Raftin' on the South Fork

Well, this past weekend I did exactly what the title of this post says. I must say, it was one of the most fun things I have engaged in. When we have money to go again (who knows when that'll be...thank you, property taxes), we'd definitely like to try the next level up. Perhaps some Middle Fork raftin'.

So we left Friday after work and a little delay at home, stopped for dinner in Elk Grove and got to Lotus around 10. Oddly enough, Ryan's brother John and sister Allison, who left two hours before us, didn't get to the campgrounds until 11. And we had to wait for them because we had no idea who we were supposed to meet up with. The trip was arranged through John's work. And then, unfortunately, the Tributary Whitewater campsite was separate from the parking lot, so we had to walk all our stuff in. Exhausted, we had a rather welcome -- but chilly -- night's sleep.

The next day we woke up for a little bit of breakfast and met up with the group to sign waivers. ("I do not hold Tributary Whitewater Tours responsible if I should die while rafting," etc.) Then we waited forever for who knows what. We had no idea. There were 19 in our group, and 40 rafting with TWT total, so what we were waiting for, apparently, was the bus. And for other groups from different rafting companies who share the same site to move out.

Finally, the bus came and trucked us about 4 miles down the road. It literally felt like summer camp. When we arrived, we put on life vests and split into groups of approximately 6. So there was the four of us (me, Ryan, John and Ali) and then two friends of people in John's work group who we didn't know: a French guy named Arnold (pronounced ArNO) and a German chick named Bertha (prounounced BEERta). I guess Arnold and Bertha were a couple, although it's hard to tell with them overly affectionate Germans, ya know. (Ha.) Arnold was pretty cool. Bertha...was not.

After that we grabbed some oars and met our guide, Steve. Steve's an outdoor recreation major at Chico State who's a rafting guide during the summer. He was cute in a blond-frat-boy-slightly-pudgy way. Great sense of humor, too.

So for the first hour or so we did some Class II rapids for four miles until we hit our campsite, where the rafting company provided us with lunch. About half an hour after eating, we got back in our rafts and did the last 8 miles over Class III rapids. I have to admit, the first portion was boring. Lots of tranquil floating and not terribly thrilling Class II's, but good preparation. I was wearing my beat-up Nikes that have gone through hell, and they don't feel all that great full of water. And, despite some SPF 30, I was soaking up the rays.

The Class III's were awesome. We did Satan's Cesspool, where my friend Danielle and her crew overturned when they shot the rapids a while a go. I can see why...if you hit it just right, the boat can go right over. The funniest sight was at Catcher's Mitt, where three boats from another company (which hires inexperienced guides) all piled up at the bottom of the rapid and dumped their occupants into the drink. A kayaker went over too. We stayed there for a while, watching people go over and waiting for Bertha and some others to stop jumping off rocks into the river. Catcher's Mitt is also where I did the "bucking bronco." This involves sitting on the prow of the boat, hanging on to a coil of rope and leaning back while you shoot the rapid. All was good until we hit the center of the thing, where a wall of water shot up my nose and pushed me backwards into the boat. The photos of this are great...just my two legs sticking straight up in the air. Hilarious.

The last Class III rapid was Hospital Bar. This is where Steve decided to have us "wheelie the rapid." In order to do this, everyone has to sit in the back of the boat (I secretly think this was Steve's way of having us "guard" him from falling out). Anyway, with all the weight in the back, the front of the boat pops up and you skip along the rapid with the back bouncing along. It was so frigging funny that we all almost swallowed lungfuls of water from laughing.

At the end of the day, all the boats met up and tied up to each other to be towed out by a jetski (it's a really long paddle to the end point without the tow). We carried our boats to a van for deflating, then bussed back to the campsite to collapse in a water- and sun-logged fit of fatigue.

Good times. I'll post photos when they arrive in 2-3 weeks. (We ordered them all on a CD, and apparently they send it by pack mule.) Anyway, if you haven't tried rafting, I recommend it! And the company we used, Tributary Whitewater Tours (www.whitewatertours.com), isn't very expensive.

Little Shop of Horrors

It almost took my breath away. There I was, standing in line today at the Pleasanton Wal-Mart, when I saw her.

The customer from hell.

She used to come through my line at Movies 7 when I was a concessionist, and later decided we were some sort of pals when I became a manager. "Kim, can you please catch my popcorn as it falls from the kettle?" I can still see her gnarled face glued on to that 5-foot frame. Her calling me by first name made me feel violated. I shuddered whenever I saw her walk through the door. She didn't want the popcorn to touch anything but the bag, so I wasn't allowed to use the scoop or get any popcorn that had already fallen into the popper. Hence, it always took about 10 minutes to collect a full large bag of corn for this wench.

So, when I saw her today, I literally cringed. "OMG! I remember her!" I thought.

It seems that people rarely change. This is no exception.

First, she hailed an employee and made them open a register that wasn't being used. Then she made the employee wipe down the conveyor belt thing about three times. I looked into her cart and saw it was lined with plastic bags so her merchandise wouldn't have to actually touch anything the cart was made of. Next, after the ceremonial wiping down of the conveyor, she laid new plastic bags down on top of the belt. Then her goods.

I have heard my sister talk of the nightmare germophobes who come through her line at Whole Foods. Some of them want to swipe their own groceries. Some make you use disinfectant between ringing up each item. Some want you to wear gloves. Etc. So I wasn't all that surprised to see that Customer From Hell (CFH) didn't want a case of the nasties from Wal-Mart.

However. What is the use when you're buying A BUNCH OF CLEANING PRODUCTS. Yes, ladies and gents, her pile of loot consisted of Tilex, Comet, sponges, and other various cleaning sundries. Why do you care if your Tilex gets germs on it? That is, like, the whole purpose of Tilex. I....am....boggled.

In short, I was reminded today that people are weird. I'm glad I'm not one of them.

Ha.

And by the way, CFH, wig looks really bad. Really. Really. Bad.

Manners, Manners

Now, I admit I am not always the most couth person. I know I can be downright mouthy and uninhibited. Most of it is in jest. However, I live by the basic philosophy that if you're rude to me first, I'll be rude back. Don't dish it out if you can't take it. But I can't stand...just cannot tolerate!...when people are outright rude for no reason.

To be honest, it makes me wanna smack 'em.

Take tonight, for example, when I was standing in line at Panda Express to purchase some tasty vittles for dinner. I'd had a hankering for orange chicken all day, and with Ryan out of town, I thought it was the perfect opportunity to get a premade dinner and just hunker down at home.

But, it was just one of those situations where you get stuck behind all the wrong people in line. Lady #1 (whom I shall call Lady #1, since that's her real name...well, actually, I don't know if that's her real name, but she sure looked more like a Lady #1 than say a Susie or a Betsy) was apparently purchasing dinner for the U.S. Army. And, apparently, she was illiterate. Not only did she order item after item after item, but she had to ask how much each item was before she ordered it. "How much are egg rolls?" she inquired. Yeah, the menu is on the wall RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOUR FACE, LADY #1. And maybe it wouldn't have been so bad if she wasn't DEMANDING all the prices in a huffy tone. Dude, she's the one who took it upon herself to order so much food. That's nobody else's fault. Don't get all mad that you're going to have to spend $100 for dinner. Your bad.

Next came Lady #2 and her approximately 7-year-old daughter, Vaganus. (Hee hee, Lulu.) I forgot to mention that Lady #2 interrupted Lady #1's ordering to demand that fresh "chicken with string beans" or whatever the dish is called be whipped up to her liking. When it was time to order, she let Vaganus order her own kids meal. However, Vaganus' idea of ordering went something like this:

"I want orange chicken! I want orange chicken! I want orange chicken! ..............Orange chicken! Orange chicken! Orange chicken!"

Even the employee, who did not speak much English, was like, "Yeah, I know, orange chicken...#$*(&! What else??" Did Lady #2 do anything to calm her child or encourage polite behavior? NO. Instead, mom demanded that the employee heap more food into the kids meal because "is that all you give them?!" (Forget to mention that Vaganus was on the chubby side.)

Lady #2 finally ordered her own food, a rice bowl. But wait, not white rice. "NO! FRIED RICE!" she screamed at the employee, who hadn't been told otherwise and was busy getting white rice for the bowl. Employee patiently nodded and started over. Then Lady #2 made sure to point out that fresh string-bean-chicken had been made for her and was sitting on the kitchen counter. Employee scooped some into the bowl, then laid the lid on top for the cashier to close. This displeased Lady #2, who loudly proclaimed that not only did the incompetent employee not close the bowl correctly, she also didn't scoop enough chicken into the bowl. So the cashier fetched her more and Lady #2 finally shut her yap. I suddenly found myself uncontrollably shaking my head.

I remember now why I hated customers. They have no concept of politeness or manners. They believe the customer is always right, and that it gives them carte blanche to be however rude they want. Of course, they never think about how much they'd like it if someone were to yell "orange chicken" at them all day and complain that their Glutton Bowl wasn't packed full enough.

Stuff it in your craw, John Q. Public. I can't takes it no more. You are fat, rude and intolerable.

When did we become France?

Product Endorsement

Rarely do I find that a product lives up to its hype. Quick 'N' Brite? More like Crap Don't Work. Kaboom? Yeah, surprise, kaboom! You now have even more soap scum than you did before.

So it was with a tentative and open mind that I decided to give the Mr. Clean Magic Eraser a whirl.

Perfect, I found the heavy-duty version on sale at Longs. I love things that are on sale. Especially when I think they might not work...at least I won't waste as much money on it as I would at full price.

Now, let me say, I have no idea what's in this product. The box doesn't give any hint. Bleach? Some invisible and odorless cleaning agent? It's a mystery! And the "eraser" feels like it was cut out of a slab of bed foam.

But damn, this thing works! My kitchen sink looks brand friggin' new. It's so white now that it creeps me out every time I walk into the kitchen. For a split second I think "when did I get a new sink?!" And then I remember...it's just really clean. Ahhhh.

Also, I couldn't get anything to clean the floor in our shower. The previous owner was what you might delicately call a slob, and it didn't look like anyone who ever lived there had taken a cleaning agent to the thing. Plus, we have really hard water, so it builds up on the fiberglass.

Before you say it, yes, I tried CLR. It didn't even make a dent. I tried using a realllllllly hard-bristled brush, and that didn't work either. Toothbrush? Nothing. Scrubby sponge? Nada. Scotch Brite pad? Seriously, I tried everything short of Brillo.

Guess what? The Mr. Clean Magic Eraser worked!! It made the shower floor white again! I was in awe. How could it be that this ridiculous little disposable sponge thing could do that?

I have no idea. And I still have no clue what's in the darn thing. But try it. It's relatively inexpensive, and it works great on porcelain. Contrary to the commercial, though, I must say it did very little for the grout between the kitchen tiles.

Still, I give it a hearty thumbs-up. Thanks, Mr. Clean! (::cheesy smile::)

WAR...What is it Good For?

Sometimes it's really scary and depressing to read all this stuff at work and get the feeling that the world is teetering on the brink of nuclear war and World War III. Every day it's like watching a parade of negativity march past your eyes: Hamas. Hezbollah. Al-Qaida. Jihad. Soldier deaths. Suicide bombers. Israel. Iran. Iraq. Afghanistan. Syria. Lebanon. Kidnappings. Beheadings. Violence.

Chaos.

It literally pops the bubble you normally operate in...that "the war is over there, it's not here" bubble that pulls the veil over your eyes to such a degree that if you just didn't frequent the media, you could believe it's not happening at all.

But it's those moments of reality that literally freak you out. You start to grasp that this whole thing is exploding and sending ripples out, ripples that will start to reach different corners of the world. And every country has an opinion, a stance. According to our president, you're either with us or against us. I just really feel this is going to turn into a much worse situation, one that's going to have us involved in so many different places at once that I don't know how we'll be able to maintain all our fingers in all those pies. The world is divided. It feels like very few are on our side.

To boot, HATE is wending its sticky tendrils into this mess, forcing its black undertones to seep into the shadows of these conflicts, solidifying them into beasts that can't easily be conquered.

Sometimes, not only as a journalist but as a person, I get really scared to be alive in the time we're in. Technology and weaponry are at their heights, and they don't stop short of total destruction. Terrorism is an unseen enemy, even though we've taken on the task of battling it. It's like fighting the air. It's like digging a hole in quicksand; just when you've rid the hole of some sand, it fills in with more. How do you forever fix something like this? We're not fighting something concrete. We're fighting a mentality.

And sometimes, I get really afraid that there's no answer to all this. Will this be going on our whole lives? Will there ever be peace?

Uhh...

So I know I'm making Hayward sound better by the minute (ha), but I just popped into Longs next to the office to buy some peanuts, and the cashier was talking to herself AS she was ringing me up. And it was like I came in mid-conversation: "...uh-huh, tell me about it, honey...you don't wanna do that cuz you don't wanna get in that situation...believe me, I been there." She was a bit agitated on that last part. I looked around and saw no one else. "Who the F are you talking to?!" I thought. She kept going until she had to ask me "debit or credit?" Now, seriously, I checked and she wasn't wearing one of those phone earpiece thingies. One can only deduce she was conversing with the host of Herman's Head characters living in the ol' noggin. Creeeeepy.

Also, why when you swipe your debit card does it ask if the amount is OK? "$5.67. Is this amount OK?" Well, actually, no, it isn't. I would like it free. I mean, do I have a choice or something? What if I say no? Guess that means I'm not buying anything today. Shucks. Why even bother going into the store then? If you think about it, if you've gone through the trouble of swiping your card and entering your pin, why all of a sudden would the amount not be OK? There IS a "cancel" button and everything for when you mess up or don't want to charge it... Approving the amount is a silly and wasteful step, in my opinion. It is yet another obstacle that stands between me and the immediate consumption of my peanuts.

And we all know what happens to things that delay the union of a girl and her snack. Oh no, you don't F around with a snack. Ever.

Thought Association

I got nothin'. Nada. Can't think of anything to blog on today. So let's see where this takes me.

Well, the first thing that came to mind was the name of the band Iron Maiden. Which, for some reason, makes me think of "My Fair Lady," which makes me think of Audrey Hepburn.

D'you think Audrey Hepburn ever got tired of being confused with Katherine Hepburn?

Katherine Hepburn makes me think of Cate Blanchett in the movie "The Aviator," which I watched while on vacation in Cabo San Lucas last year.

Cabo San Lucas makes me think of the swim-up bar, where they didn't care if you paid with soggy pesos that had been riding around in your boyfriend's swim shorts all day. Why were they riding around in his swim shorts all day? Because we spent all day in the pool, duh.

Pools make me think of the gene pool, which way too many unworthy people are contributing to. One of them called my boss today. I don't think she got the response she was looking for.

Pools also make me think of fish, which makes me think of "Finding Nemo," which leads back to Cabo, where we saw a dead pufferfish on the beach.

Beaches make me think of Bette Midler, which makes me think of Broadway, which makes me think of "My Fair Lady," and back to Audrey Hepburn.

Huh, funny how that turned out. Tada!

I'm Retarded

Why do I find myself slightly sad that I missed the L.A. auditions for American Idol earlier this month? This is the last year I can try out before I hit that good ol' age limit. There are auditions in Seattle on Sept. 17, but I dunno...that's only a few weeks away. I'm not even sure I'd want to be on the show...I just very slightly want to try out. I love singing.

OK, off to be retarded out of the cyber-public eye!

Don't Call Me an Idiom

Today I'd like to explore idioms.

According to the dictionary, an idiom is: "A speech form or expression of a language that is peculiar to itself grammatically or that cannot be understood from the individual meanings or its elements."

Take, for example, "like a bat out of hell."

Has anyone ever seen a bat literally exiting hell? The phrase is usually used to describe someone traveling at a high rate of speed. I would venture to say that were a bat actually to make it out of hell, it would probably be on fire, in which case, it probably wouldn't be flying very fast, seeing as how being burned alive is rather unpleasant and makes for bad flying conditions.

Furthermore, why is no one focusing on the fact that a frigging BAT, which is blind, found the entrance/exit to hell!! Why isn't anyone following it and sealing up that pesky portal? Also, I want to know why the bat was in hell. Did he knock over a liquor store or something? Was it that cocaine-running stint back in '68? It was, wasn't it. No, it's OK, I won't tell him you told me. No, seriously, I swear. OK, stop it, I said I wouldn't tell! Jeesh. Anyway, I knew it. Damn lying bat. The full-body tattoo totally gave it away. I'm glad I made him go home that one night. Ew.

What about "like water for chocolate?" I seem to remember this was some sort of film title. But what does it mean? Are we talking a new currency here? Are people in the Amazon suddenly giving up their quests for water in exchange for luxurious piles of chocolate-covered espresso beans? Hey, they could have something there. From here on, I will be showering with bottles of Hershey's syrup. Spread the word...chocolate is the new water! No, you may not lick me. Get your own.

How about when someone "flies off the handle?" Why were they standing on the handle in the first place, and how come it didn't break before they were able to fly off it? Similarly, when someone "flips their lid," what does the lid look like, and why did they flip it instead of throw it? I don't know of many angry people who would flip something (except maybe the bird) instead of just chucking it at the wall. They should change it to "toss their lid."

On a somewhat related topic, I often wonder about clichés. Such as, "a penny for your thoughts." Never has someone actually given me a penny after saying this, which I find to be rude...mostly because it's sort of being an Indian giver, but also because I find my thoughts to be worth much more than a measly cent. Hrmph. Also, if someone will offer me a penny to tell them what's on my mind, why are people paying thousands of dollars to see therapists? C'mon people, wake up and smell the coffee! Ooo...there's another one. I've never actually seen anyone wake up and smell coffee after someone said this. But I want to. That'd be kinda neat if I said, "Wake up and smell the coffee" and someone laid down on the ground, fell asleep, then woke up and sniffed a cup o' joe. Then again, I don't know that I'd stick around long enough to witness that in its entirety. Girl's got a life, y'know.

Anyway, that's my foray into the word world for the night. As I saw on a shirt today: "Bad grammar makes me [sic]."

Mind-Boggler

First, I just noticed that the word "boggler" is an anagram of "blogger." Weird.

Anyway, I was just wondering this last night: You know how we have all these "win a trip to Hawaii" contests? Well, um, what's the prize in Hawaii??

Is it like, "Win a trip down the block!"? Or "Win a trip to your own backyard!"? How much would that suck? I know if I won the "Win a trip to your balcony in Hayward!" contest, I'd be ready to throw myself off said balcony, witnessed only by three half-dying potted geraniums and a crackhead house full of neighbors.

Are the contests different in Hawaii then? Like, "Win a trip to Delaware!" Or "Win a trip to the Canadian Yukon!" Or "Win a trip to Idaho!" After living in Hawaii, those trips would be like drinking moldy pond water. Boring and unpleasant.

Gasp, I just thought of this, do they even have contests at all?? What if life in Hawaii is so exciting that they don't need anything better offered? How could you top a daily existence of living in the land of beaches anyway? Perhaps a Caribbean cruise? But then that would just be more beaches. Hmm. I'm running out of ideas here. I am stunned that perhaps there is nothing that could be offered, except for a trip to Europe or something... but how many corporations are going to shell out beaucoup bucks just because someone in Hawaii happened to find the magic gray Dorito?

OK, a co-worker just suggested a trip to New York City for those unfortunate Hawaiians. Yeah, because after watching the sunset in Kauai, I'd definitely want to watch a gay bum pee outside a transvestite disco club in Manhattan. Ah, land of the free, home of the brave. At least, those brave enough to visit NYC after spending a lifetime walking barefoot in Waikiki with an unlimited supply of pina coladas.

Life just ain't fair in Hawaii. Apparently, no one's cutting them a break. I propose starting a "Free Hawaii!" campaign. Let's get some contests going for them.

New Diet Fad!

In a conversation with friends over the weekend about how frustrating it is that beer, etc., causes weight gain, I have come up with a new idea.

That's right, it's Dr. Kim's Vodkalimia Diet! Here's how it works:

The Vodkalimia Diet is intended only for those with short-term weight-loss goals. The premise of the diet is to drink as much vodka as possible, thereby forcing the contents of your stomach to be ejected (in scientific terms: chowdering). Those with long-term goals or who are extremely obese should not participate in the Vodkalimia plan because 1.) it takes longer for heavy people to get drunk, which means more vodka for you and less for other participants, and 2.) the longer the diet, the greater the chance the enamel will corrode off your teeth. Sure, you'll be thin, but you'll also have meth mouth. Might as well cut out the middle man and go straight to the meth. (Do not pass Go, do not collect $200. You'll need it for the meth. Note: Dr. Kim does not endorse meth diets of any kind. These statements have not been approved by the FDA.)

This originated as the Beerlimia diet, but it was determined that participants would not want to smell like beer all day. It was thereby changed to vodka, because it is odorless. However, should you decide to create your own Beerlimia diet, please send me your $85 fee to avoid copyright infringement. Failure to do so will result in the complete removal of your beer. And driver's license.

Please note that you should not drive while on the Vodkalimia Diet. Your judgment will be severely impaired. Similarly, do not hang out near brothels.

Enjoy! Think of how beautiful you will be! Try not to barf on yourself!

(For those of you who think I'm being serious...lighten up. And have a vodka.)

The Night From Hell

Let me tell you about my enthralling night last night.

Because it was a mofo-crazy day at work yesterday, I decided to go to bed "early" (it was 11 p.m.). However, either our crackhead neighbor or someone down the street was using a belt sander (sounds like a leaf blower) until 12:30 a.m., and we don't have those fancy-shmancy double-pane windows to block out things like, say, sounds or wind. Oh, believe you me, I was ready to call the cops and file a noise complaint. Ryan can fall asleep in a hurricane. Me, I'm not so easy. Right when I was going to jump up and grab the phone, it stopped. Ah, sweet peace!

But of course, as soon as I started to nod off, Ever the Cat decided to "tell" us she was hungry by pawing on the laundry cabinet door, resulting in a jackhammer like noise echoing throughout the house. I think that was around 12:45 a.m. Ryan finally had to angrily throw a pillow on the floor to scare her into stopping.

Fine, so I finally manage to drift off into dreamland, only to wake up at 4:30 a.m. with an insatiable itch on my arms. WTF? It felt like a spider had bitten me all over...I had two itchy welts on my left forearm, one (maybe two) on my left shoulder, one on my right forearm and one on my right temple. I couldn't stop scratching! So I finally went into the kitchen, found some anti-itch cream that I had thankfully swiped from the first-aid kit at my old job, slathered it on and went back to bed.

This morning, when I woke up, the "bites" were gone.

Curious, I went to the Web. It appears I may have broken out in a mild case of hives. Things have been fine today, except one of the spots on my left arm has started itching again. Effing stress.

Needless to say, I didn't sleep all that great last night. And I won't even begin to outline the kind of shenanigans going on at work today. But just to give you an idea, I'll say four words: No front lobby staffing.

I'm going to Starbucks now. I need one of their Morphine Frappuccinos.

Panic! at the Paper

This week has been feverishly busy, what with my boss gone on a cruise and me being the lone editor every day. Perfect week for all that terror-plot stuff to break, too. Anyway, I don't have the time (or brain power) for a proper blog today, so I'll merely suggest you visit www.snakesonaplane.com and send your loved one a call from Mr. Samuel L. Jackson. Way too funny. (For extra laughs, send it to them at 7 a.m.)

Way to Articulate a Point!

Ah yes, these are the kinds of voicemails I get forwarded to me.

"You guys are assholes. You just put on your front page that every person who gets pulled over for a DUI is a criminal. Regardless of the fact that it's there for a fallen officer, that is WRONG. Tell your editor right now that he's an ASS, and that for any reason on earth that anybody gets pulled over for a DUI now is a criminal? You guys can kiss our ass! I'm never gonna buy your paper again. Goodbye."

Right, OK, I'm an ass. Thanks. Let me spin the tables here and ask what in the freakin' hell this guy is talking about. Because today's story on the CHP hit-and-run mentioned nothing about being pulled over for a DUI. In fact, NONE of the stories on A1 mentioned drunken driving. Who's the ass now? Also, although he sounded somewhat educated, he doesn't really seem able to put together a good sentence.

Put down the bottle, sir. And the hash pipe. And step away from the phone. Thank you.

Blasphemy?

OK, so last weekend I visited my mom and sister and took a handful of...what is this...ah, Scripture Candy from their house. There was a whole pink box of them sitting on the kitchen counter, and upon seeing they were very much like those kind of chalky dinner mint candies that I adore, I thought I should stock my purse. (See past blog on my penchant for purse snacks.)

The only thing is, I feel weird eating these things. Why? Because the wrappers have little scriptures printed on them. (To wit, the one I just ate says, "They that sow in tears shall reap in joy." Psalm 126:5) Why do I feel weird eating candies wrapped in scriptures? Because (oh man, my Catholic upbringing/guilt is totally about to kick in) 1.) it feels gluttonous to enjoy the candies when the real intention is to make me pay attention to the snippets printed on the wrappers. Not that other aspects of my life aren't gluttonous, I'm sure (see past blog on penchant for ice cream), but at least they aren't directly and so visibly tied to the Bible. This is surely a free ticket to a front seat in that infamous handbasket headed for hell. 2.) I have to throw the wrappers away. There is something that just doesn't feel right about throwing little pieces of the Bible in the garbage. Mainly because, ya know, someone's...ahem...watching. ::points eyes skyward:: But what am I gonna do...carry the wrappers around with me? And then what...forever? I mean, didn't the Scripture Candy people think about this? Furthermore, how do they feel about profiting off this product? I admit, the candies are good, but will I pay for them with eternal damnation? Hell no! (Pun intended?) I find myself in a quandary!

I just threw a wrapper away, and it looks so wrong sitting on top of the discarded popcorn bag that was my 4 p.m. snack. I humbly request to not be smited. Please! Let it be shown before these...three! three readers!...that I repent and ask for forgiveness.

Also, the strawberry flavor is a bit too sweet after a while. Perhaps a wintergreen version?

Word to Your jxcvhwp

I find it demeaning that I have to enter that dumb little code word thing every time I want to post a comment on my own blog. First of all, if I'm already logged in, why do I need to verify it's me? That's like asking me to show my ID before I enter my house, then asking me for it again when I'm inside. Hello...it's my own house. I can understand requiring it for other people posting on my blog, or when I post on someone else's blog, but my own? C'mon, I already told you I'm on like the George Burns of computers here...cutting out any unnecessary steps would be appreciated.

Also, it's not my fault that half the time they print that code word in some unreadable font and I can't tell if that's a 'u' or a 'v,' or a 'c' or an 'o,' or an 'i' or a 'j.' So then I have to run through the code-word-entering process like five times, until they finally give me a legible font. WTF?

I have similar feelings about logging into hotmail. For some reason, they won't just let you type in your account name, you have to add @hotmail.com. Well duh, seeing as how I'm logging into HOTMAIL, I would think the @hotmail.com is implied. Sorry, I was mistaken, I thought we were in the year 2006. As in, THE 21ST CENTURY. Ridonculous.

Alrighty, that's my rant for the day. By the way, did you know "alright" is not actually a word? It's "all right." File that gem away for future reference. But first, please enter the code word.

Backwards Technology

Today I'd like to talk about the dung heap that is my work computer.

Seriously, it's a giant turd with keys and a mouse. Were it a person, it'd be Pigpen from the Peanuts. Were it capable of emitting an odor, it would smell like the bowels of a fat Italian man in summer who just ate a bowl of bran muffins mixed with refried beans, topped with curry. Were it an animal, it'd be a skunk. Run over. Dead on the freeway with one leg sticking up.

I don't quite know how to put into prose what a colossal piece of shit this thing is. Tell me how it is that a computer can crash while rebooting? Especially when it's rebooting because it just crashed?? This makes no sense. To me it's like a person who falls down, and then falls down again for no reason while trying to get up.

I think if I broke the damn thing open, I'd find one of those Flintstone toucans inside, banging away with a hammer and chisel and droning something in that Peter-Brady-my-voice-is-changing tone that all the Flintstone work animals had. Or, I might find a bunch of flaming buffalo pies. Or perhaps Legos. Or gum. Or a wire coat hanger.

OK, so it's sounding like my work computer is equivalent to a Ford Pinto. Maybe I can pry open the CPU and cook a steak on the motherboard.

But seriously, what is this thing...it's a Dell OptiPlex GX100 (a.k.a. Smell Crapitron 2000). It runs on Windows 98 (yes, that's 8 years ago now) and is pretty much capable of letting me surf some Web sites, check my e-mail and run the editing program we use. Speaking of which, that's a piece of crap too. Who ever heard of editing a newspaper using a friggin' DOS-based program? Every time I want to do something, I have to type in a series of codes. Just to open a story, I have to key in a code to get to the correct directory, then cursor down to the desired story, key in a code to open it, and then code in even more stuff for our design program to read.

Basically what I'm saying is that I had an easier time using the PET computer in second grade. Remember those? The keyboard was attached to the monitor and there was a big green cursor that blinked on the screen. I used to play Miser on those. Good times.

Anyway, I'm super glad that by the end of the month, we'll all have new computers here at the office. They'll have 17" flat panels, dual processors, sound cards (!!! ... yes, we don't have any right now, they were removed so we wouldn't download music or whatever and get "distracted" from our work...ha), and hallelujah, it probably won't take me 10 minutes to boot up when I start my shift.

Luckily, the executive editor says he'll probably let us trash the old CPUs Office Space-style. Sweet, I'm bringing Ryan's aluminum bat that day. Damn it feels good to be a gangsta.

Well, off for a game of Pong.

Brainwaves

I'm still taking requests in the Open Mic post! I have one to add that was sent to me by e-mail. Where are all my friends/readers, anyway? I know you're lurking out there...reveal thyselves!

This is just a bunch of random thoughts, really. Let's see where they take us.

OK, I'm eating Lifesavers Gummies, and they are not the yummy product I remember from my days at the movie theatre. Back then, the flavors were cherry, orange, apple, lemon and pineapple. Now they're cherry, watermelon, apple, blackberry and strawberry.

The watermelon tastes like cough syrup. In fact, I don't think anything exists that tastes more artifically watermelon-like-ish. It makes me want to wipe my tongue with my hair.

The blackberry is kind of musty-tasting. That's all I have to say about that.

This flavor I'm eating right now is so non-distinct, I don't even know what it is. Apple?

Oh no wait, I just ate an apple and it's different. OK, what the hell was that I ate before? Strawberry? I hate wondering what I'm eating!

Yuck, another watermelon. The fact that it's neon pink should tell you something about its nutritional value.

Yum, cherry. The only flavor worth a damn in the whole pack. OK, I just essentially bought two cherry gummy Lifesavers for 60 cents.

Speaking of which, I wish I had a higher-paying job so I could buy more clothes. I'm tired of my wardrobe and am starting to hate everything I own. I've developed a recent penchant for watches, and I'd like to add more jewelry to my accessories, not to mention a new belt. Dare I say I want to inject more girl into my closet? Eek, I said it out loud! OK, so I've never been a clotheshorse or really into playing dress-up. But it can be fun, and I like having new stuff... I bought a pink shirt at Old Navy a few months back. PINK, people! I own, like, two pink pieces of clothing. Admittedly not my favorite color, but there's this whole "pink is the new black" thing going on, and well, I've been known to conform every now and then. But within my own standards, dammit!

Mentioning the movie theater reminds me of this guy (for lack of a better word) I used to work with, who looked exactly like Ace Ventura. In fact, we called him that sometimes (it was a nicer substitute for "bastard"). Anyway, one night he managed to spill mustard all over himself while putting the buckets of condiments away. Must've been a weeknight, because he was the only manager on duty. So he went upstairs and washed all his clothes in the manager's bathroom, then hung them on a cyclone fan in the bathroom to dry. Meanwhile, left in nothing but his chonies, he threw on a parka and began counting money in the office. After a while, he took off the parka and went down to the bathroom to get his clothes. But they were still wet, so he had to return to the office. What happened? That's right, he left his keys in the pocket of the parka. In the office. So now he had to get a ladder and climb through the ceiling of the break room to get over the manager's office and drop down (a common practice when managers locked their keys in). But Captain Tighty Whitey managed to get the back of his undies hooked on a pipe, and subsequently got stuck in the ceiling. So there he dangled, wondering if someone was going to come in in the morning and find him in his underwear in the ceiling. Luckily, he managed to free himself (I think by tearing his underoos) and retrieve his keys. True story. Although I have no idea what possessed him to recount this tale, since it borders on TMI and is definitely not what you would call positive press. Then again, I never said he wasn't a choad.

Hmm, the gummy Lifesavers also reminds me...does anyone else ever feel like an idiot paying for something that's $1 with their ATM card? I do this all the time, but I always feel so stupid whipping out the debit for something so cheap. I feel like the cashier is probably thinking how pathetic it is that someone doesn't have $1 in cash on them. But I don't carry cash, for the simple reason that if I did, I'd spend it. So you know what, screw you nosy cashier! Don't judge me just because I have a hankering for candy and I'm an underpaid journalist! Who died and made you Longs god? Yeah, I bet you're rolling in cash, huh? I bet you could buy like 60 candy bars with cash right now, hm? Whatever. See you tomorrow.

OK, I have a HUGE blog idea rolling around in my head, and it will be a reader-interactive opportunity, but first I need more readers, and I need to actually rein in the idea so I can look at it closely. Right now it's sort of a hummingbird buzzing around my periphery...I know it's there, but I can't really tell what it is. It'll either be a huge success or a colossal failure! Anyway, stay tuned. I'll let you know when the "big idea" is unveiled.