Monday, February 28, 2011

Elizabeth Bennet: Take Two

This is madness!

No. Seriously. It's madness. NOT Sparta, damn it, so stop thinking it. Stop it right now. This is serious. 

What is madness?


ME: Hey sister.

Brat: I'm getting married on the 22nd! 

ME: The 22nd of what?

Brat: March!

ME: Of next year?

Brat: No! Next month!

Great. Balls. Of. Fire.

Didn't I just go through this with Lydia (formerly Wheat)? Or something very similar to it? 

Why yes. Yes I did. And you know what? It's just as stupid for this twin as it was for the other one. Actually, I take that back. It's even more stupid for this twin than it was for the other.  At least Lydia did it because she was madly in love and wanted to be with MoMo forever and always.  I may still think her running off to get married in the middle of Nowhere, Texas was a fucking dumbass mistake for her nineteen year old self to make, but she had a good reason. 

Brat graduated less than a year ago for crying out loud!

This is the four of us at Memaw's right after Brat's graduation ceremony. We're in Papaw's Music Appreciation Room, and those are some of his records behind us.

Of course I couldn't help saying what was on my mind.

Oh, yes. Yes I did have the nerve to ask my sister, "Why the hell are you getting married? I thought you were waiting until after college!"

Brat: Because I'm sick of living with Memaw and Papaw and I want to move out.


ME: Brat, you don't have to be married to move out of your family's house. This isn't the fucking fifties.

Brat: Yes, I do.

ME: No, you don't. I'm not married to Padawan, and we live together.

Brat: Padawan isn't Catholic. Gummy Bear is.

ME: What?

Brat: Gummy Bear is Catholic, Chanel. You know that. It's against his religion to live with a woman he isn't married to. 

ME: Um...isn't it also against his religion to commit Fornication? But you've done that plenty of times.

Brat: We never plan that! We always say it's not going to happen again, and then it does and he has to go confess and say his Hail Marys.

ME: That's the most retarded thing I've ever heard! 

Brat: Well, it's true. His parents won't even consider letting him live with me unless we're married, and I can't stand living in this house anymore. So we're getting married at the Court House on the 22nd and I want you to be there.

Good. Fucking. Grief.

Both of my younger sisters are fucking feather headed geese. And it gets better.

Brat: By the way, you have to call Dad and tell him.

ME: WHAT? Why the fuck to I have to tell him? It's your fucking wedding!

Brat: Sherrell and I voted and you lost. He takes it better coming from you.

ME: Over my dead body, Brat. I'm not telling him!

Brat: Please?

ME: No. You do it. I'm not taking the heat for this one. You want to get married and play grown up? You do it your damn self like a big girl.

Brat: Fine. But that's not fair.

ME: Oh yes it is.

As if that wasn't bad enough, following my conversation with Brat, Relly called. 

ME: Yes, sister?

Relly: Did Breezy call you? (That's what she calls Brat.)

ME: Yes. And next time the two of you plot behind my back, make sure you actually have the man power to make me do what you want. I'm not calling Daddy.

Relly: Well, I didn't think you would after the last time. I just didn't want to do it.

ME: That's mature.

Relly: Well, anyway, it's on a Tuesday. Can you get off work?

ME: *sigh* Yeah. We can take our vacation and then go on it after the ceremony or whatever.

Relly: Good. You still coming out tonight?

ME: Hell yeah. I need a drink after all of this....

Relly: Makes you feel old, doesn't it?

ME: No, it's makes me think my little sisters is fucking stupid. I know I'm too young to get married. I definitely know she is.

And she is too young in more ways than one. Starting with the fact that she's been with Gummy Bear since she was fifteen years old and has NEVER had any other relationship in her whole life. She knows absolutely nothing about relationships! She has explored! She's a freaking baby!

Thinking all of that, there was no way I was going to miss an opportunity to get out and relax a little.

And that's exactly what I did. Padawan decided at the last minute he was too tired to join us, so I went to Fowler's with T-Man and Relly to watch the fight between Fitch and Bing. Apparently this was a big fight because the winner would get to go on to fight something Pierre for the Title. (For the record, it was a Draw, and that was just bullshit.)

I had a Strawberry Margarita and a Jolly-rancher shot. I have no idea what the hell is in a Jolly-rancher shot but between that and the sixteen ounce margarita I was pretty freaking tipsy by the time Fitch and Bing came out to fight. Alright, I was drunk. 

The waitress looked at me like I was nuts when she asked if I wanted salt or no salt and I said, "Sugar." Apparently it's just weird to want sugar on the rim of a Strawberry Margarita. Go figure.

And by the time Brat and Gummy Bear arrived I was giggling and in a good place because I'm a surprisingly cheerful, talkative person when I'm drunk. Which is just like me in my sober state. Which is good. I'd hate to be an angry drinker. 

I remember at some point Brat decided to see how much smaller my hands were compared to hers, and then Relly tried hers against mine, and somehow Brat became fascinated with my wrists and started shaking my hand around saying, "Oh my god! They're so tiny I could break them!" 

"Your's are small, too!" I snatched my hand away and grabbed her hand.

"Actually, she's got thicker bones than you, Chanel," T-Man backed her up. "You're built smaller."

I sniffed. "It's not my fault I got the genetic short stick. I'm the shortest, I'm the flattest chested, and I've got the thinest, finest hair."

"Nothing wrong with being small."

And then when we all got up to leave Brat and Gummy Bear were hugging me goodbye and Gummy Bear said, "Oh my freaking god. Hugging you is like hugging a Barbie Doll. You're so tiny it's like you'll break in half!"

Well, that was nice to hear. 

I was feeling good by the time we left. I'm not sure if it was the alcohol or the compliment. T-Man and Relly dropped me off at my place. I was sitting in the backseat. When I tried to open the door to let myself out it wouldn't open. I tried five times before I said, "Hey! The door won't let me out!"

And Relly was like, "Oh, we forgot about the child lock." Because T-Man has a two year old and a four year old, remember? 


T-Man rolled down the window. In my inebriated state, I didn't immediately understand what he wanted me to do. So I stuck my head out the window, looked down, and said, "I don't think I can climb out that way. I'll fall."

And then they burst into hysterical laughter.

"Stick your arm out and open the door, silly," Relly giggled at me.

Oh. Duh.

"Well that makes more sense." Then I tried to get out. My foot, clad in my ever sensible Docs because I went out dressed for comfort, were stuck under T-Man's seat. "My foot is stuck!"

A minute or so of wrestling with my large, stubborn shoe and I finally tugged it free. Relly and T-Man were laughing so hard it's a miracle they didn't die laughing.

"I love you both. Goodnight."

I stumbled in the door at midnight, took Choo Choo for a walk in my sorry state, and fell into bed in my t-shirt and underwear because I fell over trying to get my jeans off and didn't feel like getting back up. I might have babbled a few minutes to the sleeping form that was Padawan, too. But I was drunk so I don't think I cared too much if he could hear me.

Saturday, February 26, 2011

I'm an Evil Genius

On Wednesday Padawan told me he wanted to trade desk locations. Mine is by the bedroom door, his is across from mine by the bathroom door. The thing he's been using to connect his computer to the wireless internet has been causing severe problems with his brand new computer, so he decided he would just run an Ethernet cord from the router/modem (according to Padawan it is BOTH) rather than worry about buying a new wireless adapter thingy mabobber.

Frankly, I hate moving furniture around unnecessarily. And I was pretty sure that Padawan's desk, which got broken during the move, wouldn't survive being shifted from one side of the room to the other. In the two minutes it took me to answer, I decided I would just give Padawan my desk and I would buy a new one. 


Well, I've had my desk since college. It is black wood and silver steel, and I have always hated it. My desk is much bigger than Padawan's, and has more storage space. It is masculine, and would be perfect. I told him, "You can have my desk, we'll throw yours out, and I'll buy a new one."

I think Padawan always secretly wanted my desk. He agreed immediately.

And then I went on a desk searching tour of the Interwebz.

I knew immediately, of course, what kind of desk I wanted. L shaped, with a hideaway keyboard, and with tempered glass instead of wood. Feminine, elegant, tasteful. And most importantly: a Mega Desk. But prettier, and without Dwight and Jim fighting over it. 

I located one I wanted that was in stock at a store near us, so we picked it up and brought it home last night after I got off of work.

There were a few problems putting it together...

"Chanel, you have that piece backwards."

"I do?"

"Yeah. Flip it over the other way." 

So I flipped it.

Five minutes later...

Something didn't look right.

"Chanel! You put your end on backwards!"

"I did not! You did!"

"No, you did! The holes are facing the wrong way!"

"Padawan, you told me I had it backwards the first time! You told me to flip it, so I did. This is your fault!"

"How is that my fault?"

"Because I had it right and then you told me to change it and now it's wrong!"

Ten minutes later...

"Padawan, the legs are backwards on this piece."

"They are not.

"Yes they are. They are supposed to face the other way, like on THAT piece."

"Oh. You're right. How did you manage to do that twice?"

"ME? You put this half together before I even came to help! You did it."

"Can you prove that?"

"Yes, I can. And you know it was your fault."

"Well, how do we fix it?

"We'll just unscrew them and put the pieces on the other way."

Two minutes later...

"Chanel, this bar is on the wrong side. We have to switch it with the other bar."

"What? How did that happen?"

"You flipped the legs, but not the bars." 

"How is this my fault again?"

"Because you didn't give me a chance to switch the bars around! If the legs were backwards, that means I put EVERYTHING together backwards and it all had to be switched."


One minute later...

"Padawan, these screws won't go into the holes!"

*sigh* "You have no upper body strength. Let me show you how it's done." He didn't. "Hey...these holes aren't aligned properly! Stupid piece of made-in-China shit bag fucker!"

Two minutes later...

"Damn it! Get me my power drill!"

Thirty seconds later...

"That's right, you piece of shit! I won!"

"Yes, Padawan, you  have conquered the inanimate object. Go eat dinner. I can finish the rest."

And I did. When he came back in I had it all set up like I wanted and I asked, "What do you think?"

He looked at me. "I think I want your new desk."

"It's too girly for you."

"You don't need all of that space."

"Oh...but I do."

Twenty minutes later...

"Padawan, will you set up the second monitor and connect it to my laptop? I don't want duplicate screens. I want my laptop to be an extension of the big one."


"Oh, and set up the wireless keyboard? I need to make double dotted U's so I can win the war with Charlie. My laptop keyboard can't do that."

"Who's Charlie?"

"A blogging friend. I think he's deluded himself into thinking he's winning."

"Is this a real person?"

"Presumably. I think he lives in Utah or something. He's like Snow White, but he's a man and he's not royalty. I don't think there's an evil queen that wants to eat his heart to be beautiful forever, either, but you never can tell what's going on in someone's life on the DL." 

"I'm going to regret asking this, I'm sure. But why is he like Snow White?"

"Because he charms skunks into being his friends!"

*shakes head* "I'm sorry I asked."

Ten minutes later...

"There you go."

I take my seat...

"Muah ha haaa! Muah ha ha ha ha haa! Bwa ha ha haa!"

"Uh...Chanel? Why are you cackling like that?"

"I'm pretending I'm an evil genius in my secret lair! Don't judge me! Muah ha haa!"

"Right then..."

This concludes the story.

P.S.  As soon as I can find an appropriate Evil Genius in Her Secret Lair Hat, I will have Padawan take a picture of me at my Mega Desk and post it for you laughing pleasure. Suggestions for a hat?

Friday, February 25, 2011

Food Porn Sandwiches and a Maybe Stalker

The irony of this is that I intended to write about this BEFORE I realized that it seemed to be a theme to mention porn in your blog today. I blame everybody else. But this is too good to keep to myself.

Last night I decided to try a new recipe for dinner. Something called "Croque Monsieur." It's apparently a popular ham and cheese sandwich that they go nuts for in France. I can't blame them.

Padawan and I dubbed it "Food Porn" after I pulled it out of the oven last night. And as good as it looked, it tasted even better.

Don't believe me?

Just sit there and tell me that doesn't look freaking fantastic.

And because I'm so nice, I'm going to share the recipe.

14 oz Gruyere cheese
4 tbsp butter, pluse softened butter for spreading
2 tbsp all-purpose flour
2/3 cup whole milk
2 tsp Dijon Mustard
8 thin slices of ham
8 slices of white bread

Before I get to the instructions, let me just say that I used substitutes. I looked for Gruyere cheese, and I found a block of ten ounces for sixteen dollars. WHAT? That's a lot of money for cheese! And not even enough! So I used Baby Gouda instead. It's very tasty, melts nicely, and is WAY more affordable. And second, Padawan and I do not drink whole milk. We use 1%, and I wasn't about to go buy a whole gallon or even a half gallon of milk that we wouldn't drink just so I could use 2/3 of a cup of it. So 1% went into the making of these sandwiches, and it worked just as well. Also, Padawan and I used Ciabatta slices instead of regular white bread. It toasts better.

1) Cut 4oz of the cheese into thin slices and shred the rest.

2) Melt the butter in a medium saucepan over low heat. Whisk in the flour and let bubble without browning for 1 minute. Whisk in the milk. Simmer, whisking often, until smooth and thick. Add the shredded cheese and mustard and stir until the cheese is melted.

3) Position a broiler rack 6 inches (15 cm) from the heat and preheat the broiler. Toast the bread slices on 1 side only. Spread the untoasted sides lightly with butter, then top 4 slices with the ham and sliced cheese. Press the remaining 4 bread slices on top, toasted sides up, and spread with the cheese mixture.

4) Broil about 2 minutes until the sauce is bubbling and golden brown. Serve at once.

The smell was divine. (Yes, the broiler STILL sets off the smoke alarm when I'm heating it up. I scrubbed that thing TWICE even though there was nothing spilled in there and it STILL goes off. Padawan is calling the Office today.) The taste? Well...I'm pretty sure it's the closest to Heaven you can get with a simple sandwich. And ONE of these was enough to fill both of us up. In fact, I didn't even finish mine.

Not even room for dessert.

That's how awesome it was.

Food Porn aside, though, I've got problems on my hands right now, and I haven't the faintest idea how to deal with them.

An old friend recently came back into my life. He graduated a couple of years before me, joined the army, and dropped off the face of the planet. He came into the store one day, recognized me, and since we'd been such good friends in the old days I didn't see any harm in giving him my number to reconnect. 

Except...I think he's no longer interested in me as a friend. I think he's above and beyond friendship. The man wants to move to my side of Austin to be closer to me. In fact, he just went and took a tour of the apartment complex Padawan and I live in. He even suggested moving into our exact building.

He showed up where I work today. He just showed up.  To talk. He wanted me to take a break so I could go look at apartments with him.


That's a big jump from, "Oh my god, I haven't seen you in years!" to "Oh, hey, I want to live close to you and I want you to help me find a place to live!!!" And frankly, I don't even do anything that personal with my sisters. That's something they do with their boyfriends. I've NEVER asked a friend to help me pick an apartment, let alone go look at one with them.

It's just weird.

Especially considering that when we ran into each other for the first time in ages he told me about his great apartment in South Austin and how he loves his neighborhood and his roommates....And suddenly it's a bad neighborhood full of drug gangs and he hates his noisy roommates and he wants to move to my apartment complex.

Of all the complexes in North Austin, of all the ones located near the commuters' train station...he wants our apartment complex. An apartment complex so new there aren't even any reviews available online! And one that is out of the way, hidden, and nobody has ever heard of...

I'm sorry. I'm just a little weirded out.

He knows where I work. He knows where I live (round abouts.) And after he left when he just showed up today, he sent me a text message. And when I didn't answer his message, he freaking called me. 

When we first talked to catch up I told him all about Padawan and Choo Choo and our life together as a little modern day family. I told him about how much I love Padawan, about how happy we are together, about how we're planning a vacation in the next month or so to get away and relax together. I told him about how we just bought a new car together, how we're getting pretty serious. And every time we talk I have to mention Padawan. I even showed him a picture of me and Padawan together! This was before I was worried, of course, but I find myself worrying AFTER all of that and that's just weird. Shouldn't he take a hint?

Am I overreacting here? I'm honestly thinking of changing my phone number. But then...he could always just show up to where I work. I can't leave my job. I love it and where else am I going to find a job with this much freedom? Nowhere. do I handle this? 

P.S. This is the closest to a stalker I've ever had, and I would not like to ever have this happen to me again. 

P.P.S. I don't want to deal with this now, either.

P.P.P.S. My stomach hurts.

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Grant Me the Serenity...are we talking about the spaceship?

I guess I joined the Cool Kids Time Travel Club with Bryan, Doug, and Scott. (Presumably other people as well, but I think these three are probably the most prominent members.) And since I joined the club I have to follow the posts, which brings us to the title...Grant Me the Serenity.

Now, I have no idea what serenity has to do with time travel, but I admit my knowledge of time travel is fairly limited. I know only what I've seen in movies and what I've read on Bryan's page. (I also know the secret formula for time travel that leaves behind no paradoxes, but that was an accidental discovery, and I already said I'm the only person in the world who can be trusted with this information. Don't bother asking me. I won't share.)  So how exactly I'm supposed to carry on talking about time travel when I haven't even seen the very first Back to the Future movie I don't know yet.

What I do know is this: Serenity was the name of a movie about a spaceship called Serenity in which a psychic girl is hiding from the government because they are after her and she knows something about Miranda, which was a planet they all but destroyed with a scientific experiment that left the survivors less human and something more like Space Zombies. I think they called them Grievers or something. There were some fight scenes, lots of bad dialog with hideous accents, and pretty sub-par acting that left me giggling at moments that were, I'm fairly certain, intended to be of a serious nature. At one point a woman actually complained to the captain that she hadn't "had nothing twixt my legs twern't battery operated" for quite some time. I think she may have specified three years, but how the hell can I be sure? I hated listening to her! How are you supposed to take ANYTHING seriously when everybody talks like redneck hillbillies? It's a space movie for crying out loud! Anyway, space travel has very little to do with time travel, I think. 

Introducing the cast as I see them.

Or is time in space different because you're technically not revolving around the Sun, which is how we measure time?

Doesn't matter. My take on this is that I want somebody to grant me the Serenity as a gift. Like, the actual ship. Why? 


If I had the Spaceship Serenity, I would turn it into a giant time machine. Then I would travel around from time to time, wreaking havoc and mayhem where ever I happened to travel. Imagine the horrible ways in which I could alter the pages of history simply by flirting with Henry VIII before he married Catherine of Aragon. Muah ha haa. <--- That's my evil laugh, by the way. 

Or imagine what would happen if I went back to just before the fools in Charleston fired on Fort Sumter and instead I marched and fired a round at the soldiers inside... They wouldn't know what to make of it, would they?

Of course not. History would be baffled for centuries to come.

 I could do a lot of damage to History if someone were to grant me Serenity. Which is probably why nobody has, and I think it's unfair. 

Monday, February 21, 2011

Beware of the last picture. It's adorable.

Oh. My. Gosh.

You guys are not going to believe this. Really. You're not.

That coworker who called in Monday and Tuesday last week because her kid was sick? She called in Saturday, too. She said allergies were so bad she couldn't see so she couldn't drive. 

But there's more.

She just called in again. You know what she said? Her kid is sick. She has to take her to the doctor.


We all thought she would have surely gotten the message about her absences when a team of disgruntled coworkers ate her Valentine's candy.  I'm pretty sure that, if I was in her shoes, having, "Well, if you had been here Monday it wouldn't have happened," snapped at me after complaining, I would have taken the hint.

Stop calling in and do your damn job. 

Is the message really that hard to understand? 

I didn't think so, but I'm evidently more intuitive. Do we need to write it out in black and white for her? Tattoo it to her forehead maybe?  Backwards, of course, so she can read it when she looks in the mirror. 

That complaint aside, I've decided I'm going to share something with you guys today. This is a video of Atomic Tom, one of my new favorite bands. And if you haven't seen this already...where have you been? (Yes, I learned how to upload a video just for this. Yay!)

Seeing as this band is freaking awesome with just iPhones, I figured they must be pretty talented. This video inspired my trip to Amazon where I downloaded, for a mere $7.99, the entire album with this song on it. (Amazon was also kind enough to immediately save it to my music files AND to my iTunes, making it really easy for me. Thank you, Amazon.) And you know what? They freaking rocked my socks. In fact, I'm pretty sure Apple owes them a lot of money for the advertisement. 

They could make a commercial with them. Like, "Need rock instruments to play a gig? There's an app for that."

I listen to them every day. I just love the way they sound. And I love this song. It's definitely my favorite from the album. How did I not hear of them before? Well, it's probably because they're from New York and I live in Texas, and they've never played a show in Austin. I'm hoping they'll come to South By this year. (That's South By Southwest, for you non-Austinites.) I don't really care for South By. In fact, I hate it just as much as I hate ACL. (Austin City Limits.) Why? 

Tourists take over the damn city. I hate tourists. They mispronounce all of the streets, ask stupid questions, and generally act entitled to my attention because they're giving our city business. Also, they wear socks with sandals. Ick. 

But if they ever do come out here, I'm totally going to the show. 

Speaking of shows, one of my coworkers, JC, has a gig coming up on March 14th at Kick Butt Coffee here in Austin. His band is called Attic Asylum, and it's one of four bands that he's in. This one is purely instrumental. There's a bass, a guitar, a drummer. And get this...A bassoonist.

I know, right?

The thing is, though, they're pretty pleasant to listen to when you want to relax. They've got this really mellow sound that just calms you down. If you follow that link to their Facebook you can listen to one of their recordings. It was done on a cell phone, obviously, but it's not bad.

Enough pimping other people.

My mother recently uploaded a picture onto her Facebook. I think she just took a picture of the picture rather than just scanning it into the computer, which accounts for the blurry appearance.

Doesn't matter how blurry  it is, though. The point is this: I was freaking adorable. Look at that cute little face. Who could possibly resist the cuteness represented in this picture? No wonder I was everybody's favorite growing up. That face combined with my personality? I could have ruled the world.

Unfortunately, world domination didn't pop into my head until my teenage years. I missed the window of opportunity. Or...what was it Captain Jack said? "If you were waiting for the opportune moment...that was it."

Oh well. It's not too late for world domination. It's just not going to be nearly as easy now that I'm no longer that adorable. Still, what I lack in irresistible cuteness I make up for with devilish cunning. 

Saturday, February 19, 2011

People upset me.

I know that all adolescents profile as sociopaths, which is why you can't be diagnosed as a sociopath until you're eighteen. But I also understand that it is not normal behavior to go out of your way to run over an animal walking down the road.

Most teenagers don't do that.

I was not the only person to witness two teenage boys murder this doe. I admit, I started bawling. I might have screamed a few obscenities at their retreating vehicle. And for some strange reason, people looked at me like I was doing something wrong.

Two boys just went out of their way to inflict pain and suffering on an innocent creature, and I was the one they gawked at because it upset me? I realize that as a human being I'm at the top of the damn food chain, but I fail to see how that gives me, or anybody, the right to go around killing things for the hell of it.

In society there is an appropriate time (deer season), place (the woods), and way (with a damn gun) to kill deer. It's called hunting, and while I personally don't like hunting, it's a lot more forgivable than vehicular homicide. At least the bullet kills the deer instantly. This poor young doe was left suffering in what I can only imagine was an intense agony for several minutes. This morning was the first time in my life I wished I had a gun. I would have happily put that creature out of her misery rather than watch her suffer.

I'm not sure who I am more disgusted with at this point: the two teenage boys who did it, or the four witnesses aside from myself who weren't the least bit bothered by what they saw. Or maybe just the one witness who actually had the nerve to laugh at me like I was amusing while the others just looked at me like I was nuts.

I find myself wondering what the hell is wrong with people? 

I'm changing the subject now because this is upsetting me again. I'm not particularly fond of crying at work, which is exactly what will happen if I stay focused on this.

In other news...

I don't know what person in his right mind wants to bring fifteen five year olds to a music store, but I know which man in his obviously not right mind agreed to allow someone to bring fifteen five year olds into the store for a field trip. That would be our Manager. And I know which flutist/receptionist/guitar stringing guru he's volunteered for demonstrations. 

I'll give you a hint: she writes this blog.

My talent and dignity sold off for the entertainment of children.


With their sticky fingers that like to grab things (like my chest and hair), mouths that never stop asking questions (mostly silly ones), feet that never stop running around, and tongues that will lick anything that holds still long enough (like our drum kits). 

Well, it's not really anything new. In high school I did Theater, and we did a children's show for the elementary school every year. If there's anything I've learned from those experiences it's that children are easily amused and impressed, and they love it when you overdo it. (Though I have to admit, playing Sher Kahn in the Jungle Book was definitely my favorite role ever. And I had the gratification of three hundred children telling me how awesome I was, and could I please roar one more time?) 

Playing a flute for children should be easy enough. At least I don't have to memorize lines for it, or wear animal ears. That's a relief I suppose. And like I said, it doesn't take much to impress five year olds. I could play a scale and they'd love it.

It's the principle of the thing that bothers me. First of all, he really should ask us employees how we feel about fifteen five year olds running around the store when we're trying to work. And he should ask us if we'd like to help entertain them with demonstrations, not just say, "Oh, no. Chanel would love to play a flute for them." 

All I'm asking is for a little respect. At least offer me some sort of compensation for my valuable playing expertise.

Is that too much to ask for?

Friday, February 18, 2011

You can't use a DeLorean to travel back in time.

Before you say it: I know. I changed my blog design again. Did you expect anything less? I think I'm going to be working through all of the colors. I did blue, red, orange, I'm doing greens. I think next will probably be purple or yellow. I'm not entirely certain. You never can tell what I'm going to do next. I might love this design so much that I leave it up permanently.

And before you say the next bit. Yes, I've got a new tree.

What is it with me and trees? 

I don't know. I feel like I should keep with the tree thing, though. It's totally working for me. I've become really good at finding different colored trees. I found a simple method. Go to Google. Select images. Type in the name of the color I'm looking for+tree. In this case "aqua+tree" was my search.

Bam. Instant results.

And look at that. It's such a pretty tree. I think it's CGI, but that's not particularly important. It doesn't have to be a real tree. Just an awesome tree. I'm only sad that I couldn't find a tree with a bench. I considered putting in a bench myself, but I lack the Photoshop software and paint just couldn't do it well enough to make it look like I didn't just throw it in there.

So you're stuck with a tree without a bench. But it's a pretty tree. No, please. Continue to admire it for another couple of seconds. I'll wait.

I think you all know what spurred my blog design. I think you guys may or may not have noticed my bookshelf at the bottom of my page, conveniently located under my post. Or that's the homepage, anyway. On the individual blog entries with comments it is located under the comments section.

Anyway, I found this awesome gadget at Brent's blog a couple of days ago (it's called Shelfari), and I was completely taken with the idea of displaying some of my favorite reads on my page. So taken, in fact, that I spent three hours of my Wednesday searching for my favorite books and meticulously designing my bookshelf so that it was the right color and width and then finding just the right spot for it to live on my blog. I think it looks very happy down there, don't you? I even did some reviews, but only because I thought I had to do it. Now that I know I didn't have to do it I'm going to go ahead and delete my reviews because I hate writing them and I never know what to say.

If I could go back in time, I would totally hop into Doc's DeLorean time machine and stop myself from wasting so much time writing those stupid reviews that I didn't even want to write in the first place. I really do suck at reviewing things and I didn't know what to say. I know why I love all of these books, but there's really no way to explain that to other people. Trying to do it was just miserable.

Hey, look at that! I went back in time and destroyed the reviews! You can't see them now! Ha HA! 

I'm not telling you how I did it, though. That stuff is secret, and anyway, I'm not sure if anyone other than myself can be trusted with the secret to time travel. You can see I did it the proper way that left no paradoxes. Anybody else wouldn't be so careful and might actually cause a rift in the space-time continuum that would be disastrous.  We can't have that now, can we?

Of course not. So the secret is safe with me. And Doug who actually discovered a way to e-mail himself in the past without any paradoxes. The secret is between the two of us, only my secret is better because I actually went back in time. He merely e-mailed. By the way, Doug, does this qualify me for the Cool Kids Time Travel Club with you and Bryan

Muah ha haaa. 

By the way, the proper way to travel through time looks nothing like this: 

It actually looks more like this:

But I'm still not telling you how I got to that tunnel.

By the way, I thought I'd let you guys know that somebody ate a coworker's candy on Monday. The Valentine's Candy the South Store always sends to us ladies on Valentine's Day to make us feel special. Somebody ate her box of chocolates because she called in on Monday, like she does every Monday, with the most obvious lie she could have used. And then she called in Tuesday with the same excuse. Twice the lie. Which is why three employees decided to split her candy amongst themselves.

Do I know who did it?

Yes. Yes, I do.

Am I going to tell her?

No. No, I'm not.

And not just because I'm one third of the guilty party. (I ate the caramel filled chocolate.) I'm not telling her who did it because she deserved it. She's hungover on Mondays. She's always hungover on Mondays, which is why she calls in. But every Monday she gives the same excuse: her kid is sick. 

Her kid is sick every single Monday. I don't know how that works. If my kid was sick every single week, I'd take her to a specialist. And never mind the fact that her kid is home schooled by her grandparents who live with her, so if her kid ever really IS sick, she's already got two caregivers who can take care of her while mommy dearest goes to work. 

Also, if her kid was sick she would call in first thing in the morning when the store opens. But she always calls in thirty minutes after she's supposed to be here. Because she overslept. Because she's hungover. 

Do you all concur that it was bullshit? 

So she deserved to have her candy eaten, and the other two involved told her point blank, "If you had been her Monday, you would have had candy."

This coworker calls in at least once a week, sometimes twice a week. And then she complains that her commission is small, and her paychecks pathetic. Well, sweetheart, that's the way the world works. Don't come to work, don't make money. 

I think I've said enough.

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

What fell over? Nothing important. Just the grenade.

Last night I turned out the lights to go to bed, realized I forgot to take out my contacts, and decided to navigate the darkness to the bathroom without a flashlight. Unfortunately I over estimated the curve to the bathroom and walked straight into Padawan's desk, which is to the left of the bathroom door.

There was a loud CLANK! The kind of clank that is made when something metal strikes something glass, and then CLUNK! The clunk was the sound of metal striking wood. I'd knocked something over.

Padawan turned over and sat up. "What the hell fell over?"

I flicked on the bathroom light and looked on the desk, fearing the worst. (Padawan's brand new laptop was recently destroyed when Little Brother knocked over a full glass of water on his desk and straight into the  motherboard. His concern was understandable, and so was mine since we just got him a new $1000 computer and $300 monitor.) Instant relief. "Oh, nothing important. It was just the grenade."

"Oh." And he rolled over to go back to sleep.

I thought about what we'd just said, and I started laughing. Really, really laughing. The kind of laughter that sounds almost maniacal and should be used in a movie when the super villain succeeds at her diabolical plan. 

"What's so funny?"

"If anyone else had heard that, they would be so confused. Possibly freaked out. I just told you I knocked over a grenade and you went right back to bed like it didn't matter!"

Padawan started laughing, too, because it is a pretty unusual conversation.

What did I mean by grenade?

Why, I meant it in the literal sense, of course. All the more reason to laugh. Before you guys freak out and think I'm utterly insane, let me explain the story. Obviously there are no explosives or detonators inside of this grenade. It is just the empty metal shell with the pin. Padawan's best friend is in the army and he gave me this shell to use as a bookend or paperweight when he came to visit a couple of years ago. It is very heavy despite being empty. It's not going to explode or anything. (Just in case, though, we've never removed the pin.) You never can be too careful, after all.

In other news, I've decided I'm going to make my own award. 

I think I'm going to call it the "You Made Me Laugh So Hard I Snorted Award!"

Or something else. It's a work in progress.

I don't think I'm going to give it any rules, though. Rules are boring. Or maybe I will make some really fun rules. Like, "When you receive this award you have to put on a silly hat, do your favorite dance move, and record it in a fifteen second video that must then be posted on your blog upon receiving the award."

Then again, what if someone gave the award back to me for revenge and I had to follow that rule?

On second That's a bad idea for a rule. Anyway, I don't actually know how to upload videos, and I don't really think I want to learn. Of course, then I could put up that video of Choo Choo on pain medication when I'm pretty sure she thought her tail was following her. And that video of Little Brother playing Scary Maze. Then again...I did promise Little Brother that I would never show anyone outside of Padawan and myself that video.

Is it immoral to break a promise to a nine year old?


Alright, fine. I won't do it. But you're missing out on some really funny video footage, just so you know. He was terrified, and the look on his face was priceless. He was easily ten times funnier than the kids on the video  currently floating around YouTube.

You're welcome.

Now that I've laughed a good deal today, I think I'll actually get some work done. There's a pile of numbers waiting to be called. I could probably tackle it in ten or fifteen minutes tops.

Who am I kidding? I'm going to finish that drawing I was working on yesterday and fax it to our friends at our South Store. What? You didn't know I could use a fax machine? Pshaw. I'm a receptionist. That's the more professional, less sexist way of saying secretary. Of course I can use a fax machine. 

Don't worry. I'll make those calls eventually. I just don't like calling people before noon. I think it's rude, mostly because I think it's rude when someone calls me before noon. Even when I'm already awake, it's just rude. I could have been sleeping.

See that? Well, no you actually can't. But right as I said that my phone started ringing. Some telemarketer calling me at 11:30 in the morning when I could be sleeping! It's actually even more rude since I'm working, but does that stop them? No. 

Telemarketers are selfish bastards. Sometimes I like to answer the phone and pretend I'm a little girl. They always buy it, poor souls. Remind me to tell you some of my greater telemarketer pranking moments some time. I think you'll get a kick out of them.

Great. I've just been informed that I'm being pulled to the counter. So I'm cutting off this rambling bit of nonsense for now. Wish me luck. I'm not even wearing shoes today. (Yes, I took my boots off when I got to work so I could sit at my desk in my stocking feet. Don't you wish you could do it even just a little bit?)

Monday, February 14, 2011

You've got an Award!

I considered writing about Valentine's Day. I really, really did. But then I was like, "You know, all of these people probably aren't going to be interested in hearing about how I tortured boys with my cold indifference  for twelves years of grade school." Plus I really don't like Valentine's Day. 

And then I remembered that Jewels, bless her awesomeness, gave me an award and so I have to do that. It's been waiting to be passed on. 

Yup. She gave me the Stylish Blogger Award. I don't know what that necessarily entails, but I've wanted this one for ever because I like the ways it looks. And like Valentines that I've saved from pre-school through high school, it's going to be saved forever and ever and treasured because it makes me feel special.

And everybody loves to feel special.

As is the way with these things, though, there are rules which I must obey. Well...I don't have to obey them. I mean, nothing will happen to me if I don't. But in the spirit of blogging and awards for blogging given by bloggers, I will acquiesce. But I'm doing it rebelliously with lots of sulking and pouting. Just so you know that.

1. Link back to the person that gave me the award.
2. Share seven things about myself.
3. Pass it on to ten new blogs that I'm following.
4. Tell them I gave them an award.

In the old days when I got an award I didn't really have enough blogs to issue the awards to, so I gave multiple awards to my favorite blogs. Well, I'm definitely following at least ten blogs now, so there will be no Triple Crown award and no Double Award.

I've already done the first rule, so on to the second. Seven things about myself...

1. I have three biological sisters and three step-sisters. I do not like my youngest step-sister at all. In fact, she's the main reason I don't go visit Daddy and Step-Mother more than once every couple of years. If that sounds horrible, I can't help it. There's no law that says you have to love your step-sisters. And I really don't like the middle one either. I like the oldest one sometimes, though she makes some really dumb choices.

2. There is a strawberry jelly filled donut sitting in front of me in a paper bag right now. I've had it since nine thirty this morning and I haven't eaten it yet. It smells really good and I want to eat it, but I am actually not hungry. There is a thought that says, "Oh, eat it. It's not going to hurt anything. It will be yummy and you will be happy and full of sweetness!" And then another thought says, "It's really disgusting when people eat when they aren't the slightest bit hungry. Eating just to eat is how you get fat." So I haven't eaten it. It's just sitting there taunting me. 

3. I have twenty followers and I am madly in love with each and every one of you. Alright, maybe not madly in love, but I adore you all because it seems that you like me and there's nothing more enticing to me than being liked. Well, maybe you don't like ME exactly, but you at least like what I write, which is admittedly nothing really spectacular. Sometimes amusing, I guess, but nothing ground breaking.

4. This morning I asked Padawan how he would describe me to someone else. He said, "Cheerful. Headstrong. Beautiful." Most people would probably love the beautiful part best, but beautiful is a subjective description, and  it's one that I don't need to hear. My favorite part of all of that was the first one: cheerful.

5. I have been known to read the occasional romance novel. I'm extremely picky about my romance novels, though. I won't read just any old smut that I happen across. I have a particular author that I read, and only a certain series involving a certain family. And I've never actually purchased a romance novel. I borrow them from a friend. Yes, Padawan knows, and yes, he finds it funny. 

6. My favorite colors are yellow, blue, and pink. Not necessarily in that order. In fact, one day my favorite color could be yellow, the next blue, and then pink. It just depends on the mood I'm in and the kind of day I'm having. 

7. This one is going to shock you guys. I registered to vote a couple of days ago. I know, I know. I hate politics, and I hate getting involved with them. But Chris Smith has finally done something so repulsive that I realized I couldn't expect anything to change if I didn't want to have a hand in it. So I'm reading up on all of the bills currently floating around, I'm reading various articles about them, and I wrote a long letter expressing my disgust, horror, and indignation over the whole affair of men telling victims that only certain kinds of rape count. Disgusting. Don't worry, though. I'm not voting for President. Not until they do away with the Electoral College and give us the Popular Vote. 

There you go. Seven things about me. 

Step three is to pass it on. Well...let's see...

Ten blogs...

To Ms. Jenna of, who has a shower curtain that likes to fall down. 

To Scott of, who sometimes makes me feel dumb, and sometimes makes me feel freaking brilliant when I understand everything he writes. Or most of it. I don't think I've ever read one of his entries and understood it all entirely in the first reading. 

To the writer of Building Frustrations at, who has a name I haven't discovered yet.

To Charlie at, who doesn't tell scary stories because they are really scary and ruin camping trips.  Not that I've been camping with him. I don't live in Utah, for one, and I don't camp in tents, for two. I believe in cabins with plumbing.

To Eric at who made me laugh when he explained to me why Ash was a horrible Pokemon master which ultimately sparked my following. No, I didn't find him on blogger. I actually Stumbled Upon him. 

To Joseph at who always makes me think.

To George over at because he's funny and apparently works with someone who believes she is a Nordic Princess who he really needs to set straight about her inflated ego. (By the way, George, you should tell her that all of my coworkers call me Princess and I never had to ask for it.)

To Hannah at who was a follower and then she wasn't and then she was again. More importantly, she raises snakes which is both awesome and terrifying. Snakes. You know, those long things that move around really fast but don't have bones and some people use to make purses and shoes out of but I never would because they are fascinating alive, not dead.

And those are the newest blogs I'm following and I've still got two awards left

To Candice of because have you SEEN her new blog layout? I love it. Also, she makes me laugh. And she might have borrowed my ghost. She also has a husband who is funny. But he's not getting this award. She is. Because she rocks.

And to Bryan at because as long as I've been following him I've never seen him give an award and I'm curious to see if he'll do it. Also because he really confused the heck out of me with Relativity before switching to Time Travel, which is fascinating and yet...just as confusing as Relativity sometimes. 

This concludes my blog award giving. Now I don't normally bother telling people I gave them awards, but I'm just bored enough right now to do it. So excuse me while I go and inform all of these people that they've been Tagged. 

Saturday, February 12, 2011

Strep throat, prank calls, and decapitation.

Yesterday at work, Dizzy and I had the following conversation:

Chanel: Dizzy, do you have a flashlight?

Dizzy: Yeah. Why?

Chanel: I think I have strep throat. I want to check.

Dizzy: Ooooh! Can I look and see?

He comes back around the counter with a magnifying headset on his head, a flashlight in his hand. He's obviously  ready to play the part of doctor. If he had a cotton swab to stick down my throat, it would have been even funnier.

Chanel: What? No! Just give me the flashlight! I can do it myself!

Dizzy: Which one of us is engaged to a third year med student about to start her residency because she's so damn smart? I am more qualified to diagnose strep throat than you are.

Chanel: No, you aren't! That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard! Give me the flashlight.

Dizzy: No, let me do it.

Chanel: I'm perfectly capable of looking down my own throat, thanks.

Dizzy: Why don't you want me to see your mouth?

Chanel: Because I don't want you to take home memories of me holding my mouth open and waiting for you tonight.

Dizzy: Too late. I've already fantasized that.

Chanel: Ew! Does anybody have a flashlight that doesn't come with Dizzy attached to it?

B-money tossed me a flashlight, I went and checked. Turns out it's not strep throat. There's just a bunch of brown stuff at the back of my throat. It's not painful exactly, but it's hard to swallow. It feels like there's something stuck back there.  It feels like it's the size of a damn golf ball. But it doesn't hurt, and I don't have a fever.

And speaking of golf balls, I'm going to tell you about the most interesting call I ever answered at the store.

Chanel: Thank you for calling *business*. How may I direct your call?


Chanel: Excuse me?


Chanel: Um...Chanel?


Chanel: *haven't caught on yet* After a moment of shocked silence No, I don't, and that's none of your damn business, you--


Chanel: Goodbye, creep. *hangs up*

I sat there at my desk seething for a few seconds, thinking a lot of horrible, dirty names to call the man that had been screaming inappropriate things at me on the phone. Then the phone rang again.

Chanel: Thank you for calling *business*. How may I direct your call?

Padawan: Chanel?

Chanel: Padawan? Why are you calling me on the work line?

Padawan: Do you suck dicks?

Chanel: *it all clicks in my head* That was you? 

Padawan: Yeah, I found a sound byte board with the best lines from Full Metal Jacket. That didn't work very well. You didn't play along.

Chanel: I thought it was some asshole! I didn't even connect it to the movie! Now I feel stupid....

Needless to say, I was less indignant after discovering that my fun loving boyfriend had been bored, thought of me, and called in a prank that, had it been another day, I would have understood immediately. And since I know that some of you would love to have the link to the soundboard for you own prank calling purposes...You're welcome.

All funny stories aside, though, Choo Choo is very pleased with herself. She'll be three years old in May, and a couple of days ago she finally managed to rip the head off of a toy. And within seconds of ripping the head off, she succeeded in ripping out the squeaker as well. She's been strutting around pompously for the last two days.

What was that?

Of course I have pictures! You didn't have to ask.

The decapitation.

She's trying to get the squeaker out now. 

And there's the squeaker. She's getting a scratch behind the ears for a job well done.

My Uncle C told me a couple of months ago that it's a huge deal to a dog when she destroys and desqueaks her first toy. So I'm going over to Target on my lunch break to buy Choo Choo a celebration gift. Padawan called me yesterday and told me she keeps leaving the toy's head in the middle of the floor no matter which room he goes into. He thinks it's a threat.

I think he's seen the Godfather too many times and it's addled his brain.

Now comes the real problem. By my own orders, Padawan and I do not go out of Valentine's Day. I think it's a horrible day and it's bad luck. (I'm serious. Something bad always happens on Valentine's Day.) We stay in together and exchange little gifts.

I was going to make Padawan giant gummy bears because he's obsessed with them, and when I found this gummy bear project online, I just knew it was perfect. Unfortunately, there wasn't time to order the empty bear molds, and it's  not very cost effective to buy a bunch of honey bears just to throw out the honey. So I need a Plan B. Suggestions? 

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

Mi Casa (AKA: Choo Choo in the laundry net)

My computer absolutely refuses to believe that onomatopoeia is a word. And I've looked it up in three different online dictionaries, and in my actual Oxford dictionary. I am spelling it correctly. But my computer still gives me the stupid red squiggly line that means, "Hey, moron, that's not the way you spell it!" But, dear me, when I right clicked on the word to see it correctly spelled, it just said there were no suggestions. It's just not a word.

It doesn't exist.

Well, my computer is just stupid. People are worried about computers becoming too smart and taking over the world? *scoff* With computers like my little ASUS in the robot rebellion/uprising, I think humanity will be just fine and dandy. 

Anyway, I thought I'd give the uploading of the pictures starring my new apartment another shot since I promised like a million and five years ago I'd put them up.

This would be...the kitchen.

Yes, that is a pile of drying dishes in our draining board, and those are my purple gloves. I do not ordinarily do dishes, of course, but when I have to do dishes (like when Padawan is sick), I have to have the gloves because touching dirty dishes with my bare hands really grosses me out.

This is the dining room and then a shot of the living room.

There isn't a clear divider because it's a small apartment, but there's enough room. And that big, round, brown chair is the most awesome chair in the world to read, watch TV, and nap on. For the record. And yes, our couch is red and so is our table cloth because I like warm colors, and I like fun colors. And I happened to like the red cover better than the tan cover, which would have looked really boring in this room with a brown chair and coffee table and an olive green accent wall. I think the red looks awesome and fun.

Yes. That is Rock Band next to the TV. And the picture on the green wall was drawn for me by Lydia (formerly Wheat) for my twentieth birthday.

I just wanted to show you guys the TV that is NOT mounted. Don't you guys agree with me that the TV would look way better mounted on the wall instead of sitting there on that ugly black stand that completely doesn't match the rest of the furniture? And don't even get me started on that stupid exercise bike that we never use but Padawan insists on keeping in my damn living room. You guys think that big ugly bike looks all wrong in the living room, too, right?

I'm not including pictures of the bedroom or bathroom in this post because as of the time the pictures were taken, the bedroom and bathroom floors were dedicated to massive piles of laundry sorted into appropriate colors for washing: lights, mediums, darks, blues, reds, and jeans.

Yes. I color coordinate my laundry to ensure that no colors fade or mix unnecessarily. I realize that it above and beyond the effort most people extend for their laundry, but I am obsessed with bleeding colors. And while part of me wants to try that Shout Color Catcher thing that absorbs bleeding colors so that you don't have to sort your laundry, (This is something I know was invented for men, who don't believe in sorting colors) I like the method of sorting everything into neat little piles that dry within a reasonable amount of time and aren't heavy to move from room to room. 

But I will give you a really cute picture of Choo Choo, who on this particular day jumped up onto Padawan's computer chair before jumping into the laundry net on the stand that I had thrown a blanket in to get it out of my way. It was Choo Choo's blanket, and I guess she got cold because when I went to pull it out and throw it in the appropriate pile, I found she had burrowed into it and was looking at me with the cutest little face.

Great balls of fire! My dog is so cute sometimes it's almost disgusting. Look at that little face! Look at it! You know it made you smile.

My Shelfari Bookshelf

Shelfari: Book reviews on your book blog