Friday, December 17, 2010
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
The Pin of Bobbie.
If I were a fairy... and not that goobery "Faerie" weirdness, they can go back to ye old England with "shoppe" and "towne"... I would be a bobbie pin fairy.
How do I go from having a huge stockpile of them in a neat little black shiny haystack on my desk, to having one misshapen jackwad that can't hold a strand for it's life?!
Well, because I distribute them like fairy dust, well more like that hobo Johnny Appleseed, because the pin of bobbie ain't magic. For some reason, grabbing a handful and shoving them in my pockets is comforting... 'cause you know, if I have a renegade hair I wanna CATCH IT. Pretty much everything that I own with some sort of nook or cranny is filled with a bobbie pin. Pants, Jackets, Purses, even things without pockets gets the bobbie treatment- clipped on to hems. Yet, I never use these pocket treasures, because my hair is already brimming with them. Each morning is like a test to see how many bobbies I can pin to my head.
So like Mr. Appleseed, or even more so like a bee in deep pollination ecstasy... I unwittingly distribute said pins. I sit down, a pin will tumble out, I shake my head, bobbies will bound about, I literally leave a trail of pins where ever I go. The shower, the floor, my boyfriend's bed. Recently, I noticed one clipped to the sleeve of his shirt. When I questioned him, he said nonchalantly, "oh yea... you put that there..."
It was at this point I realized I might have taken things a tad too far.
How do I go from having a huge stockpile of them in a neat little black shiny haystack on my desk, to having one misshapen jackwad that can't hold a strand for it's life?!
Well, because I distribute them like fairy dust, well more like that hobo Johnny Appleseed, because the pin of bobbie ain't magic. For some reason, grabbing a handful and shoving them in my pockets is comforting... 'cause you know, if I have a renegade hair I wanna CATCH IT. Pretty much everything that I own with some sort of nook or cranny is filled with a bobbie pin. Pants, Jackets, Purses, even things without pockets gets the bobbie treatment- clipped on to hems. Yet, I never use these pocket treasures, because my hair is already brimming with them. Each morning is like a test to see how many bobbies I can pin to my head.
So like Mr. Appleseed, or even more so like a bee in deep pollination ecstasy... I unwittingly distribute said pins. I sit down, a pin will tumble out, I shake my head, bobbies will bound about, I literally leave a trail of pins where ever I go. The shower, the floor, my boyfriend's bed. Recently, I noticed one clipped to the sleeve of his shirt. When I questioned him, he said nonchalantly, "oh yea... you put that there..."
It was at this point I realized I might have taken things a tad too far.
RACCOON NATION
I live in Alameda, a semi Twin Peak-ish type of community in the San Francisco bay area.
Yes, we are a man made island.
Yes, people drive around in old time- y cars.
Yes, we have something called "Christmas Tree Lane" every holiday season... and when it was vandalized, Santa was interviewed on the local new station,
"They will get coal for Christmas"
Anywho- To make my town of upbringing-ness even more weird there has been an out break of raccoon attacks.
Yes, raccoons attacking people.
Across the bridge in neighboring cities such as Oakland, SF, and Berkeley (well maybe not stupid berkeley... the annoying bougie cousin of the bay) are dealing with legitimate problems... while in Alameda? We're scared of Davey Crockett's hat. Don't get me wrong... raccoons are some freaky mother fuckers, but the whole situation is so... insane.
Now they're entering houses.
Sigh... can my town-ish, city type thing get any weirder?
The Money Hump
It's a very special day in my life...
Pay Day.
We blame just about everything on our failing economy of late:
Those shoes are out of style. Well in this economy we can't just spend money on new trends.
This burger taste like butt. Well in this economy we can't be picky about burger meats.
My neighbor is a naggy wench. Well in this economy it's easy to find complaints in everything.
Finally, I actually have a legit reason to complain about this economy: I'm broke.
Super ridiculously, out of control eating beans and rice broke. Yet, I just got my first full time salary paying benefited job. Now how does that make sense?!
Catch up... that's where I'm at. So on this fabulous Wednesday afternoon, I'm going to focus on getting over my beans and rice broke-ness. I'm going to set a budget and work towards a goal! This economy can screw itself, but it wont screw me!!!
Pay Day.
We blame just about everything on our failing economy of late:
Those shoes are out of style. Well in this economy we can't just spend money on new trends.
This burger taste like butt. Well in this economy we can't be picky about burger meats.
My neighbor is a naggy wench. Well in this economy it's easy to find complaints in everything.
Finally, I actually have a legit reason to complain about this economy: I'm broke.
Super ridiculously, out of control eating beans and rice broke. Yet, I just got my first full time salary paying benefited job. Now how does that make sense?!
Catch up... that's where I'm at. So on this fabulous Wednesday afternoon, I'm going to focus on getting over my beans and rice broke-ness. I'm going to set a budget and work towards a goal! This economy can screw itself, but it wont screw me!!!
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Monday, December 13, 2010
A Story About Samples
People like to sell things to college students.
Why?
Well, because they are "adults" with new found "freedom" and somewhat silly amounts of excess cash either from loans or the MommyDaddy Fund. I was one of these "adults" once... it took a couple years for me to realize that it takes more than being able to buy cigarettes and porn to truly be considered a card carrying adult. Even now, I sometimes question my classification.
Anyway, due to the large consumption of ridiculous things in the realm of college, samples and testers run rampant on campuses. Since I work on a college campus... and look like a student, I happily take part in these freebies.
Today's Sample: RedBull Sugarfree Shot
I am one of those weirdos who actually enjoy the flavor of energy drinks. I sip on them like it's a casual day time cocktail of mental strength. So when presented with this opportunity to part take in something I might actually consider buying. I dived in, I dived in head first!
The small bottle fit cutely in my palm, I twisted the top off... it looked like the normal Red Bull, just not carbonated. I took a sniff, then took a sip.
OH MY FUCKING GOD.
Death pee. Worst than death pee... it was as if a bull contacted some horrible std, rubbed a toxic bush on his junk, then took a burning pee into a tiny bottle then served it fresh to me under the guise of a "Red Bull Shot". I mouth forced open, and "oh god..." whispered from my spasm-ed lips.
Horrific.
... but riddle me this Batman, why did I finish it?!?!
Why?
Well, because they are "adults" with new found "freedom" and somewhat silly amounts of excess cash either from loans or the MommyDaddy Fund. I was one of these "adults" once... it took a couple years for me to realize that it takes more than being able to buy cigarettes and porn to truly be considered a card carrying adult. Even now, I sometimes question my classification.
Anyway, due to the large consumption of ridiculous things in the realm of college, samples and testers run rampant on campuses. Since I work on a college campus... and look like a student, I happily take part in these freebies.
Today's Sample: RedBull Sugarfree Shot
I am one of those weirdos who actually enjoy the flavor of energy drinks. I sip on them like it's a casual day time cocktail of mental strength. So when presented with this opportunity to part take in something I might actually consider buying. I dived in, I dived in head first!
The small bottle fit cutely in my palm, I twisted the top off... it looked like the normal Red Bull, just not carbonated. I took a sniff, then took a sip.
OH MY FUCKING GOD.
Death pee. Worst than death pee... it was as if a bull contacted some horrible std, rubbed a toxic bush on his junk, then took a burning pee into a tiny bottle then served it fresh to me under the guise of a "Red Bull Shot". I mouth forced open, and "oh god..." whispered from my spasm-ed lips.
Horrific.
... but riddle me this Batman, why did I finish it?!?!
Sunday, December 12, 2010
A Story pt. 2
SO...
I lost my 10 year old wallet cavorting around in the streets of San Francisco after dark. How I had managed to hold on to it through several years in the dorms, sloshy college parties, trips to faraway lands, and the "lost years" of my early twenties beats me. I had once managed to wake up without my pants with my shoes still on, but knew exactly where my tiny Coach wallet was snuggled. So you can imagine my surprise the next morning when I went to get coffee bleary eyed and grogged out to find that my wallet was
Not. There.
I freaked out silently under my skin, but kept a cool demeanor, convincing myself that it was in my jacket pocket at home.
It. Wasn't.
So I freaked out a little more when I called the bar I was at and asked if it was located.
Nope. Sorry.
Then it dawned on me... I had an artsy type of night. Sometimes, when I have a little sippy-sippy, I tend to believe I'm a teensy more talented at artistic visions. This night I decided it was a good idea to create magic with shots of me and friends in dark street lights, stoops, and next to garbage cans or whatever (edgy...). While pulling my camera repeatedly out of my purse I managed to knock my wallet on to the waiting streets of the Mission District of San Francisco, to be at best ignored by fancy hipsters, and at worst shat on and sold to the black market by crackheads.
Sighing a deep heavy resounding breath of defeat, I called the wallet dead in the water and proceeded to cancel my credit and debit cards. Then I realized all the small things that are stupid, but sadly carried so much value: My Cheese steak punch card (I just had two stamps left until free cheesy steaky glory!), My bookstore punch card, my Macy's gift card, my college ID with no expiration date (how else would my old ass get a dollar off of movies?!?!). These things meant the world to me, but now would be gone forever....
I went to work on Monday, paper clip securing my passport, expired ID, and a few dollars. How far I had fallen on the scale of wallets. I slowly took off my gloves and opened up my work e-mail. After several boring announcements about boringness, I saw it:
Subject: YOUR WALLET
what the hell? I thought, as I opened the digital letter.
I found your wallet and picked up most of the stuff inside on Valencia St., let me know how to get it back to you.
THE HEAVENS HAD PARTED, ANGELS SUNG STUPID SONGS, AND MY WALLET HAD BEEN FOUND!
To conclude a long story, dude sent my wallet in the mail, and I got it back- including my cheese steak punch card.
There really are good people out there in the universe...
I lost my 10 year old wallet cavorting around in the streets of San Francisco after dark. How I had managed to hold on to it through several years in the dorms, sloshy college parties, trips to faraway lands, and the "lost years" of my early twenties beats me. I had once managed to wake up without my pants with my shoes still on, but knew exactly where my tiny Coach wallet was snuggled. So you can imagine my surprise the next morning when I went to get coffee bleary eyed and grogged out to find that my wallet was
Not. There.
I freaked out silently under my skin, but kept a cool demeanor, convincing myself that it was in my jacket pocket at home.
It. Wasn't.
So I freaked out a little more when I called the bar I was at and asked if it was located.
Nope. Sorry.
Then it dawned on me... I had an artsy type of night. Sometimes, when I have a little sippy-sippy, I tend to believe I'm a teensy more talented at artistic visions. This night I decided it was a good idea to create magic with shots of me and friends in dark street lights, stoops, and next to garbage cans or whatever (edgy...). While pulling my camera repeatedly out of my purse I managed to knock my wallet on to the waiting streets of the Mission District of San Francisco, to be at best ignored by fancy hipsters, and at worst shat on and sold to the black market by crackheads.
Sighing a deep heavy resounding breath of defeat, I called the wallet dead in the water and proceeded to cancel my credit and debit cards. Then I realized all the small things that are stupid, but sadly carried so much value: My Cheese steak punch card (I just had two stamps left until free cheesy steaky glory!), My bookstore punch card, my Macy's gift card, my college ID with no expiration date (how else would my old ass get a dollar off of movies?!?!). These things meant the world to me, but now would be gone forever....
I went to work on Monday, paper clip securing my passport, expired ID, and a few dollars. How far I had fallen on the scale of wallets. I slowly took off my gloves and opened up my work e-mail. After several boring announcements about boringness, I saw it:
Subject: YOUR WALLET
what the hell? I thought, as I opened the digital letter.
I found your wallet and picked up most of the stuff inside on Valencia St., let me know how to get it back to you.
THE HEAVENS HAD PARTED, ANGELS SUNG STUPID SONGS, AND MY WALLET HAD BEEN FOUND!
To conclude a long story, dude sent my wallet in the mail, and I got it back- including my cheese steak punch card.
There really are good people out there in the universe...
A Story pt.1
This story begins with a wallet.
Well three actually- let me break it down:
Wallet Number 1 is a fancy little number given to me from my uncle as a High School graduation gift. Considering that I was still using my childhood Fraggle Rock wallet (under the guise of 'kitch'), this tiny Coach card holder was the classy upgrade my newly minted 18 year old self needed.
Wallet Number 2 was an upgrade after number 1 failed to truly showcase my 'personality' after functioning as my money holder for say... 8 years. Wallet Number 1 was still in perfect shape (guess the high price of Coach, really is worth something...), but I decided to put it to pasture in my desk drawer holding expired licences, out of state library cards, and other knickerbockers to satisfy my minor hoarding tendencies. What made wallet number 2 so sexy, so individual, so... me? Patchwork Owls with google eyes.
Wallet Number 3 appeared when, Wallet Number 2 deflated like the bimbo show wife it was always. After 6 months of use, the damn thing lost it's google eyes. I told myself that the eyeless (soulless) owls were still cute. The threading started to loosen (now it looks vintage!), and finally it started to shed. Yes, I had a shedding wallet. Rich people probably don't know this, but faux leather peels after a hard beating of use. What makes it extra frightening is the fact that it replicates peeling sun burned skin. Since I am an animal rights activist and cheap ass I currently have several peeling purses, jackets, and shoes. I once happened to wear all three and couldn't help feeling like some serial killer in someone elses skin, as it all hung loosely and flopped about on my appendages. So I bought another wallet, it was cute, but couldn't hold on to anything. Like an idiot third trophy wife, my wallet was scattered. I would constantly find money, cards, and IDs floating around in my flaky peeling purse. Feeling more hobo than I had ever felt before...
I welcomed back my old friend Wallet Number 1.
Two days later, I got drunk and lost it on the street, in San Francisco, Mission Street District.
Well three actually- let me break it down:
Wallet Number 1 is a fancy little number given to me from my uncle as a High School graduation gift. Considering that I was still using my childhood Fraggle Rock wallet (under the guise of 'kitch'), this tiny Coach card holder was the classy upgrade my newly minted 18 year old self needed.
Wallet Number 2 was an upgrade after number 1 failed to truly showcase my 'personality' after functioning as my money holder for say... 8 years. Wallet Number 1 was still in perfect shape (guess the high price of Coach, really is worth something...), but I decided to put it to pasture in my desk drawer holding expired licences, out of state library cards, and other knickerbockers to satisfy my minor hoarding tendencies. What made wallet number 2 so sexy, so individual, so... me? Patchwork Owls with google eyes.
Wallet Number 3 appeared when, Wallet Number 2 deflated like the bimbo show wife it was always. After 6 months of use, the damn thing lost it's google eyes. I told myself that the eyeless (soulless) owls were still cute. The threading started to loosen (now it looks vintage!), and finally it started to shed. Yes, I had a shedding wallet. Rich people probably don't know this, but faux leather peels after a hard beating of use. What makes it extra frightening is the fact that it replicates peeling sun burned skin. Since I am an animal rights activist and cheap ass I currently have several peeling purses, jackets, and shoes. I once happened to wear all three and couldn't help feeling like some serial killer in someone elses skin, as it all hung loosely and flopped about on my appendages. So I bought another wallet, it was cute, but couldn't hold on to anything. Like an idiot third trophy wife, my wallet was scattered. I would constantly find money, cards, and IDs floating around in my flaky peeling purse. Feeling more hobo than I had ever felt before...
I welcomed back my old friend Wallet Number 1.
Two days later, I got drunk and lost it on the street, in San Francisco, Mission Street District.
Saturday, December 11, 2010
A Riddle
My Father and I have both have a cold.
In response to this cold one of us said, "I feel like Lil Wayne, always sippn' on that syrup."
Hint: It was not me.
In response to this cold one of us said, "I feel like Lil Wayne, always sippn' on that syrup."
Hint: It was not me.
In This Economy...
I hate paying for shiz...
So you know what? I'm going freebie style. Yea, I'm gonna say a giant "eff youz" to my old casa de blog. Find me here for more ramble-roos and chatter splatter.
So you know what? I'm going freebie style. Yea, I'm gonna say a giant "eff youz" to my old casa de blog. Find me here for more ramble-roos and chatter splatter.
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