Tag Archives: stupid

What did I come here to do again?

Oh, hello, blank Blogger window! You must be here for a reason. I found you behind a half-finished site map, my online banking, iTunes, and a blog about shoes. Hi! What did I want to tell you? Do you know why I try to put chilled liquids away in the cabinets sometimes? Are you my mother? Do you know where I can find a perfect shirt dress? Do you want to pay me money to write breezy content?

On that last one, if you want to pay me for any of your content creation needs, do get in touch. I will get out all my nicest commas. They languish now in a drawer next to a cake server. I could tell you what I think of shorts worn in the evening. I can do investigative journalism where I make up most facts and key players. I think that is called fiction, or possibly it’s called working for a newspaper in Boston. I can ghost write thank-you notes for the most unimaginative gifts or write columns about real estate mistakes. You know you need a me on staff. You never ask for help. It’s not cool to be a martyr.

What, you say? Most people get jobs by having resumes and writing samples. Preposterous. Who has time for that? I’ve got four years of a grimy, crumpled, profane writing sample right here. I can see from my stats that plenty of people read this. I don’t know why, but thanks anyway! Who are you? Hi!

February showers bring unpleasant trips to the parking lot

We still have no hot water, medical which the management company scribe keeps referring to as Hot Water. Without fail, sick this causes me to free associate to Hot Chocolate, which means I have to sing “I Believe in Miracles.” The same managing individual, continues the bizarre habit of placing commas between noun/verb pairs in every sentence. This malady, is catching.

Later today, Hot Water, was briefly restored, and then the pipes, exploded, raining Hot Water into the hallway next to my door. The fire alarms, went off when the pressure, dropped, which caused a ybab to imitate the sound in solidarity. I, trussed her up in a blanket and stuck one leg, in a snowsuit, and we mingled in the parking lot with all the dogs in the building. Five fire engines came, which caused a ybab to join the dogs in howling.

Had this been a real emergency, well, I forgot the poor cat. Luckily, she can, swim.

Sick, sick, sick

From the management team: “Correction: The Hot Water shut down, only effects the River Building.”

Oh, I’ll give you a correction! Let me get out my red electrons.

A ybab just finished a whirlwind installation of four teeth. She looks like a little hobo. Today she tested well with the urban demographic. “Dayum, you got a ybab in there!” No, I am not just amazingly obese. There is a ybab under my coat. Where do you keep your spare?

What a damn thing to say

This meme is going around like something you catch at the bus station: post the first sentence of each entry for the past twelve months. I’m also posting the subject lines because I am nothing without a support act.

And away we go!

1. A day late and a dollar short: 2005 by the numbers
Number of separate calendar days where vomiting occurred: 4

2. Everything’s OK in OKville
Goodbye January, goodbye Content Challenge, goodbye Supreme Court (It’s the, stupid).

3. I’m into something good (leftover spaghetti)
Madge, I’m soaking in it.

4. More human every day
We have a table!

5. And in our hearts we fly. Standby.
It started with other people drinking before the sun was over the yardarm.

6. Can I get some unnecessary antibiotics with that condescension?
The other day I made the big, huge, giant mistake of calling my parents to let them know we moved back into our house after a soggy two-week vacation in crapsville.

7. No sleep til Brooklyn
It’s amazing how somone under 7 pounds can make two adults with a combined 61 years of life experience feel totally incompetent at times.

8. Hey, wanna buy a monkey?
No? How about a baby?

9. Fiesta de Septiembre
Today is the third anniversary of my legal ensnarement of Mr. H

10. Condo meeting attended; area jerk spotted
Mr. H went to the meeting while I stayed home to ply a baby with strong drink, and when he returned, I asked after the lady who picks fights on the email list and then declares that the list is not a good forum for discussion when people disagree with her.

11. This year, I am thankful that Pharrell gave us something to bump to
Pharrell is like the Great Pumpkin, I think.

12. The continuing perils of instant gratification
Now there comes a time when one finds a leaflet for a new Chinese restaurant in one’s lobby, and one decides to carpe some diem and take a chance on life.

And in other news, this morning a ybab and I watched a three-legged dog poop on the lawn. It’s beginning to look a lot like Thursday.

Holiday card theatre

I am shamed beyond belief because there is a tracking error in the inner message in our holiday card. It jumps out at me like a thumb in the eye, and I quake to think of others noticing. But what the hell do you expect when the card was designed in an online software system in two minutes? If you want quality, do it your damn self! At least we spelled everything right, including the word “adequate.”

We receive a card each year that is always remarkable in its liberal massaging of the English language. This year’s installment, a positively uncomfortable Thai massage, reads:

Happy holiday’s from our house to your’s!!!!
Happy new year!!!!
Love [Name],[Name], [Kreatif Spelling Childname 1],[Kreatif Spelling Childname 2] [Kreatif Spelling Childname 3]….

The ellipsis at the end is so ominous, as if there may be an additional child lurking. The pictured children are all at or near the North Pole, judging by the sign post covered with plastic snow. Yet they aren’t really dressed for the weather. Puzzling!

And now for our own important message from a ybab.

Of all the gin joints in all the tubes in all the internets

I’ve had a Gmail address for a long time now, since I am Early McAdopterson. I was able to get my first name, just for the hell of it. Great, right? I don’t even use it except for nefarious schemes and my Google Analytics account since I have plenty of other email addresses to wrangle. I receive password change requests at my main email address all the time I dragged myself over to check the box yesterday, and lo, at least four different citizens of the internet feel they are duly entitled to use my address. Just because they can’t log in and check their mail doesn’t mean they stop giving it out. Frequently, they even sign up for various accounts, allowing me access to their credit cards and home addresses.

A brief history:
August 2005 – Helen K___ of Wallingford, NJ opens a Blockbuster rentals account. She rented The Aviator. She has an American Express card. She also signed up for some “get paid to” sites, and I was able to get her standard password pretty easily (hellgirl, wish I’d thought of that one). I finally get Blockbuster to cancel the account under my email address after a confusing hour with several different reps on the phone.

January 2006 – present – Helene K___ of NY, NY is job hunting. Her resume gets lots of hits from Monster. Too bad she put the wrong damn email address on it. Helene also books a room at the Inn at Saratoga for a Valentine’s getaway. Her sister wants to make sure she knows about a $949,000 condo in Park Slope. In June, Helene has a job at a well-known ad agency. She makes sure I get a deck and brief on look and feel for a high profile cellular client. She also makes sure to give me the password to their extranet. Shockingly, she’s back to job hunting in October. When I emailed what I deduced was her real email, she wrote back and said “Oh, it happens, people just can’t grasp that I have an E in my name.” Neither can she, apparently, since she was forwarding all those work emails to herself.

March 2006 – Helen K___ of Athens, Greece signs up for web hosting. I can administer her account if I want. I don’t, luckily. She also joins Myspace. I reject all her friends now and then. I stuck a note in her profile to let her know she’s attached her account to an email address that doesn’t belong to her.

July 2006 – Helen N___ of Piscataway, NJ wants to sell a drum set and posts on Craigslist. I wonder if that ever sold?

Ongoing dead letter office:

Feb 16, from “David”
“Hey, haven’t heard from you in a while, but hope all is well with you and
your sis. NY’s a tough town for fragile souls . . . :)”

March 6, also from David

“H,

You got another package — a box this time, but I’m afraid the time has come.
Oslen told me he’s not going to accepti any more packages for you. As much
as I love to be your boy, I guess you’ll have to find some other use for me
🙂 I’m good at cooking, but not cleaning.

– D”

The answers usually do come in the mail, except when they don’t.

Leaves fined by condo board for falling in parking lot

Today, the Yahoo! group brain trust proposed that my building should become a gated community because people who don’t live here sometimes turn around in the parking lot. I worry about many frivolous things, but so far, I had managed to skip that one. Someone else’s tires may be touching pavement that my tires will need to touch! I am going to write back and suggest that we erect an ornate gate house and staff it with folks dressed like Raffles Hotel employees. I also want to be addressed as memsahib each time I come back from grocery shopping. Then they must ferry me over the alligator-and-stingray-filled moat on a raft of platinum.

Condo meeting attended; area jerk spotted

Mr. H went to the meeting while I stayed home to ply a baby with strong drink, ed and when he returned, cialis I asked after the lady who picks fights on the email list and then declares that the list is not a good forum for discussion when people disagree with her.

“Did you figure out who that cooze is?”

“Yes!”

“What does she look like?”

“A cooze.”

Well, I figured!

What happens when you Google failure?

Content Challenge, I hardly knew ye.

Today is the fourth time I’ve turned twenty-five. It was OK. I had a burrito! But then I noticed the otherwise fine establishment spelled it “Talapia.” Did you mean tilapia? Google says I am right, and that’s what you meant. I knew I was right. Duh. On principle, I should stop ordering the “Talapia,” but it is so darn tasty. This is like the time I had to stop eating at the restaurant with the inconsistent apostrophe, except I’m still going to eat the burrito sometimes. I have a whole card to fill up before I get a free one.

Today was probably the least celebrated and eventful birthday I’ve ever had, but what are you gonna do? If you’re a baby, you get THISCLOSE to rolling over, and you make a cute face. You are also good at the post office. You clearly test well with the latin market since that guy said “Que linda!” to you.