tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36118937918453449112024-03-05T13:38:34.283-05:00Not Always About MonkeysMost successful blogs are about a particular subject, like restaurant reviews, scrapbooking, or cars. This is not one of those blogs. All I can tell you is what it's not about, and that's monkeys. At least not all the time.Not Always About Monkeyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05553391986271730606noreply@blogger.comBlogger187125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611893791845344911.post-41879653719202419242011-09-20T12:41:00.003-04:002011-09-20T12:45:11.913-04:00Why Not?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHcSo3cZDXDmvXc83eoIwV8vyHrNLXaCtbkAkiJ9gE0pfyVcfLnwcyrP-VMV18IZT-iyzKoBymkeTH5Sl6Xcyng0VmUHHFSLrxtuCmheButwvHbeczf1XvxnVTJmmo-5Blw6jkw29Nfao/s1600/HST+American+Gothic.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 329px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHcSo3cZDXDmvXc83eoIwV8vyHrNLXaCtbkAkiJ9gE0pfyVcfLnwcyrP-VMV18IZT-iyzKoBymkeTH5Sl6Xcyng0VmUHHFSLrxtuCmheButwvHbeczf1XvxnVTJmmo-5Blw6jkw29Nfao/s400/HST+American+Gothic.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5654483489553353474" /></a><br />It's bugged me, ever since I moved to my own dot com (HA!) that this little blogspot has just been sitting out here, lost, forlorn, and neglected. So, I'm going to post on it from time to time. <div><br /></div><div>This is one of those times. That picture is something I put on <a href="http://www.tumblr.com/tumblelog/notalwaysaboutmonkeys">my Tumblr</a>, because I love it so. Tumblr is another thing - I have no idea what's going on over there. I joined that party WAY too late.</div><div><br /></div><div>Some days I can full grasp the online world, and other days it totally baffles me. Today, I'm baffled, so I came home.</div><div><br /></div>Not Always About Monkeyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05553391986271730606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611893791845344911.post-46629446730077149392009-10-17T21:09:00.000-04:002009-10-17T21:15:10.571-04:00NewsI'm moving away from blogger. It's been a good run, but I've been working with Wordpress a lot and I like it a bunch. So I'm breaking up with blogger, but there are no hard feelings. At least I don't have any hard feelings. Blogger might. I hope not, since they are more powerful and rich than I am, and could squash me like a wee bug.<br /><br />I hope you'll follow me over there. Now that I have an easier-to-work-with platform I'll be updating a lot more often. Give me a day or so to get it set up, and head on over to:<br /><br /><a href="http://www.notalwaysaboutmonkeys.wordpress.com/">www.notalwaysaboutmonkeys.wordpress.com</a><br /><br />Some day I'll get my own domain name, but not until I have that extra $10 per year.Not Always About Monkeyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05553391986271730606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611893791845344911.post-86020270857674946432009-09-17T19:05:00.005-04:002009-09-17T19:38:04.015-04:00Oh, Kevin CostnerI think it's pretty apparent that I have a penchant for crappy TV and movies. I enjoy trite plot lines and overacting. That's not to say that I don't love great cinema, or that I don't have a discerning eye or great taste or anything - because I do have/do all those things, but I enjoy some crap every now and again. Just like I like to eat McDonald's or KFC or Taco Bell. Sure, I feel pretty bad about myself afterward, but it was kind of worth it, too. I might be wallowing in a greasy ball of shame, but it is a delicious greasy ball of shame.<br /><br />There are certain movies that whenever they are on TV, I watch them. A League of Their Own is one of those movies. But I'm not going to talk about that movie (or PCU, or The Fifth Element), though I will likely tell you all about the finer points of all those movies in the future. Tonight I'm going to say a few words on The Bodyguard, starring Whitney Houston (pre-coked-up hot mess madness) and Kevin (I Have No Facial Expressions) Costner.<br /><br />I will say one thing. They both do OK in this movie, because neither of them are acting. Kevin Costner is the same guy he was in, say, Dances with Wolves, or even A Perfect World (which I actually love). He's expressionless, gruff, reticent...you know, Costner-ish. Whitney Houston is an absolute vision - she's beautiful, she has an undeniably gorgeous voice, and her performance is not laughable, even though it's not very believable during the actual acting parts (ie her interaction with other actors). All in all it's not bad. For a first movie, it's actually pretty OK.<br /><br />My main beef is with Michele Lamar Richards, who plays Whitney's jealous and (spoiler alert!) murder-conspiring sister. She's only done a handful of films (one was a vehicle for MC Lyte - just imagine) and a LOT of TV. I've not seen any of that, so I can't pass judgment on her as an actor in THOSE things. But in The Bodyguard she's just awful. She alternates between looking terrified and looking drunk (BESIDES the scene where she actually is supposed to be drunk) and then in her pivotal scene where she IS drunk and she's telling all about how she hired someone to kill her sister she looks like she's going to sneeze the whole time. Then she gets killed, so there is no chance of her acting her way back out of that.<br /><br />Backing up though, there is that scene where Kevin Costner and his dad are walking around outside and the sister's out on the porch singing "Jesus Loves Me" and I'm sitting here thinking WHO DOES THAT? Who goes out to some stranger's cabin in the middle of the damn woods when you've hired someone to KILL your SISTER and sings "Jesus Loves Me" in a self-conscious way. Plus, isn't hard to sing in the cold? Don't your vocal cords get all cold and stuff? Inquiring minds want to know.<br /><br />You judge: <object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/uGUYTS314WU&hl=en&fs=1&"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/uGUYTS314WU&hl=en&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br />And another thing. It's just a <span style="font-style: italic;">leetle</span> too convenient that the hired killer turns out to be Kevin Costner's character's old partner or coworker or whatever. We meet him earlier in the movie and Whitney Houston makes out with him a little and he's all pushy and stuff.<br /><br />Wait a minute. Is that how it ends? I said I always watch it when it's on TV, but that doesn't mean I usually finish it. Being self righteously critical is exhausting, you know?<br /><br />So, recap. Shoulder pads, inappropriate singing, silver pop helmets, murderous sisters. Sorry I didn't get to the shoulder pads or the silver pop helmet. Always leave 'em wanting more, my grandma always says.Not Always About Monkeyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05553391986271730606noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611893791845344911.post-76738109925834299952009-09-11T15:42:00.001-04:002009-09-11T15:43:08.173-04:00Oh YeahAnd this blog is about 2 years old today. Happy Birthday, Not Always About Monkeys.Not Always About Monkeyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05553391986271730606noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611893791845344911.post-44211777741025569992009-09-11T15:33:00.003-04:002009-09-11T15:41:48.941-04:00I Write, You KnowSo, what's new with me? What? Nobody asked? Don't care. I'm going to tell you anyway.<br /><br />I have an awesome part time job writing for a fantastic <a href="http://www.bigoakinc.com/">SEO Company</a> full of terribly nice people. Among other things, I write a blog about Richmond that talks about the best of the city and highlights certain things and people and places. It's <a href="http://www.richmondvapresents.com/">www.richmondvapresents.com</a> and I would love it if you'd visit it let me know what you think. Also, if you're a Richmonder and have a business or thing (not THAT thing, you perv) you'd like me to write about, I'll consider it. :)<br /><br />I am in graduate school and beating my head against a wall for taking three (3) THREE literature-intensive classes this semester. The reading alone is enough to blind you, and on top of that you're expected to be able to form cohesive thoughts and scholarly opinions about things. Don't let me fool you - I love it, but I'm totally overwhelmed and freaking out.<br /><br />Those are the two main things going on in my life other than The Hubs, The Rents, The Cat, The Dog, and The House, which are all doing pretty good and say hi, Internet. <br /><br />Off to the weekend, which will not feel like a weekend at all because I have to do a ton of work and write a paper, prepare a presentation, and read practically everything Oscar Wilde ever wrote. But it will be fun, so who needs a weekend?Not Always About Monkeyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05553391986271730606noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611893791845344911.post-53864964378803441142009-09-03T23:37:00.002-04:002009-09-03T23:59:00.186-04:00AwesomeI should have titled this post "Only read this if you know the movie "Dirty Dancing" inside and out, but I was afraid that would scare off new readers.<br /><br />So, I'm freaking out about grad school. I've stepped in it with my boss. I'm generally in an 11:38 PM place where I haven't gotten enough done and I am alternating between tears and hysterical laughter. Just another Thursday night.<br /><br />So for background I put on "Dirty Dancing" because it was on TV the other day and I caught a minute or two and then I went to Best Buy to try to buy Wonderfalls and it (Dirty Dancing - the 20th Anniversary Edition) was on sale for $7, so I bought it.<br /><br />A few pieces of criticism, as it makes me feel like I'm in control of my life (and I'm obviously not).<br /><br />When Neil comes to Johnny to tell him that he wants to switch up the final dance of the season from something other than the Mambo, and Johnny shows him a few steps of the thing Johnny has in mind before Neil totally jocks him, those steps? Those are the ONLY steps the whole "staff" does at the end of the movie, while Jennifer Gray is standing there smiling maniacally and swishing her skirt. Really? Maybe he should have tried to verbally conceptualize the dance instead of showing off the ONLY MOVES that he planned on putting into this revolutionary final dance. <br /><br />The 80's music injected into a period piece? Not so great. Although I did learn how to play "She's Like the Wind" on piano, that song "Yes" that they play when the sister is walking to get some for the first time with Robbie? And the use of "Hungry Eyes?" Not so good. Granted, I owned this soundtrack on cassette when I was 10 and found no fault in it whatsoever, I chalk that up to the fact that every girl wanted to be mousy ol' Baby and find a hunky dancing Patrick Swayze to adore her and declare that she shouldn't be put in a corner. Didn't help that Jennifer Gray went and got decidedly un-mousy and let all us mousy girls down.<br /><br />The lift at the end? From a pure dancing perspective (and I do have some authority to say so, since I did dance semi-professionally for a little while) it wasn't so clever. Baby nods, gets lifted to the jumping point, runs at Johnny, and then just stays suspended in the air while everyone claps. Like a dog show, but with prettier clothes.<br /><br />This is what I do when I'm freaked out. I ply you guys with semi-valid observations about 80's movies. I've just put on Moonstruck, wherein I'll roll around on the floor and wallow in my lack of productivity and mind-numbing fear.Not Always About Monkeyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05553391986271730606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611893791845344911.post-14817865464460910732009-09-02T12:27:00.003-04:002009-09-02T12:31:36.057-04:00A Few ThingsI love it when, on a TV show or in a movie, the characters act in a way that is very different from their established character - as long as it is hilarious. When stiff, uncompromising characters all of the sudden act all loopy I really love it.<br /><br />The other night, while drinking out of a bottle of Smart Water, I opened the linen closet door. My depth perception is obviously a little off, as I smacked the door into the bottom of the bottle, thus ramming the mouthpiece of the bottle into my pursed lips. I now have two fat lips with little cuts where the bottle smooshed my lip up against my teeth. It is unfortunate.<br /><br />There is fall in the breeze, and when I catch a whiff of it it reminds me of unending possibilities and newness. It makes me feel happy.Not Always About Monkeyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05553391986271730606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611893791845344911.post-73985985102193985722009-08-30T12:13:00.003-04:002009-08-30T20:13:06.583-04:00Ah, LMN.I don't know if you know this about me, but I have a weakness for Lifetime Original Movies. In fact, a thousand years ago I wrote a Top Tenz list for it (you can see it <a href="http://www.toptenz.net/top-10-worst-lifetime-original-movies.php">here</a>) about the "worst" (ie "the best") ones.<br /><br />I have a migraine today (I know, poor me) and so I spent the morning recovering (and taking copious amounts of headache meds) watching one of my favorite guilty pleasures. Lifetime Original Movies on the LMN (Lifetime Movie Network) channel. I know. I should have a problem with the fact that they bill themselves as "television for women" when I know that the crap programming they can have sometimes makes that tagline a total insult. I know that I have this brain that I'm supposed to be sculpting into a scholarly work of art. Darn it, though. I love me some trash TV.<br /><br />For instance. There are these books that I'd never heard of that are written by a fellow Virginian called Ellen Byerrum. The books are a series called The Crime of Passion Mysteries. The lead character is named Lacey Smithsonian. I've never read the books, but I've seen the delightful Lifetime movie "Hostile Makeover" wherein fashion reporter Lacey Smithsonian witnesses the hateful murder of supernerd-turned-supermodel Amanda Manville and gets sucked into solving the mystery. Yep. You read that right. Lacey Smithsonian. Now, don't get me wrong. I'm pretty stoked that a fellow Virginian woman has made a living writing novels. I hope to join that club one day, so I'm not knocking anyone's character's names. Anywhoo. It was a fun movie and I will keep an eye out for the other one, "Killer Hair."<br /><br />True story.Not Always About Monkeyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05553391986271730606noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611893791845344911.post-55857477668997186582009-08-27T09:41:00.002-04:002009-08-27T10:08:06.993-04:00Holy Bad Customer Service, Targetman!So this once I'm not griping about a bad customer service experience that affected me per se, but I was involved, and I want to tell you all about it.<br /><br />I was at Target with my mom (like we do) and I stopped to get a hot dog at the counter (like I sometimes do) even though I know that it goes straight to my spare tire making the once flat tummy incorporate itself into some past-thirty muffin-top nightmare. But I was hungry, so.<br /><br />So I'm standing there, ordering my hot dog and a drink, and the lady behind the counter is none too thrilled to have to, I don't know, DO HER FREAKING JOB, and she's taking her sweet time getting her food service gloves on, retrieving my hot dog from the rolly hot dog holder thingy, getting it wrapped up, handing me a cup, etc. I mean, it's taking a pretty long time. <br /><br />All of the sudden, this Target Team Member walks over to the counter with two people who are kind of holding on to each other and they both have white canes. So, they are sight-impaired. Target Team Member lady says to Food Counter Target Team Member,<br /><br />"Miss Yvette, could you help my guests here get some drinks?"<br /><br />And then she bolts. No kidding. She just dumps these two blind people at the counter with Miss Yvette, who clearly doesn't even want to exert the energy needed to hand me a single hot dog across the counter, much less come out here and get some drinks for these folks. And Peppy Target Team Member Lady is gone, vamoosed, like a ghost. We're eating her dust. <br /><br />Miss Yvette has still not finished ringing my order up, and the Blind Couple is a little confused, because I doubt they realized that Peppy McAbandonsblindpeopleattarget has vamoosed her little ass back to the customer service counter and left them in the care of Miss Yvette, who at this point has finally finished ringing me up and is now staring at Blind Couple with her hand on one hip and her brow furrowed, as if she's thinking, "I could give them the cups, but how are they going to tell which soda fountain spout is which because I don't think they have Braille on them?" or possibly, "Bitch is crazy if she thinks I'm going to come out from behind my counter to do this because there are, like, 2 more people in line now."<br /><br />What was I to do? I touched both of the sight-impaired people on the arm and said, "Let me help you get your drinks" and said to Miss Yvette, "Give me some cups. I got this." Miss Yvette has the presence of mind to say "Thank you" with a little too much relief in her voice, and I ask the couple, "What kind of drinks do you guys want?" They tell me, and I grab the cups, go over and get their drinks (pushing down the little "Diet" depressor thing for the Diet drink so that they wouldn't get mixed up) and walk back over to the counter. At this point, there are about 6 people behind us in line and Miss Yvette looks like she's about to burst into tears or something because Blind Lady is trying to swipe her card, and Miss Yvette (as a Target Team Member) isn't technically supposed to help her. So she says to me, "You're gonna have to help her swipe her card" so I go over to the lady and say, "Do you want me to take your hand and swipe it" and she says, "Can you just swipe it?" so I do and it wants a pin number so I tell her I'm going to push "credit" and she can just sign so she doesn't have to tell me her pin number. She says great, and then goes to put her card back in her wallet, then back in her purse (which takes all of about 30 seconds, but feels like 30 minutes when Miss Yvette is staring you down because you're not taking care of Peppy Negligence's guests fast enough and the Blind Dude is all "popcorn, we wanted to get some popcorn"<br /><br />Luckily, Miss Yvette had already gotten the popcorn. Dude's holding both drinks. Lady finally gets wallet back in purse, reaches down to sign the pad, mistakenly bumps the "pay another way" button on the touch pad. <br /><br />Shit.<br /><br />I look at Miss Yvette. She looks back at me. I say to her, "Can you just go back one screen and and she can sign?" Miss Yvette tells me she'd have to swipe her card again. There are now 10 people in line behind us. I am a crappy Good Samaritan. I say, "y'all, this is on me", swipe my card, punch in my pin, grab my receipt from Miss Yvette, and look around for Peppy McIrresponsibletargetteammmember because maybe she was, like, in charge of their ride home or something. She's nowhere to be found, of course. The lady pipes up, "Can you take us to where we can sit down to have our drinks and our popcorn?" I say, "Sure!" She says, "It would probably be best if you just pushed our cart here (they'd bought luggage) and we'll sort of hang on to it." Sounded good to me. I push the cart, they follow, I get them to a table, pull chairs out and get them sort of situated, and realize that my mom is still waiting on me, and she's pulled the car around outside. I say, "Are you going to be OK?" and they're all, "yes, thank you so much for your help" and I'm all, "no problem at all have a wonderful day" and I go outside to the car.<br /><br />My mom says, "What took so long? The people who were BEHIND you in line just sat down."<br /><br />I regale her with the story, and find myself asking a lot of questions. How did they GET there, for one, and how were they going to get home? What if they weren't really blind, and they just wanted some free sodas and it's fun to get your kicks that way? <br /><br />Nah, they really were blind. I just wonder how the Non-Miss-Yvette Target Team Member thought it was OK to just dump them off with ol' Miss Yvette. Crazy.Not Always About Monkeyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05553391986271730606noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611893791845344911.post-80951493119161622752009-08-05T07:31:00.001-04:002009-08-05T07:47:51.239-04:00On Being Treated Like a Leper and/or Being Totally OversensitiveI have psoriasis. I'm pretty sure I mentioned that before, but it showed up when I was about 21 and has been going strong ever since. I don't write about it much, because I don't want this to be an "oh woe is me my skin is all funky and gross don't you feel bad for me" blog. Generally I don't even care, except when it kinda hurts or itches sometimes. It is what it is, you know? Life could be a lot worse. It's not life-threatening, the arthritis that is associated with it hasn't hit me very hard yet. It could be lots worse. <br /><br />Anywhoo, so I'm at Food Lion several weeks ago (as an aside, I just recently started shopping at Food Lion - it's cheap and they're all, "Welcome to Food Lion", which is nice) when a checkout dude gave me the stink eye just for having red scaly patches on my hands. I mean, come on. It's not like I spit on him or wiped a booger on the conveyor belt. Him: long fluffy dark hair and patchy facial hair. Little wire-framed glasses. Me: work clothes (slacks and shirt), arms exposed. He wrinkles his nose when he looks at my arms, and then when I go to hand him my MVP card he tosses it back to me (even though I had my hand out) and then vigorously squirts hand sanitizer all over his hands and rubs them for, like, a whole minute. <br /><br />I casually take my receipt, pick up my bags, and leave. I think about touching him as much as possible - patting him on the hand to say thank you, etc. I think about peeling off a flake and flicking it at him. I think about going back and explaining that what I have is in no way contagious and that he shouldn't worry himself into a frenzy tonight that he might catch LEPROSY or a SKIN EATING BACTERIA and that maybe the next time he should ASK what's wrong with me, because that's a lot more polite than TREATING ME LIKE I'M DIRTY.<br /><br />So then yesterday, at the same Food Lion (hey, it's on my way home and it sells jarred pimentos) I go to check out in someone else's line (Mama didn't raise no fools) and she tells me the line on the end is open. I go to the line on the end. The lady there is spraying down the conveyor belt with Windex and informs me she's not ready yet. I appreciate her spraying down the conveyor belt so I just shrug and walk over to the next line, which is manned by Mr. Sneer and Look at You In Disgust. I should mention that I saw him when I first came in, and I had shorts on yesterday (the horror!) so my calves and knees were showing, and they have some of the worst spots on them. I saw him look down at my left calf, and then turn away real fast. I didn't think any more of it. So anyway, here I am in his line again, and he says, "This here is the 12 item or less isle, you'll have to go somewhere else." I, flustered, inform him that the other lady sent me down to the end and the end wasn't open yet, but I yank my cart out of the checkout isle and go back to the isle I was in orignially. As I put my items on the conveyor belt I count them. 15. I had 15 items. <br /><br />So, am I being paranoid? Did this dude's first reaction to me make me expect a second, shitty reaction, or was he just consistently rude to me? I tend to lean toward the latter, because I really felt persecuted for a minute there, and I don't get persecuted very easily. Really I don't.<br /><br />So, if you're ever in a situation like this guy, where someone has got some awful rash and you don't know what it is, trust me when I tell you that most people will appreciate an upfront approach. Here are some good ice-breakers:<br /><br />"Hey, did you get into some poison ivy?"<br />"Wow, that rash looks painful, what is it?"<br />"What is that all over you?"<br /><br />That last one seems a little blunt, but it's a helluva lot better than just treating someone like they're infectious.<br /><br />The End.Not Always About Monkeyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05553391986271730606noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611893791845344911.post-16248941593696165442009-07-29T08:09:00.002-04:002009-07-30T13:07:19.942-04:00Triumph, Thy Name is Tenacity<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYpG_CzNrrBhw6OITegPp56WyYXaC3sPUMSp5LP6HgsEdoIDk2viUliO_gIX1wymY2pVbRXn5lVTpHX-xH_2xfXj0Dt8C1ORN7L_OU_uGNl_r8vQW-nClF_DbMZr2Z0s23FpBsv1KYoE0/s1600-h/025.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363860424100102082" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYpG_CzNrrBhw6OITegPp56WyYXaC3sPUMSp5LP6HgsEdoIDk2viUliO_gIX1wymY2pVbRXn5lVTpHX-xH_2xfXj0Dt8C1ORN7L_OU_uGNl_r8vQW-nClF_DbMZr2Z0s23FpBsv1KYoE0/s400/025.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgccwj5dtSw_VeenBYT7ACR4Xe6MNlk0gaAzQ1PUaeET7j7YL1aWu4pLOHia6xYcAz6DdDMhn4PZyNhA9Uf2SY6xF_9my-tRL6Rf-bGbewmUcNJOYlMQjQDiqRknywiK7VVDDuQ_NdQF0/s1600-h/023.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363860422081958850" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgccwj5dtSw_VeenBYT7ACR4Xe6MNlk0gaAzQ1PUaeET7j7YL1aWu4pLOHia6xYcAz6DdDMhn4PZyNhA9Uf2SY6xF_9my-tRL6Rf-bGbewmUcNJOYlMQjQDiqRknywiK7VVDDuQ_NdQF0/s400/023.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div>Our new house is kind of dated. One thing is that the electricity comes into the house through fuses instead of breakers. I guess that's how it works. I haven't really looked it up. All I know is in my apartment on Dooley, sometimes, if I used the microwave, the iron, the computer, and the stereo all at the same time all the lights in the apartment would go out. I would then have to hunt for the basement key, go outside and down to the basement, through the dusty door, past the bedroll where my neighbor let a homeless guy sleep sometimes, past the booze bottles, over to the breaker panel marked #3. The lights were burned out in the basement (no matter how many times I donated a bulb to the cause), so you can bet I brought a flashlight with me. I'd open the panel marked #3, stop and realize that even though my apartment was Apartment #3, that the breaker panel was the 4th one set up, so I'd redirect the beam of my flashlight to the panel marked #4. I'd find the correct breaker (ie the one that wasn't facing the way the other ones were facing) and flip it, and when I walked back upstairs VI O LAAA I had power.<br /><br />That's about the extent of my electrical expertise, unless you count the decorative lighting fixtures I've installed from time to time, which I don't, because Dwight often goes behind me and re-twists the wires together and re-wire-screws them. He doesn't know that I know that he does this. But it irritates the crap out of me. Anywhoo.<br /><br />So this morning, fixing some breakfast, because breakfast is a great way to start your day, I ran into a bit of a problem. I was just standing there in the kitchen, thinking about how nice it was that I don't have to work until 10, so I had TIME to make breakfast and clean up after myself, and all that crap, and all of the sudden...as I was putting the turkey bacon back into the refrigerator...the refrigerator light went out.<br /><br />Crap! Did I accidentally put the turkey bacon over the switch for the light? No! I go over to the toaster. My NutriGrain Eggos have popped up, but they are neither golden brown nor crispy. I look at the microwave. No glowy numbers. Shit.<br /><br />I call my husband. He tells me to go to the fuse panel, open it, find the one that says "Kitchen Recepticles" and look inside the little window to see if the fuse is burned out. ?!?!?? How the crap should I know? I've never looked at fuses before. I said I guessed it was a little, well, smudgier than the other little fuse windows. He said did I remember the bag of fuses that the previous owner left us? It's on the table in the blah blah blah and I'm all, "Yeah, but aren't you just going to come home and fix it? Because there are, like, dozens of dollars worth of food in this refrigerator, and I'm all helpless and delicate (all the while I'm attempting to unscrew this questionably burned-out fuse) and could he just scoot on home for a sec and take care of this?"<br /><br />He says the food will probably be fine until he has lunchtime, and to just not open the refrigerator anymore. I'm thinking of the eleventy hundred times I opened and closed the refrigerator trying to make the light come on again before I realized that none of the other electrical doodads in the kitchen were functional. Nah, that food probably won't be OK until lunchtime. At this point I'm getting a little upset. I'm not mad or anything, but I'm frustrated that my stupid fingers can't get the stupid fuse to unscrew and that the stupid refrigerator ws not working and that the stupid toaster hadn't cooked my Eggos enough yet, etc. I get off the phone and cry a minute, and then I'm all, "Wait a minute."<br /><br />So the problem with trying to unscrew the fuse is that my hands are sweaty because I'm nervous about potentially electrocuting myself (which, incidentally, is a crappy way to start my third day of Part Time Job Part I) and because I'm frustrated and in a hurry. So I think "Rubber Gloves!" and go put some on. I try again. The little jerk comes out of his little hole. I take a replacement fuse (that was in a box, so obviously new) and screw it in. Nothing happens. I go check the fridge. Nothing. I call my husband again, "The new fuse doesn't work either - the electricity is broken." He says, "Did you screw it in the whole way?" I'm like, "YES." He asks, "Did you use a new fuse?" I say, "I used one in a box." He's all, "Just because it's in a box doesn't mean it's new. Sometimes people take the old one out and put it in a box blah blah blah." I start to cry. He says he will come home.<br /><br />I get off the phone sobbing. I put my rubber glove back on, climb into a sitting position on the washing machine, and unscrew said maybe-not-new fuse. I (still crying my stupid head off) take yet another 20 amp fuse and insert it into the hole. I screw it in. I, with excruciatingly tiny movements (because of course said fuse goes crammed in next to other fuse) continue to screw the stupid thing in.<br /><br />Suddenly, the microwave beeps. Through my tears and gritted teeth I exclaim, "That's right you Son of a Bitch!" and I jump off the washer to confirm. I have done it. I have replaced the fuse. I call husband. He's all , "Way to go" and I'm all, "Blubber blubber tears tears" and I finally got to eat my damn Eggos.<br /><br />The End.</div></div>Not Always About Monkeyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05553391986271730606noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611893791845344911.post-28861343619241732292009-07-22T19:03:00.001-04:002009-07-22T19:21:47.535-04:00Update on the Thrilling Events of my LifeSo, I left my job at Bankruptcy, Inc. a little earlier because I had to go out of town, but then it turns out the reason I was going to go out of town went to a different, undetermined town, so I didn't have to go. Being a bounty hunter is a mercurial job. Just kidding. I'm not really a bounty hunter. Yet.<br /><br />Anywhoo. Instead of returning to the last week of a job with my tail between my legs all, "Can I come back to work to do stuff for you guys for a couple more days instead of taking some time for myself until my new job starts" I sort of just decided to chill out for a few days. I have some freelance writing to do, and I thought I could get my home office unpacked, get some stuff done around the house, et cetera. Cook some good meals. You know, be a Domestic Goddess who Writes Good.<br /><br />What I was a little suprised to find out is that I'm totally mind-numbingly depressed. I guess it's got something to do with watching a company die a slow death, and it being the end of an era, and all that stuff, but you'd think with two great part time jobs on the horizon, and the kick-ass classes coming up for grad school, that I'd be all full of positivity and enthusiasm. I guess it takes a little while, because so far I haven't gotten diddly squat done and I keep nodding off like a herion addict or my grandma or something. <br /><br />So I figure I need to keep myself busy. The only thing? Every time I stand up I get a head rush, and I convince myself that it's far safer, since I'm home all alone, to sit back down on the bed and check Twitter to see if John Cusack has direct messaged me, because that would totally make my day. Not that he ever has, or knows I exist, but that would be pretty cool, so I should probably check. As long as I'm online, I might as well learn something on the TV, so it's lucky that there is a marathon of The Scariest Places on Earth on the Sci Fi Channel, so I can learn all about scary places and the paranormal. Because that's important. Then I start writing a blog in my head because Linda Blair (of Excorcist fame) is the host of the show, and in the opening credits she stalks into view through misty spookiness and she's wearing a tight leather outfit and a cape-like overcoat, which is fantastic. But I don't actually write the blog, because I'm thinking about how I should check my bank account, but I shouldn't do that directly from Twitter, because the internet monkey thieves could trace my steps over to my bank account and wreak havoc (new havoc, not the havoc I inflict monthly). So I might as well check my blogroll, and see what the people that are better bloggers than me have to say. <br /><br />I think you see my point. Not too productive. Of course, I only left the job yesterday, and today was Day 1 of a surprise vacation, so I guess it's OK that I wasn't productive AT ALL. Since I was crazy busy at work on Friday AND Monday, I guess it's OK to take a breather. <br /><br />Or I am a lazy hog-jerk. Whichever. I did eat a half can of cashews, a whole can of potato soup, a McDonald's #2 with no onions and a Sprite, and now I'm fixing to eat some more. So at least I'm well-nourished.<br /><br />So, now it's Writing for Money late into the night, because you guys make me want to be my best.Not Always About Monkeyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05553391986271730606noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611893791845344911.post-86258443301588148952009-07-09T06:44:00.004-04:002009-07-09T07:06:19.432-04:00Dining RoomThis is a picture of the dining room before we got our hands on it. As you can see, it was perfectly lovely, but entirely green. I don't mind green, but I wanted a more festive dining room.<br /><br /><div></div><div>Directly after this photo, you will see the dining room now, with a brief description of the work we did underneath.</div><br /><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356411114992841346" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvi1KMBY1QUG8S_L9JRvhV1KakBrJhyXWbFfMy5p34GKzBtGjoF6HnAfa5f5B55voQiQilqxacV-2wtNhTf3qk-eU1ZemuHvuygGUNi45rkMUG7ikbZfkwSECZb0LmH1a5FELKsArd7LE/s400/004.JPG" border="0" /></p><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356411099592837298" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYbv8HgiVBD7VmGcpB-ErZLv65dtL5pDQynARhx4r-76zZT-bldwaMRxivz5OY26tP1z8JDCB_tBCP9MvpxHWUiNCLJDkvsC4KLi2F9lbOozJDPtJ3_oX_KXk02RijvhdGpYH8nVaEzYI/s400/074.JPG" border="0" /></p><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356411109090881250" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPn3Z72b47PL9zBQSSTozXdGQ4Os2421NOKjHYFbbI4bG7Y32tmWC5nih-7dbj2NO7eQrO9BeFO_BxBLuFCPq-ORpl1zSeh4D28Qy2xcC0fAbhnFldFa_Za_ldRPAUPQUi1hNpCHR3bh8/s400/075.JPG" border="0" /></p><br /><p>We ripped up the carpet, primed and painted all the walls and trim, and my wildly talented husband created the lovely striping effect you see under the chair rail. We painted the chairs purple - the can showed a deeper, more aubergine purple, but I like the way they turned out nonetheless. We also replaced the chandelier.<br /><br />The dining room table is a new addition - oak drop-leaf with some dings and nicks but a whole lot of character. I love it. My mom bought it for me at an estate sale recently - the same one where we bought that awesome stereo I blogged about. At least I think I blogged about it. Yeah, I <a href="http://notalwaysaboutmonkeys.blogspot.com/2009/06/were-hip-and-cool.html">did</a>.<br /><br />The kitchen is done, too. We'll save that for next time. </p>Not Always About Monkeyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05553391986271730606noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611893791845344911.post-23693517309573533992009-07-08T13:52:00.002-04:002009-07-08T13:55:37.060-04:00...I have been enjoying some freelance writing about our fair city, which I will link to upon permission from the owner of the website. I have been pregaming for grad school. I have been gearing up for even more freelance work as a contractor, and have accepted a sweet part time job in addition, so we might not starve after all.<br /><br />The house renovation is 80% complete - just need some shoe molding and to paint the bathroom and hang the bathroom light. I will post pictures soon, because I know the whole damn internet cares a lot about the work I've put into my house.<br /><br />Wait. That sounded bitter and I'm not. New opportunities. Grad school. New friends. Old friends. Life is really good.<br /><br />Whether the internet cares or not.Not Always About Monkeyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05553391986271730606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611893791845344911.post-84801221382196773332009-07-01T22:26:00.000-04:002009-07-01T23:04:40.873-04:00It's Been A WhileIt's also been a busy time. We've been working full throttle and I've been working at Bankruptcy Inc. and freelance writing (yay!) all at the same time. We have no clean forks or underpants, but life is good.<br /><br />I've just found out that because of all this nifty reading and computer work, that I need bifocals. BIFOCALS. Dudes, I'm getting older...everyone is. But BIFOCALS?!? At 32? Really?<br /><br />I mainly wear contacts, so I just had to get some drugstore reading glasses and using them is giving me headaches that would cripple Hercules. And he's a pretty tough guy.<br /><br />I have a great story about Emma to tell you all, but it's going to take a minute for me to get the picture uploaded. So this is it for now, and stay tuned for a much more amusing post in the near future.Not Always About Monkeyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05553391986271730606noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611893791845344911.post-10588179422377784212009-06-24T09:50:00.006-04:002009-06-24T10:47:35.039-04:00Stream of consciousnessRandom thoughts:<br /><br />getting a little piece of garlic stuck in your tooth and working it out with your tongue is much like taking some sort of garlic breath infuser treatment. You've got to work really hard to undo that.<br /><br />That Fitzgerald quote, "In the real dark night of the soul it is always three o'clock in the morning, day after day" takes on a whole new meaning when you're awake at three o'clock in the morning.<br /><br />I did not win the lottery again today. Honestly, a poor girl's heart can only stand but so much.<br /><br /><br />Since my time at Bankrupt Inc. is coming to a close, I have put myself out on the proverbial market. Rather than worrying about the normal things one worries about when trying to secure gainful employment (ie. resume, skills, etc.), I am concerned about the following, because it's every so much more productive to worry about trivial stuff that doesn't matter.<br /><br />I am not, repeat, am NOT, high maintenance enough to get regular pedicures. However, you might notice that my toenails are perfect. It's a bonding activity with me and my mom, and we go every two weeks if we can afford it. There are currently flowers on my toes because the girl at the shop asked me so very nicely if I wanted flowers, and I couldn't say no. Because I am a pedicure pushover. And, I'm wearing open-toed shoes because it's summer, and I hope that is appropriate. Because my only closed-toed shoes right now are sneakers and Doc Martens. And for some reason I thought red Chucks would make it look like I wasn't trying hard enough.<br /><br />I blush a lot. Sometimes when I blush I stay blushed for, like, 10 whole minutes. I look like a tomato, and I'm sorry. Sometimes I blush because I've been blushing for so long. I get embarrassed by the blushing. <br /><br />I have very little fashion sense, but if I'm going to someone's office to meet them, or meeting somebody out for lunch? Trust me, I've tried. As much as I can try without waving a bunch of red flags around this place. If I need to look nicer than this I can, because my mom lives nearby and is always willing to pick out an outfit for me.<br />**it occurs to me that if any potential employers read this they will now be thinking, "The dumb girl has to have her mother dress her." Not true. Many people take fashion advice from TV, magazines, friends, etc. I take fashion advice from my mom. She's my hero.<br />**Also, it isn't really like the guys I work for would have a problem with me going for an interview or something, but it's not good for morale with my coworkers. I'm sensitive to that. Both because I care about people and because around here you're liable to get your head bitten off. In a nice way, of course (not really, no, not nice).<br /><br />I don't have poison ivy. I look like this all the time. It's not contagious, it's <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Psoriasis">psoriasis</a>, and I hope it doesn't creep anybody out too badly to hire me. Sometimes it's better than others, and I never scratch in public. Hey, if <a href="http://www.people.com/people/article/0,,20222836,00.html">LeAnn Rimes</a> can admit it, so can I.<br /><br />I may be a little awkward at first, but I am super conscientious and hardworking, and I eventually grow on people. I mean, besides that one girl at my current job that hates my guts, most people find me very pleasant to be around. My mom thinks I'm the bomb.<br /><br />I can't lie to you, Interwebs. This economy is still pretty sucky, and it's going to be a while before things turn around. Finding a job in this state is tough, and I AM actually worried about my skills, my creds, my chances. There is one thing in particular that I pretty much consider a dream job, so I'm trying not to get my hopes up so's they don't get squashed like little buggies. So I worry if I'm good enough.<br /><br />But I also worry about what kind of impression my toes make. I'm a complicated woman, Internet. You knew that when you got into this relationship. Wish me luck.Not Always About Monkeyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05553391986271730606noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611893791845344911.post-89238328933896751572009-06-18T21:01:00.001-04:002009-06-18T21:08:06.249-04:00Amazing that it's been a whole weekA whole week since my last post. Huh. I had a great idea and lost it midday today amongst the searing, mind-numbing pain of a terrible migraine (fun!) and am pretty much writing something just to write something. Which is useless, yet I do it anyway. <br /><br />In more exciting news, I think I've come up with an idea for a cool niche blog that can be a central hub of online activity and possibly make me independently wealthy. Or will at least pay my electric bill and support my kitchy t-shirt habit. So yeah, I'll get around to that someday.<br /><br />As for fun stuff that happened over the last week, I guess I tweeted about it, so you can check out my tweets at the right, if you're not an active tweeter yourself. As for me, the jury is still out. It is a LOT of fun right now, and I could see it either becoming a way of life or something that I abandon because it's too high-maintenance. <br /><br />I have several freelance pieces to write, plus a lot of really old carpet to pull up, boxes to pack, trim to paint, etc. Busy, but that's good because of idle hands being the devil's something or another.Not Always About Monkeyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05553391986271730606noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611893791845344911.post-85905227020875250782009-06-12T09:35:00.002-04:002009-06-12T09:55:00.387-04:00Waiting...Sadly, nobody seems to want to dance this morning, and when I randomly asked one of the Boss-Type Coworkers if they knew the song "Duke of Earl" he just sort of looked at me funny.<br /><br />I did turn up my little computer speakers when "Tales of Brave Ulysses" came on, in case someone wanted to enter into some heady discourse on whether or not the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">lyrics</span> were spurned by an interest in Greek mythology, or just a whole lot of acid. No takers, and my <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">mischievous</span> tendencies are waning.<br /><br />And it is embarrassing when someone walks into your cube while "Darling Nikki" is playing. I don't care what you say.Not Always About Monkeyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05553391986271730606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611893791845344911.post-38220430111752394812009-06-11T15:22:00.002-04:002009-06-11T15:33:07.017-04:00Tips for a Decent FridaySo even though things are winding down here at what <a href="http://gypmom.blogspot.com/">GypMom</a> calls "Bankruptcy Inc." we are moving our desks and offices to another floor. For the last 3 months I have been sort of insulated from the rest of the folks, over here with the consultants I support. Now we'll all be thrown down in the mix, and we've never taken advantage of the fact that we've got a whole wing to ourselves. Amidst the moving craziness of tomorrow, here are things I propose we do tomorrow. I will tell you, Internet, instead of them because I'm not sure they get my sense of humor. <br /><br />1. As I learned earlier today, the ladies room has some fantastic acoustics. I propose we do a short little rehearsal to make sure we all know the words to "Duke of Earl" by Gene Chandler, and wait until someone walks into the shitter with a magazine. Then it's showtime, Babies!<br /><br />2. We're getting ready to have much less space. Also, there will be people sitting right next to me in Cubeland - unlike up here where I'm in a veritable Cube Wasteland. I'm the only cube occupant in the whole wing. So, the days of plugging the old iPod into computer speakers and listening to my music "at a reasonable volume" are likely over. Why not finish the week out right with a little bit of Mandatory Dance Time? I know you're all busy getting ready for yet another filing, but why not take a minute and boogie down to a little Harry Belafonte? Or if you're in a more mellow mood I could spin a little "Lime in the Coconut". <br />**As a side note, if you've ever hung out at my house you know that Mandatory Dance Time happens all the time, and it is FUN.<br /><br />3. Instead of just buying lunch for our group, let's buy lunch for everyone in the building. And tell them it was my idea. Tell them that you would have never done it if it weren't for me. That they have me to thank for that free lunch. You're welcome, coworkers. You're welcome.<br /><br />As none of these things are going to happen tomorrow, I will likely find little ways to make myself feel like they are happening. If I can get just one of them to "Shake Shake Senora" it will be a great time to be here.Not Always About Monkeyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05553391986271730606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611893791845344911.post-25759921326147542542009-06-10T10:39:00.003-04:002009-06-10T10:49:17.846-04:00Twitter Is Too Much Pressure<span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">OK</span>, Internet. I get it. It's not enough for me to talk to you in one way or another every single day, but now I have to be clever? It's enough to send that creeping chill of terror through the old bowels, Internet. I'm having identity issues, over here.<br /><br />I've bought a house, so I could fall into the home-improvement <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">blog sphere</span>. I'm also trying to freelance write, so I could fall into the desperate-writer <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">blog sphere</span> as well. I am also a student, so I could fall into the I'm-old-but-all-about-school-let-me-tell-you-about-it <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">blog sphere</span>.<br /><br />What I'm not? A comedy writer. I'm hardly ever funny, and when people do the most laughing at me is usually when I'm deadly serious. I'm also not a blogger-for-profit, ever since the unfortunate <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">AdSense</span> debacle (which I've ALMOST given up on), so I'm really doing this for my own sanity and amusement. <br /><br />So I will just keep on doing what I'm doing, being completely unfocused and un-nichey. Don't judge me, Internet, or I won't play WordTwist with you or let you win at Chess anymore.Not Always About Monkeyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05553391986271730606noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611893791845344911.post-59706612361163230562009-06-09T08:54:00.003-04:002009-06-09T09:08:13.657-04:00Nobody Wants Me - A Cautionary Tale of Part-Time Employment Seeking in a Crap EconomyAlack. As the homebuying process turns out to be more and more expensive, I realize that it would probably be best if I could pull down some extra income prior to starting grad school. Grad school, after all, is not free, and even though I will be applying for Financial Aid (a fun, exciting, and easy-as-pie process, Folks) we will still have to pay that money back someday.<br /><br />Added to the fact that we are now in a 30-year mortgage that we will ALSO have to pay back, provided we want to keep a roof over our heads.<br /><br />So I've been scouring the interwebs. Searching for that perfect part-time thing that will also provide benefits. That perfect part-time thing with the flexible hours and the work-from-home option that pays around $30 per hour. Easy, right? Not so much.<br /><br />I thought I would just establish myself as a freelance writer and collect all this crazy income, buy my own independent insurance, and be Free From Corporate Servitude. Sure, I'd still work my corporate job - because I like it, but I wouldn't feel beholden to The Man, nor would I feel like the world was going to end when my job did. <br /><br />Turns out it's a little more difficult to establish oneself as a freelance writer than one might think. Thank God for Shell at <a href="http://www.toptenz.net/">TopTenz</a> - he lets me write for him and keep my research skills sharp (plus I get paid), but practically every other thing has turned out to be either a scam or someone who thought they wanted a writer and decided they were wrong.<br /><br />So then I thought, "Hey." "Why not get a job someplace where I can get a discount?" I'd heard the Blockbuster gave part-time benefits, so I filled out an online application there. I had also heard that Target and Ukrops had part-time benefit options, so I applied online both of those places. <br /><br />Nothing. Nada. I have heard zero from any of the places. Tomorrow I'm making it my mission to call each HR manager and be charming. Oh, and I'm going to apply to Lowes and The Home Depot, because a discount there would be sweet...Not Always About Monkeyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05553391986271730606noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611893791845344911.post-15053763354756741132009-06-05T09:04:00.002-04:002009-06-05T09:09:48.965-04:00Happy Friday!So I have adjusted my attitude, put all the week's badness behind me, and have approaced today with a renewed sense of awesomeness that will not be squelched. No matter what. So if we don't get to close today, we will close SOMEDAY, and that's what matters.<br /><br />I am also stoked because I have a bunch of new writing assignments from my editor His Awesomeness at <a href="http://www.toptenz.net/">http://www.toptenz.net/</a>. He's started posting new lists every weekday, and they just keep getting better and better, so check them out. Especially when he posts one of mine. <br /><br />I had a slew of curious dreams last night, all very involved and B-movie-like. I might write more about them later, or I might just continue to Tweet snippets as I remember them, as I don't have to be as cohesive that way. <br /><br />Guess I'd better get to work. If we DO get to close, prepare yourself for many pictures of the House in Progress, and coverage of the bird funeral which will happen the day we close.Not Always About Monkeyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05553391986271730606noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611893791845344911.post-79267095075400887842009-06-04T20:06:00.002-04:002009-06-04T20:17:07.848-04:00New House (Someday) ** Warning - one disturbing image at the very beginning<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHhBcRDm59kY6IpnUl2G1QFH8gc8UOJ9PX_rvMr1lFf0qBnxHAcZ4BdUyvGrmH-qVLWowG-8p4NKoqdcRCaRxwaaSKsDO7qr9-q7RdRlmL8Ohmu18V8FCLLTKEm6uyg5JlJQaCZGbRCaM/s1600-h/001.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5343629733424305426" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHhBcRDm59kY6IpnUl2G1QFH8gc8UOJ9PX_rvMr1lFf0qBnxHAcZ4BdUyvGrmH-qVLWowG-8p4NKoqdcRCaRxwaaSKsDO7qr9-q7RdRlmL8Ohmu18V8FCLLTKEm6uyg5JlJQaCZGbRCaM/s400/001.JPG" border="0" /></a> So we showed up for the final walkthrough and found this on the front porch. Omen?<br /><div><br /><div><div><div>There are some complications with closing, so we don't know if we'll be closing tomorrow or not. Kind of took the wind out of my sails at paint-sample-buying time. Keep your fingers crossed.<br /><br />Don't worry. The bird died of natural causes, and was very old. He'd lived a good life. I guess. I don't know. It was dead when we got there.</div><div> </div><div>Here are some pictures of some of the rooms in the house that we'll hopefully get to close on soon.<br /><br />The bathroom, kitchen, the cool kitchen light fixture, the dining room and the living room. More to follow when I have the gumption to rave a little more. For now I'm tired and vexed. Vexed and tired...<br /></div><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5343629181746566482" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy4lCNJB9ppcBmyjrE_70jn4mWWWdvfCS50SSYdQ59sFscnoFD0hKW_ZSUfRZR-BFFPvs2rTdUe47TWpg8EaVLXJX-trVajvWtaEJLcAE8AH6aY_7moBZbSuM_Hi0uKTqrauQd-WiuMxM/s400/013.JPG" border="0" /></div><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5343629167366543266" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsHfrCbQELk-zau1OFBo68NYahGAE6yQKBFA6YONiG6vJrVS5Q5SmSxvI60e_F8EaWqbvcbTBrxZBgdwtjThNR84RnKeIrNwaxb8KfbOXloLQ_T9qgzmOaUthvV_KMUF623oNReFVeES0/s400/005.JPG" border="0" /></div></div></div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5343629171701731938" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPOiIHHK8doJng6OptYLvJIVcrxAqE2zGBc4oVmo5y-BHC-0slZ3jegWo7hKJ24DKWP1FhcwRaUSW-DfmsNb13RaRqhXoWzEQDUkIsul1d0J6DRmGoV5NF1hNgibAqNCc66isT0rd8Ab0/s400/006.JPG" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5343629166253147234" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVQsvTv3t1kz4t9YRveSZ_OU7SJ08c2OdywS5OZQgkZjQP0jPHGJ5UYnHgajEIE-AHimR5_fxt-NBeh2woGmWxro0zvY6UG8hIDsbaPP8kLi75z0wPDrrilmczyi-4JeUH5BYcw_HQNU0/s400/004.JPG" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5343629164019128354" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2xa7Vw3iJm_o_b1Kw8Dx-jgEiJioyt1QyYCqOSXcKQAY4I2udUstTFcTJxZl0Ytscw6HYgUpjTpQz2fUXaB91uCdlQqYYgODe4_dWQfEhcHCIWbuw5xMN5qqWT9LsIBdtc_MS0L8yE4M/s400/002.JPG" border="0" /><br /><br />I did pick out some pretty sweet paint samples. If we do get to close tomorrow I'm going to paint them in squares on the wall. Like you do...Not Always About Monkeyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05553391986271730606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611893791845344911.post-14039347915576505702009-06-03T22:14:00.001-04:002009-06-03T22:33:13.269-04:00BlechI had to take a shower when I got home from work today. Not because it was hot and I was all sweaty, but because the day was so yuck that I felt like I had to wash it off of me before I could get on with the rest of my day. We had the final walkthrough tonight, and then dinner with our REALTOR and friend Matt. I wanted to enjoy it, and I couldn't with the remnants of today's crapiness still upon me. <br /><br />It's not like anything devastating happened. I had an altercation with a coworker about something stupid. Something I shouldn't have even cared about. Something that wasn't worth arguing over, but I couldn't get her to see that I didn't want to argue, and I didn't even need to "win". I just wanted to be kept in the loop and I didn't want her perception of my request as "ridiculous" to color her decision about something. It seemed like we were all on the same page until I opened my big fat mouth, and I would have been better off to cool my heels and ride it out. So much for full disclosure and frequent and open communication. Guess I'll start being shirty like everyone else.<br /><br />No. You know what? I'm there to do my job. Whatever job that happens to be today, granted, but to do a job. I'm happy to still be drawing a paycheck. I'm trying to be my best. I can't help it that circumstances have made it so we're all working in a wasteland. I can't help it that my nature is to do the best I can and take the best care of the people I'm supposed to be taking care of. I never take a job to make friends, but I certainly don't go to make enemies, either. So it's a real drag when something comes across the wrong way and I feel like a jerk, I feel like someone's been a jerk to me, and everything just feels wrong. I mean, I'm practically begging someone not to take what I say the wrong way, I'm tap dancing and backpeddaling as much as I can to say, "hey I can be wrong and I'm willing to admit it", and that someone (without even saying "excuse me") just picks up their ringing phone and starts talking. That's one thing. I try to NEVER be rude. Anyway...<br /><br />I will certainly try to make it better tomorrow. I will certainly try to be my best - to be diplomatic and cheerful and pleasant and cordial. Like I do every day. But today I'm a little broken and very tired, worn down by the grating knowledge that not much we do matters, but every way we interact with each other does. <br /><br />The funny thing? Dwight says, "let it go", because in the long run it probably doesn't even matter, and I know he's right. I doubt that the coworker in question gave the situation a second thought, after making sure everyone was good and angry about my request. So I'm sitting here at 10:30, when I'm dead-tired and should be sleeping, blogging inappropriately about my feelings.<br /><br />Rats. On a lighter and more fun note, there will be a New post tomorrow about the new house, plans for the new house, and the wide possibilities of paint.Not Always About Monkeyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05553391986271730606noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3611893791845344911.post-72954734931516441892009-06-01T20:12:00.001-04:002009-06-01T20:21:08.493-04:00We're Hip and CoolSo, I told you about this estate sale I went to, and I would figure out how to link to the previous blog post, but since it was just a promise for THIS blog post it's probably not worth it. Dwight and I have been enjoying the smooth sounds of this 1962-ish Magnavox stereo console: <img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5342517292624566434" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYYnYLxXOygGCBMen7UqcE1eVCRv99ZPUzlLI-iEbUtWb5OEn0GCdT9VEE8syajV3T7wa1NRRhN27N8awLQ99wpYc6tY_HoohrCyOBhjz61IunygZyjFiZJbmZaoFbBZgN7tyQ7cAVsTs/s400/005.JPG" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5342517287125814370" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQf6NA-S0Rz12y92Ys0PB7YxwfqHo2nUSfcifptq8KunChOAiQavb0VYCPjgIWLU1MScwrngSYXmYNWkMEXw-z1Wxb4P6CyVOivdHRfLbdLtQDVwBZrNANmqOinH2IcHfkpfVcsnt5V8Y/s400/006.JPG" border="0" /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5342517277192036274" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvlRBeFqF-RzPmw7TZ-SITg5zyqefY09d7mhuIJ0DHX4kp0AsmjCPEn_D79aYJr86_qQs6qJoHVK_akhEbXqXUK2EJIM5zpNMup_OgYym9n3k9WfLX79VJAaLlUo-kasw1RNvIi7XkkKM/s400/003.JPG" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5342517271268333922" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvxepZKIlDWDTAett9zR2LxrcDGoKaR5PwmgG-9mfPKw3L0nJMl6qBbedXiKO5sZGuvcJwTqEl5Q6ZW5miM2PzRsIxYJpePTPyFEZD3zM3P4dTQ-21DPr9zELXy7627AYbii0OWASG3WM/s400/002.JPG" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5342517269921830002" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBqq7eIqFwwUMPdWAXg3e4rPNOrP6jabE3V2vdll_BywbyJV7cFaqDluz6AN8k4cOuNewVaQhw6NL_RBK_ntaeVkGoNZpl4rRXB4A-uSlrVuQboVoXTiP8PlBONHLX9_royhDGAy-8HQw/s400/001.JPG" border="0" />It's got a swingin' sound that makes me want to serve Dwight a martini with olives while wearing an apron and pearls. And not in a dirty way, you gutterheads. Swingin' in the old fashioned way that doesn't mean spouse-swapping - like that Leave It To Beaver episode where the Beav has joined a record club and has been squirreling the bills away in a drawer somewhere and Wally catches on and goes to confront the Beav and the Beav is all digging on his tunes on his little turntable and Wally's all, "You have to tell Mom and Dad!" and the Beav's all, "Not now, Wally, I'm swingin!". Thanks Mike, for reminding me of that, because that's exactly what I mean.<br /><br />Stay tuned for more estate sale fun, plus a full update on the grueling house-buying process.Not Always About Monkeyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05553391986271730606noreply@blogger.com2