Wednesday, December 23, 2009


I figured I’d use my broken travel mug today, just to be nice about it all. I took the lid off and was just sipping coffee out of it when the bottom fell out. I was in a meeting with my boss, which just made this the best Christmas gift ever.

Yeah. It's Not Rocket Science.

Well, don’t tell anyone this but sometimes I’m nicer than I let on. I actually gave three people at work legitimately nice Christmas presents. In return, I got one bottle of Bath and Body Works hand soap, a box of Fiber One bars, and a travel mug with a lid that’s broken. That seems about right.

Anyway, what I gave these people (2 of which I legitimately like and 1 of which is my boss) is a Philosophy “3-in-1” bath product. Magically, it can be used as body wash, shampoo, OR bubble bath. Apparently this concept is foreign to people working in health insurance. When my boss opened this up, she was like, “Wow! How does this work? A 3-in-1? I’ve never seen something like this before!” Then she opened the cap, smelled it (even though there was a little cover over the top and you can’t smell anything until you take it off), and said, “It smells so good!” The ladies I legitimately like said the same thing. Seriously? This isn’t a tough concept. I’m guessing they were just pretending to like my gift. That’s cool. Next time I’ll just buy the shitty stuff from Shopko or Kohl’s.

My mom just called and asked me what she said she was making for Christmas dinner. Which is actually going to be lunch and not dinner. WTF is up with people in the Midwest doing that? Lunch is called “dinner” and dinner is called “supper”. Well I have no clue what she’s making but I made some suggestions. I guess cigarettes and booze will not be on the menu. No worries. Arbor Mist will be making another appearance. I guess Gordy’s had some clearance. This tells me something about Arbor Mist, but I guess my mom wasn’t reading between the bar codes.

Shit. The year is almost over. You know what this means? Someone needs to buy me a new Chuck Norris calendar before I go all nunchuck on their ass.

Monday, December 21, 2009

Are you there Santa? It's me, Jodie.

Well, Christmas is in just a few days and this is what I want.

1. I’d like to be the only person using the bathroom at work. JUST ONCE. I’m not saying I spent a huge amount of time in there because clearly I have issues with public restrooms. But all the same. Every fucking time I walk in there, someone follows right behind me and goes into the other stall. Then they proceed to clear their throat, thinking this will cover up the noises they’re making. Or they don’t clear their throat and instead talk to me while they’re going. I don’t want to talk to someone while I’m going to the bathroom. CRAZY. I KNOW.

2. I would like for everyone in grocery stores to just stay the fuck out of my way. I do not want people to stop in the middle of the aisle with their big dumb carts, looking on the shelf for their Doritos, while I’m trying to get past them. Then when I say, “Excuse me,” they get all pissy with ME.

3. I would like for all the food sample stations at Sam’s Club to be in one central location. The location I will then avoid like the plague.

4. I’d also like for Sam’s Club to get an Express Lane so I don’t have to wait in line for 25 minutes with my box of lettuce and Boca Burgers while some person ahead of me with a flatbed filled with tubs of salsa and hamburger buns decides to open a damn Sam’s line of credit.

5. I want co-workers to stop coming to my desk 2 minutes after they send an email to make sure I got the email. Silly me. I thought the whole point of sending email was to avoid human interaction. Maybe that’s just my social anxiety talking.

6. I want vampire shit to go away.

7. I want Bradley Cooper to promise me he will never again do a movie with Sandra Bullock and/or Jennifer Aniston.

I think that’s it. Clearly this is not asking for much. So yeah. I'd better wake up on Christmas morning, try doing a Google search for "Edward and Vampire" and find NOTHING.

Saturday, December 19, 2009

Well, NPR. We meet again.

I stopped listening to public radio right about the same time I stopped being an annoying feminazi whose only purpose in life was bitching about Republicans. Yet here I am. LISTENING TO THIS BULLSHIT AGAIN. And once again, I'm fascinated by irrelevant news topics and heartfelt stories about "the arts." I thought I had succesfully distanced myself from this rifraff. Fuuuuuuuck.

Yeah. A lot of my friends are reading this and saying, "What's wrong with NPR? I LOVE NPR." Of course you do. This may or may not be why I love you. And FINE. "Car Talk" makes me laugh and Garrison Keillor's voice is very soothing. Are you happy now?

Anyway, I got a fucked up Christmas card last night from my aunt's "dog." She's done this before and I still think it's weird. I don't care what anyone says. Springer Spaniels cannot conjugate verbs. They also SHOULD NOT eat off dinner plates but that's a different issue.

I'm at work on a Saturday because I'm busy as hell and apparently the constant weekday distractions from co-workers with stupid questions is getting in my way. Well, I just looked out my window and saw a Budget moving truck roll up. WTF. Now he's looking at me like I'm supposed to let him in? Jesus Christ. Do I look retarded? Sure. C'mon in! It's Saturday and I'm the only person here but WHY NOT. I'm sure you just want to use the phone and then kill me. Whatevs.

Friday, December 18, 2009

What's The Word, Turd? The Annual Berseth Christmas Letter.

Holiday Greetings to My Friends, Family, and People I Only Kinda Know and Therefore Had to Google For Spellings on Last Names, Spouse Names, etc.

Well, what the fuck. 2009 is almost down the toilet and what did I flush along with it? Well, a husband, a house, and my health. HURRAY!

Oh My apologies. Since a lot of my family is in jail, not talking to me because my mom pissed them off, or otherwise occupied; the fact that I'm divorced might be new news. In that case, go grab my Christmas card out of the mailbox quick (the one you're only sending me because you got this newsletter and said, "SHIT. Now I have to send her one.) and scribble out my ex-husband's name. If you even knew it to begin with. Hint: It rhymes with GLAD.

Anyway, yeah. So along with that went my house. Which means I can no longer bitch about property taxes with my miserable co-workers. Speaking of which, I got a promotion at work. Since you didn't know what I did in the first place, I'm not even going to bother going into more detail. Just keep going with that whole, "She went to college" thing.

In June, I got the Swine Flu from the male roommate I was scandalously living with until I realized I need required a living situation providing me with modern comforts like a stove and a dishwasher. And electricity on a consistent basis. And no. I'm sorry to say I didn't get the Swine Flu because I slept with him. What do you take me for? A whore? THAT WAS YEARS AGO.

Other than that, nothing's really changed. I'm still suffering from OCD, claustrophobia, and a fear of large birds. I discovered I really don't like dogs that much. I guess that's new. And I tend to date a lot of guys with oddly possessive behaviors when it comes to their eyeglass cases. I guess that's not really new. I'm just realizing it.

I'm incredibly sick of talking about myself so I'm done now.

Merry Christmas, Asshats!

Wednesday, December 9, 2009

God Bless Capitalism. Or Whatever.

Well shit. I had posted the following ad on Craigslist, AS A JOKE, in response to the weirdo who kept trying to sell their “Giant Pepsi Mug” for MONTHS, listing it daily and never reducing the price ($5). That is asking way too much, in my opinion.

The only responses I got were from people in India trying to arrange for dealings via Paypal. For a Giant Pepsi Mug? Riiiiiiiiight.


Then I get this last night:

From: Subject: Pepsi mugTo: sale-k8rhc-1497293917@craigslist.orgDate: Tuesday, December 8, 2009, 9:35 PM
Have one in truck for you E me back to set up transfer Live by Holcombe

Well holy shit, dudes. I wasn’t really expecting someone to respond. So I figured I might as well roll with it. I respond, asking the guy if he has one of those plastic chutes like the bank does (to “transfer” it to me) and then I get this response today:

Will be through Eau Claire on Thusday,Friday, Sat, Sun (but mostly on a Schedule) Thusday and Sunday coming back from the MPLS. AirportFri/ Sat Classes around Farm and Fleet Area 8 hours 8-5 Send me Phone # and ruff time you will be around Brian

I don’t know about you but this guy is willing to go through a lot of hassle just to make $2 on a Giant Pepsi Mug. So, I’m going to buy it.

And then re-sell it for $4.

Friday, November 27, 2009

Oh, the places you'll go!

Sometimes I think I’m being too hard on people and maybe they aren’t nearly as irritating and stupid as I assume they are.

Then I leave my house and all that logic goes down the shitter.

On the way to work today, some guy rolls up to me in one of those stupid monster trucks that’s really just a regular truck with HUGE tires, and shouts out his window, “Nice cigarette butt, lady!”

What the fuck, buddy?? I didn’t throw a damn cigarette butt out the window. I don’t even have any cigarettes in my car though people like this make me wish I did. Anyway, we were at a stoplight and once I manually rolled down my car window (which makes me look much less hardcore about everything), that’s exactly what I said to this asshole. Yeah. That probably wasn’t the smartest thing to do so I drove away really fast.

Then I get to work and this dumb broad that sits next to the woman who’s been coughing for two weeks straight, comes over to me while I’m taking a big bite out of an apple and says, “Wow. You like apples too? I LOVE THEM.”

OMG! We should be besties!

Seriously, I know very few people who hate apples so I’m thinking this one of the dumbest common denominators ever.

Once we got bast that INCREDIBLE coincidence, she says to me, “Am I the reason you’re bringing in your iPod now?”

Well dudes. I could nothing else but lay my head down on my desk and laugh.

I should’ve just said, “Yeah you are.” Because who would ask someone that? And like I’d really tell her?

Since coughing lady isn’t here today I decided to just lay it on the line. I said, “No. You’re not. Your neighbor is. The one who’s been coughing for two weeks. The coughing that makes me want to stab my own face.”

She said, “Ohhhhhh.” And walked away.

I’m pretty sure that was another case of “not the smartest thing to do.”

In other news, I want someone to buy me something fancy and expect something in return.

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

Mirror, Mirror, On The Wall...

For the past 1.5 weeks, the same coworker has been asking me if I have a “handheld mirror” she can use. She asks me this daily. And then asks everyone else around me.

WE ALL GIVE HER THE SAME ANSWERS. Because nothing has changed. There is no way in hell I am buying a fucking mirror just so I can tell her something other than, “NO I DON’T.”

Anyway, she’s here today and I’m pretty much the only one in the department. Apparently most people enjoy spending time with their extended families around the holidays? So, I’m just waiting patiently to be asked this same weird shit again. I’m going to pretend like I’ve never been asked before and then search all around in my desk for one before saying “No.”

I think if this continues, I WILL buy a mirror. I’ll still tell her I don’t have one, but then when she’s walking by, I’ll whip it out and use it quick. Maybe that’ll take care of it.

In other news, I need a vacation.

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

Well, my mailman must think I’ve really got problems.

And I suppose he’s right.

When I lived by myself in my little shitty apartment on Galloway Street, once upon a time, I had this very moody mailman. By moody, I mean, he used to leave notes in my mailbox (which I thought was against the law but anyway) that said shit like: “WHY DON’T YOU CLIP YOUR TREES. THEY ARE GETTING IN MY WAY.”

So I’m sure I made his day when I moved to the cool Putnam Apartments with Brad. He was still my mailman but at least there weren’t tree issues anymore. Or the “your sidewalk is full of snow and I won’t deliver your mail tomorrow” issues. Yeah. I didn’t shovel much back then. I was fat and lazy. Whatever.

Then I changed my last name when we got married and that apparently annoyed him. It made it “difficult” for him to keep it straight. Dude. If the first name is still “Jodie” and the address is the same, then maybe you can assume the mail is mine.

That’s just my crazy logic talking, I guess.

Even after all of this, I still left him a “USPS-approved” Christmas gift, and that asshole didn’t take it!

Well eventually we bought a house and moved the hell out of his “zone.” THANK GOD. I enjoyed uh….several months of postal bliss.

And now I’m baaaaaaaaaaack. With my maiden name. Plus mail still coming with my married name. From two forwarded addresses.

I’m pretty sure if Christmas cards never make it to me this year, it won’t be because they “got lost in the mail.” So if you don’t get one from me in return, it’s either because I never got yours or because I’m not sending them at all.

Friday, November 20, 2009

Yeah. So I have a few problems.

Well, most of my friends know I’ve got some OCD issues. But my OCD issues are largely of the “must have a plan for everything and do weird routine shit at certain times” variety. I’d call this the “regular garden variety” of OCD but that’s not true. I discovered back in my group therapy days that indeed. My problems are really fucking weird and not at all average.

Anyway. I’ve never had a problem with germs and the whole stereotypical “washing my hands a million times a day” thing. Which most people with “real” OCD don’t have anyway. But dudes. Guess what? I think I’ve developed a real problem with this after all. Now I can be a normal weirdo. Yippee.

It started while I was living with Mike. Straight-up; the health department would’ve shut that house done had they gone inside. It was not clean. And gross food sat on the counter for way too long. After awhile, I just stopped caring outwardly. But inside, I wanted to soak my entire person in hand sanitizer while I slept at night.

I hoped that once I removed myself from that situation things would go back to “Jodie eating stuff off the floor” but no. It hasn’t. Now I’ve got this dog to deal with. Twice I’ve caught him either grabbing food off my plate or licking the plate, and while I didn’t eat it, I’m sure some people would’ve. The one time he BARELY got to the plate before I yelled a string of obscenities in his direction. And then I threw it all away, minus the plate.

To compound the issue, his owner lets him lick his fingers. I find this distressing.

AND THEN, I’m pretty sure 90% of my coworkers are sick right now. The combination of germs floating around mixed with the gross noises has just become too much. I cannot take one more fucking uncovered-mouth cough or nose-sniff. GET A DAMN TISSUE.

I asked one of my co-workers if they needed a tissue. Because they were sniffing uncontrollably for about five minutes during a meeting. And they just said, “No. Why?”


Well, you're not going to believe this...

but yes you will.

I had to run into Mega Foods on a break earlier today. Associated Bank happens to have an office there and this happens to be the branch I’ve used for things like…oh. Updating my marital status, name-change, and recent move. Of course, as I’ve mentioned, the same broad has helped me with all of this bullshit. Which has gotten on my nerves because now she apparently knows me as “divorced lady.”

Today, I walked into the grocery store and the bank is doing some lame promotion where you spin the wheel and win a “prize.” Yeah. Right.

Anyway, as I walked past this same broad who’s helped me in the past, she says, “Hi, Jodie! Are things working out okay for you?”

Seriously. At what point can we move past the whole “divorced thing”, at least far as she’s concerned? This is just like losing a bunch of weight and forever being the “girl who lost a bunch of weight.” At some point it’s nice to just be some random girl of average weight and height. LET ME BE THAT GIRL.

Which reminds me. I was at an administrative meeting for work a few weeks ago and this old lady that’s been there since my employer has been an employer, says to me, “Do you remember when you were heavier than you are now? Man. You sure were a lot heavier then.”

Yeah. I do remember that. Thanks. I wanted to ask her, “Do you remember when you tried losing weight too but instead gained another 20 lbs? Man. You can’t hide much when you’re 4’10.”

In other news, my grandparents called to tell me they’re moving. Again. They call me every few months and tell me this same bullshit. Nothing ever comes of it so I finally just said, “No. You aren’t.” My grandma hung up on me.

Thursday, October 22, 2009

I can't make this shit up.

Well, I had to go back to the bank yesterday to make a deposit, and OF COURSE, the broad who made the name change for me last Friday was the same one who had to wait on me again. I give her my stuff (keep in mind there’s a huge line of people behind me) and she’s like, “Hiiiiiiiiiii Jodie. Are you doing better with YOUR DIVORCE this week? Have things settled down?”

Yeah. Thanks for advertising to the whole fucking world that I just got divorced. If I wanted everyone to know this, I would’ve bought some stupid ad space in Volume One and just been done with it. Anyway, I try to be nice because clearly she’s a moron and doesn’t know better. Plus, the fact that she’s even talking to me, considering how our last conversation ended, was keeping me interested.

There didn’t seem to be a reason to discuss this beyond me saying, “Yep, thanks.” But I guess I was wrong. She goes on to say, “Yeah, I don’t know about you but boy, I sure was glad to be done with all that stuff! What a hassle! That’s what I get for marrying an alcoholic.”

Jesus Christ. I do not need to hear shit like this. And also, I have nothing that grand to offer in reverse. I wasn’t being beaten or something tragic like that. So I say nothing. Because she’s right anyway. That IS what you get for knowingly marrying an alcoholic.

The minute I turn to leave, the lady in line behind me smiles and says, “I’ve been divorced too.”

Newsflash: Half the world is divorced. I don’t need to talk about this shit with strangers.

In other news, I previously agreed to do this stupid makeover thing at the Clinique counter. It was during their “gift with purchase” promotion and I was high on free products. Now I see that its next week and I’m not sure I give a shit anymore about Clinique’s “Limited Edition Black Tie Violets makeup.” Though I could probably use a makeover and some lessons, considering the fact I just learned how to correctly apply eyeliner a few years ago.

Sunday, October 18, 2009

I hate Associated Bank. And Xcel Energy, too. While we're at it.

For those of you living under a rock, my divorce was finalized on Friday. Sadly, the shortest part of my day was the part where I was in court getting divorced. I spent the rest of my day waiting in lines for things like a new driver's license and a new social security card. Yeah. I've pretty much decided I have very little time for people who walk into the Social Security office, sit their fat asses down at a table without taking a number, and just tell the overpaid federal employee sitting in front of them that they "want to get some money because they can't work." This happened twice during my ONE HOUR WAIT to request a new social security card. Which I have to wait ten days to get.

Anyway. The last stop I had to make was at the bank. Associated Bank. You know...the ghetto bank on Water Street that tries to pull in dumb college students by offering them free slow-cookers in the shape of footballs, etc. Yeah. I was one of those dumb college students once, which explains my current affiliation with these asshats.

I only wanted to change my last name on the account. This didn't seem to be something that should take that long. Or involve a fucking 10-minute questionnaire. WRONG. After waiting 20 minutes (because the banker was on the phone with her stupid kid, saying shit like, "HOW SICK ARE YOU REALLY? DON'T LIE TO ME"), I sat down and simply said: "I got divorced today. My last name has changed. Here are my documents. I'd like to get this done, please."

She's like, "Okay. No problem. While I'm doing that, let me ask you a few questions." Here were a few of the questions:

1. Have you gotten married in the past year? If so, have you thought about asking your spouse to join your account? (She looked up at me here, like she didn't even remember why I was there in the first place, and was like, "Well???") I just said, "Ummmm. NO. Because I just got divorced."

2. Do you have a 401K? YES. (I'm sure this was supposed to go somewhere but I didn't offer up anymore information)

3. How much is in your checking account? When she asked me that, I said, "I don't know. YOU TELL ME."

4. Have you thought about buying a house? If so, why don't we discuss your mortgage options?

*at this point I cracked*

My response: "NO. I don't want to buy a fucking house. I HAD ONE. I just got divorced. I don't want to think about that right now."

Her response? "Can I call you in four months to see if you feel differently?"

In other news, Xcel Energy has been fucking Mike and I up the ass and I'm tired of them scheduling times to drop our power (so we can move into the 21st Century and lose the damn fuses that blow when you turn on the microwave and the coffee pot at the same time) and then canceling because they "don't do that on Friday" or "it might snow." If we could switch to a different company, we would. For now, I'm just going to email them the link to this blog, and let them know that I'm going to mention their lousy customer service on a regular basis.

Sunday, October 4, 2009

You can ring my bell.

I've been a CD-reviewing fiend as of late. I'm not sure what that's all about but I'm not asking any questions. I get free music in exchange for honest opinions. Sometimes I even get paid for these opinions. You know what that means! TATTOO MONEY.

My latest project is Joshua Bell's "At Home With Friends." Honestly? When I got this in the mail, I was thinking, "Uhhhh. No." Hello. Look at the cover. He looks like a socially awkward musical genius. Anyway, he's a violinist (albeit Grammy Award-winning) and generally this is just not the sort of thing I'd pop into the CD player and listen to on my own free-will. But I'm supposed to listen with an "open-mind" (which I'd like to think I have but sometimes I don't) so that's what I did.

I looked at the playlist and noticed one name that stood out like a homely, sore thumb; JOSH GROBAN. Ugh. You know how I feel about him. And sorry. But I listened to that track with a totally biased opinion. Meaning; it sucked. But the rest of the album? Not bad.

I initially listened to this CD while I was driving, and that's pretty much something I wouldn't recommend doing. The sounds of a violin combined with Sting singing in Latin is not something I want to listen to while I'm driving. It annoyed the crap out of me so I had to take it to work instead. Muuuuch better as this is one of those "serenity now" CDs.

I have a secret love for musicians like Chris Botti, so this was kinda right up my alley. I'm not so crazy about the tracks featuring the opera singers and/or the classically trained vocalists. I don't have the patience for this and it gives me a headache. But the ones featuring just the violin or more contemporary artists are actually pretty beautiful. This CD makes for really great background music, though it does remind me of the kind of stuff you'd hear in a store selling a lot of candles and shabby chic decor.

I'm torn on a recommendation. Most of my friends aren't gonna dig on this just because they aren't. Not because the CD sucks (which it doesn't). I'm actually going to keep this CD and not run it over with my car (like I did the "Rock of Ages" soundtrack), so take that information and do with it what you will.

Friday, October 2, 2009

I'm not wild about Harry...

I was pretty excited when I got a review copy of Harry Connick, Jr.’s newest CD, “Your Songs,” a few weeks ago. I dig on Harry Connick, Jr. In fact, I know very few women who don’t dig on Harry Connick, Jr. There are several reasons for this; his voice being second on my personal list.

Anyway, I can’t lie. I have several of his other CD’s and they’ve come in handy when I’ve needed some spontaneous (but really planned) “dancing in the living room with my boyfriend and oh wow! I happen to have Harry Connick, Jr. in the CD player” music. I figured this disc would be another weapon for my arsenal.

I guess I was mistaken.

There’s no denying the fact that Harry Connick, Jr. has a fantastic voice. This gives him a pass to occasionally get away with corny stuff; like acting and the “When Harry Met Sally” soundtrack. However, it doesn’t give him the right to do an album filled with great songs set to the sounds of bad lounge music. It’s almost as though he was contractually obligated to grind out an album this year, and instead of doing something original, he waited until the last minute, blindly picked some old “standards”, and just went with it.

The album begins with a Sinatra favorite; “All The Way.” This is a pretty safe start. Harry Connick, Jr.’s VOICE sounds great on the track, though it lacks genuine emotion. There’s something very hollow about it all, which doesn’t work with music like this. The reason why these old standards are so great is because the people singing them know how to “sell it.” And I wish the band would’ve played this song a little more “straight” and a little less lounge-like. The notes were all drawn out a few seconds too long and it left me feeling like I was listening to a cheap Vegas band playing in a hotel lobby.

This seems to be the theme with the whole album. It’s all very lackluster, very generic, and very easy to forget. It doesn’t help that it ends with “Mona Lisa”, which is just a terrible song in any case. In fact, I’d be pretty okay with this song just being permanently wiped from history. Anyway, I’d honestly recommend you not buy this CD, even though Oprah had him on the show a few weeks back and I’m sure most housewives are convinced otherwise. Trust me. Either listen to one of Harry Connick, Jr.’s older albums or dig out your Sinatra records and hear it straight from the source.

Friday, September 25, 2009

Yeah. That's not funny anymore. FYI.

So, about two weeks ago, the lady who once upon a time saw me drinking water and said, “Icky Yucky” and then proceeded to fill up her own water bottle in front of me the very next day, asked me if I had my old Weight Watcher’s materials. And if so, would I consider selling them to her?

Quick back story: Once upon a time we had “Weight Watcher’s at Work”-which only worked for me because no one else fully grasped the “take the fucking cookie out of your mouth and walk more” concept but any way…She must’ve remembered I did this after finally looking in a mirror and finding the motivation to lose the extra person she’s been carrying around since she had kids 20 years ago.

ANYWAY…I tell her that yeah, I do and yeah, I will. Clearly my transition to the “booze and cigarettes diet” means I no longer need this shit so I might as well sell them to someone that will never achieve weight loss success because she simply doesn’t fucking get it.

Since this happened, she says the following thing to me DAILY, “Well I bought the books and they aren’t working. I’ve put them in the kitchen and I stare at them each day while I eat my French toast. Am I supposed to do something else with them?” Okay. This wasn’t even funny the first time. So, guess what? It’s not funny the tenth time either.

I’ve been handling this really well, which is completely out of character for me. Doing the polite laugh thing and all that bullshit. Today? Today she finally broke me.

She says her same shit and I just melted. I was like, “Look lady. Nothing is ever going to change if you don’t put down that damn French toast first. You think you can make something work without doing any work? How American of you. Good luck with that.”

Yeah. That was a real asshole thing to say. I know. But I couldn’t take it anymore. Plus the other day she told me I’d be a lot more "conventionally pretty" if I didn’t have “so many tattoos.” Therefore; FUCK HER.

In other news, shit by Dashboard Confessional and David Gray has suddenly become relevant to me and I fucking hate it. I am officially one of those douche bags who thinks every song in the world somehow applies to her life.

Great. What’s next? Maybe I’ll start wearing junior-sized clothes again and drinking Zimas.

Friday, September 11, 2009

Forward THIS...

I have a problem. Pretty much the lady who sits across from me here at work sends me forwards on a daily basis. The topics range from shit like “look at these hot firefighters” to “read this generic story about some kid who died of cancer (but probably really didn’t-those are my words, not hers).” As she reads them, she either laughs hysterically or starts dabbing at her eyes with a tissue because she’s so emotionally moved by cancer kid or whatever. Then she sends them on to some “selected list” of individuals here at work. I somehow got on this list and I want off it.

Generally I just delete this shit without even reading it. I can’t do this with her. Because she’ll say, “DID YOU GET MY EMAIL?” And then she proceeds to watch me as I reluctantly double-click and read it. If I don’t laugh (or fake laugh since they are never ever funny), she says, “WHAT? DIDN’T YOU GET IT? SHOULD I SEND IT AGAIN?” Or, if it’s sad, she says, “Doesn’t that just BREAK your heart?” when she sees I’m not crying.

I’ve reached max capacity. This bullshit, combined with her constant singing along to the radio and her calls to her niece, where she proceeds to talk in a baby voice, has finally become “too much.” Meaning, I want to shove her down the stairs and see what happens.

In fact, she’s on the phone right now with the dumb kid. She’s asking her, “Are you having yummy cawwots with mommy for wunch?”

I hope she brings this kid to the museum like she keeps saying she’s going to do. I’m not going to give her a hand stamp and I’m going to let her drink out of the water exhibit without blinking an eye.

In other news, someone else here saw my arms and said, “Wow. Since when did you have tattoos?” Jesus Christ. I wanna go home.

Sunday, September 6, 2009

And so it goes...

My friend Eric died today. And I'm not sure how to deal with this.

Eric owned a pretty big chunk of real estate in my heart. There are literally years of my life that are filled to the brim with memories involving him. My life would not be the same life had he never been a part of it.

This news has just thrown me back and honestly, I refuse to believe that he is gone. Not FOREVER. No way. I've had family members die, and sure that's sad. But you're OBLIGATED to feel sad sometimes when those people die. Friends? Friends you make a conscious choice to allow into your life. You WANT them there. So when they suddenly leave and you get no say in the whole thing, you're left with this emptiness.

You can't ever fill that with someone else. It will never be the same.

Here's the thing. Eric lived his life doing exactly what he wanted to do. Most people are too chicken to throw caution to the wind and just go for it. Eric was never like this. He was fearless in this regard and I always envied that. This quality tends to make people pretty damn selfish but he was just the opposite. He was a good person. Just an all-around good person. The kind of person that left an impression on everyone he met. He just had that golden touch.

And now what? Life just goes on. It pisses me off. Just for today, everything should slow down a bit and accommodate my grief. I don't want to just "go on" but life doesn't really leave us a choice. So back into the world I go. Here I come. Not sure if I'm ready.

Wednesday, September 2, 2009

Highlights from the August 2009 "Eau Claire Rod and Gun Club" Newsletter:

  • We wish to thank all anonymous members and non-members that place coins, bills and checks in the maintenance jug. We wish to thank Bill Woehrmann, Jack Thomas, and Herman Genrich for there large donations to the jug so far this year.
  • A Remington Model 870 with Rem Choke was taken from gun rack by the main front door. If you use a 870 express please check to make sure you have your gun. Or if you don't.
  • We had many members and non-members ask when are you going to have corn day. And we had to tell them it was last week or two weeks ago. Corn & Anniversary Day is always held the last Sunday in July. Please remember this.
  • Friday September 18, 2009 We will be holding the Elderado shoot. We have the Jr. Veteran class for shooters 60 to 64 years old. The Veteran Class for shooters from 65 to 69 and then the real old age group, The Sr. Veteran Class.

Here's some shit I need to do before the year is finished...

  • Enter a Halloween-themed coloring contest meant for kids and totally win it. This is actually really generous on my part. Kids need to learn about disappointment in life. And also, that there are assholes out there who will gladly fuck with their happiness just to be mean.
  • Put a bunch of "thrift sale" signs in the yard at my old house.
  • Go to Best Buy and hide all of the Josh Groban CDs in one of the display model refrigerators.
  • Offend a few minority groups I've not yet "ironically" made fun of.
  • Waste about $30 on shitty movies that are going to disappoint me even though unreliable sources told me they were "hilarious" and/or "moving."
  • Tell everyone that I'm not buying Christmas gifts this year because I'd rather spend my money on myself. The people in my life can do the same for themselves and just pretend I bought them that bag of groceries.
  • Invite myself to several parties and then not show up.
  • Respond to some ads on Craigslist, go and look at the items for sale, pretend to be interested, and then offer only $5, regardless of what it is or how much it was originally listed for.
  • Tell people that things make them look fat. Even if they didn't ask. And even if they don't.

Friday, August 28, 2009

I'm currently sick as shit of the following questions:

  • What do your tattoos MEAN? Have you ever seen L.A. Ink? Yeah. I love that show. Anyway, what’s the significance of your tats? AND DID THEY HURT?
  • Answer: Let’s see here. I have a fucking lamp, a ship, and the faces of several women tattooed on my arms. If you can think of a theme that involves something other than being a dyke, let me know. That way, going forward, I can tell assholes like you something stupid and easy so you shut the fuck up. PS: L.A. Ink sucks.

  • How do you stay in shape?
  • Answer: Ah yes. It’s a big fucking mystery, isn’t it? Nevermind the fact that every magazine, every month, has some bullshit story on the cover about “walking away the pounds” and eating “more fruits and vegetables” and “less bags of potato chips.” We’ll ignore the fact that it’s absolutely impossible to go one day without seeing or hearing something about wellness. That being said; I stay in shape because I have a lot of sex, I don’t eat, and I drink massive amounts of Diet Coke and smoke American Spirit cigarettes when I get hunger pangs.

  • Is your hair naturally curly?
  • Answer: Don’t you fucking know the rules? You can’t get a perm until you’re over 40 and need to cut your hair in the same “mom” style that requires a loose-wave curl so you can properly fluff it up and embarrass your kids because you now look like every other mom in a mini-van. Therefore: YES IT IS NATURALLY CURLY.

Yeah. It's gonna be one of those days.


The following things no longer make you "nerdy" in a cute and endearing way.

Why? Because everyone and their fucking mother says and does this same shit.

  • Loving office supplies and being able to spend HOURS at Office Depot. OMG!
  • Being sooooo bad at bowling.
  • Not being able to carry a tune (but secretly hoping that if you did karaoke it'd go down just like it did for whatshername in "My Best Friend's Wedding").
  • Wearing fake "vintage" shirts from Target and Hollister in an effort to be a hipster.
  • Dancing with a stupid little kid at a wedding and pretending you're having a great time when you're just secretly hoping that your date sees how great you are with kids.
  • Pretending you can eat whatever you want and not get fat. (And if this truly is the case, I hate you and hope you have terrible cholesterol)
I'll add to this list as I read more of my friends' status updates on Facebook and do a little self-reflection. Should be lots of material there.

Sunday, August 16, 2009

The "Rock of Ages" Broadway Cast Recording Soundtrack Is Terrible.

So, occasionally I get CDs I need to listen to and then write reviews for. This is a groovy gig if the CD is worth listening to. When it isn't, it's pretty much painful and leaves me with suicidal thoughts.

The "Rock of Ages" Broadway Soundtrack had this effect on me.

Constantine Maroulis stars in this musical. If you have the unfortunate experience of remembering this fella from his stint on "American Idol", then I really need to say nothing else. He's trying to hard to be something he's never gonna be. Which also happens to sum up my feelings about this soundtrack.

Track 1 starts with "Just Like Paradise" and it's all downhill from there. I don't know about you but if I'm going to listen to "Wanted Dead or Alive", I'm going to listen to Bon Jovi sing it. Not a bunch of self-indulgent Broadway singers whose "hairband" collection of albums includes only the "Monster Ballads" CDs available from Time Life.

I'm not the biggest fan of musicals anyway, which is probably an understatement, but still. I do own the "Hair" soundtrack, if that counts for anything. And "Spinal Tap" rocks my world.

If you buy this CD after reading this, you probably loved "Mamma Mia", and think "Daughtry" is hard-core. In that case, I can do nothing more for you.

Friday, August 14, 2009

I guess I can add "Shitty Ex-Aunt" to the list.

So, there’s a woman outside my office area that has about one million pictures up of the same kid. We’re talking EVERYWHERE. I assumed this was her kid. Because she also talks about her non-stop and gets teary-eyed. Apparently not. It’s her niece. Which then makes what I thought was initially just a little excessive on the “putting up pictures of my kid” and “crying about her all the time” scale, now seem REALLY excessive. If not, this might explain why my sister-in-law never seemed to like me very much.

In other news, today is “treat day” in my new department. I asked someone how this is different from any other day here, and they told me, “Well, today there’s cheese and crackers.”

Ah. Okay.

Tuesday, August 4, 2009

Van Halen can take that "Ice Cream Man" song and shove it.

So, the last time the butch Schwan’s lady came to visit the house, she pretty well creeped me out. This had something to do with the fact that she came on her day off, repeatedly pounded on the door, and then proceeded to call my cell-phone (Yeah, I was hiding in the kitchen because she had just been at the house TWO DAYS EARLIER and I didn’t want anything then) and says something about how she saw my car in the driveway and wanted to know if I needed any chicken breasts or anything?

She had already been pushing my “weirdo alarm” buttons (which is saying a lot), so this was the last straw. I sent an email to the Schwan’s company about her, and told them that there was absolutely no way I was ever having home delivery from their company again. If I needed something, I’d wait until I saw a lazy driver set-up in the Wal-Mart parking lot and make my purchases there. And yes. I really did say that.

Well, they respond to me, all apologetic about it. Then they tell me they have forwarded my email TO THE DRIVER. WHAT?! Why in the hell would you do this? Dudes. I hate it when this happens at work too. You send an email to someone’s supervisor about something, and the next thing you know, the supervisor is fucking forwarding the email to the very person you were bitching about. Thanks. That defeats the whole damn purpose. If I wanted to let that person know how I felt directly, I would’ve just told them.

Anyway, I just about died when I read this but I guess I ultimately didn’t give much of a shit about it. I wasn’t ever going to see her again. Right?

Well, last Friday I was driving home from work, and who do I see driving by the house very slowly? THE SCHWAN’S TRUCK. Of course, I totally turned off on a side road and drove around the block going about 2 miles an hour. Which probably prompted a call to the Altoona Police Department from one of the neighbors.

She didn’t stop (or at least didn’t leave the catalog for me to “tour”) so I’m kinda hoping that was a last ditch effort to sell me chicken breasts. If not, more extreme measures will be taken. These will involve mature actions like throwing shit at her.

Thursday, July 9, 2009

Highlights from the Eau Claire Rod and Gun Club Monthly Newsletter:

  • "Please no shooting at the steel target frames on purpose.  Also because your bullet's will ricochet off them.
  • No targets on the ground (prevent ricochet)
  • No clay birds, bottles, cans, or fruit on the ground (prevent ricochet)
  • NO fully automatic fire. (NONE)
  • This year we have found Christmas trees and garbage dumped at the range. Also someone is taking the concrete blocks and shooting them. This is your range Protect it.
  • We are very pleased that members are using the new recycle containers. Remember Cans ONLY.  No bottles or Garbage of any kind. "THANKS" Now if we could only get the smokers to use the butt buckets.
  • Come for Corn Day and shoot turkeys.

Tuesday, June 30, 2009

Why do people tell me this shit?

I walk into the bathroom at the same time as my co-worker. She has a bunch of papers in her hands and says, "I'm bringing reading material this time!"

Yeah, okay? GREAT!

And then like I even wanted to go to the bathroom after knowing what was going on next to me.

Sue's back today! And avoiding me like the plague. I still cough every once in awhile and I know she's thinking I'm going to kill her.

Monday, June 22, 2009

I'm mad as hell and I'll probably still have to take it, BUT...

Here's the deal. I have officially decided that T-Mobile is the current bane of my existence. (current being defined as the LAST FOUR YEARS)

If you have to ask, "Why?", you are either not a customer or you somehow work for the company.

I know that unless T-Mobile decides to change the terms of my agreement somehow (and I'm given that time period to 'opt out'), I'm stuck in this marriage until October 2010 unless I wanna pay a fee. Yeah. I've done enough of that lately. No way. They owe me money.

Everytime I've ever gotten close to getting out in the past, I've of course needed a new phone or some other bullshit, and I've gotten sucked right back in to another contract extension. It's like owning a Dell computer. Everything is fine until the day after your warranty expires.


I am going to pretend I'm somehow much more important than I really am, and that by "tweeting" about their shitty service daily, and blogging about it on here whenever I can, I'm going to eventually become such a headache for T-Mobile that they'll gladly release me.

Plus, I'm telling them I'm doing this, and then I'm going to email them my new posts.

Once I run out of my own stories, which will be difficult to do, I'm going to start soliciting other people for stories and publish those as well. Yeah. I'm kind of an asshole.

So stay tuned. My first story is going to be about how T-Mobile wouldn't give me my $150 rebate they promised me because they stated I never activated the cell phone purchased for the rebate. The same phone I was talking to them on when I called to discuss said rebate. TWELVE TIMES.

Saturday, June 20, 2009

You pretty much need to listen to this CD.

So, I was given a copy of Diane Birch's "Bible Belt" to listen to and review. Honestly, I've really gotten burned in the past when I've agreed to do these, so I was automatically a little skeptical. I mean, some of them have been REALLY BAD. But whatever.

First of all, dudes. Look at her face. She's like Twiggy with hair. Ugh. It makes me want to hate her. But I can't because she's really freaking talented. Which actually should make me hate her even more.

Most of Birch's songs are fantastic. "Rewind" makes me feel pretty melancholy when I'm not busy feeling bitter and angry about love and all that crap. "Fire Escape" is the first song on the disc and totally pulled me with a voice that weighs at least twice what her body does.

I'm trying to think of the "stinker" on the disc. You know...the song that you always skip past once the music starts. There really isn't one. I honestly can't think of anything bad to say about this one, which is why I'm even bothering to tell you all about it. It's only like $7 on Amazon, so why in the hell aren't you buying it already?

Not only that, but she's got great gams.

Friday, June 19, 2009

Well, you are just not going to believe this.

Yeah. I'm a member of LinkedIn because my employer told me it would be a good way for me to "network." Pretty much, networking (whatever that is) is about the last thing I've used this site for.

Anyway, today I get an email from LinkedIn, telling me someone wants me added to their "network." Here's the message:



I'd like to add you to my professional network on LinkedIn.

- Jon

I kept staring at this message, scratching my head, wondering...WHO IN THE HELL WOULD CALL ME JULIE? AND WHO IN THE HELL IS JON?

Dudes. Then I remembered. Once upon a time, I listed a record player on Craigslist. This guy responded to the ad, calling me Julie, and told me he was going to give this to his brother for Christmas. Then he showed up to get it, with a rude girlfriend that wouldn't get off the phone, and the thing ended up not working. I was so humiliated. I kept trying different records and yeah. No go. Instead of just leaving, HE BOUGHT IT ANYWAY. I could tell it's because he felt he had to. Anyway...this is that guy! And now the pity he took on me really makes sense as it turns out he works for Thrivent Lutheran.

What in the hell do I do? The devil on my shoulder has all kinds of ideas.

Tuesday, June 16, 2009

There really are some fucking weird people that come into a tattoo shop. And for that I win "the most obvious statement of the year."

So yesterday I spent approxiamately six hours at the tattoo shop getting a tattoo that took approxiamately two hours to complete. Yeah. We won't even get into the "WHY" on that, as a large part of that had to do with the fact that I kept shooting the shit with Justin, the fella working on me. And he uses his hands a lot when he talks. Which means he was stopping a lot. Thank God. Anyway, it looks great, as you can see in my newest blurry picture taken with my inadequate camera phone.

Anyway, while I was in there, this guy and his pregnant wife/girlfriend/whatthefuckever (who was smoking which is always classy) came in. He wanted to get a cover up done on a chest tattoo he had, which appeared to be a heart drawn by a child with initials scribbled in the middle. He "didn't give a shit what it was as long as it didn't involve color." He liked "religious symbols and shit", which was clearly illustrated by the fact that he had a Swastika tattooed on his back.

If this weren't bad enough, he also had a teardrop tattooed near his eye that he wanted covered with a fleshtone color. Instead of doing this, it was decided that this would be CUT OUT INSTEAD. Right there, IN THE SHOP.

Dudes. I can roll with tattoo shit for hours on end without needing a break. I cannot roll with shit like this. So, while I was getting my arm done, there was a guy a few feet away, with a huge audience, getting a chunk of skin cut out of his face, and having it cauterized. Yeah. Let's just say I had to focus on bunnies and unicorns for a few minutes. And you know how I feel about unicorns.

There were a ton of other weird things that happened, but I pretty much have lost interest in talking about this.

In other news, my mom has found tons of new shit to bitch about. Hurray.

Thursday, June 11, 2009

Mouth Guards..."For All the Other Times..."

For once and for all...I want to know what this means.

A local dental office has a commercial that plays all the damn time during football season. In it, there's a weird circular shot of all their dentists just grinning at the camera. As this is happening, a voiceover is telling you to contact them. For mouthguards. For "all the other times."

I don't understand what this means, and I want an answer. I called once and tried asking about this but it just didn't work out. By that, I mean, they hung up on me.

So yeah. Someone enlighten me. And if I need one for all the other times, let me know for chrissakes. I already "sorta have" a cavity. I don't need to be losing teeth during all the other times too.

Wednesday, June 10, 2009

Why are there some many "legendary" cashiers here in Eau Claire?

And is it the same everywhere?

We've got the girl with the incredibly annoying "lispy" voice at Target (you know...the one with the dark hair that never has anyone in her line), the greeter at Wal-Mart who says the same shit over and over again (but then doesn't say a word when he's on his break AND YES I KNOW HE'S NOT TECHNICALLY A CASHIER), and then there's the other one at Wal-Mart that might have pushed me over the edge this morning. I'm currently chewing mad amounts of gum, which I'm blaming on her.

She's the nerdy girl with the big dark glasses and the dark, short hair. She's pretty much the kind of girl that would go on "What Not To Wear" and look exactly the same, even after they did everything they could for her. She's.incredibly.thorough. And comments on EVERYTHING.

So, I'm using my own shopping bags. Mostly because I have no use for anymore plastic bags, but also because of the whole "environment thing." This particular bag has some writing on it about lettuce. I have no fricking clue. I got it for free. Anyway, she's like, "Wowowowow. That's a reaaaaaaaaally pretty bag. Who says being green has to be boring?" Okay. That's a little weird but I just chuckle and say thanks. Then she's like, "Yeah. I love the environment. You know that Wal-Mart sells reeeeeeeeeusable shopping bags, right?"

I tell her I know this and then point them out. Because they're right in front of the counter. And even if I needed more reusable shopping bags (which I don't for chrissakes..everyone and their mother is selling these), I wouldn't buy bags that said WAL-MART on them in huge letters. I don't mention this part because I've been told I say too much in these situations and it can be seen as "rude." And let's not go into the "Wal-Mart sucks" argument. Like the corporate people at Target are any better. C'mon. (And yeah, I do like Target better because their clothes don't fall apart and their produce isn't rotten)

Then she comments on everything I'm buying; which largely involves 2-liter bottles of assorted diet sodas, Splenda, and gum. She's like..."Someone's thirsty! Do you like Diet Rootbeer?" No. I don't. That's why I bought 4 bottles. And of course this is all happening on my way to work, so I have all the time in the world to talk about Diet Rootbeer.

Then she gets to the Splenda and makes some comment about how she's read that Splenda "maybe isn't that good for you." Well dude. I've had this argument before. And I pretty much don't care. I told her I was a risk-taker. LOL This makes me laugh, just thinking about it.

Anyway, I pay with cash, thinking this would somehow be faster. No. Because she has no change. Apparently paying with cash "doesn't happen very often." Which then makes me think she should have all the change in the world.

Then, as I was leaving, she shouted, "Enjoy your pop!"

I have learned a valuable lesson today. I'm not entirely sure what it is but when I think of it, I'll let you know. It might be as simple as never going in this girl's line again. It might be as complex as never purchasing Diet Rootbeer from Wal-Mart again.

In other news, I'm honestly joining the Eau Claire Rod and Gun Club today.

Friday, May 29, 2009

That's what you get for waking up at 7 a.m. for a THRIFT SALE.

Last night, I walked past my neighbor's house and was pretty much disgusted. Their entire front yard looked like a shit storm had just gone through and deposited on rickety picnic tables every useless piece of crap that not even Goodwill would take for donations. I was thinking to myself, "Either these people are having a thrift sale in the morning or the re-sale value on homes in the neighborhood just dropped 10%."

Sure enough. At 6:45 a.m., people started lining up, waiting for the tarps to be taken off the tables of junk that had sat untouched all night long. Yeah. That's how bad this stuff was. No one even tried stealing it.

Anyway, I couldn't help but laugh my ass off as I watched this all going down. NO ONE bought anything and they all drove away, pissed off that the thrift sale was selling a bunch of crap. Yeah. What a concept. I can't get over it. A thrift sale selling useless crap? WHAT IS THIS WORLD COMING TO. Where the hell is the painting with the hidden copy of the Constitution behind the frame??? I HEAR ABOUT THIS HAPPENING ALL THE TIME ON "ANTIQUES ROADSHOW."

In other news, the tickets for the Tesla concert came in the mail yesterday. 8th row, bay-beh. That's right. Where the high rollers sit. Nothing but the best for my dad.

Friday, May 15, 2009

I'm tired of keeping track of everyone's birthdays and shit.

I suppose this makes me sound like a bad person, but that's never stopped me before.

Confession: I have two nieces and can I remember their birthdays off the top of my head? No. I can't. Why? Because my head is too busy remembering birthdays for grandmas and grandpas, parents, and friends, as well as the anniversaries for some of these same people and whatever other significant events these people have warranting a damn card.

Yeah. Most of this shit is written down somewhere but then I have to remember to look for it.

I'm proposing this new policy:

I will send everyone a card on January 1 for everything they will be celebrating that year. They can open the damn card (clearly marked for the appropriate event) on that given day.

I pretty much think this is a great idea.

Why do I like Michelle Branch so much?

That's what I'd like to fucking know.

In related news, my top-ten songs of all time include hits like "Is She Really Going Out With Him?", "Hot Child in the City", "Your Wildest Dreams", and "You Ain't Seen Nothin' Yet." I have a feeling this says a lot about me. And it isn't good.

In unrelated news, I went to the dentist this morning. Not only do I have a "slight" problem with receding gums in my upper molar region, but I have a very "small cavity" that needs to be "taken care of" right away. Dudes. I've never had a cavity. EVER. Now suddenly, after a few years of having lived with Brad, I'm getting receding gums and cavities.

Yeah. I'm blaming this on him, along with tons of other shit. He only flossed when there was something stuck in his teeth and has more cavities than he does teeth.

I was actually prescribed (with a real prescription which is totally worthless) a Sonicare toothbrush.

There must be some kickback shit happening there. They even had a "demo" one for me to touch, as though I've never seen one of these "new magical toothbrushes" before. Jesus.

Tuesday, May 12, 2009

Let me tell you a little bit about how my night went down.

I got home last night and needed to make something to eat, shower/get ready for a concert, walk the dog, and wait for the damn Schwan's man to bring me some frozen salmon and waffles before I could rush off to the concert. Pretty much, I had one million fucking things to do at the same time and only got to relax once I went to bed.

Ah yes. I'm living the American Dream. No wonder why people in undeveloped parts of the world want us to leave them the fuck alone.

I'm to the part in my night where I'm walking the dog when suddenly, out of nowhere, this huge black lab (nice dogs, my ASS) jumps on top of Bailey and starts barking. Well dudes. My instincts kicked in. I fucking kicked that dog, grabbed Bailey, and instantly marched over to the house where this obnoxious dog lives. The kids (pre-teens in my estimations) were outside, and I'm pretty sure I made them cry. I wagged my finger at them and told them this was the last damn time I would be seeing their damn dog off its leash in this neighborhood. I told them if I saw it again, I'd be calling the police, and that would be the last time they'd be seeing their dog.

Of course, I'm doing this all with a little terrier under my arm and a bag of dog crap in my other hand, so I'm not sure how official I look.

Then, as I turn away, I see the Schwan's man getting ready to leave my house. Fucking A. I am not waiting two more weeks for this dude. So I tear off running for him, shouting to stop.

I reach him, and apparently I'm supposed to "take a tour of the catalog" with him before he'll give me my damn food. Well, this is just not ideal, as I've still got a shaking dog under my arm and the bag of dog shit in my hand. I ask him if I can have a minute? Which of course he's going to give me, since he works off commission.

I take a damn tour of the catalog, which largely involves him trying to get me to buy two marinated steaks for $10, along with some baked potato things that made my ass bigger just looking at them. NO THANKS.

Right before he leaves, he says, "That's some great art on your arms. That purple is really hard to come by."

Well I can safely say I had never heard this before but whatever. I knew what was coming. And sure enough, he says, "You wanna see my work? I'll have to take off my shirt a bit."

First the UPS guy. Now the Schwan's guy. Are you fucking kidding me?

And NO. I don't have time to see this man's damn tattoos. I'm running late as it is, but SURE. Let's see it.

He tells me as he's unbuttoning his shirt that there's a story behind this one. Oh goody. Someone's got cable and watches "Miami Ink." BAER.

Then he proceeds to say that he drew this up while he was in the service. The tattoo shop offered to do it for free if they could keep his design. Then he says to me, "Yeah. You'll recognize the design, I'm sure. And I'm not making a dime off it."

Dudes. It's the fucking bulldog mascot that you see everywhere. You know the one I'm talking about? Anyway. There's no way in HELL I'm believing that this guy is the mastermind behind this shit.

So I just say, "Wow. Well you're like the creator of 'Spiderman' then. That sucks?"

This seemed to satisfy him and he left.

I hopped into the car, left for the concert late, and realized as I was driving that I smelled something really bad. I look down and sure enough. I had dog shit all over me.

I can't think of a more appropriate end to this story.

Monday, May 11, 2009

Well, I guess my heart is two sizes too small.

I watched "Seven Pounds" on Saturday night and could hardly stand it. After the movie ended, the only thing I felt was relief.

I spent 3/4 of the movie confused and the other 1/4 annoyed by the fact that Will Smith spent the entire movie on the verge of tears. There were times when I knew I was supposed to be sad, but since I couldn't figure out why, I was left just sitting there uncomfortably, wondering what in the hell was on TV.

Once I FINALLY figured out what this movie was about (no less than 25 minutes BEFORE IT WAS OVER), I realized I didn't like it. It made me uncomfortable. I personally found Will Smith's reaction to his "situation" a little bit unnecessary.

I can pretty safely say that I can relate to the whole "I caused an accident" thing and if the person in my life that can personally relate best to Will Smith would've behaved this way, I would've had him committed. Seriously.

Most of you are going to read this and think I'm a bad person and that's fine. Honestly, you probably thought I was a bad person BEFORE reading this anyway, so what does it really matter?

Plus, guess what? I got teary last night while listening to Joan Rivers talk about her charity during the finale of "Celebrity Apprentice", so there. I DO have a heart. It's just irrational. Like everyone else's in the damn world.

Friday, May 8, 2009

I only like watching most television shows in syndication.

What the fuck is up with that?

I don't even know if "Two and a Half Men" is still on in primetime, however, I know it's on Fox nightly starting at 6:30. The same thing with "Scrubs", which I did try watching now that it switched networks and discovered it sucks. But regardless, even before it switched networks, I only watched it (mostly because my husband forces me to) on Comedy Central.

And is it just me or does Zach Braff seem incredibly unlikeable in real life?

Oh yeah. I just called Batteries Plus and they still haven't gotten to my watches yet. I know I said I brought in one million but that was a slight exaggeration. It was only 8.

I have a hard time believing it's taking them three days to find the time to replace the batteries in 8 watches. I know this isn't a big deal but the more I think about it, the more pissed off I get.

I've really gotta lay off the sugar-free gum. It's giving me intestinal distress. Again. I NEVER LEARN.

This is my big dilemma for the morning.

My dad and I go to the Central Wisconsin State Fair EVERY YEAR (with the exception of one and that's a long story). It's in Marshfield, which isn't exactly 10 miles from home or anything. But we do this because they tend to have one kick-ass (I understand this up for debate) classic rock band show every year. And since my dad is a lifetime member of the Steppenwolf Fan Club, we're obviously fans of the genre.

Anyway, this year Tesla is playing on Friday night. Yeah. That's fucking awesome. But on the other nights. there's some country music artists I'd like to see. I don't want to admit this publicly but whatever.

There's no way in hell I'm driving this distance several nights in a row to see bands at the fair, so I need to pick ONE band. If I tell my dad I want to see Craig Morgan, he's going to say, "Who in the HELL is that?" And then he's going to disown me, once I tell him.

So, I guess this isn't a dilemma at all. I'll go see Tesla with my dad and just buy Craig Morgan's CD. That seems like a fair compromise. I AM going to Country Jam anyway. I don't have much to bitch about.

Thursday, May 7, 2009

Why in the hell is it so hard to find a used recumbent bike?

When I didn't want one, I saw them on Craigslist all the damn time.

Now that I want one, the only ones posted are like $225, which is the Craigslist equivalent of selling clothes at a thrift sale for $25. Give me a fucking break. I don't care if the tags are on that shit. IT'S A THRIFT SALE.

Anyway, the other day, I did call on one listed in the paper. The guy who answered lives on Birch Street, which is pretty much one of the shittiest streets in Eau Claire. On top of that, I could hardly understand him (either drunk or forgein) and the first question he asks me is if I know what a recumbent bike is. Uhhhhh. On top of that, he apparently had "several", with his "top brand" being Stamina. Which I think is sold at Kmart.

So, that's a no go.

I guess I'll keep breaking into the gym until someone either sells me a used good one for $125 or less or takes pity on me and buys me a new one, ships it to me at an address available upon request, and makes me the happiest girl in Eau Claire for at least five minutes. Until I have to put the damn thing together.

And another thing...

The damn toilet at work has been running for three days straight. Pretty much it never stops. I told the "appropriate people" about this and they just said, "Yeah. We know."

Oh, okay. So you know you're wasting thousands of gallons of water then. Great.

This must be our effort to "go green" that was mentioned in the last employee newsletter.

How busy can you possibly be?

So, last night I stopped by Batteries Plus after work with about one million watches in need of new batteries. I'm pretty sure the only reason why the guy working there didn't fucking kill me was because I was wearing a cute dress and he liked my legs.

Anyway, the last time I showed up with one million watches needing batteries, the guy at the counter just changed them all right away as he continued watching Rachael Ray's talk show.

This was not the case last night, and I was told I'd get called today when they were finished.

It was pretty much getting to be near the end of the work day, I didn't get a call and I'm not driving to Batteries Plus unless I know for sure I have a reason.

I called (YES I KNOW THEY TOLD ME THEY'D CALL ME) and the guy who answered was clearly in distress. He tells me, "Jodie (I hate it when people who don't know me in situations like this use my this is supposed to soften the blow of it all)...we're just SWAMPED. I haven't even THOUGHT about changing those batteries yet. Can you wait until tomorrow?"

HOW BUSY CAN THEY REALLY BE AT BATTERIES PLUS? Have you ever driven past this place? C'mon.

Well dudes. Most of these watches are actually Brad's, and if he's been without them for 2 years, I'm thinking another day is fine. I told the guy that and he didn't laugh. So now I'm assuming they're going to fuck with our watches and scratch the backs up out of spite.

In other news, I have a new blog that I'll be writing on, and uploading to Facebook. Maybe. If I can figure it out. If not, you'll just be inconvenienced by having to come here directly.