & breakfast. My B&B would provide more fodder for posts, and I would welcome guests to post to the B&B's blog as well. And there I's be: early 30s, owning my own business with enough revenue from website ads and my business that I could pay off my school loans, contribute evenly to the household income, and save up to support our one biological and various adopted future children. Those who'd followed my blog from the beginning would come visit the B&B just to meet "that quirky lady." It'd be lots of work, but I'd love the physicality of it, the challenge of heading a small business, and helping guests get the most from their visits. And then reality hit. And Michael Scott called asking for his shtick back.
So it's now 15 months and 2 weeks-ish since I lost my old job. I've found some part-time work, but I am making a small fraction of what I used to, and I'm not a step closer to my B&B. I don't enjoy what I do or the organization for which I work. And clearly, I've lost track of this blog. I've lost a little weight, but I feel that I've been in a state of hibernation for over a year, not making any substantial progress toward the me I'd like to eventually be. Most of this is my own fault, which I'll touch upon in future postings, but for now, I am just making one more step back toward doing something constructive. No guarantees that postings will as regular as I'd like: follow-through is not my forte. I'm still finalizing the craft project that was to serve as part of my Valentine's Day present to my husband. And I've had a wedding present in-hand since December for a couple who married in July, but have yet to mail it. I could probably do a daily feature of stand-still projects. But THIS post I finished in one sitting, so WHEE!
This blog would continue through my new job until I'd raised the money to establish a bed & breakfast. My B&B would provide more fodder for posts, and I would welcome guests to post to the B&B's blog as well. And there I's be: early 30s, owning my own business with enough revenue from website ads and my business that I could pay off my school loans, contribute evenly to the household income, and save up to support our one biological and various adopted future children. Those who'd followed my blog from the beginning would come visit the B&B just to meet "that quirky lady." It'd be lots of work, but I'd love the physicality of it, the challenge of heading a small business, and helping guests get the most from their visits. And then reality hit. And Michael Scott called asking for his shtick back.
So it's now 15 months and 2 weeks-ish since I lost my old job. I've found some part-time work, but I am making a small fraction of what I used to, and I'm not a step closer to my B&B. I don't enjoy what I do or the organization for which I work. And clearly, I've lost track of this blog. I've lost a little weight, but I feel that I've been in a state of hibernation for over a year, not making any substantial progress toward the me I'd like to eventually be. Most of this is my own fault, which I'll touch upon in future postings, but for now, I am just making one more step back toward doing something constructive. No guarantees that postings will as regular as I'd like: follow-through is not my forte. I'm still finalizing the craft project that was to serve as part of my Valentine's Day present to my husband. And I've had a wedding present in-hand since December for a couple who married in July, but have yet to mail it. I could probably do a daily feature of stand-still projects. But THIS post I finished in one sitting, so WHEE!
Friday, February 27, 2009
Wondering if it rained cat pee this afternoon
I just took my dog for a walk, and this is what happened in the course of the minute and a half we were outside:
Sniff steps and ground
Pee
Sniff ground and steps
Run for the safety of inside
He is a rather skittish guy, so him suddenly becoming scared and cutting walks short is nothing new. For example, if it is after 8 PM, he is scared of the dark and will only stay outside long enough to pee and race back inside - about 20 seconds total. Another example: we were walking by a traveling carnival; the kind that schools and churches sometimes use for an annual fundraiser. He's a social dog, so we thought he'd love the crowds. What we didn't calculate was the immense fear he'd have of the pirate ship ride. He saw the swinging boat, gave it a couple seconds' look, and bolted in the other direction. Weeks later, the carnival long gone, we took a walk past the same parking lot in which the carnival was held and doggie did not like that. Not one bit. It was as though he was certain that a pirate ship would pop up out of the ground and chase him down the street at any moment.
Where was I? Oh, yes. Cat pee rain. If you don't have one and are therefore unaware, dogs really like to sniff where other dogs have peed. This generally means all low vertical objects: trash cans, sign posts, tree trunks, and the stereotypical fave - fire hydrants. Not really the ground so much. The combination of fear and sniffing the ground leads me to believe it must have rained cat pee. Oh, he's sometimes afraid of cats. Did I mention that? Also fireworks, thunder, black people when we first got him (thankfully just a phase - for a time we feared our dog was a bigot), trains, helicopters, statues of animals...
Sniff steps and ground
Pee
Sniff ground and steps
Run for the safety of inside
He is a rather skittish guy, so him suddenly becoming scared and cutting walks short is nothing new. For example, if it is after 8 PM, he is scared of the dark and will only stay outside long enough to pee and race back inside - about 20 seconds total. Another example: we were walking by a traveling carnival; the kind that schools and churches sometimes use for an annual fundraiser. He's a social dog, so we thought he'd love the crowds. What we didn't calculate was the immense fear he'd have of the pirate ship ride. He saw the swinging boat, gave it a couple seconds' look, and bolted in the other direction. Weeks later, the carnival long gone, we took a walk past the same parking lot in which the carnival was held and doggie did not like that. Not one bit. It was as though he was certain that a pirate ship would pop up out of the ground and chase him down the street at any moment.
Where was I? Oh, yes. Cat pee rain. If you don't have one and are therefore unaware, dogs really like to sniff where other dogs have peed. This generally means all low vertical objects: trash cans, sign posts, tree trunks, and the stereotypical fave - fire hydrants. Not really the ground so much. The combination of fear and sniffing the ground leads me to believe it must have rained cat pee. Oh, he's sometimes afraid of cats. Did I mention that? Also fireworks, thunder, black people when we first got him (thankfully just a phase - for a time we feared our dog was a bigot), trains, helicopters, statues of animals...
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Bobby McBrayer?
I guess I'd never heard Bobby Jindal speak until Tuesday night. And it was a bit difficult to take him seriously* when I kept picturing Jack McBrayer when I closed my eyes. Even when I blinked, I couldn't stop the image. What do you think? View Jindal's speech. (A couple sentences is all you need.)
Now play this:
And it isn't just the accent. I lived in the south for about 14 years and still have a slight accent myself, so I'm not one of those Yankees who thinks all Southerners sound the same. Both sound like they are smiling wide when they are talking (which I actually find endearing), but also, the inflections of the two are eerily similar. "I'm Bobby Jindal, governor of Louisiana. Tonight, we've witnessed a great moment in the history of our republic. In the very chamber where Congress once voted to abolish slavery, our first African-American president stepped forward to address the state of our union."
*Also making it difficult to take him seriously were the following:
1 - The boilerplate when stating anything negative about Obama, his policy, or his party: "Look at that guy. Boy, it's neat that we elected someone who would have been covered with mustard at a lunch counter 49 years ago or in slavery 144 years ago. Racism's over now that we have an African American president, and clearly I'm not racist, since I am commending this progress."
2 - I thought he was supposed to be responding to Obama. But then he pulled a muscle patting himself on the back.
Now play this:
And it isn't just the accent. I lived in the south for about 14 years and still have a slight accent myself, so I'm not one of those Yankees who thinks all Southerners sound the same. Both sound like they are smiling wide when they are talking (which I actually find endearing), but also, the inflections of the two are eerily similar. "I'm Bobby Jindal, governor of Louisiana. Tonight, we've witnessed a great moment in the history of our republic. In the very chamber where Congress once voted to abolish slavery, our first African-American president stepped forward to address the state of our union."
*Also making it difficult to take him seriously were the following:
1 - The boilerplate when stating anything negative about Obama, his policy, or his party: "Look at that guy. Boy, it's neat that we elected someone who would have been covered with mustard at a lunch counter 49 years ago or in slavery 144 years ago. Racism's over now that we have an African American president, and clearly I'm not racist, since I am commending this progress."
2 - I thought he was supposed to be responding to Obama. But then he pulled a muscle patting himself on the back.
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