I'm baaaaack. With another review for an album you should buy.

Ok. It's been awhile since I rapped at you. Mostly because of the whole "moving to Thailand and starting a blog about that" thing. Anyway, all the same, I like to keep this blog going for stuff like telling you why you should buy this KT Tunstall album.

Pretty much I didn't need any convincing on this one because I've liked her since the "Suddenly I See" song I still have on my marathon-mix. And apparently, "Black Horse and the Cherry Tree" reminds my ex-husband of me in some horrible way, so there's that.

Anyway, I got this one late so I've only been able to listen to it a few times today (again the whole living in Thailand and getting mail here thing) but I effing love this album. Here's why:

1. The first song is GOOD. I'm not sure how you say it, but "Uummannaq Song" rocked my socks right away. I like it when albums do that. I like it even better when the first song isn't the only good one on the album.

2. I understand that some of my friends aren't so much into this music. Whatevs. If you like Brandi Carlisle, I can't see where you wouldn't/don't like KT Tunstall.

3. She looks really good on the cover but I don't think she's into boys, fellas.

4. The CD is really cool too. I like the drawings in the booklet. Reminds me of "Where the Wild Things Are."

I'm not saying this album has quite the depth of lyrics that a Brandi album does, but KT sounds great and this is pretty good pop music. I'll try and upload a few tracks onto my Facebook page so you can have a listen.

Give Me Some Money.

Yeah. So about two months ago, one of my coworkers asked me if I wanted to bowl for some Big Brothers Big Sisters charity event. I pretty much wanted to say, “FUCK NO”, but for whatever reason, I was feeling generous that day. So I said I would. That’s all I heard about it until last week. That’s when she gave me my PLEDGE FORMS. WHAT?

I have a personal policy on shit like this. I already give what feels like half my freaking paycheck to the United Way, therefore, I don’t give money to fundraising stuff. In return, I don’t ask other people to donate to fundraising stuff. BECAUSE I DON’T DO IT. I appreciate the goodwill bullshit but I think most people are tapped out. Between fundraisers, jewelry parties, and charity stuff... I get the feeling most people would probably benefit from the very charities they’re constantly being asked to throw their money at.

WHICH MEANS I AM SCREWED. Because I HAVE to do this shit and I HAVE to raise $100, so unless my parents bail me out, I’m going to be giving $100 of my own money to a charity that made my life miserable for 4 months with the most rotten “little sister” a girl could ask for.

In related news, I would not be opposed to receiving random checks in the mail marked “BOWLING FUND.”

There must be a sign on my back I'm not aware of.

So, I was at the grocery store and the lady bagging my stuff asks me the whole, “Is your hair naturally curly?” thing. I tell her it is. This is generally the part where the other person goes on and on about it and I just stand there listening and not knowing what to say in response without sounding like a self-absorbed asshole.

Well clearly this was not going to be an issue. She said back to me, “Oh you must get SO sick of having that.” WHAT?! Dudes. Who in the hell says shit like this outloud? I just said to her, “Not, not really.” And she said, “Wow. I would.” AND THIS WOMAN HAD AN EFFING PERM. THIS MAKES NO SENSE TO ME.

Anyway, in related news, I’m thinking I might grow my hair out. I initially was going to do this in an effort to save money on my expensive hair-styling services. However, I still have to get it “trimmed” when I’m in there for the dye job, and I get charged the same price for a trim vs. a regular haircut. WTF is that about. I’d like to ask but the power of the scissors is mighty.

In unrelated news, I just got off the phone with my mom, who told me, “When you were two years old, I told your father you’d be a terrible flirt that gets married 5-6 times.” THANKS MOM. And for the record, that would never happen. I absolutely hate planning weddings.

Well, I'm a real asshole.

Yeah. So today is my boss’s birthday and NO ONE BOTHERED TO TELL ME THIS. I’m one of three direct reports she has and I didn’t even give her a flipping card. There goes my raise this year.

Speaking of work, most days I have a snack of some kind while I’m here because I’m not very good at eating a “real” lunch during the work week. And also because sometimes I’m just hungry for one. Usually this involves fruit or popcorn because I only eat like 10 different foods total. Yes. I’m aware that this is not normal. ANYWAY, if I’m eating popcorn, someone has to comment on it EVERY FUCKING TIME. As though the concept of microwave popcorn is so foreign, or so unattainable, that every one of my effing co-workers has to live vicariously through my consumption of it rather than just buying some of their own.

I’ve been unusually tolerant of this bullshit but today I cracked. The same fat woman who always says shit to me about being skinny, blah, blah, blah, (in that fake nice way that’s meant to make me feel bad because she has to wear stretch pants all week) said something again about the popcorn and how she’s surprised I’m not fat because I eat it three times a week. HUH? This makes no sense but whatever. She’s standing there, telling me this, with a package of King Sized Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups in her hands, so I told her we should compare nutrition information on our snacks. Because in my estimation, hers has more fat in it than I probably eat in a day.

I think I might’ve “nipped that in the bud.”

In other news, I’m finally tired of country music. Minus Keith Urban, Brad Paisley, Sawyer Brown, and… shit. Nevermind.

I am not very insightful.

Well dudes, I’m going to be 31 in exactly two months from today. Yeah. I know. I can’t believe it either. HAVE YOU SEEN MY LEGS.

Anyway, this morning I was getting ready for work and I suddenly realized I was using a fucking anti-aging eye cream. I mean, I bought this shit myself so it’s not like I didn’t know what it was. But all the same. It didn’t fully hit me until today. Then I started peering into the mirror closely and identified some very small wrinkles in the corner of my eyes. One in between my eyebrows too. And fucking A. I could have grey hair and not even know it, since I can’t even remember what my natural hair color is anymore. I almost had a melt in the bathroom. I could barely get my mascara on. It was serious.

I guess a part of me is starting to feel my age. Mostly in a good way. I look pretty good for my age, I act like a total moron most of the time, and 24 year-old guys with really great bodies, etc. seem interested enough in me, so I should be thinking this is the best time of my life, right? And I do. But somewhere inside, I hear this little voice shouting shit like, “YOUR METABOLISM IS GOING TO START SLOWING DOWN”, “THAT OCCASIONAL KNEE PAIN IS GOING TO BE A REAL ISSUE SOMEDAY”, and, “YOUR HAIR ISN’T ALWAYS GOING TO LOOK THAT GOOD.” At this point, I easily ignore this voice with booze and cigarettes. But at some point, this voice will win! Because it’ll be true. And I’ll be left with fuzzy hair and a knee brace.

There really isn’t any point in all of this so don’t go looking for some closure or deep meaning here. I’m not Mitch Albom or Dave Barry for chrissakes. I’d just like to keep living but always look like I do now. Without having to marry a plastic surgeon. How can this be arranged?

In other news, I am no longer eating microwave popcorn at work. Everytime I make it, someone is like, “OH MY GOD. YOUR POPCORN SMELLS SO GOOD. I WANT SOME.” Yeah. I bought it at the store. You can get some too. Crazy shit, I know. That's what I said to my co-worker yesterday and she just said, "You're so funnnnny!"

Uh huh.

Well, this is what’s annoying the shit out of me today.

Whenever I take time off to run a race, my boss always asks me, “How was your marathon?” Dude. Get real. Not every damn race I run is a marathon. And also, judging by the fact that I’m limping around like I’ve got a peg leg, I’m guessing my “marathon” DIDN’T GO SO GREAT. This would also be evidenced by the fact that I already told her WHAT HAPPENED DURING THE “MARATHON.” Which solidifies my suspicion that she tunes out whatever I’m saying. How nice.

Which leads me to myself. I am annoying the shit out of myself today. It takes me for-fucking-ever to get anywhere and I make these wincing faces whenever I stand up, which is sorta knee-jerk and unavoidable, and very much something that would get on my nerves if I saw someone else doing it all the time. So, the lady who sends me forwards every day must really hate me right now and I don’t blame her. I guess we’re even.

I somehow got a run in my tights (NOT LEGGINGS) and everyone is pointing it out to me. Yes. I know. And what the fuck do you want me to do about it anyway? Go buy new ones right now, so I can stop answering your dumb questions? I’d happily do this if I could escape this place long enough to get in my car and never come back. As it stands, each time I get up, someone is coming towards me and needs me for “just a minute.” Yeah. Right.

I suppose I should be all happy tree people here to balance out this “negativity” since the New Year just started and whatever. My hair looks good today. And I just realized that the sweater dress I’m wearing is see-through. So there you go.

UPDATE:

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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

http://eauclaire.craigslist.org/wan/1497293917.html

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

DO THEY EVEN HAVE GIANT PEPSI MUGS IN INDIA?

Then I get this last night:

From: ctn94106@centurytel.net 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.

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.

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.

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.

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?”

OMFG.

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.

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.

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.

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.