The Wordmistress

Who's That Knocking on My Door?

You. You know who you are: Winter Park, Florida. I know you're checking up on me. I see you in my server logs. And I know you found me by searching for me by my full name. But who could you be? Maybe it's a mystery man, someone from my past trying to find me and rescue me from mediocrity. Nah ... probably just a bill collector. Damn my luck.

That's Mistah Jackson If You're Nasty

Dig, dig, dig that hole Michael.

Be Careful What You Wish For

or Who's The Real Turkey?

Well, I made a big deal about cooking Thanksgiving dinner for my family and now here I am, on the cusp of making Thanksgiving dinner. I think I'll do a good job, but it's just like me to sign up for something I've never done before and believe I can do it.

Thing is, I'm pretty sure I can.

I'll let you know the e. coli count tomorrow.

Are These People Out of Their Ever Lovin'?

Candlelight vigils for Michael Jackson? Sorry to use such a hackneyed phrase, but now I've heard everything. Literally. I hate to beat a dead horse, but I haven't even seen any candlelight vigils for the Turkish. Or the Iraqis. Or for peace. Hello!!! Michael Jackson wrote a couple good pop songs when he was 18. Then he spent zillions of dollars making his personal appearance frightening, creating progeny that he is clearly socializing in damaging ways, and spending an inordinate amount of time with children, allegedly sexually abusing them, at least exposing them to the mind and behavior of a self-destructive man with little to no conception of self or sanity. Frightening signs of a coming apocalypse.

Double Trouble

Tweedledee and Tweedledum are two actual people I know. I'm not going to divulge their identities, but suffice to say, they are tiresome a couple with whom I am acquainted. They are the kind of people who take years to do a simple task. They are likable somehow, though very strange. They are not actually a couple.

Say Hello To My Lil' Friend

This little tidbit caught my eye and I just had to share it. Apparently the new rage these days is the right-hand ring, a 21st century alternative to the engagement ring. (Initial linkstorm via Memepool) Where do I begin?

First off, most cultures outside of American wear their engagement/wedding bands on their right hand. So your little "right-hand" marketing ploy is only going to work on American women who are being told that they are missing something.

Second, the whole engagement ring thing has always kind of irked me. That's not to say I wouldn't wear one. I've always kind of thought I'd be the kind of gal who'd go for the whole Pamela and Tommy tattooed ring thing if I ever delved into a commitment with a fella, but there was a time I thought I'd never wear lipstick too. I do know I'd never spend $2000 for a right-hand ring. And can anyone tell me what the Alzheimer's Society has to do with it?

Well, at least this rant has gotten me out of my self-imposed funk. A little steam-blowing. I mean it's not like there's anything important going on (like increased hostility in Iraq, increased insanity here ...)

By the way, I read somewhere that some definitive study by ABC News was done that proved Oswald was the lone shooter. Okay, uh, 40-years-old news and, uh, wrong. They say that the reason people doubt the lone-shooter theory is because of government secrecy and the Oliver Stone movie. Ahem, the movie came out in the 80s, people doubted Oswald since he took a bullet to his belly courtesy of Mr. Ruby and his massive connections to the Mob. It's a long story and there's no dearth of information out there. But Marilyn was there and Bobby and Peter Lawford and you Scarecrow, and you ...

And We're in What Grade?

It's always disconcerting to find out there are folks who don't like you. Even when it's someone that you don't particularly like, who doesn't really matter and is probably a little nuts to begin with, I still get fixated. I used to really care, I mean really care what people thought. If I thought they sounded weird on the phone, it'd drive me crazy for hours. Once I found out they had a bona fide reason for acting weird, I'd always feel so much better: "Oh, you're going broke and you're going to lose the house? Then you're not mad at me? Great!!!" I'm not quite so bad now, growing up had a great effect on my insecurity that way. Other things, both tragic and euphoric, shaped my perspective along the way. Still, hearing some guy say, oh yeah so-and-so doesn't really care for you ... well, that still gets me.

And you've got to wonder why the informant tells you. I mean this person of hate is not someone I'm romantically involved with. This is a contractor that works on my apartment. And he doesn't like me because he thinks I'm high maintenance. And I am. When my apartment floods, I ask for it to be fixed. When lead paint is exposed, I require immediate attention. And when he and his co-hort (who incidentally was the one who blabbed) were still working on my bathroom 3 months after a promised completion date and I returned from the hospital, baby in tow and you don't want to know what a-burning in pain, I was not a happy camper. Yeah, I'm high maintenance.

And those old grade-school feelings come back. Funny. That desire to be liked. All the people who care suddenly disappear and the one who doesn't remains. And it really doesn't matter if I like him. He doesn't like me. The cheese stands alone.

Tomorrow I won't care. Yesterday I certainly didn't care and next week, I won't likely care. I may feel a twinge when I see him next, more likely it will be that of indifference. But today, feeling weak, remembering days gone by, I'm irked. Dumb guy. Don't like me, huh? Well, uh, well. Then let me tell you about my sink, I think there's a leak. And you know I feel like the floorboards are kind of squeaky. And I hear a little swoosh everytime ...

Switcheroo

So I was at the gas station yesterday and do you know what they're doing now? They're sticking regular in the middle!! That's got to be unfair business practices. I've long been aware that they've been taking regular for a joy ride so that distracted folks like myself might accidentally pump a couple of extra pennies into their car, but in the middle?? Does anyone fall for this? Man, this pisses me off. Rant. And breathe. Okay!

Here's a couple of other tidbits for you.

I finally won one of my fantasy football games last Sunday! My record is now a whopping 1-6! My team, Puffy, has never had such a bad start to a season. Cheer for me this Sunday. I'll be the one napping with the little girl and surreptiously checking the stats online.

I've pretty much finished my freelance gig and I'm way in the mood for MORE WORK. Here's another thing that makes me crazy. Over the past two years I've applied many times for a job with Google that I'm perfect for. It's working with their AdWords program and making it more effective for their clients. I've sent them cover letters of all stripes: funny, sad, ugly, pretty, serious. I don't get it. I'd be great. Are they even looking at my resume? No offense, but I'd be the best!!!!!

Look at this post. Exclamation points everywhere. I don't like exclamation points. Sure sign of lack of sleep ergo lack of creativity.

And with those self-deprecating words, and the tones of somber past revisted, I'll wind down and let you off the hook. Adieu and happy Friday (no exclam)

Idiot Patrol

Clicking around today looking for something to distract me when I should be working, I came across this woman's story of how she was asked to stop breastfeeding on a Southwest Airlines flight. Man, that really gets my goat. She had every reason in the world to be angry.

I, myself, couldn't breastfeed, which in this modern world is akin to saying that I left my child alone to be raised by Kathie Lee Gifford. I wanted to breastfeed, tried to, and it didn't work out. 'Nuff said. But I fully support the little suckers.

Color of Money

I got a new $20 bill today. It looks more fake than any American money I've seen yet. It's got all these little cartoon 20s on the back. It's supposed to thwart counterfeiters, but I'm thinking with all these multiple versions of each currency, the only thing it's going to thwart is any chance of me getting out of a grocery line with my sense of humor intact and some ridiculous tabloid secure in its shelf where it belongs.