Rain: A Love/Hate Relationship

I love rainy days.

Granted, these sorts of days do have the tendency to make me even more lazy and even less productive than before.

Actually, scratch that. I'm always lazy and rarely productive. Rainy days just give me the feeling that it's OK to be lazy and unproductive because it's so dreary out. Even if it were sunny outside, I'd probably still be sitting here at noon in my pajamas with the doggies watching crappy TV.

But since it's all rainy out, I don't feel guilty about doing it.

Now, yesterday it was all rainy and stuff... but it was Friday. And I have to go out into the world and go into work on Friday. So on days when I have to leave the house... rain sucks.

Also, tomorrow I'm going to a concert at Red Rocks. If it's still raining then, I'll really hate it.

So I guess the rain is a conditional thing. Great for Saturdays when you have nothing you need to do. Crappy when you actually have to be a functioning member of society and/or your life.

I've been scanning a lot. My focus at work is to scan all of the hard copy files that we have in my department so that we can move the 4,000 files off site.

And this week I worked 4 ten hour days... so that's ten straight hours of scanning.

I know what you're thinking:

Ally, how do you get to do such amazing, life altering, fun things?

The answer: god loves me.

So I sit at my desk and scan documents one at a time until I want to kill myself. Sometimes my scanner also wants to kill itself.

At a certain point, it tries to fight back.

I'll stick a document in it, and it will literally choke itself on copies of licenses and insurance policies. It makes this terrible noise that sounds like a dog coughing up a week old rawhide.

And just like a dog, I have to reach in a fish out the offensive piece of rubbish that has caused the near death experience.

How rude am I? I have called my scanner "it" the entire time. It's a she, her name is Samantha, and Samantha is a bitch.

To Ktel and Back

It's been exactly one month since my last post...

Well, you can all breath again: I'm back from sabbatical.

Anywho, I have not written anything sooner because the whole cloud of GREECE has been hanging over my head and is just too overwhelming. I keep waiting to be struck with a sense of purpose and inspiration. I then thought, screw it. If I'm really a writer, than I should just write.

So this may not actually be about Greece... there's so much to talk about. Maybe I'll just start with some highlights.

- It's hard going to a country where the alphabet is different. I can see than this restaurant has Delta Nu Epsilon Pi for breakfast... but I can't even sound it out, yet alone pretend to know what it is. Thankfully, though, they have most things in English, too. I think that it would be weird living in a country where billboards have a combination of alphabets... but I guess you would get used to it.

- In Crete they give you this alcohol called Raki for free after dinner. It's the kind of booze that hits you in the spine when it goes down and leaves your lips tingling. I decided that it's the STD of the alcohol world: It's free and leaves a burning sensation. (Thanks to all who helped me with that definition... you know who you are.) Write that down.

- Mike told me that he is glad for me that I found him because he is so attractive and my past relationships have been with men who were not nearly as cute as him. He thinks that he adds a lot of credibility to my taste. So, thanks, Kevin.

- I had a fungus under my toenail (I know... too much info), and I got black sand from Santorini stuck in it. It's like a cheap souvenir... and I am a bargain shopper.

- We had to be in a hotel that did not have a shower head holder... so we had to hold the shower head while we bathed. And there was no shower curtain, so I also washed to trashcan, sink, toilet, and floor. We thought that maybe it was a culture thing. Then we walked past an open window to another bathroom... and there was a shower curtain. Damn.

- When Mike washed his clothes in the sink he made washing machine noises.

- I read. A lot. That's what we do. See Recently Finished if you are interested.

- The only television that they have over these that is in English (with Greek subtitles) is Beverly Hills, 90210 and Baywatch. SO, this trip was fun and educational. I learned how ugly Tori Spelling was and how dreamy David Hasslehoff was and why he was obviously responsible for the fall of the Berlin Wall. College schmollege.

- You can only eat so many Greek salads, moussaka, and frappes... but you can never have too much Fanta.

- BUSES/KTELS SUCK!! I don't want to go on another bus ride for a long time. Read Mike's posts for the details, but you heard it here: Ktel=Hell. And they smell. Oh well.

- Regardless of what anyone might expect about two people spending three weeks together non-stop, I still like Mike. In fact, this trip just proved to me that we are meant to be together forever... especially since he's so very attractive.

I'll probably think of other things to write about... but for now, that's all about Greece.

Now, for the important part.

The fourth and final book in the The Twilight Saga, Breaking Dawn came out the day before we returned. I was talking about it the entire trip; I even used some of our most expensive internet time to check Meyer's website.

So, after customs in Atlanta, we booked it (haha... no pun intended) to a store to buy the book.

After that... it was a lost cause. Mike couldn't talk to me... I wouldn't let him. Not on the plane ride home, not for the next 24 hours. Now I feel kinda bad because he needed some attention on the plane because he didn't feel good... but I was in too deep.

I LOVED it... so that is all I'll say... except that I heart Edward and Bella.

OK, that's it.

Really.

Other than that, nothing has really happened. Oh! We went out to dinner the other night, and as we were getting up Mike said, "Are you going to be OK in the rain, baby?"

I was so touched, and I said in an equally sappy voice, "Oh, I'll be OK, thanks, sweetie."

He wasn't talking to me.

He was talking to his camera bag...

Again, at least he's attractive.

Dork.

Another Way I have Managed to Piss People Off...

You want to piss people off? Say you're not a fan of cats.

A manager at work found a kitten in a bush in front of the office. Now my friend and her mom are adopting it.

The kitten is adorable, so cute. But she can't fool me.

Cats are killers.

It's actual fact... everything a cat does is based on hunting instincts. That is what they are made to do.

After working in a vet office, and having plenty of angry cats hiss my name when I tried to feed them, I have an aversion.

They are smarter than they look (like toddlers... both can see through your soul).

And there is a very fine line between a happy cat and an angry cat. They make the same movements with their tales and both cats flex their claws...

Dogs are pretty transperant.

Anyway, I simply stated how I feel.

"Your crazy," people said... but what they looked liked they wanted to say was "You heartless bitch".

They wanted to name the cat Victoria and call her Vicki. I love that name. I am a big proponent of people names for animals.

Somebody else said they should name her McCaslin (that is the name of the street we're on), and call her Mickey.

I said that I didn't like it, because she is clearly a Vicki.

Woman I work with but don't really know: "Mickey is a person's name"

Me: "No... it is a mouse."

Woman: "Well, I know more human Mickeys than I know animal Mickeys."

Me: "And I know a person named Cookie... but that doesn't make it a human name."

I guess I'll shut my mouth now.

I thought being an unpatriotic bitch was bad... but apparently dog people are up there on the list of satan's minions too.

UPDATE: Craptastic

Did you ever walk your dog and then have to pick up their poop with a plastic newspaper bag and then realize a little too late that there is a hole in the effin' bag?

Yeah, just happened.

And then you realize you're about a mile from home with poop on your hand?

And yeah... it's super duper crappy...

Literally.

Just Call me K-K-K-Katie.

A woman in Denver sang "Lift Ev'ry Voice and Sing" (aka, "The Black National Anthem"... which seems a little bit racist to me) instead of the Star Spangled Banner at the State of the City Address on July 1st.

People are pissed, including many people in my office. I walked into the lunch room and a bunch of women were saying that she should be in jail and it's as bad as burning the flag (which I think is a really dumb law....).

I said I think that it's awesome. Good for her. Thank goodness we live in a place where she has the right to sing that.

They said Black National Anthem like it was a disease... like Black Plague or Black Death.

I think that the lyrics are much better than the traditional song, anyway.

I wonder if they even know what the song is, or if they just got pissed at some (black) woman for standing up and doing what she wanted.

I don't stand up during the Star Spangled Banner.

I do not believe that we are the land of the free and the home of the brave.

We are the land of the patriot act and no gay marriage and dwindling abortion rights and the home of cowards who send poor kids over to die in a pointless war.

I believe that there are better ways to honor those who have fought, and died, for our country than standing up at a sports game with a Coors Light in one hand and the other hand on my heart.

I believe that this country should help those people who fought and survived by actually giving a damn about them when they return, broken and hurt. By giving them actual therapy for severe PTSD, and not antidepressants that make it worse. I believe in actually helping the families who have lost brothers/sisters/mothers/fathers/husbands/wives/daughters/sons in a stupid, useless war.

I believe that I have a right to NOT stand, because I love my country.

Because I am patriotic and because I expect more, much more, from this country.

Because it is my right to sit while some school kid sings a song that I don't believe in.

I will stand when this country proves to me that it is the land of the free and the home of the brave.

I will stand when this country starts to change.

And I will be proud.

You can call me a communist.

You can call me un-American.

You can call me a hippie.

You can call me K-K-K-Katie.

Just don't call me lazy when I stay in my seat.

Oh shit... is that Homeland Security knocking??

Blink Once if you Read This.

I have a few things to write about today.

Let's start here: I went to the pharmacy to pick up some meds a few days ago. I asked if I could get an extra month supply since I'll run out before we get back from our vacation.

When he got it for me, he said, "You must be going somewhere really fun".

Um... I'm sorry, was I picking up an extra months supply of ecstasy?

No... it was just birth control... not really a drug that screams "fun vacay in exotic location"...

At least not to me.

Anywho, I told him that I was going to Greece, and he proceed to take a piece of paper out of the cash register and drew a picture on it.

Actually, "picture" is a relative term. It looked more like something a three year old would draw if you told him/her to draw a picture of a crooked piece of poop.

He told me to go to this island (and drew a circle) and then this island has really good food (and drew a circle). He then drew a bigger shape (not really a square... not really a circle), and drew lines with his driving route on it.

He never gave me one name or direction. He just said "island". I'm pretty sure Greece has quite a few islands... so I guess that I'll just look out for some sign that Steve the Target pharmacist was there.

Here is the picture, just to prove that I am not making this crap up (I know it's super small... but I'm not very good at this tech stuff like Mr. Michael, so just click on it to enlarge it and see it in it's original intended glory):

Tonight I went out with JJ and met her new(ish) man, Jason. I really liked him, and he makes her happy, so he passes the Ally B test 101.

I called Mike half way through to tell him where I was. He said this:

"Do you like the guy? Blink once for yes and twice for no."

Again, we were on the phone. He's good at the tech stuff... not so much with other, you know, normal common sense stuff.

We had a good time at dinner, though, and I laughed a lot, which is always fun. It was also very much needed since we put AJ on a plane to NZ today.

That was sad. We must have been quite the site in the airport: family hugging and bawling our eyes out.

Stupid independent grown up child leaving home like a stupid independent grown up adult.

I have no problem letting go... at all.

I will miss him so much, but I know he will have so much fun, so I'm happy for him.

That's all I feel like writing for now.

Just Make a Right at the Ugly Baby...

My mom held a little dinner party at her house last night for the upper echelons of WOG. She forgot to include an address in her original email though, so people kept asking me if it was at the Big House… so, to avoid Dad having to feed unexpected guests cereal for dinner, I sent out the following email to all of the invitees:

Hello all,
So, it has come to my attention that my beautiful, wonderful, crazy mother forgot a key piece of information in the below invitation. If you were planning on attending this exciting event, it might be helpful to know where it is being held. Although my mother obviously thinks that everyone should just magically know where her home is (she is the center of her own universe, and expects nothing less from the rest of us), I think it might be helpful to send out some directions.

Her place is the last house on the right before the round-about. It should come as no surprise that her house is the prettiest on the block.

Although I will try to convince her to put a large cardboard cutout of herself in the front yard, with a sign that says “Cindy C., Queen of Entertaining”, I make no guarantees. Therefore, you’ll just have to rely on the address.

If you have any other questions, please contact her… and tell her I sent you.

Thanks,

The one, the only, Alexandra B

I included her address and a Google Map, but I won’t on here, in case Crazy Stalker Clown is reading… bad Crazy Stalker Clown.

It was nice to sit outside with my coworkers, chilling out, eating food, and listening to Mike discuss the different properties of heat…


I guess you just had to be there.

There was also a woman there who is 8 months pregnant. Her kid was moving around like crazy in her tummy, and freaking us all out.

It was some serious Alien shit.

It was NOT natural.

She would be talking, and her stomach would just move because his little knee was poking out or he was trying to elbow her in the ribs. I think that he knew we were watching him, because he was tap dancing like… a tap dancer on crack(?).


We then talked about how having a nice looking baby is really hit or miss. Although lots of babies are cute, a whole lot more are just plain scary looking. They sort of turn out looking like a wet rat… or like this.

It really has nothing to do with how attractive the parents are. Some beautiful people create some really cursed looking children. And some really sad looking people can make a lovely child. Plus, some ugly babies turn into gorgeous specimens of adults.


So the father-to-be last night was really funny. He was the one who said that it’s a real crap shoot how your kid looks. He also thought that my Alien reference was fitting, because he thinks it’s really creepy when his wife’s stomach moves as if independent from the rest of her body.


He had a great idea if he gets an ugly kid (I guess him and his wife were not the most darling looking babies… but they’re really hot now… so that’s good).

He wants to walk up to people and go goo-goo-gah-gah over his ugly mutant of a child, saying Isn’t he just the cutest thing ever? Then, when people say, through awkward smiles and gritted teeth that, yes, he is just adorable, he can yell at them for being dirty liars…

Although I think that he was just going to think the last part, not actually yell at them, like I would. But that’s why it will be years (hear that all: YEARS) before I’m allowed to procreate… it would increase my sarcastic ammunition ten-fold.

Though my kid is going to look more like this.

Still hairy… but beautiful.



AFTERTHOUGT: I forgot that the woman whose eggo is preggo also told us about her birthing class, where they referred to the moment when the head crowns as The Burning Ring of Fire...

Um... adoption is looking better and better. Pregers said that if she had any doubt before about using drugs, that threw her over the edge. I want an epidural now just thinking about that ring of fire.

The daddy to be said that he's going to bring his Johnny Cash CD into the delivery... and she said she'd kick him in the jaw if he did. Those are my kind of parents.