Donut Quiz

I took the donut quiz. According to the quiz, I am a boston creme donut. Now all I can think about is donuts! Yummm, donuttsssss .........

You Are a Boston Creme Donut

You have a tough exterior. No one wants to mess with you. But on the inside, you're a total pushover and completely soft. You're a traditionalist, and you don't change easily. You're likely to eat the same doughnut every morning, and pout if it's sold out.

What Donut Are You?

Not Wallowing In It

Seriously, I'm not, but I do have to say, it's pretty damn depressing to unpack your bag from a trip you never got to take.

Right now, I'm looking at flights toward the end of the month. If I stretch it out into March, the Fort Worth Botanical Gardens has this butterfly thing which I have been assured is seriously cool. (Geek Geek Geek I Am).

It's hard to even think about planning this whole thing all over again. But I will. Back in the saddle, and all that. Where's my inner Pollyanna when I need her?

OH NO YOU DON'T .....

....... oh yes they did.

I got a call at home last night around 7. It was an automated call from US Air, notifying me that my flight out on Saturday morning had been cancelled, and advising me to call to reschedule.

Aaaaggghhhhh! So, I got on the phone with US Air, talking to a person with limited English-speaking capacities (no big surprise there), and he informed me that the flight had been cancelled due to "weather conditions". WTF? It was still twelve hours before the flight, and all it was doing outside was raining. I guess "weather conditions" is code for, "everything is backed up all through the system, we oversold all the flights, and you're shit out of luck".

So. I asked what my options were, and he said I could try to get out Saturday afternoon (I just checked the web, all the afternoon flights are oversold), I could try to go Sunday on standby, or I could try to go out Monday. Oh. My. God. Major suckage. US Air can kiss my butt.

So, I am not going to Texas today. Or, any time in the forseeable future. Because evidently, ONE DAY of ice equals no travel for anyone anytime soon.

My sister kindly talked me down off the ledge last night, and now we are looking at March. Shit.

Grounded

Well, damn, if Upstate New York in the winter isn't just a laugh riot!

I got up this morning at 4:30 and got ready to go. The first sleet was hitting the ground as I got in the car. By the time I got to the airport, the roads were solid ice. First the flight was "on time", then it was "delayed". There is a big picture window in the gate area, and it was covered with a thick sheet of ice. My connecting airport was not accepting any flights, so we could take off, but we couldn't land. Then, finally, after two hours of listening to pounding sleet, "cancelled". And, the flight after that was cancelled. And the flight after that. Etcetera.

Crap. So I'm gonna try the whole thing again tomorrow. Wheeee!

Actually, it's not so bad. I'll leave a day later and come back a day later, so no harm, no foul. I really felt bad for the party of six, who were trying to get to Fort Lauderdale to hop on a Carnival Cruise. "Come back tomorrow" doesn't really work in that case.

Oh, and Listie, I'll try to blog from Texas!

Necessities

I had to go to the grocery store on my lunch break to pick up a few necessities. Necessities, as in:

1. Beer
2. Cat food
3. Cool Whip

The way I see it, the only way it could have been worse would have been if Item #4 was the latest edition of the National Enquirer.

Ready to Go

My bags are all packed, the "to-do" lists are done, and I'm ready to go!

Unfortunately, my flight doesn't leave until Friday.

On the bright side, the high temps are supposed to be in the sixties in Texas while I'm there. I haven't seen sixty degrees since ....... well ......... forever. Bring it on!

Driving Myself Crazy

I don't leave for Texas (yay!) until Friday, and already I have started with the lists. Honestly, I started with the lists back in November, when I first booked the flights. Lists of stuff to take, things to do before I go, etc., etc., etc. (Don't forget to open the curtains before you leave (in the DARK, thankyouverymuch) on Friday morning!)

I got my duffle bag out of the attic yesterday and started packing, because evidently SIX DAYS is not enough time to pack a bag. Yeeesh!

I've got this constant low anxiety level, and it's driving me nuts. I wish I was the kind of person who started packing the night before the trip. In other words, a normal person. I'm worried that I'll forget something. What I keep forgetting is that I'm pretty sure they have STORES in Texas. Where you can buy the stuff you forgot to pack.

Effin' Friday

Fridays are always busy at the office. In addition to everything else, I have to do payroll, prepare all the bank transfers, and pay all the bills for the office, the boss's house, and the boss's vacation condo. Good times! And the last Friday in January is the worst Friday of the year, because I also have to prepare/send in all the year-end tax crap for the Feds and the State. (Of course, I fill out the forms beforehand, but they still have to be approved by the boss, signed, copied, stuffed into envelopes, etc.) Blecchh.

And all the while I'm having all this fun, the boss is asking me for stuff. For so-and-so's phone number. For a client file. For this weekend's weather report (WTF?! Look it up yourself, buddy!) And his desk is not all that far from my desk, so instead of getting up and coming over to ask for something, he calls my name. "Hey, W.......". "Hey, W.......". Over and overandoverandover.

It's like a broken record. Or like a little kid tugging on your pants, going, "Mommy. Mommy. Mommy. Mommy."*

Grrr. On the bright side, by this time next week, I'll be on my way to Texas!


*No, I personally don't have kids. But I have witnessed this particular phenomenon many times via my friends with kids. And every time I see it, I think, "If I was her, I'd tell that kid to "shut up or I'll GIVE you something to "mommy" about". And that, my friends, is exactly why I never had kids. Know your limitations.

The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire,

aka "The Moment of Truth", Fox's new reality show. I am ashamed to admit that I watched some of this last night. The basic premise is that they hook you up to a lie detector, ask you all kinds of extremely personal questions about your past, how you feel about your spouse, etc., and if you tell the truth (even if the truth is that you cheated on your wife, who is sitting right there in front of you), you win some money. Of course, all kinds of dirty little secrets come popping out along the way. They should have named it "Sell Your Soul".

I don't know which I feel worse about: That people would actually voluntarily go on this show, humiliate themselves, and possibly destroy their relationships, all for a little bit of money; or that I actually sat down and watched some of it.

Truly Cross Words

I think crossword puzzles should have swear words in them, just to liven things up a little.

For example, the clue could be "Nothing", and the space would be eight letters long, and the answer would be "JACKSHIT".

Just a thought.

Dipshits

Click on the title above to see some real brainiacs. Hey, kids, don't go on the ice!! Although to their credit, at least they were outside getting some exercise, as opposed to inside chatting on-line with Jabba the Hutt.

This happened at a local nature preserve where I walk all the time. (Although not on the ice - duh!)

You Can Learn Interesting Things Talking To Your Neighbors

I have written before about Jabba the Hutt, that fat fucktard downstairs who has been making my life miserable, off-and-on, for almost a year now. I learned some interesting things about him last night.

1. Even though he looks like he's at least 70, he is in fact only 52. I guess gross obesity (he is so fat he can no longer walk, and has to push himself around his apartment on a wheeled office chair) and chain smoking unfiltered cigarettes ages you in a hurry.

2. I have been supplying the electricity for his oxygen machine. I suspected there was a problem when my electric usage doubled in the months after he moved in, but the landlord said he checked the wiring and everything was fine. Yeah, fine for HIM! (Jabba is the landlord's father). Last night, Jabba's oxygen machine screwed up and he had to reset it, which promptly blew a fuse in MY electrical box. Was I on the phone to the landlord at 8 a.m. this morning? You bet I was.

3. According to another of the downstairs neighbors (I'll call him P), Jabba has been presenting himself on the internet as a buff, twenty-something surfer from California. When P told me this I burst out laughing, until P explained that seeing as how he (P) has a sixteen-year-old daughter who likes to spend time in chat rooms, he didn't find it quite so amusing. Now my skin is crawling.

Not the Sharpest Tool in the Shed

Who needs Mentos, when you can just leave a two-liter bottle of soda outside in single-digit weather and see how long it takes to freeze, then explode?

My neighbor is currently conducting this very experiment on our shared back deck. Sigh.

I Know Who I'm Rooting For .....

...... and it's NOT the team with the player named "Plaxico". WTF? What kind of a crackhead names her kid "Plaxico"? If there is a list of worst kids' names ever, "Plaxico" has got to be in the top ten. It sounds like some kind of manufacturing company. Or a tampon.

Other reasons not to root for the Giants: The whiny preshuzzz quarterback, the field goal kicker who doesn't, and the coach who cold-shoulders afore-mentioned non-field-goal-kicker every time he misses.

Seriously, it breaks my heart that the Packers lost. Although, when you play as badly as they did last night, the outcome is often LOSS.

Go Patriots!

Two Weeks to Texas

I leave for Texas in two weeks. Whoo-hoo!

I'm interviewing a petsitter for Rocky tomorrow. I know, I know, it sounds kind of ridiculous, but so far nobody has volunteered to stop by my house twice a day, dish out smelly cat food, clean up cat puke, and scoop out the litterbox. Hmmm, I wonder why?

Because the petsitter is coming over tomorrow, I've been housecleaning like crazy. I mean, my place isn't really dirty or anything (at least not to me!), but I've been noticing all the little stuff that tends to build up (like cobwebs, and dust, and fingerprints on cabinets. And dustbunnies!). Stuff that I usually don't pay all that much attention to. I hope she doesn't think I'm a complete slob. And I don't know why I'm worried about it. I mean, it's not like I'm living in a landfill or something. Why do we women think we are judged by the cleanliness of our houses? Are we? So much for feminism.

Oh, and should I pack my camera in my checked luggage, or take it on the plane as carry-on? I mean, it's kind of bulky, so it makes sense to check it, but I know people who have had their cameras stolen out of their luggage. Any advice?

And I'm getting my hair cut tomorrow. I'm thinking about getting it cut even shorter. Because I am insane.

Tempted

I had to stop and get gas last night. So I pulled into the station, and it about broke my heart to pump $3.17!!!!-a-gallon gas into my car. Jeezus. I remember being shocked the first time gas went over $1.00 a gallon. I also used to walk to school uphill both ways in the snow, but that's a story for another day.

Anyway, I went inside, forked over a bunch of money, got my change, and was walking away, folding up the money and putting it in my wallet, when I noticed that the cashier had given me five bucks too much change.

And I stood there and thought about it. Gas is so effin expensive these days. The kid didn't even notice he'd given me too much change. He was already waiting on somebody else. I could walk out to my car, hop in, and drive away, five bucks richer.

Then I turned around and headed back to the register. The kid had this look on his face, like, "uh-oh, she's going to bitch that I shorted her on her change". Then I explained what had happened, handed him the five, and he thanked me about fifteen times.

I am a GOOD PERSON, dammit! Despite what my family says. Although there was that moment of temptation.

Midget House

Last Sunday, I went to an Open House for a home that was in my (tiny little) price range. It wasn't a bad house, although they would have had to drop the price by about 25% to get me to consider it. The place needed some work. One problem was the layout. The house itself was small, and it had been chopped up in to teeny-tiny odd-shaped rooms, making it appear even smaller.

The deal-killer was the staircase. The second floor had sloping ceilings, reducing the available square footage. But the ceiling also sloped at the stair landing between the first and second floors. Which meant that every blessed time you went up or down the stairs, you would have to duck when you got to the landing, or risk conking yourself in the head.

WTF?! Who would design something like that? I mean, yeah, the house was built in 1936 - so what? Was everyone under 4' tall back then? Was there some kind of crippling pandemic back in the twenties that rendered the next two generations midgets? If so, it seems like I would have heard about it before this.

Seriously, I just could not bend my mind (or stoop my body) around that staircase. I mean, it was on an exterior wall - they could have just built a stair tower (not sure if that's the right terminology, but I think it's close) or something to accommodate the dang stairs.

So! That was My First Open House. Exciting! And I'll tell you what, when I got back to my apartment, I walked in the kitchen and went, "Aaaahhhhh!" Because my kitchen is about twice the size of the one in that house. Ditto my living room.

Guess I'll just have to keep looking.

I Poured The Rest Of It Down The Sink This Morning

.... the bottle of pre-mixed Manhattans, that is. That stuff was not doing me any favors.

Should Be An Interesting Acceptance Speech

And the award for most alarming mother-daughter display of camel toe goes to:

"Temptress" and her mom on last night's American Idol! At least, I think her name was "Temptress". I'm trying to block the whole thing out of my head, actually.

Seriously, did anyone besides me catch that?! I can't even believe they showed that on network TV! I may be scarred for life.

And I'm not entirely convinced that "Temptress" is even a woman. She looked suspiciously like a guy in drag. A really, really ugly guy. And I kind of doubt that "Temptress" is her real name. Why on earth would you name your child "Temptress?" And the irony is really acute in this particular situation, since the woman (if she is a woman) is butt-effin'-ugly. Oh, and the horrible wig was not helping matters any.

But still, it's the camel toe I can't get over. (Shudder.)

What's the Hobo Sign for "Drunks Welcome"?

I have heard that during the Depression, when lots of jobless men were out on the road, they would carve secret signs onto people's doorsteps letting other hobos know if the families in those particular houses would give them a handout or not.

Evidently I have a secret hobo sign for "Drunks Welcome" on my doorstep, because man, every drunk in the free world seems to show up at my door.

Case in point: Back in October, I wrote about the Halloween party I went to, and catching up with a guy I had briefly dated back in the day. On Sunday afternoon, I had just finished steam-cleaning the carpets (yes, AGAIN, because it is fun!), and I was just kicking back to watch some football, when there was a knock on the door. It was the guy from the party, drunk off his ass. He slurrily explained that he was visiting friends in the neighborhood, my name had come up (uh-oh), and his friends told him where I lived (THANKS VERY MUCH, GUYS. YOU ARE SO DEAD). So! He staggered over to say hello. I did invite him into the kitchen, and he tripped over the doorframe and almost fell. Good times! I explained that I had just cleaned the carpets, all the furniture was moved from the living room (sorta true), suggested that he stop back another time (oh please God no), and got him right back out the door. Bye-bye!

I have no idea why drunks think it's perfectly fine to just stagger by my place and say hello. BoyToy used to show up at my door at three o'clock in the morning, three sheets to the wind, and not understand why I didn't want to get up and party. Other acquaintances have shown up from time to time in similarly inebriated/incomprehensible/falling-down-drunk states.

I've gotta find that hobo sign and scrub it off the doorstep.