I got a notice from my apartment complex this past weekend letting me know that they were going to do their annual owner inspection, which involves looking for things that need fixed and/or bug infestation. A lady that lives in my building said they were also looking for hazardous material. I’m not sure she knew what she was talking about, though.
In any case, I’ve been cleaning a bit over the past few days. I cleaned the bathroom Sunday night, which was neat. And then I did some work on the kitchen and some much needed laundry on Monday. I finished up a lot of the living room and my bedroom last night and this morning. Then, I realized something. I kinda live on the messy side.
But you know what? I live by myself, so I can be. And I like it.
My dirty dishes find their way to the dishwasher, and generally my trash winds up in a bag. Sometimes, I leave my shoes in the living room, and maybe my pants in the kitchen from time to time if it’s been a rough day, but that’s the way I like it. Plus, it makes my pants easier to find when it’s time for laundry day, right?
Yes, I hate doing laundry, so I make sure I have enough clothes to last me months on end. Where do the dirty clothes wind up? In a pile. On my closet floor. And for that matter, my clean clothes do, too.
I figure I should probably finish picking up my laundry before I head out of town today. The annual inspector people are just going to have to deal with the fact that I forget my spare bedroom even exists, and therefore have yet to unpack the boxes that are stacked in the room… perhaps containing hazardous materials.
Boob Breast Cancer Awareness Month. You all know how much I love boobs, and if you don’t, then you’re probably close to dead to me anyway.
Since you haven’t seen/heard any fundraising pleas from me in a whole two months, I figured it’s high time for another one!
The 5th Annual Blogger Boobie-Thon for Breast Cancer is here. On October 1st, the site will be filled with pictures of boobs from bloggers everywhere. Jealous? You can submit yours, too.
The Twins beat the Royals tonight and the White Sox got pounded by the Indians. What’s that mean? The magic number of 2 quickly disappeared and the Twins officially secured a spot in the playoffs this year. WOO HOO!
About 400 things sucked today, but the Twins players wearing swimming goggles while they spray each other with champagne makes up for just about all of them.
Lately, I’ve had my fill of customer service people. As a former customer service representative and a very damn good one at that, it absolutely infuriates me to have shitty customer service. And it keeps happening more and more lately!
If you’re my server at a restaurant, I expect you to ask me how my food is, and to keep my water glass full. That’s not a lot to ask. If I’m drinking something else that may or may not contain alcohol, you could benefit yourself by asking if I’d like another one. But if you’re not going to do that, you should at least take the empty plates off the table in a timely matter, so I could enjoy the concoction of water, lime juice, orange juice, ketchup, sugar, and peppermint that I’ve developed in my half empty water glass. That, Keith, is why you only received a 4% tip Saturday evening.
When I go to by a new cell phone, I expect a courteous employee to guide me into selecting the phone that would be more appropriate to me. I understand you’re in sales, so I would enjoy hearing your pitch on each phone. That’s why I’m in the store and not ordering online. So, if you could put your Taco Bell cup down long enough to help me, that’d be great. And when I do decide on a phone and you ring it up, don’t insinuate that I’m stupid for not buying a wall charger. Guess what? My old phone has the same charger. I plan ahead, dude.
And for God’s sake, don’t argue with me about my cell phone plan. I know I pay extra to have unlimited text and picture messages. You’re looking right at my account and you should know this. Or at least check on this before you argue with me that I don’t have it. And no, I’m not sorry that we prank called people from the cell phones you have on display in your store. That’s what you get for being a douchebag.
If you’re not going to provide quality customer service, there are plenty of jobs that don’t require you to do so. You could paint the stripes on my parking lot or clean out the sewers, for instance.
Good service with a smile. Is that too much to ask?
Best mail day ever. Section 218 is not quite nosebleed, but does it matter? I’ll be there, along with one lucky guest, and that’s all that matters. I’d be a very happy camper with a division win, but I’ll gladly take a wild card, too. Let’s go Twins!
You want Friday Shuffle action? No problem!
- City Love – John Mayer (whose new album I should buy)
- It’s Raining on Prom Night – Cindy Bullens (yes, from the Grease soundtrack)
- When I Look to the Sky – Train (one of my all-time favorites)
- Whip It – Devo
- This Time – 3 Doors Down
- Dear Ben – Jennifer Lopez (she’s got to regret this song)
- Landslide – Fleetwood Mac
- My Girl – Jon Peter Lewis (from American Idol 3)
- If I Should Fall Behind – Faith Hill
- I Hope – Dixie Chicks
With absolutely no plans at all that I can share here, it’s off to the weekend I go!
There’s a helicopter flying very low over my office right now. I can only assume they’re trying to track me. Because I’m radioactive for the next day and a half!
I had my bone scan this morning to try and figure out what may be or may have been wrong with my foot. The technician assured me that he’s never seen anyone have an adverse reaction to the radioactive liquid he injected into my arm.
I said, “Oh, okay”, because I wasn’t really worried.
“You have like a 1 in 40 million chance of having a bad reaction,” he reassured me.
Knowing that I couldn’t let this one go with the polite head nod that I’ve mastered so well, I responded with “So, you’re telling me there’s a chance!”
Then it became apparent that Mike the Nuclear Medicine Technician, had absolutely no sense of humor and no knowledge of Jim Carrey movies. I figured those things were mandatory in medical school, but I could be wrong.
I’m hoping I have superpowers from the radioactive juice that is pumping throughout my body, but I’m not quite sure how to test those out.
I find out the resutls of said bone scan on Wednesday. Almost six weeks after the injury happened. You know, giving it plenty of time for it to heal on its own.
The other day, I decided to do an art project. I shared it with the folks at Vox and felt it only appropriate to share with all of you, too.
Don’t worry. I’m not sure why I didn’t become an arteest either.
I went to go see The Black Dahlia last night.
We did some shopping at Macy’s (ha.) and some dinner and drinks at Ruby Tuesday before our 9:40 movie start time. Since our shopping trip was a miserable failure, much like Josh Hartnett’s acting abilities, we spent a lot of time at Ruby Tuesday. We watched the Twins beat the pants off the Red Sox and celebrated by drinking.
It’s based off the novel of the same name that was inspired by “California’s most famous unsolved mystery”. It’s set in the 40′s and filmed that way. The type of cinematography that was used would have been awesome with really strong actors. i.e. NOT JOSH HARTNETT.
I fell asleep midway through the movie. When I woke up, two girls were going at it with a dildo. You can im agine my confusion. I’m not sure why or what led up to that, but apparently, there was nothing even remotely close to that in the book.
Stephanie explained the differences between the book and the movie to me afterwards. I think she may have been smoking from the ears due to how irate she was with the results.
The only saving grace to the movie? Apparently at this theater, it’s only $6 to go on a weeknight.
Never will I go see a movie that involves Josh Hartnett again, unless it’s a silent film where he wears a bag over his head. I can’t stand his perpetual forlorn look for a two hour movie, and really? That’s the only look he has.
One day, I want to get a little sidebar blog action, much like Jodi, so I can have one sentence posts that really aren’t worthy of being their own main post. If that makes sense.
Here are some links that I’ve been obsessing over lately:
You know how I joke around about how Little Gay Riley Pants might be, well, gay?
Science says it could happen.
There’s his loves for sweaters, his penchant for pretty bandanas, the way he likes to hold hands when I get home from work, and even the he only humps other male dogs, so I’ve always had a sneaking suspicion that it could be true. And quite honestly, I’ve always told him I could love him regardless of the sex of dogs he chooses to mount.
And I also want to go to the zoo in Central Park and see Roy and Silo as the ignore all of the female penguins.
I’m probably going to take my gay dog outside now. He’ll squat when he pees and then we’ll come upstairs and he’ll get comfortable on
his our 300-thread count sheets before we go to sleep watching Golden Girls. What? Straight dogs do that, too!