I am now officially employed. Goodbye life, hello sleep depravation.
I would have written all about the interview and everything else that led up to this but… well, I just didn’t. To sum it up, I got dressed up all oldladyish and kissed ass.
Imaginary person--“What for?”
Imaginary me-- “For a desk job at the Holiday Inn.”
If you could see me now, I’m shaking my head in that “why oh why?” kind of way. The pay isn’t good, the hours are long, but the other employees are nice and hug me. I’m scared. I don’t want a real job. My job at delta wasn’t really real. Everyone who worked there were like uncles and grandfathers to me or were my parents. I didn’t do real work. I clean and put things in alphabetical or numerical order. And I have a phobia about answering the phone at a business. Why, oh why did I apply for a job to answer phones? And I also have to wear an ugly blue shirt. Boo. But I get a sexy nametag. Yay. Friday’s shift ends at 11p.m. and Saturday’s shift starts at 7a.m. Boo. But I think I get money for working...yay.
Wednesday, March 31, 2004
Tuesday, March 30, 2004
I am a fucking Moron. Little “f”, big “M”.
Guess when Kayt’s spring break was over? For a hint, check the tense. If you guessed Monday, you’re right! Last Monday! As in classes started yesterday and I’ve already missed the first day of physical anthro and real and recorded time. I am a fucking Moron. Since when is Spring break only a week? I thought it was supposed to be a month or something.
Can we all chant this together now?
“Kayt is a fucking Moron.”
But my lovely Mag and my genius Spark made my day so much better. The ever annoying virtual memory warning is gone and photoshop is working again.
Can we all chant this together now?
“Kayt is a fucking Moron.”
But my lovely Mag and my genius Spark made my day so much better. The ever annoying virtual memory warning is gone and photoshop is working again.
Monday, March 29, 2004
Go Holy Cornucopia!
My Aunt Kris is a big wig in the business department for God. She works for the church up north and somehow got wind that I made a new site. Her e-mail to me--
“…I tried your web site: onholyfruitbasket.com and could not locate it. Would you
please give me the correct url for your web site? Thank you darlin.”
Uh… “onholy”? Does she think that it’s a site about a holy cornucopia? Oh dear. I don’t think she’s ready to accept that fact that I’m not the church going angel she thought I was. Sending her my favorite book on the aquatic ape theory of evolution obviously wasn’t a strong enough hint. I wish I could see her face when she finds out it’s the “unholy fruit basket” and then sees the smuticons.
“…I tried your web site: onholyfruitbasket.com and could not locate it. Would you
please give me the correct url for your web site? Thank you darlin.”
Uh… “onholy”? Does she think that it’s a site about a holy cornucopia? Oh dear. I don’t think she’s ready to accept that fact that I’m not the church going angel she thought I was. Sending her my favorite book on the aquatic ape theory of evolution obviously wasn’t a strong enough hint. I wish I could see her face when she finds out it’s the “unholy fruit basket” and then sees the smuticons.
Sunday, March 28, 2004
Kaythryn Turvey?
Yay!
My best friend Stacey came up from Virginia yesterday and surprised me by taking me to the Pfizer Fantasia Equine Affaire downtown. That is arguably the coolest damn show on earth. I wasn’t expecting much, just some white Lipizzan stallions hopping around and some local farmers clapping. Nope. The coliseum was packed tight, all the tickets sold weeks before hand and, you know what? Cowboys are fun.
While we waiting for the show to start music was playing to keep the crowd entertained. Apparently cowboys and cowgirls can’t just be entertained, they must party. People were standing and dancing on their chairs, moving out into the aisles and shaking their groove things, and the wave. Oh dear, the wave. I must be out of the loop because I remember the wave as four people standing up and screaming, then everyone else turning to stare at them like they’re freaks. Not with cowboys, because cowboys are fun. The wave started, round and round and round the coliseum, screaming, hooting, whistles, waves, men with canes waved them high in the air, women with babies held above their heads, and I bet I was up and down at least twenty times. All very bizarre.
Then the show started with the national anthem. As well as being fun, cowboys are excessively patriotic. Every hat in the house was pressed against a chest, hands were covering hearts, and heads were bowed…except Stacey and I. We laughed and got lots of dirty looks.
After the very solemn national anthem there was a little salute to the armed forced. Wow. The screams and cheers. My throat was sore and my hands stung already. Then came a horse dressed like a lion for Lion King, saddle horse rhythm riders, Icelandic horse congress, Ghost rider Bridleless Freestyle, blah, blah, tons more fun and laughs and me squealing, but the best was The Riding Instructor. Tommie Turvey with his paint horse Pokerjoe. That man is the most talented guy on earth. And the funniest. And I’m gonna marry him. First I have to meet him, then he’ll teach me how to ride, then I’ll marry him. I’ve got it all planned out.
In the coliseum, the lady sitting on my right was taping the whole event and, while I didn’t think of it during the show, I think I ruined the sound part of her tape. They won’t be hearing the music but instead they’ll hear me going, “Wow. Oh my god! Wow. Whoa. Wow. Whoooo! Wow. Yay!”
After the show we drove around Columbus looking for a nasty place to eat and finally found one we deemed suitable, next to Bob’s Bar, and they served pancakes. Yum.
And another happy thing, it’s such an amazing day out today. It snowed two days ago but this afternoon I was walking around barefoot washing my car and laying in the garden. The crocus’ are blooming.
My best friend Stacey came up from Virginia yesterday and surprised me by taking me to the Pfizer Fantasia Equine Affaire downtown. That is arguably the coolest damn show on earth. I wasn’t expecting much, just some white Lipizzan stallions hopping around and some local farmers clapping. Nope. The coliseum was packed tight, all the tickets sold weeks before hand and, you know what? Cowboys are fun.
While we waiting for the show to start music was playing to keep the crowd entertained. Apparently cowboys and cowgirls can’t just be entertained, they must party. People were standing and dancing on their chairs, moving out into the aisles and shaking their groove things, and the wave. Oh dear, the wave. I must be out of the loop because I remember the wave as four people standing up and screaming, then everyone else turning to stare at them like they’re freaks. Not with cowboys, because cowboys are fun. The wave started, round and round and round the coliseum, screaming, hooting, whistles, waves, men with canes waved them high in the air, women with babies held above their heads, and I bet I was up and down at least twenty times. All very bizarre.
Then the show started with the national anthem. As well as being fun, cowboys are excessively patriotic. Every hat in the house was pressed against a chest, hands were covering hearts, and heads were bowed…except Stacey and I. We laughed and got lots of dirty looks.
After the very solemn national anthem there was a little salute to the armed forced. Wow. The screams and cheers. My throat was sore and my hands stung already. Then came a horse dressed like a lion for Lion King, saddle horse rhythm riders, Icelandic horse congress, Ghost rider Bridleless Freestyle, blah, blah, tons more fun and laughs and me squealing, but the best was The Riding Instructor. Tommie Turvey with his paint horse Pokerjoe. That man is the most talented guy on earth. And the funniest. And I’m gonna marry him. First I have to meet him, then he’ll teach me how to ride, then I’ll marry him. I’ve got it all planned out.
In the coliseum, the lady sitting on my right was taping the whole event and, while I didn’t think of it during the show, I think I ruined the sound part of her tape. They won’t be hearing the music but instead they’ll hear me going, “Wow. Oh my god! Wow. Whoa. Wow. Whoooo! Wow. Yay!”
After the show we drove around Columbus looking for a nasty place to eat and finally found one we deemed suitable, next to Bob’s Bar, and they served pancakes. Yum.
And another happy thing, it’s such an amazing day out today. It snowed two days ago but this afternoon I was walking around barefoot washing my car and laying in the garden. The crocus’ are blooming.
Saturday, March 27, 2004
And, for more of my spam.
It seems our friendly Nigerian e-mail scammers now have Asian copycats.
“I am Mr.Wang Qin, credit officer of Hang Seng Bank Ltd. I have an urgent and very confidential business proposition for you….This sum of US$28,000,000.00 is still sitting in my Bank and the interest is being rolled over with the principal sum at the end of each year…Consequently, my proposal is that I will like you as a foreigner to stand in as the next of kin to Mr. Pavel Kepak so that the fruits of this old man's labor will not get into the hands of some corrupt government officials.”
Yeah, ‘cause everyone wants tons of money to go into the hands of some 19 year old American girl instead of their own country. What really kills me is their grammar and punctuation. If you want me to believe that you’re really a credit officer, then capitalize your damn sentences.
“I am Mr.Wang Qin, credit officer of Hang Seng Bank Ltd. I have an urgent and very confidential business proposition for you….This sum of US$28,000,000.00 is still sitting in my Bank and the interest is being rolled over with the principal sum at the end of each year…Consequently, my proposal is that I will like you as a foreigner to stand in as the next of kin to Mr. Pavel Kepak so that the fruits of this old man's labor will not get into the hands of some corrupt government officials.”
Yeah, ‘cause everyone wants tons of money to go into the hands of some 19 year old American girl instead of their own country. What really kills me is their grammar and punctuation. If you want me to believe that you’re really a credit officer, then capitalize your damn sentences.
Friday, March 26, 2004
Bizarre rumors are sending me to hell.
I think the veterinary’s office ranks as the scariest, dirtiest, smelliest, mutant freak showiest place on earth, and not just for pets. Had to take my dog Zane there today. Esh. Now besides the occasional run-away and the sporadic trips to the park, mostly my dogs know to run out to the fenced in part of the yard when we open the back door… except when somebody’s got a leash. When there is a leash in sight all hell breaks loose. Zane cowers near the door, does a few twirls and looks up at you with a huge grin on his face. Lou jumps three feet high up in the air over and over again landing on top of the other two dogs. Abby walks over everyone and crams her nose in the crack of the door waiting for that instant when it opens. All the while I stand in the middle of this swirling jumble of dogs trying to think of a way to get just one of them out the door.
Plan: Leash Zane. Push his old self up to the door. Kick other dogs away. Push Zane out the open door while still kicking other two dogs away. Slam door behind myself. Take happy Zane to happy vet.
Reality: Leashed Zane. Pushed him towards the door and kicked the other two animals away. Opened door. Lou sprinted out and headed across the street. Abby ran out into the yard. Pushed Zane into the fenced in yard. Hauled Abby back into the house. Started running after evil beagle Lou. Two streets, one alley, a dozen houses, and a racing heartbeat later I had Lou by the neck. Am also running late.
Reality sucks.
After some shuffling I was able to get Zane into the Mazda.
Small stick shift car + big dog = fury figure half in passengers seat, half in drivers face and trying to eat chocolate granola bars out of the glove compartment.
I really should invest in one of those doggy seatbelts.
Minutes later and we arrive at the vets. Parking lot’s full and people are lining up on the street. The vet’s lobby is even worse. All the benches are taken, people are leaning up against the wall or sitting on the floor and there are lots of big, young, intimidating dogs. Zane is now hyperventilating and trying to hide between my legs. Nobody holds their animals close because they think they’re all nice sweet animals so cats and dogs just walk right up to poor old having-a-panic-attack- Zane and sniff at him. When one growls in his face Zane looks like he’s going to melt away.
It took about fifteen minutes but we were finally able to sign in. Instead of insanely waiting inside we went outside and sat in the parking lot on the back of the Mazda. Tick tock, tick tock, two hours later and we’re still waiting. We people watched and watched their pets too--dogs, roosters, goats, horses, cats, and a
baby pot bellied pig all went in and out or back and around. Finally, two and a half hours later, Dr. Carpenter (very nice lady, has perfect gray hair, but doesn’t look old) came out to get us.
I’ll skip all the icky poking and prodding and go straight for the diagnosis. Zane has cancer. Bahh. They need to get a chest X-ray to see if there are any tumors in his lungs before they can operate, but he's been around for a pretty long damn time, I'm not terribly sad yet.
100 most mispronounced words
I’m sorry, but I do say sherbert.
Bizarre rumor generator
And, oddly enough, this was the first thing that came up-
According to the New York Times, disgruntled God obligingly bet against the other Satanist chicken.
This one came a little later-
When Jesus was a little boy, the melon-headed lawmaker detestably rode with corrosive God.
Plan: Leash Zane. Push his old self up to the door. Kick other dogs away. Push Zane out the open door while still kicking other two dogs away. Slam door behind myself. Take happy Zane to happy vet.
Reality: Leashed Zane. Pushed him towards the door and kicked the other two animals away. Opened door. Lou sprinted out and headed across the street. Abby ran out into the yard. Pushed Zane into the fenced in yard. Hauled Abby back into the house. Started running after evil beagle Lou. Two streets, one alley, a dozen houses, and a racing heartbeat later I had Lou by the neck. Am also running late.
Reality sucks.
After some shuffling I was able to get Zane into the Mazda.
Small stick shift car + big dog = fury figure half in passengers seat, half in drivers face and trying to eat chocolate granola bars out of the glove compartment.
I really should invest in one of those doggy seatbelts.
Minutes later and we arrive at the vets. Parking lot’s full and people are lining up on the street. The vet’s lobby is even worse. All the benches are taken, people are leaning up against the wall or sitting on the floor and there are lots of big, young, intimidating dogs. Zane is now hyperventilating and trying to hide between my legs. Nobody holds their animals close because they think they’re all nice sweet animals so cats and dogs just walk right up to poor old having-a-panic-attack- Zane and sniff at him. When one growls in his face Zane looks like he’s going to melt away.
It took about fifteen minutes but we were finally able to sign in. Instead of insanely waiting inside we went outside and sat in the parking lot on the back of the Mazda. Tick tock, tick tock, two hours later and we’re still waiting. We people watched and watched their pets too--dogs, roosters, goats, horses, cats, and a
baby pot bellied pig all went in and out or back and around. Finally, two and a half hours later, Dr. Carpenter (very nice lady, has perfect gray hair, but doesn’t look old) came out to get us.
I’ll skip all the icky poking and prodding and go straight for the diagnosis. Zane has cancer. Bahh. They need to get a chest X-ray to see if there are any tumors in his lungs before they can operate, but he's been around for a pretty long damn time, I'm not terribly sad yet.
100 most mispronounced words
I’m sorry, but I do say sherbert.
Bizarre rumor generator
And, oddly enough, this was the first thing that came up-
According to the New York Times, disgruntled God obligingly bet against the other Satanist chicken.
This one came a little later-
When Jesus was a little boy, the melon-headed lawmaker detestably rode with corrosive God.
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