My Trademark

I have way too many "If" daydreams, especially, "If I was a celebrity..." daydreams. Anyway, in a recent mental wandering about cigars and pipes, I was thinking about those items that distinguish certain people and celebrities. Think with me of old time movie stars: Charlie Chaplin and his hat and cane, Groucho Marx and his cigar and mustache, Clark Gable's mustache... Now think of more recent celebrities: Paris Hilton and her dog, Tina Fey and her glasses, Larry the Cable Guy and his stupid shirt, Ron White and his drink, and a bunch more that I was able to think of at the time. I am talking about those props that these celebrities have that make them distinguishable when you dress up like them for Halloween.

I have come to terms that I will never be a celebrity, but I think I want to live more like one. That's why I am going to get a trademark. Yup, I am picking out a stupid prop to carry around and people will always associate with me.

So, the first step in picking a prop is to decide how outlandish it will be. If it is something unordinary, you only need to carry it occasionally. Since nicotine is so unacceptable, this category now includes cigars and pipes. Speaking of nicotine, a cigarette holder is a great trademark item. More reasonable choices involve normal items people have: glasses, facial hair, or large sunglasses (ala Jackie O). These can be great items, but you need to make it distinct in order to make it yours. The glasses need to be a different fashion that the usual, the facial hair needs to be a little more noticeable (like a great handlebar mustache!), and sunglasses are almost impossible to make into a distinct trademark anymore. For something more noticeable, yet still reasonable, one may consider hats or canes.

I think I am going to use an umbrella. First, I can incorporate it without a whole lot of notice...I simply have to wait for a stormy or rainy week. I bring an umbrella with me everywhere. Then, when the weather clears up, I still bring the umbrella. It's practical, and I can get lots of different styles so that it's fashionable too. I can just set it with my purse when I'm inside doing something. It will only become noticeable when I'm outside. Okay, also when I am entering or exiting a place. I can use it as a cane if I want, and it will make great poses for pictures. I can see it now: lean on it like a cane in front with a cute smile, now outstretched behind me like a parasol, now up in the air like I'm flying away. I love it...it's useful, fashionable, and yet distinctive enough that soon people would associate me with umbrellas.

Soon people will find me so intriguing that they will think of me like a celebrity, especially the way that I'm living it up. People will begin to flock to me because of my strange style and fierce charisma. Then I'll become one of those celebrities where no one is quite sure why I am famous, since I haven't done anything. Then I pose very cutely with the umbrella, and next thing you know, I am truly famous! Or, at least I'm an intriguing person who never gets soaked in a rain storm.

Sometimes...

Sometimes I wonder...if I was to hide under my desk for an hour or two, would anyone notice? Would someone peek into my office and see no one there and walk away? Or would anyone happen to see under the exposed bottom foot of my desk my body sitting there? I think I found my new place to play on the iphone.

Friday things

Apparently if you don't really like to work, you should get a job in a workforce center. I don't get it. My office is located in the workforce center, and their hours truly mystify me. The sign says they are open from something like 8:00-5:30, but the parking lot isn't ever full until 8:45 and it is completely empty by 4:45. The building seems absolutely empty on Fridays. Maybe I am seeing it weird, since I don't work in a tiny cubicle in the main room, and since I don't work for anyone here. My company just rents an office here, and all my co-workers are spread out over two states. So, I sit in my corner office, as a completely independent viewer of what I see in this building. Of course, the nice thing is that no one here works with me, so no one really cares if I show up at 8:30 and leave at 4:15 and take a 90 minute lunch. I love my independence.
On another note, isn't it interesting that when I don't work long hours, I am simply enjoying my independence? However, when other people do it, I just think they are lazy or something. I make hypocrisy fun!
So, according to my reader, (yes, you, person who is so bored that you actually read this crap and you even took a silly poll, I appreciate it, thanks!), my excuse for not blogging for a while should be that I was in rehab.
Well, sure, yeah, I was in rehab. I mean, you know how it is. You start drinking and writing wildly fantastic things about Canada Day, and the next thing you know, everyone says you have a problem. Rehab keeps you busy, and then sobriety creates bland blogs.
On another note, really? Rehab was your favorite answer? I really thought the Adult Video Awards one was pretty funny, I could have written pages on that.
Well, back to work (if I don't sneak out of here at noon...). Lots of strange people to meet with.

My Protege

It's pretty terrifying that I am helping someone become like me. I try to help her and keep an eye on her when I get a chance, and I don't know if it is these brief times or just some of the shared genetics, by cousin's daughter is becoming quite awesome. I dare say she is cuter and more fashionable than I was at her age. She has some of my mannerisms and much of the same sick humor. I've always enjoyed spending time with her, but now that she is in high school, I dare say I am simply proud. I can see how she is becoming like me.
She has recently taken on a mission to help protect her friends from bullying. How does she do this? Well, she will go up to a friend in the hallway, and hit their big stack of books so that this poor "friend" will drop them all. She then says, "What if I had been a real bully? You need to be careful. Now pick those up!" Yup, her bullying prevention is simply her being a bully to her friends.
What can I say? I'm proud.

Government Time Machine

So, not too much has been going on here. You know, just working and driving the government time machine. Oh, what? You never get to drive a government time machine? That sucks. Especially because I do. So suck it. I mean, yeah, on the outside it looks like a typical Dodge something-or-other, but when you step inside, suddenly you are transported to the 1990s. I discovered this today, when I drove it for the first time. I had to make sure I had everything ready for when I have to travel for work on Wednesday. As I was trying to adjust the channel, I realized it only has a cassette player. I'm worried that my own car doesn't have a port for an ipod, and now I also have to find cassettes? I gave those up in the 7th grade. As I finally get the channel over to a radio station, the first song that blares is "Mo' Money, Mo' Problems," and I spend a moment pondering the line about how in 10 years they will still be on top...

Anyway, besides that, life is pretty normal. Lots of talking to messed up teenagers and really strange parents, along with wedding planning stuff. Want to see the wedding website? Of course you do! http://www.ewedding.com/sites/CamlovesLaura

So I guess there is this election today...

Seriously, I am really tired of the whole thing. I was thinking that if I didn't have to work today, I would drink every time I heard the word election. And I wouldn't even cheat by turning the tv onto any 24 hour news channels. I would have been wasted. If Facebook can promote it that much, it is pretty much out of control.
Don't get me wrong, I think democracy rocks and I think voting is important. I thought quite a bit about who and what I would vote for. I sent my absentee ballot in a while ago. However, I don't think we need to encourage the uneducated masses to vote. If they aren't willing to research how and when to vote, we can pretty much assume they won't research who or what to vote for. We don't need these people voting. That is why I am dreadfully sick of facebook, myspace, google, msn, starbucks, ben & jerry's, etc, etc, etc, pushing people to vote.
One more thing. I am also really weary of how political ads and pundits tend to paint a picture of apocalyptic doom if something does or does not pass, or if some person goes into office. Really? The Apocalypse will happen is ________ becomes president? Wow. That's pretty intense. I end up humming this little diddy that once got lodged in my brain. I shall share the lyrics.

The population has greatly decreased
And my chances have greatly increased
That I may get a chance to kiss your lips.
I thank the Lord each day for the Apocalypse.

I'm really awkward in haunted houses...

Actually, I am pretty awkward with anything that involves intensity or strong emotions. I go straight to my coping mechanism...humor. Typically I find people do not like to sit next to me in funerals, because I am truly obnoxious. I imagine I will be pretty goofy at my wedding. It comes on pretty strong at haunted houses.
When then bad guys jump out at me, I tend to respond with "Uh, hey, how's it going?" Sometimes I shriek, but usually I just try to make casual conversation. It's weird. I went to one last night, and when a creepy woman with an eerie crackle came at us saying she needed fresh meat for her meat pies, I told her I don't like pie. My friend and I were paired up with two people we did not know, and I found out that one of the them was named Jason. When I got scared, I typically shouted out, "Take Jason!" I think last year I may have offered one of the creepy people a hug.
I think they need to create characters like me in scary movies. We are rare, but we are there. We people who try to joke our way out of death. When that fails, we try to cute our way out of death. (Yes, I just used cute as a verb. It is the act of being cute...smiling, being polite, and offering hugs...You know when someone is cuting their way out of something when you see it.)
Of course, I discovered I am a horrible person because of that haunted house. Here's the story: We stand in line for an hour and a half, and then they usher twenty of us into a dark, creepy room. It's a court room, and Judge Killmore, a creepy man with lots of face paint, calls random people up to his bench. He accuses them of being guilty and yells very much. He slams his gavel, and it's kind of funny and kind of terrifying. (He accused one woman of not being a true blond. I laugh, but still try to hide because I am truly fearful of him calling me forward.) Some idiot, despite the parental advisory warnings, brought their little girl.(She was probably about 8 or 9--a real tentative line...some kids that age already love scary movies, but many are just not ready yet. And here is where I get preachy. Look, if your kid isn't the scary movie type, don't force them to be. Let them keep their innocence. There will be plenty of time in their life for scary things. There is no reason to traumatize the ones who aren't ready by forcing them to be ready. You are robbing them of their youth by doing that sort of thing.) This little girl is pretty freaked by the Judge, which is totally fair. I am laughing, but seriously find my heart beating that I don't want to go up there in front of everyone and be yelled at. The little girl starts crying. Now she's done it. The judge sees her and yells for her to come forward. He yells for her to stop crying. Tells her she shouldn't be there. Now the kid is really upset. He sends her back to her chair, but she is clearly freaked. Judge Killmore proceeds for a few more minutes, sending off one or two people in handcuffs before sending us all off. We then are put in a giant room and separated into small groups for the actual "Trail of Terror." Somehow my friend and I are getting separated into a group with the crying kid and her two mom-figures. This kid is shook. I now can't get into the scary experience, because I just feel for that kid. So, I try to laugh with her and I remind her they are all actors. I tell her to touch the wall. "See, it's just plastic and staples. It's not real." She sobs, "I...know...but I want...to go." The adult women are clearly not interested in leaving. I am starting to realize that my haunted house experience is about to be truly ruined, because I will be spending time consoling some kid with terrible adult figures in her life. And just as I am thinking that, the Judge sneaks over and jumps out at the little girl. She is ruined. She is freaking out. And I start laughing. Not loudly, not obviously, but still laughing. I hide my laughter, but somehow it is so funny. And as much as I kind of despise the guy for terrifying the kid, I get and kind of respect what he is doing. He knows the upcoming parts are going to be awful for this kid, and she won't have a chance to back out at that point. He is making a point, you don't bring a little kid to something like this. The truly terrible parent figures continue to debate for way too long about whether or not to go as this child hysterically weeps, and finally a scary guide talks them out of it. I am really glad they did. A few points were pretty freakin' scary, and I occasionally thought that the kid would have to go to years of therapy to get over the experience.
Anyway, the two main points for you are this: don't bring innocent, unprepared children into haunted houses. Go ahead and do some light trick-or-treating, some bobbing for apples, paint or carve some pumpkins, maybe a light corn maze or a corn cannon, and a simple costume contest. Do the kiddy stuff. Don't traumatize the kid. The other point is I am going to hell for laughing at a crying kid. Oh well.

Yeah, I'm an only child. What's it to you?

So in a recent conversation with a newer friend, she was astonished to find out I am an only child. She said she would have never thought it, because I am so balanced. It kind of made me crazy, because I am so weary of being judged on the whole issue. If people find out I am one early in the relationship, they warp every encounter afterwards to prove how spoiled and selfish I am. I had a roommate who, after I agreed to watch her dog and the house and pick up her shifts and gave her several bags of groceries to see her off on an emergency trip, told people how spoiled and selfish I was. (It's long story, but that is the main point. I didn't leave out critical details that change the entire context.) Others, if they find out after knowing me for a while, wonder at how much of an anomaly I am. Well, I think I know what the real problem is.
The real problem, dear readers (I put that in to make it feel more intimate), is not the behaviors of only children. The real problem is those people with siblings. They are judgemental. I don't blame them, it's not their fault. They grew up in the constant eye of judgement. Let's face it, they were always judged as far as who was the better sibling. They were the favorite, the golden child, the blessed one....or they weren't. Anyone who claims to believe the lie "I love all my children equally" is simply lying to themselves. We all know parents have a favorite. And just as the child felt judged, so they now judge. These siblingers (a word I just made up, but what are you going to do? Judge me? Ha! You would, you siblinger.), they were under the constant knowledge that they were being judged. They grew up knowing nothing other than judgement. The siblingers dealt with it however they could, sometimes competing to be the best, sometimes rebelling and being the black sheep so that they could claim to escape judgement. But it is still there. And since these siblingers know nothing but judgement, they now must try to bring the peaceful only-children under their unhappy blanket of crushed hopes and constant desires of approval. Well, no longer! No longer will only-children be scapegoated. We are well-adjusted! We are happy! We were not judged, we were loved! Our parents had no choice but to love us, and we were not compared! So do not bring your judgement and your unhappy, competitiveness out on us! Remember, we may be your only way to find out, vicariously, yes, how liberating not being judged is.

Oh, and as far as my extended absence from writing, well, take the poll on the left and I might write about why I was gone later.

If you thought I was boring before...

...then you are really doomed, because I am going to talk about being engaged today.
A dear friend (Brklln) asked a very insightful question. (She really does ask some interesting ones. She is far more clever than she gives herself credit for.) She asked if it felt different being engaged. It made me realize that it totally does. Not many things change the way things are, but this is one of them. Cam is different. He is more protective, and move loving. He was already like that, but something changes when you decide and commit to spend the rest of your lives together. And it really changes when you let everyone you know in on that knowledge and commitment. My relationship is a little different with my parents. For the first time ever, I was able to talk to my mom about birth control. I am being acknowledged as an adult. Along with that, my favorite little cousin, who is 14, now thinks I am going to be boring and no fun to hang out with. I don't think my fun level changed...See if I give her that Chuck Norris "Fact" book now. ("Chuck Norris's genes aren't a double helix. They're barbed wire.")
On a different note, I haven't gone to many weddings. I've never been a bridesmaid. This is causing a problem. I don't know how the hell to plan a wedding or choose bridesmaids. Seriously. So, I decide to do a little research. I bought some bridal magazines. I figured it would let me know the sort of things I am supposed to think of (apparently cakes, dresses, invitations, shoes, receptions, flowers, colors, and a whole bunch of other really girly stuff) and maybe give me a hint about how to pick a Maid of Honor. It had no hints. Just lots of things about overpriced dresses for me and those poor bridesmaids. (I say poor, because I feel bad for them. I really want the main color to be orange. They'll be stuck wearing orange, sucks to be them.)
Anyway, I lost a lot of brain cells and a few IQ points reading that crap. There a quiz that I hoped would help me, that asked what kind of bride are you. I didn't understand the questions. "The Madonna song you love the most is..." What? People love Madonna songs? I don't understand. I couldn't that question. I was baffled. The options for the reality show I am addicted to are The Bachelor, The Amazing Race or America's Next Top Model? I still don't understand. I sometimes will watch an episode of any reality shows on VH1 or Comedy Central, but they are funny in a disturbing way. There was one that asked what my secret to staying in shape was. I don't. I'm lazy. I eat chocolate and think about how I should go do something. It asked what I think of when I hear the word "Bean." I thought "Mr." The options were Elsa Peretti, L.L., Fava, and Espresso. I don't even know what/who Elsa Peretti is. Anyway, I pretty much learned Cam is in trouble, because he is marrying a boy. (By the way, "To show its patriotism, the American flag recently got a tattoo of Chuck Norris.")

Just Kidding...

Funny thing about Saturday's blog. I'm engaged now. He proposed Monday night. Uh, so, I guess I can pretend like I have no idea what I was rambling about.

One of those reasons why being a female is so freakin' hard

I wonder if it is as hard to be a man as it is to be a woman. I'm pretty sure it's not. I think their brains would explode if males had to deal with the anxieties, conflicting emotions and ideas, and general physical attributes of being female. Allow me though to narrow my scope, because I could talk generally on males and females for ages.
Women usually come off as crazy in the head when it comes to engagement and marriage. However, men do not understand how hard those subjects are on us women. It's easy for them. They think they should get married some day, but they should also buy a house and a nice car. It's just part of societal expectations, and they might as well. That is far from how it is for women. Despite how rational and how hard we try to not be like this, it seems to drive us. I cannot count how many cool women I have seen crying and losing their minds because their boyfriends will not get engaged to them. Whether it was the girl who freaked because her boyfriend claimed he would a ring and then bought a motorcycle, the girl who kept hanging in there waiting saying he would be ready as soon as the next big event in their life happened while she became more and more depressed, or the girl who grew more angry and bitter and called him awful names when she was drunk because he failed to propose in the time period he said he would, I have seen cool girls go crazy.
It's not our fault. We can't help it. It doesn't matter how deeply we don't want to be like this and it doesn't matter how many times feminism tells us we don't need someone. Somewhere deep inside we know the truth. Feminism or not, our society isn't built for women all alone. The tv shows and movies remind the women they need someone. The economy and finances remind women they should not be alone. The job markets remind women they should be with someone. It's even in politics. It is getting easier and easier to name really cool women politicians, but is still impossible to name one who is single.
It's even deeper than that. I was reading the first chapters of Genesis the other day, and there it is. The stupid curse for the first sin, and women are not just given painful childbirth, but also a longing for her husband. It's part of a curse! Fuck! We're doomed. We are cursed to want a husband and to want our husbands to notice us and love us and pay attention to us, and it's a stupid curse. That means we probably won't be getting that. Just take a second to let that depressing thought play in your head for a second. We're cursed. A curse? How can you fight a curse? Sigh.
So, it's not my fault I woke up anxious and soon went to weeping. I have been dating my boyfriend for a year in two days, and I have been ready to be engaged for months now. I let it slide though, because I thought that if nothing else, this would be a great weekend opportunity for him. We will be out of town in a nice hotel for a sweet concert. But this morning I suddenly knew it isn't going to happen. All those months of hoping and resting my worries on this weekend. Now it is here and it won't happen. I mean, maybe it will, but I just really don't think it will.
I freaked and cried and thought about all those things I just wrote about. I realized that maybe characters in the Awakening or in Ibsen plays may be able to walk away from relationships, but the curse is still in them. Those women can be independent and will still long and be miserable. There is no escape.
So, I have gotten it out of my system. Now I will go back to being that fun, cool girl who doesn't seem to care and keeps pretty chill about the whole subject. If I get engaged this weekend, sweet. If not, well, at least I already got to cry about it. Now I don't have to ruin a perfectly good concert.

Chunky Soy

I just got called out for editing myself, so I have to work in something rather outrageous into my blog. So, here it is: I was asked what was the most outrageous thing that came to mind, and instead of something normal...I kind of went in a weird direction. Suddenly, I had this vivid image of several obese men, truly overweight, naked. They were on skis and going down a snowy mountain, and they were all dancing like the Pussycat Dolls, and that stupid "When I Grow Up" song was running through my head. But the more I think about it, the uglier it gets. It's a bad music video, and the scenes keep getting worse. Fat, naked men wrestling in oil (oh, I just threw up in my mouth)...trying to pole dance...ugh...
I blame Brooke, and I blame my soy milk. I wanted cereal this morning, and I realized that my little bit of milk expired on Thursday. So, I reached for my leftover soy milk, and it smelled funky too. It expired a week ago, and when I tried to pour it down the drain...ick...it was chunky. Bleh. No milk like products for me for a while.
Anyway, the editing junk was me thinking about diatribing on politics and then hearing myself and thinking "dear god, stop rambling." So, it's really that sometimes I think, man, I think I am boring myself.
So, we will stop there. I think I will sneak out of the office most of this week...I'm still the best and no one will notice if I'm not around...I need to go do stuff anyway...golf, buy new jeans...you know, important stuff...

I have to come up with a title?

So, I didn't write any blogs for a while, but I don't like it when my blogs are nothing but whining and worrying. I knew that was what it would be, since I was feeling so down and eating so many Tums.
Now I can start again. My job was threatened, but I managed to prove myself and get moved over to a different department of sorts. I could talk about that long ordeal and make cruel jokes about it, but it will just sound bitter. Rather, what I will say is that I realized that I am incredible at interviews. It's a gift. I have yet to have an interview and not get the job. I've been trying to figure out how I can get a job where all I do is answer interview questions. It would be kind of an anti-reporter. I seem to have narrowed it down to celebrity, politician or public relations professional.
So the day after I was offered the job, I was also named President of my local Toastmaster club. (On a side note, our club name is "Talk of the Town." I think that name is just terrific.) It doesn't mean too much, but I'll take it. I think this means I better get more consistent in giving speeches. I might use this as a venue to try out ideas for speeches. This of course requires both of you to give a little imput.
I should have clever things to write, and I kind of do, but I'm just editing myself today. That's dull. I wonder why I am doing that. I prefer it when I just try to say the most outrageous thing I can think of. Guess I will have to work on that. Eh, I just need more sleep...

I don't think I'm depressed....

I may not be depressed, but I think I may be a little too easily swayed by commercials. I was watching the Olympics, and judging the divers for looking miserable, (I conceal my insecurity of never having been very physically coordinated by making assumptions about the happiness level of the best of the physically coordinated people based on their appearance at their big event.) when this commercial came on. It was the commercial for depression medication. The video was of various people looking sad in dark lit rooms, while perhaps a loved one looked sadly on the first sad looking person. Meanwhile, minor chords slowing plod along on a piano, mournfully emphasizing the general mood. I sit on Cam's couch alone and continue to watch this sad commercial (Cam was in the computer room doing...something. I don't know. Looking at bills, measuring pictures, playing tetris...who knows? All I know is that he went in there for a minute or two, and I was alone...and suddenly so sad...) and begin to realize that I too sit alone in a dark lit room. The people in the commercial apparently have taken the medication by the end of the commercial and they seem to be doing...better? One guy opens some blinds, a woman is shopping and holding up fat jeans...and I still feel sad. I think things like I should open the blinds... (Sigh) Oh, that woman has to buy fat jeans? (Sigh) Oh that's sad... (Sigh) That must feel awful... (Sigh) Gosh, I feel...(sigh)...depressed. The commercial ends and suddenly the tv is brighter and happier, and I suddenly snap out of it. Wait! The blinds are closed because the windows face the tv. I wouldn't be able to see a thing! And hey! Who cares? I don't wear fat jeans! Wait! I'm not depressed...I'm just a little tired...
Anyway, guess I'm not depressed. But now I have a little reason to be. It looks like I won't have a job soon. The boss people want me to apply for a different position in our company, but like to remind me that lots of other people are applying...basically reminding me that although I am great at my job, I still don't get to keep it. It's frustrating.
Oh, and my apologies for leaving "the poll" going for too long. But really, only two of you take time to look at my actual blog, so no one sees it. And honestly, I'm only moderately clever. It takes time to think of something else to place there. Naked presidents came to me in my insomnia a while back, I don't know when something clever will come. I'll worry about it when I think people are actually looking at the blog and judging me. I do better under pressure. (Or maybe when I don't feel so...depressed...sigh...)

My Olympic Game

It is time for another one of my games! The Olympics are starting, and I am sure you are saying, "Yeah, the Olympics seem to unify the world with competition, but how can I bring the spirit of the Olympics into my household? How can I get my friends together and still compete?" Well, brace yourself, I have created the game for you.
We all know that the Olympics are hardly more than a parade of advertisements anymore. So, get your friends together, but instead of picking a country to cheer for, pick a company. The more advertising and promotion they get, the more points you get. So, just a rough guess on point systems:
A logo on clothing: 1 point
A logo on billboard/stadium/etc: 2 points
Audio mention by athlete or commentators: 4 points
TV Ad in between events: 8 points

Now, I'm just making this up, but you can change the exact points how you like. Now, you have your safe, easy bets. These include brands like Nike, Adidas, Reebok and Gatorade. If you are willing to back a bigger risk, go for a higher challenge, brands like Speedo, Puma, McDonald's and Coca Cola. If you really like a challenge, back a brand that doesn't have sports equipment or food. (I'm backing NBC/General Electric--I think that monster company is going to really outdo themselves in promoting.)
Go ahead, try it. Make it interesting. Put some money or some cheap trophy on the line.
Okay, I know. Some of you are still not satisfied, you need a drinking game. Well, there is the easy game...pick a country and anytime they win, take a drink (Experts can pick USA, Amateurs may want to stick to Canada). Or for a more interesting challenge, take a shot every time China is mentioned in a positive light. Rumor has it that NBC has a lot invested in making China look good.
Okay, there are your challenges. Let the games begin!

We Miss You, Chris

It is only a couple of days until the first anniversary of the death. A macabre anniversary, but one that is good opportunity to stop and reflect. It makes me wish that Chris could see how much his life, and death, impacted all of us.

I remember the day I found out. I was leaving my office to drop something off at my boss's house. I stood still stunned from the news I had received half an hour earlier. I remember telling her that I didn't want to lose anymore friends that way, and that I wanted to get involved in suicide prevention.

I remember the somber funeral. So many friends who saw each other so often, yet this time so many of us were hurt and badly shaken. I remember all of those who seemed so confident and strong, suddenly surprised at how deeply the grief hit.

I did as I promised. I was trained within a month or two to teach suicide prevention classes to middle school students across the region. I taught many of these three day classes. I remember the face of a little girl who came up to me after a class and told me how she had tried to commit suicide, and the relief of being able to speak of it. I have heard that many students were helped as a result of these classes. I'm not sure how many it helped, but I know it helped me.

I think most people can remember that last conversation they had with someone who has died. I remember mine. Chris was wondering what charisma was. I tried to explain it to him, and he wanted to know if he had it and how he could get it. I tried my best to answer and explain, but I never feel like I was very clear in my answer to him.

I think most people wish they could change that last conversation, or have just one more. If I could, I would tell Chris that he had lots of charisma, and maybe something even better than charisma. He may not have led in the typical way, but he brought us together. He touched our lives and made us all want to be better. He showed us how to be friendly to everyone and saw us all for the best parts of ourselves.

I sit here, wondering how to finish this. I have lost words in a flurry of memories and emotions. So, I will finish with this. Chris meant a lot to everyone who knew him. He made our lives better, and our lives were changed when we had him and perhaps even more when we lost him. I am glad to have known him and wish I had been closer to him. Most of all, we all miss him.

When a week goes bad...

We both knew we were in trouble when Sonic messed up the order. Sonic is a holy place, and Sonic never messes up an order. I mean, to be fair, I knew we were in trouble before that...when Cam was too busy playing Guitar Hero for us to leave in a timely manner. Or maybe even the night before, when we were out at the club and ran into a guy I used to date. But nonetheless, we both say we knew our trip to the Front Range might be trouble when the breakfast sandwich came out wrong.
Most of the time it was actually pretty nice. So what if a couple of friends didn't call to meet up with us? At least we had a wonderful dinner and a sweet bowling experience. And the hotel was spectacular...but that was Sunday...
Monday seemed okay. Sun was shining and the lines at Starbucks were 30 feet long. We tried to go to the museum and it was closed. No big deal. So the three-story Niketown doesn't sell women's golf stuff anymore. Once again, no big deal. It takes us longer than planned to find a great place to golf. Okay, we'll live. We get paired up with some stranger, that happens all the time.
Except now the real trouble begins. We are rushed golfing, because we have a concert to be at in less than two hours. The guy we are partnered with is slow. Not to mention he figures out who I am long before I know who he is. Oh, it helps when he has seen me and I have never seen him. It also helps that he had all the important clues. Nonetheless, my golf game is not going well because of the time issue before I find out we are golfing with my ex-boyfriend's roommate. The only ex-boyfriend I hate, and this is the guy who drove him the the airport when the ex was treating me badly and I wasn't answering phone calls anymore. Terrific. Now I am remembering that horrible winter and how much I hate that ex, and that sort of ugly emotion does not do good things for a golf game. And then there were the geese covering the last 4 holes. I was clinging to my golf club as a defensive weapon.
We finally escape that, and we make it past the chaos getting to the concert venue. That's when I found out my hero, Dave Grohl, is sick and that the concert was cancelled. All the chaos...and for nothing!
We get back to the 16th Street Mall. I run into my boss, who finds a way to rip into me for it a couple days later. I almost break my wrist on a Barnes and Noble door.
The next morning I think my Oakleys are missing. The Oakleys were this beautiful gift, so hours are spent looking and worrying about them. It was horrible.
When I get back to work Wednesday, my computer wouldn't work. All the security had locked me out, and I can't access a thing until next week when some discs show up. So, my super challenging job just got more super challenging.
I know, this wasn't my usual style of blog...but sometimes you just need to bitch.

Waterbeds Scare Me

I admit, I'm terrified of some pretty stupid stuff. I am starting to calm down around sliding doors, but I also think they are luring me into complacency before I get slammed in one again. I am terrified of garbage disposals, but you would be too if your mother had told you that your older brother had been eaten by the garbage disposal. I also still cringe near most birds as well, but I know our war had not ended.

Waterbeds may be one of the weirdest fears though. I think part of it is that I am a terrible swimmer. So, I fear drowning, even in waterbeds. I cling to the edge. I had one as a child, and I would spend every night curled up on the dark rounded cushion edge instead of spread out on the bed. When I stray from the edge, I feel lost at sea. I wonder when the waves will stop. Speaking of which, I also dislike the way I feel like Godzilla when I am in one. My slightest turn creates a tidal wave.

So there you go. I admit it. I'm mildly frightened of automatic sliding doors, rottweilers, garbage disposals, carnies, birds, movies with eye surgeries shown, zombies, movies made by anyone with the name of Zombie, and waterbeds. I don't care too much for elevators either.

The Canada Day Game!

Unless you have a close friend who is a Canadian, or unless you are a Canadian, you probably missed the big holiday yesterday. No worries. It is apparently just an excuse to watch a lot of hockey, I'm not real certain on any other special Canada Day traditions.

The way I hear it, Canada gained independence on July 1, 1867. This is perplexing to me, because I swore they still had the Queen of England as their figurehead, but what do I know? I'm apparently just an ignorant American. (Somewhat true story: So I was self-employed last year, meaning my taxes were a nightmare. I was on hold yesterday for 40 minutes with the IRS, listening to the William Tell Overture over and over again on the hold music--you would thinkthey could afford more hold songs--waiting so that I could clear up two problems that had recently come up with my 2007 taxes. I went ahead and ate lunch with my Canadian while the phone played hold music for us, and we began to discuss Canada Day. I made a few cracks about the Queen, Canada just trying to copy America and steal our thunder by picking July 1, and the fact that is so cold they couldn't even get out of their igloos long enough to declare independence until July. None of those were received very well. About 28 minutes into the hold music though, I begin to rant against the US Government and such, and that wasn't taken well either. Apparently you can't make fun of Canada and then rip your own country 10 minutes later...)

So, I don't know much about Canada Day. I admit it. I do know I have created the GREATEST GAME EVER! Okay, follow me here. Say you go to a convenience store to buy some Gatorade and a Diet Rockstar. This can be on July 1 or any other day, because we are all just ignorant Americans anyway. As you are paying for you items, look the cashier directly in the eye and say, "Oh! I see you are celebrating Canada Day." When they say, "What?", just go ahead and nod your head and say, "You know, Canada Day." Look like you expect them to know exactly what you are talking about. When they look perplexed, you need to look slightly embarrassed and say, "Oh. Sorry. I guess not." Now leave as quickly as possible. This cashier will spend the rest of the day wondering what he or she was wearing to make you think that, or what they might have said, or what the traditions of Canada Day are that would make you think that they were celebrating it. Also, by leaving quickly, you can hide your hysterical laughter.

Go ahead, try it anywhere. Grocery stores, restaurants, pretty much anywhere where you talk to someone you do not know very briefly. When that gets old, create other holidays. Made up holidays are almost as fun.

Happy Canada Day!

Indiana Jones

I've been meaning for the last week and a half to rant about how much I hated the new Indiana Jones movie. I think I'll finally get around to it.

First off, I firmly believe that George Lucas should be tied up and beaten severely with the all of his new movies. I am thinking both the giant film canisters and the DVD cases should be used. No one should be allowed to continue to make movies and live after what he has done to Star Wars and Indiana Jones.

When I try to think of ridiculous Indiana Jones moments, there is always one that comes to mind. The Temple of Doom. The three main characters are in a plane that is about to crash with no parachutes. They take an inflatable raft and jump out of the plane. The raft inflates, which slows the fall. Then the raft falls onto a mountain, where the characters miraculously slide down without incurring harm. Finally, the raft flies off of a cliff. The characters survive and the boat even lands right side up. It's remarkably terrible.

Now think of that moment as a flavorable bit of cheese. Imagine a delicious sandwich with a slice of pepperjack or provolone cheese melting on it. It adds a little character and flavor, but does not necessarily dominate the entire sensation of the sandwich.

Now take another mental image. Picture a giant plate of either grated Parmesan cheese with nothing else (make sure you imagine the strong Parmesan smell), or a giant cube of that fakish rubbery American cheese. Picture the one that icks you out a little more and then picture someone handing that to you for dinner. That's it. Just a big chunk of not very good cheese at all. Eat it! Now! That's what the new film is like. You take a big mouthful, and it just tastes like vomit in your mouth, and you beg to stop and spit it out, and you are told, no forced, to chew and swallow. Now another bite and another...for 2 and 1/2 hours.

It was that bad. Whether it was nuclear blasts and refrigerators, or the Cirque Du Soleil of giant killer ants, it wasn't even comically bad. It was just bad.

And aliens? Really?

Really?

Anyway, they know that anyone who went to go see that movie must be retarded, because they made sure they reitterated their nonsensical plot of aliens over and over and over again as if it was being stated for the first time so that the mentally challenged viewers might understand.

And really? Aliens? I don't even think it would be wise to engage on my rant on the ideological implications that have occurred by switching the original plots and artifacts in the first three Indiana Jones movies with aliens. But trust me, it was bad.

Sorry, I'm a workaholic

I've been doing some thinking, and I'm wondering why we don't treat all addict with the same respect we show alcoholics. An alcoholic can turn down a drink with a simple, "Sorry, I'm an alcoholic" (and the person who offers the drink feels really bad). Why can't I say to my boss when she gives me more work, "Sorry, I'm a workaholic." (She might even feel bad about trying to make me do work.)

How about some videos?

Want to really waste your time today? Great, it's Friday and it's movie time!

So you liked that one? How about this sequel?

You need more? Then how about the stunning conclusion?

Okay, that's enough fun for now. But don't worry, I can bore you more later!

So Apparently I'm a Golfer Now...

...and I'm even wearing the goofy pants to prove it. It all started when I took a golfing class in college. I was a joke. The class would pretend to be teeing up at the range, but in all reality would be watching my mad swinging in every direction. It was horribly embarrassing. Eventually though, with some patience on my instructor's part and some strong attempts on my side, I became decent on the driving range. And then the semester ended.
A year and a half later, I'm at this wedding when the groom's brother recognizes me. "The really bad golfer!" Soon everyone in attendance is staring at me as if I had walked in trying to golf right there. Not fair, I was minding my own business, it isn't as though I went to the wedding in goofy pants and golf cleats. Weak sauce.
Okay, so now we will go forward another year or so. My father and my boyfriend have begun to golf together. My dad feels it is necessary to say to Cam that I golf, because sure, I took a class in college. (I took that class because I had to take some athletic credit and I figured golf wouldn't require me being embarrassed by being the last picked for some team sport. Athletics aren't really my thing.) Suddenly Cam is excited because now I can join them as well. Next thing I know, we are looking at women's golf clubs. One sale comes along, and suddenly I have a bag full of everything I need and no good excuse to hide.
So, it all comes to yesterday, where I donned the silly checkered pants and grabbed my shiny clubs. Good/bad news, a golf instructor was there in our foursome. I got tips that annoyed the hell out of me, but also made me better. It was a long course and I managed to totally bogey a hole, which is a start. Of course, there was that nasty incident on hole 9 when I threw a golf club up in the air and about 15 feet behind me. Eh, I'm learning.

Low Card

The tricky part of being brilliant...mmm...let's stop right there. There's a couple tricky things about being brilliant. I know, because, of course, I am brilliant. And perfect.
Anyway, the first tricky thing is that it's hard to talk to many people. They don't enjoy talking to brilliant people because they feel dumb. Clearly, you aren't one of those people, look how smart you are. You are reading and comprehending...so we're like equals. I'm talking about all those other losers out there. So, brilliant people are often lonely. It's hard to make a Sex and the City or Friends show where the characters are Supreme Court Justices and a NASA scientist and David Foster Wallace and Stephen Hawking (but I would so watch that show).
The other tricky thing is it is hard to find ways to keep the brain active and at supreme level. I mean, how does Superman exercise? He can't just go to a normal gym, and people look down on lifting buildings and trains just to get a workout.
But the real thing is that if you are brilliant you constantly fight boredom. Which is why I create games.
My favorite game I have created is Low Card. It started when I lived in a party house. Lori and I were waiting for everyone to show up, and we were drinking and playing with a deck of cards. I shuffled the cards and declared, "low card makes me a new drink." Next was "low card does a shot." Then it was "low card kisses the first person who walks through the door." We would cut the cards and face our fate. It had the simplicity of cutting cards with the pleasure of the dare part of Truth or Dare. By the end of the night it was a crowd of us and "low card has to go outside and stop a car going down the street and ask if they have any grey poupon."
We played that game for months. It followed us everywhere, and I was able to keep busy by constantly coming up with really horrible or humorous dare. I sometimes fell victim to my own ideas, but it was worth it. How else do you get someone to stand on a corner where the homeless stand with a sign that says "Can't afford Prada"?

The #1 Reason I'm Glad I'm Not a Celebrity (and the #2 reason too)

I wait to be checked out at the grocery store and read the headlines on trashy celebrity magazines and realize the top reasons I am glad I am not one.
#1 Reason--I would know other celebrities. Doesn't sound too bad, right? But then my significant other would know other celebrities as well, since he would be with me for celebrity functions. And the celebrities would know him as well. Now it's one thing if a normal girl hits on my man. It's a whole different story when it's Lindsay Lohan or Mischa Barton or Paris Hilton. Suddenly it is threatening, because they have some name and mild legendary status. And the other thing is that every celebrity can get trumped by a greater celebrity. There is always going to be a celebrity who is a little fresher or bigger or hotter right now. If even Jennifer Aniston can get her man stolen by a bigger celebrity, I'd be screwed. Don't get me wrong, I trust my man. I just don't trust celebrities.
#2 Reason--I would hate bad pictures being taken of me and then any spot of celluloid magnified and displayed on magazines and gossip tv shows. I think I am fairly attractive, but I know I have flaws. I don't need to see them that big over and over again.
No wonder celebrities have substance abuse problems, I would want to self-medicate too if I was constantly worry about some fat spot on me being posted everywhere and then having my man stolen by some famous girl with fake boobs and giant lips.

This election is kind of funny when you think about it in the right way...

I have many hobbies. Following politics is one of them. As we approach what is beginning to feel like another election in which many must choose between the lesser of two (or three) evils (I know, some people are really excited about the candidates. I'm not.), I lose hope. But man, this video made me laugh so hard!

One-eyed, one-eared freak...please limit your laughing to my right side where I can't hear it

I caught this cold when I was training in Denver. No big deal, I have had a million colds before (give or take a few hundred thousand). Here's the thing, I then had to go over all those stupid passes while I was super congested (and starting to sound like Fran Drescher), and so it blocked my ears. My right ear refuses to pop. So here I am, it is 8 days later and I am still deaf in one ear.

I don't imagine I would care too much about being deaf in one ear, if I wasn't still mostly blind in one eye. I'm becoming a freak, and I'm not sure how long I can hide it. Beautiful people are never freaks. And freaks always look like freaks. Soon I will be recognized and rounded up to join my new home in the circus. They simply don't allow one-eared, one-eyed people wandering around in public talking to all the normal people.

May I also note that I am currently deaf in the right ear, and I have been blind in the left eye for ages? At least each side has a strong point to focus on.

Even if I don't get rounded up, so that normal people are no longer forced to look upon me, I see an ugly trend developing. I seem to lose 1/2 a sense every what...5 years? So, by the time I am thirty I will have to lose another half...I'm thinking losing the capacity of a nostril is too easy. Besides...with allergies...those stupid things only work when they feel like it anyway. Nope, I think I am going to lose half my taste. (Great time for an insult if you like. "Lose half your taste? Look at you, honey, you lost all your taste long ago.") I'm thinking I will probably lose my ability to taste sweet and salt. Still keep spicy and sour or something stupid like that. How would I do that? Same way as the other two...a worthless immune system.

Anyway, please don't tell everyone I am a one-eared, one-eyed freak. The longer I can keep that under wraps, the longer I can keep living my otherwise beautiful life. It's going to be hard enough to keep up the charade of normalcy, while people stand on my right side and try to hold a conversation with me. Oh, and taking advantage of my weaknesses by whispering on my right and hitting me on the left where I can't see you, well, that's just mean.

Will Ferrell should play Adam

Sometimes I like to imagine that Adam, when he first met Eve in the Garden of Eden, was cheesy and picked up on Eve like a corny loser in the bar. I imagine him saying things like, "Hey there, I don't think I've ever seen you around here before...come here often?" I imagine him saying it with an over-dramatic swagger. (In fact, in my imagination, Adam could be very well played by Will Ferrell.) "Cause I'm lookin' at you and I'm sayin' whoa-man! Yeah, how about you show me where my rib went (giggitty-giggitty)."
I also picture God looks like Mike Holmgren.

The Board: coming soon to a movie theater near you

I didn't realize that I was saying it like that. But in a discussion with Cam a few nights ago, he made it obvious that I spoke of the Board in the same sort of tone that one talks about "the man." I started to realize that I kind of sound like I'm in some sort of John Grisham novel turned into a movie starring Michael Douglas when I speak of them.
It makes sense. Most people never see them, very few know their names. Yet they operate the non-profit with an incompetent iron fist. They know nothing of the place they control, most have never seen it in operation, some do not even know what the programs we run are. And yet they have the control...they control the pay, the job responsibilities, the events, the publicity, the...well, they are trying to make it everything.
Now for a quick lesson on non-profits and boards...

1. It is a law that every non-profit must have a board. This is intended to hold the employees fiscally responsible. No financial move is to be made without the board's consent.
2. Their dealings are to be transparent. Every meeting must be documented, minutes written and available at any time. You should be able to walk into the door of your favorite non-profit and demand lots of papers, and they have to give you anything and everything.
3. They are intended to provide leadership for the organization. Part of this is going out into the community and creating good will. Part is fundraising.

Our board doesn't do those things. We do have a Board. They meet. Behind closed doors and without record. They don't fundraise, they don't provide leadership, they don't do good things in the community. Pretty much, they sit there for a while in order to feel a power trip while pretending to do a good thing, because they are on a board for a non-profit.
Seriously. These people suck.
Oh, and one is schizophrenic and totally crazy. (He will call, and when I ask who is speaking, he identifies himself as "Psycho." He calls himself Psycho? He does have problems.) And another one, well, I spend a lot of days how she even manages to find her way to her front door without getting lost.

Oh, but hey, good news. I have the only gynecologist in the world who hates vaginas. That woman will do anything to not look at them...including record setting pap smears. I think I clocked her at 12.6 seconds today.

32 hours and counting...

Friday is my last day working in a non-profit. Since I have little to do, except clear out my desk, I think I will waste much of my time blogging about it all.
First, I think I may be in trouble...I haven't even started my new government job, but I'm already drowning in orientation attachments. 27 attachments and some 115 pages in order to even get started...this is going to be a job of paperwork.
Second, it is a little weird to be getting pushed out by the girl who is taking my job. She is clearly ready to make lots of changes, and is clearly getting a little angry at me when I question some of her desires. I understand her youthful optimism in change, I have wanted to change many things myself...but I also understand the realities of this job. Some thing will not be able to change until the Executive Director is finally out, the E.D. claims she likes to see youth input, but in all reality she does not want most things to change. Also, I have done this long enough to have a pretty strong grasp on both youth and people who donate...But my replacement is clearly disinterested in my experience in both, so I guess I will just have to sit back and let her do as she will.
I am thrilled to get out of the hands of the Board though. The Board has started to reach a level of incompetence and blatant evil...I will have to write some last thoughts on them tomorrow. Today I will simply sigh. I am ready for a change. Only 4 more days left.

I found out I was psychic in December...

...and this is what I had to say about it:

Good news! I'm psychic! But it turns out that I am the lamest psychic in the world.... A super boring psychic. Turns out I have dreams about the most boring parts of my day before they happen. In my dreams I find out that I will have unexpected housework to do or I get to read my junk mail while I sleep, and then I read it again when it arrives in the mail. I will dream of reading a Bed, Bath & Beyond flyer in great detail and will be so bored of my dream that I can't even stand it, and then get it in the mail the next day and read it all over again, except with a nasty memory of having done it before.

Or I will dream of how the sponge I am using for my dishes is starting to stink and how I need to switch sponges. I will dream of the very sponge I will pull out, picturing every bit of lint upon it, and it is the last one in the drawer, and then dream of washing all the sponges and rags in my house. Next day, what happens? I get to live through the whole boring experience again.

So, there you have it. I'm psychic, but the most boring, worthless psychic ever. I can't figure out lotto numbers and I can't solve crimes. I can't sell my ability, because who cares what housework they are going to do the next day? Although it is eerie that I can predict it all down to the slightest details, it is absolutely useless. They definitely are not going to make a tv show about this kind of psychic, I won't even end up on A&E specials about psychics. I just get tortured by living dull events over and over again.

Lying on a Tuesday

It's sunny and it's windy and almost 3:30 on a Tuesday and I have to make up lies. I have tried to find ways around this, but it appears my only choice is lies. The real question is how many lies I have to make up. I have to bribe others to help me lie. They are easily bought. A little pizza and a couple of snazzy looking water bottles, and they will fill out all of the paperwork so that I can document my lies.

Procrastination will not make it go away.

Seriously, any moment now. I just need to get up and begin.

Hmm...this time thinking about my soul won't help. Oh. Or eternity. I need to stop thinking about that.

Time to go. I will tell them now.

Or now.

Or...