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Wednesday, April 4th, 2007

Time:11:06 pm.
Mood: cranky.
Some quotes to start of this rant session. These came out of my full-time job which, as all full-time jobs dealing with people are required, sucks. I believe you can see a pattern developing.

"Sometimes you have to employ the forceps of truth to remove a cranium embedded in a rectum." - Krista
"You know what would make that taste better. Pull your head out of your ass." - Krista
"Gee. I wondered why everything tasted like shit." - Danielle

It's been an interesting couple of months. No, wait, scratch that. It's been a pretty normal hellish, torturous couple of months. The mobs are well and truly out. Located on a main route to the New Jersey shore, my store gets slammed the moment the snow melts. And normal people don't come into my store all that frequently, I have found. All I seem to get is the wackos, assorted crazies and morons. Now, the wackos and crazies I can deal with, but the morons are just about putting me over the edge. If I have to point to another freaking sign, written in plain English and staring everyone in the face and repeat it, word for word, to another dumbass customer, I may actually have to shoot someone. And that's not the best part, those come up when you have to say the same thing multiple times, in many ways until Mr. or Miss Shouldhavebeendrownedatbirth pulls their head out of their ass long enough to understand. Like having to answer the question, "Do you have soup" with "I have what's written on the board". And then, "Do you have this soup?" Or maybe, "But I want this thing, can you make it?" One of these days I really am going to lean over that counter and slap the stupid out of someone.

And these are just the stupid and crazy customers. This has nothing on my oh so lovely co-workers. Now, most of them are at least alright, if not downright hysterical, so it really is the minority of fucktards* that piss me off. However, that very vocal minority is enough to have me plotting ways to dispose of bodies. One of these gems never looks up past his feet until you get him so angry he shakes like a little inbred chihuahua. Even then he only looks up and to the left of you. Kinda reminds me of theatre and when you'd look past someone so you didn't burst out laughing at the wrong spot. The whole time he was shaking and yelling, I was thinking about Cat and I having to pull off that on-stage argument in Marigolds. Needless to say, that helped me tamp down the urge to hand him his spleen. However, I have warned others that the next time that he speaks to me in an inappropriate manner, he may not be leaving with all his teeth. Or at least not with them all still in place. The little man (and yes he is short) reminds me of a retarded bear. You can beat him with a stick as much as you want, but you're never guaranteed results and every so often he cowers in the corner.

Number two on my hit list is a real wonderful human. And if you can't hear the sarcasm just screaming out of that sentence, please get your hearing checked. He wanders off into the cooler and sits down on a crate. That's when he isn't hiding in the office when he's supposed to be in the cooler. Of course, there are the times when he just cracks open something in the cooler and drinks it. No need to pay for anything after all. And he's got a real winning personality. Only 18, and he already behaves as though women are beneath him. No matter that he's a pompous little boy with no experience in real life. No. Women are only around him to cook and clean and wake him up to go to work. And he shouldn't have to work that hard. After all, he's a college student and he will be going places. Get real. As if going to college just gets you a job handed to you on a silver platter. I mean, I know I'm not a complete success story, but I have my own business, I have a full-time job that pays the rent and a part-time job that pays for food and clothes. I do pretty well for myself, but I've had to work for it. I don't understand this air of self-entitlement. One of these days this kid is going to figure out that the world doesn't revolve around him. I can only hope that I'll be able to see it when it happens. Of course, I'd rather be at a distance, or at least upwind. The stench of disillusionment and crushed dreams can be rather unpleasant.

Another one of these great winners is just a vacant ditz. She's not as bad as some of the ones we've had over the years, so she doesn't immediately push me into a psychotic rage. With her it's more of a casual stroll into preliminary insanity. We had a rush to get things ready for an inspection yesterday and this ditz wanted to have food at the register. I had to carefully, and using small words, explain why that was not okay. Then, when I'm losing my mind trying to do the work of two people, she's just standing around staring into space. This is why I need to bring the stupid stick in to work. I'm sure with regular beatings, even these monkeys could be trained to at least not stand in the open and do nothing. As Machiavelli said, a little fear goes a long way. I may be paraphrasing, but the idea holds.

So these are some of the wonderful people that I have to not kill on a weekly basis. It's a struggle some days, but I usually manage to practice a little restraint. It also helps that some of the fun people I work with have the same deranged sense of humor and need to pick on the terminally stupid.

*Yes, I know fucktard isn't a normal word, but it just flows off the tongue so wonderfully, that I have to keep using it. It's my word and I like it.
Comments: Add Your Own.

Sunday, November 26th, 2006

Subject:Freakin' Holidays
Time:11:47 am.
Mood: exhausted.
So it's official. I freakin' hate holidays. Too many of the bastards I work with think that just because it's holiday time, they get to have time off. Of course, we work in a service industry. Don't they realize that we work on the exact opposite scale. The more holidays, the more we work. So tell me why I'm working 12 hour days three and four days in a row. Not to mention my other job. And starting tonight at 7pm, I'm working for 29 hours straight. And people wonder why homicide rates go up around Christmas. I think it's all because some poor bastards are working hours upon hours and finally snap. I can definitely say that I'm considering killing off my co-workers. After all, if they're not going to work, what good are they?

At least the horrendous hours I'm pulling will have some sort of a benefit. I get to go home the first week in January. That's when I get my Christmas. Go me. I'll have five days home and then I think one of the kid sisters will be coming back with me for a visit (and a little trip to NYC). It should be fun, and is pretty much the only thing keeping me going at the moment.

Of course, right this second, I'm desperately trying to stay awake. I'm barely propped up at the desk in the office. I'm just holding out for two o'clock to roll around quickly. Then I can crash for a few hours before the day from hell truly commences. Just think, I've only got three more days before my next day off. Only 45 hours left to work in a 52 hour period.

I'm gonna die.
Comments: Read 2 orAdd Your Own.

Friday, November 24th, 2006

Subject:Black Friday
Time:9:39 am.
Mood: giddy.
I love Black Friday. I have to say that. Now, I don't particularly enjoy freezing my ass off, but the inherent challenge in the day is too much fun to pass up. The strategy needed to make sure that you get what you want in the fastest manner, for the best price is complicated but oh so much fun.

Since many of you know I moved to a new state, I wasn't able to go shopping with my family like usual. And those of you who have heard the stories know what Black Friday shopping is in my family. It's conducted like a military operation. There are maps and timelines and plans of attack at each location. It's a blast. But this year I was on my own. A little sad, but it did give us a chance to plan a multi-state campaign. And was it ever a success. With record time for me too. I finished up my shopping before 8am. Go me. I got everything I needed to find too. Not bad for a few hours work.

I've found that it's always helpful to make friends while standing in line. The few people that I talked to were very entertaining while we were standing in 40 degree weather with high winds and a little rain. And a couple of them helped me find things. We tag teamed around a group of shoppers and passed items down the line. It worked out very well, and no one got trampled. I've never quite understood how people get mauled during the course of the morning. Almost everyone I met was well-mannered and had at least a passing sense of humor. I mean, after all, you have to be a little nuts to even consider shopping at 4am.

So another Black Friday goes down in the books as a success. All I have left to do is finish my shopping. Only a couple things left, but they can wait a while. Now it's time to sit at work and bask in the warm feeling of accomplishment. And try not to fall asleep on the desk, of course.
Comments: Add Your Own.

Thursday, August 3rd, 2006

Subject:Your Kids Aren't That Damn Cute
Time:6:45 am.
Mood: stressed.
It comes to my attention, that most people's kids aren't cute. Especially the ones whose parents insist on regaling all and sundry with the tales of their little angel's antics for that day. In fact, most of these little monsters are awful little brats who are going to grow up into awful little adults. Now, don't get me wrong. I do like kids, but only when they're well-behaved. And contrary to popular opinion, bad kids aren't necessarily born that way, more often they're made by bad parents/care-takers. I've taken care of some bad kids who turned into really well-behaved children when introduced to a firm, disciplined, respectful environment. And I seem to be a magnet to hear all these stories about peoples' kids and grandkids (who I usually don't know), even though I have no kids of my own and nothing in common with child-rearing stories. So, in retaliation to being made to suffer through yet another boring ass story about somebody's kid I came up with a little poem. It may suck, but it made me feel better.

Your Kids Aren't That Damn Cute

Why do people always think
that their babies in pink
or blue are cute,
and expect us to wink
and blink and coo and praise
their offspring and want to raise
their crazed
kids?

The ones who grow up to be nothin'
more than hoodlums in the street
movin' to the same beat
that their dumb-ass parents
could only meet,
never rise above.

So don't bring around your kids,
your posters, pics and vids.
Wanting me to praise and nod
at all your stories, just do your job.
Bring yours up right
to know the difference between right and might.
And worry about how they act,
not about whether they're cute is a fact
or not

I'd rather have some homely looking kids
who grow up to become some worthwhile cit-
izens, providing something,
rather than some pretty brats who bring nothing.
Grabbing everything
thinking it's their due
just for being wrapped in pink or blue.
Cute and cuddly, but without a clue.

So stop bringing in those pics,
wanting me to coo over their little tricks.
Just do your job, being a parent.
Providing a guarantee
that those kids have a model to follow
and not just some fluffy nonsense to swallow.
Do me a favor and don't make me want to shoot
your kids, because they aren't that damn cute.
Comments: Add Your Own.

Tuesday, May 30th, 2006

Subject:More drabbles
Time:9:26 pm.
Mood: accomplished.
We have a new challenge on the Avatar100 list. This time it's historical settings. And of course the rabid plot bunnies that challenge spawned were numerous. It took some time and thought, but I ended up with three distinct fics. The first is the one entered officially into the challenge. The other two are just for fun. And not one of them comes even close to the 100 mark. Damn plot bunnies. I can't figure out how the other authors managed to keep theirs so small. I couldn't manage to set things up right if I cut that much.



Title: The Beginning of the Six Nations
Author: NikkiHighkill
Word Count: 320
Warning: none
Challenge: #50, Historical


The Beginning of the Six NationsCollapse )


Title: Vini Vidi Vici
Author: NikkiHighkill
Word Count: 213
Warning: none
Challenge: #50, Historical


Vini Vidi ViciCollapse )


Title: A Feudal Fairy Tale (many apologies to Inuyasha and Rumiko Takahashi)
Author: NikkiHighkill
Word Count: 295
Warning: none
Challenge: #50, Historical


A Feudal Fairy TaleCollapse )
Comments: Add Your Own.

Thursday, May 18th, 2006

Subject:Socks really are evil.
Time:6:43 pm.
Mood: amused.
Damn. I got a great comment on that last drabble I posted. The only down side was that it inspired a whole new thought. So here's the next installment of the evil sock theory.

Very Evil ReviewersCollapse )
Comments: Add Your Own.

Subject:Another Drabble
Time:3:39 am.
Mood: tired.
So the next challenge from the drabble community went out. The moment I read the challenge, the idea jumped into my head. Unfortunately, the whole thing woke me up at 3 in the morning to type it all up. So here's my latest work.

Title: The Beginning
Author: NikkiHighkill
Word Count: 100
Warning: none
Challenge: 49 - The Little Things

Socks are evilCollapse )
Comments: Add Your Own.

Tuesday, May 16th, 2006

Subject:Damn the Drabbles
Time:4:12 am.
Mood: amused.
I joined a community a while back that focuses on drabbles for Avatar: The Last Airbender. As everyone knows, that show is my current crack fixation. The end result being, a very short drabble I submitted to this community. Thought it was only fair that I post it on my own livejournal too.

Challenge 48 - Law

Title: The Natural Order of Things
Author: NikkiHighkill
Word Count: 100
Warning: None
Challenge: Law


Read more...Collapse )
Comments: Add Your Own.

Monday, May 15th, 2006

Subject:My Muse is Weird
Time:10:17 pm.
Mood: happy.
I got this little idea a few months ago, at two in morning. Knowing I wouldn't be able to sleep until I at least tried to write it down, I gave in with my usual amount of tact and grace. Yep, there was a lot of cursing that night. The end result was an interesting story that I actually liked. What can I say? Apparently, my muse is really odd.

A Ghost StoryCollapse )
Comments: Read 2 orAdd Your Own.

Saturday, May 13th, 2006

Subject:Tall Tales
Time:5:55 pm.
Mood: amused.
I was doing a web-surfing today and ran across a neat little site. Found at http://www.firstpeople.us it has a lot of information. I haven't run into anything I disagreed with, so if you're interested in Native American history and mythology check it out.

One of my favorite parts of it is the stories included from the different nations. One in particular caught my attention. It is a hunting story from the Iroquois. Told with traditional humor it is as follows:


An Iroquois Legend
Once, not long ago, four Iroquois hunters spent the winter together trapping in the north. They had good luck. When they brought their furs to the trading post at the end of the season, they had more than enough to buy all the things they needed for their families. In fact, there was just enough left over to buy a new rifle.

They had a problem. Although they hunted and trapped together as brothers, for all of them belonged to the Bear Clan, they did not live together. One hunter was from the Nundawaono, the People of the Great Hill, the Seneca. His home was to the west. One was from the Gueugwehono, the People of the Mucky Land, the Cayuga. His home was to the south near the marshes by the long lakes. One was from the Onundagaono, the People on the Hills, the Onondaga. His place was in the very center of the lands of the Great League. One was from the Ganeagaono, the People of the Flint, the Mohawks. His home was to the east. Now that they had finished trapping, each would be returning home. It was easy to divide provisions among four people, but how could they divide the rifle? Finally it was decided. The man who told the tallest story about hunting would take the gun home.

The Mohawk hunter spoke first. "A man was walking along. He had been hunting all day, but his mind wasn't on his hunting. He'd used up all of the bullets for his old muzzle loader without hitting anything. As he walked, he ate some cherries he had picked. Eat one, spit the stone into his hand. Eat one spit the stone into his hand. Then he saw, right in front of him, a big, big deer. But he had no bullets left. He thought quickly. He poured powder into the gun, took the cherry seeds, loaded them and fired at the deer's head. The deer fell down, but it got right up again and ran away.

"Some years later that same hunter went out again hunting in the same place. Again he had no luck. Near the end of the day he saw at the edge of a clearing a tall tree covered with ripe cherries. Ah, this man thought. At least I can eat some cherries. So he put his gun down and began to climb up into the tree. He had reached the lower branches when the tree began to shake back and forth and the hunter had to hold on with both hands. Then the tree lifted straight up into the air and he was thrown out. He looked up from the ground and saw that the tree was growing from between the antlers of a huge deer which shook its head one more time and then ran away into the forest. And that," said the Mohawk hunter, "is my story."

Now it was the turn of the Onondaga hunter. "One time my uncle was out hunting. He had only one shot left in his gun and he wanted to make it count. He came to a stream where he saw a duck swimming back and forth, back and forth. Just in front of the duck there was a large trout and it was leaping from the water to catch flies, leaping, leaping, leaping. On the other side of the stream there stood a deer. It had its head up and it was standing still, sniffing the wind. Further back on a small hill was a bear up on its hind legs, scratching its paws on a tree, up and down, up and down. My uncle got down on his belly. He crawled close to the stream, took careful aim and waited. When everything was just right and the trout jumped again he pulled the trigger. His bullet went through the trout and killed the duck. It ricocheted off the water and struck the deer. It went through the deer and killed the bear. My uncle was a good shot. The amazing thing--I know you will find this hard to believe--is that when he went to skin the bear he turned it over and found it had fallen on a fox and killed it." The Onondaga hunter paused for breath. "And that fox had a fat rabbit in its mouth."

The Cayuga hunter was next. "Many seasons ago my grandfather was out hunting and saw a deer. He started to chase it so he could get closer for a better shot, but he ran so fast he went right past the deer. When the deer saw my grandfather go by him, it got scared. It turned around, jumped as hard as it could and sailed right over a stream. My grandfather jumped too but when he got halfway over the stream he saw he couldn't make it to the other side so he turned around in mid-air and jumped back. By now the deer hid behind a hill on the other side of the stream so my grandfather couldn't see it anymore. "Now my grandfather was angry. He wasn't going to let that deer get away! He put his gun between little maple trees and bent the barrel. The he aimed and shot. The bullet curved right around the hill and struck the deer.

"When my grandfather saw the fallen deer he got real excited. It was as if it was the first deer he'd ever shot. He started to skin it right away, But the dear wasn't dead. Just when my grandfather reached the horns and was about to pull the skin off, the dear jumped up and began to run around. My grandfather tried to grab the deer, but it was too slippery. He chased it around and around. Then the skin got caught on the bark of a hickory tree. The dear backed off and pulled real hard and the skin came right off over its horns! The deer ran away, leaving my grandfather with nothing but its skin." The Cayuga hunter looked up and look a deep breath. "And if you don't believe my story, you can just go to my grandfather's lodge. That skin is still hanging there."

Now only the Seneca hunter was left. He looked around at the other three. Then he smiled and shook his head. "Wah-ah," he said, "I am sorry. None of us Senecas ever tell tall stories about hunting."

The other three hunters looked at each other. Then, without another word, they handed him the gun.
Comments: Read 1 orAdd Your Own.

Sunday, May 7th, 2006

Subject:And God Created the Au Pair
Time:12:30 am.
Mood: amused.
So, with all the time I have on my hands due to my injury, I've finished a few books. The most notable is one that I mentioned in an earlier entry. And God Created the Au Pair by Benedicte Newland and Pascale Smets. This is a great book. Moments of hysterical laughter are common. However, if you're expecting a story-telling method, with plot and characters and development using a traditional format, you will be severely disappointed. In fact, the entire book is a collection of e-mails, mainly between the sisters Nell and Charlotte, but also including their friends and family. Notwithstanding the unique approach to story-telling, the book is a great read managing to tell a story that is remarkably familiar to anyone with a family. The exact facts and conflicts that come up may not coincide with a reader's personal experience, but they can be identified with.

Neither of the sisters holds an unrealistic view of their children (three apiece) and it's not so uncommon to run across an entry calling one or another of them interesting names (toe-rags being one of my favorite). The British terminology can occassionally throw the reader, but the context makes most of it immediately understandable.

Interesting commentary/advice exchanged between the sisters include:

Encouraging child growth:
"Shall now feed him extra and pull gently on his head each evening to stretch him upward." - Nell p. 138

Guests:
"Have told Michael in a gentle and loving way that I will rip out his heart if he invites a stranger to stay again without first consulting me." - Nell p.142

Spending time with the neighbors:
"...Melody actually terribly nice & despite some barmy ideas also v sensible about other things eg notion of having gin & tonic to get you through an evening with your ill-mannered children rather than foolishly waiting till they are in bed to have it." - Charlotte p. 212

The upside to oddly shaped children:
"I've made a marvellous discovery which is that Ollie has secretly learnt to read. I'm starting to suspect his giant head might actually house a giant brain." - Nell p. 222

The dangers of accupuncture:
"Well, if you're going for the alternative 'holistic' approach you have to listen to your body and I think this might be a message from your body to say please stop burning me and jabbing me with needles." - Nell p. 225

The amusing aspects of home renovations:
"One day you'll look back at all this and laugh. Assuming bath doesn't crash through the ceiling killing several members of your family, that is." Nell p. 254

Anger management and ex-husbands:
"By the way, while I very much like the title of world's most honourable person, I believe the fact that I have frequent and detailed fantasies about running Jack and his ghastly, grasping girlfriend over with my car disqualifies me." - Rachel p. 260

The perils of encouraging untalented children:
"Sorely tempted to tell her not to attempt it to spare her inevitable disappointment but obviously can't say to one's child 'you're a bit hopeless, aim low' so have to bite my tongue." - Nell p. 295


I can honestly say that I spent a lot of time laughing out loud reading this book. Anyone with unruly children, nieces, nephews, grandchildren or other urchins will most likely get a kick out of this book. Unless, of course, you are one of those deluded people who think that the children in your life are perfect. If you take child-rearing too seriously, you won't like the writing here. This is definitely meant for those people who understand what it's like to be close to snapping due to the mere presence of short people. If that's you, head to the store and pick up a copy. Available in trade size, the price of $14 is well worth it. Just don't read it in public if you mind people staring at the lunatic laughing in the corner.
Comments: Add Your Own.

Thursday, May 4th, 2006

Subject:Battle Cry
Time:1:21 pm.
Mood: amused.
Found this courtesy of lildevil92482. Rather like this one. Think screwdriver is one of the scariest things you can have. Second only to pliers.



What Is Your Battle Cry?

Lo! Who is that, striding on the candy store! It is Nikki Highkill, hands clutching a sharpened screwdriver! She roars apocalyptically:

"I'm going to redefine your concept of 'playing hardball with the big boys'!!!"

Find out!
Enter username:
Are you a girl, or a guy ?

created by beatings : powered by monkeys

Comments: Add Your Own.

Subject:Owwwww!
Time:12:45 pm.
Mood: sore.
Guess what? I've got a few days off from work, completely unintentionally. I managed to do some serious damage to my back when I was at work on Tuesday. Of course, I can't do anything half-way, so when I hurt myself they had to call an ambulance. My first ride in an ambulance and I can die happy if I never end up in another one. The bumps on the roads around here made it feel like the ambulance was actually driving on a trampoline. Then I ended up in the emergency room, where they gave me some really good drugs. Of course, preface to this they had to set up an IV. That took three tries. Then the drugs made my head feel like it was floating. Actually, the only part of me I could feel was my back. Apparently, the main drug they gave me was a cousin of Morphene, but stronger. The X-Rays were the worst part, since they decided that I needed to twist and turn in ways that shouldn't be normal in an uninjured human. The one saving grace in the emergency room was that the nurses were all very nice. And it was quite warm. Quite a change from the hospitals in New York that are usually freezing cold.

I was discharged after a few hours, with three prescriptions. Oxycodone (perkaset) 325mg, Skelaxin (800mg), and Ibuprofen (400mg). Dave got those filled for me, so when I woke up and the drugs from the hospital had worn off, I didn't immediately start screaming. The basic diagnosis was that they weren't sure what I did, but most likely assumed I slipped a disc in my back, since there is some narrowing between two vertabrae (L5 and S1 or S5 and L1...I'm not really sure, I wasn't altogether focused).

Now yesterday I had to go see another doctor for a follow-up. That's when I found out that apparently I have spina bifida. Not full blown, but a minor case. Not a major issue, but something a little worrying since it took them 24 years to find. The doctor also declared that while it didn't look like I slipped a disc, it appeared that I tore a muscle in my back. Oh goody. So he upped the prescription for Ibuprofen (now 800mg) and renewed the Oxycodone and Skelaxin. Now I have to go back on Friday to see him again, with hopefully a little improvement. At that point, I might be cleared to go back to work (at least to push buttons).

At least I have plenty of books to read, thanks to my recent trip to the bookstore. But I'm still awfully bored. Need to find something to do to entertain myself. Lucky thing that I have a wireless keyboard, since I can be on my computer without leaving my bed.
Comments: Add Your Own.

Monday, May 1st, 2006

Subject:Some thoughts at work today.
Time:9:09 pm.
Mood: bitchy.
Okay,I hate my job. We've established that fact ad nauseum. Regardless of that, sometimes my job provides interesting moments/thoughts. In fact, today was one of those days. It all started with one idiot coming to the register with three newspapers. While I was punching in the appropriate codes, the man felt it necessary to comment on his paper choice. Apparently he really thought I cared. Anyhow, he had picked up the NY Times, NY Post and the Atlantic City Press. He then stated that, "I don't read the local newspapers. They don't never tell you anything." I kid you not. I couldn't make up a more stupid sentence if I tried. My first impulse was to tell him, that maybe he should try reading a grammar textbook. I'm pretty sure that even if the local papers don't have as much information, they at least remember to use proper grammar. And that's when I realized that he had two NY papers and the AC Press. Please keep in mind that I live within a half-hour of Atlantic City. And the local papers he had snubbed? The Courier Post (admittedly local, printed in Cherry Hill) and the Philadelphia Inquirer (not really local, in fact is farther away than AC). Hate morons. Depressing to feel outnumbered by idiots who apparently feel superior when are actually quite low on intelligent totem pole.

So this little event early in the day triggered what turned into a deluge of morons, idiots and babbling schmucks. The frustration led to a few interesting questions posed by me to my fellow co-worker (the only one struggling through lunch with me).

The first is, "Do you ever feel like you're the sole judge in a contest of the world's stupidest comments?" And really, there are so many days I have this issue. It might be because I see a large number of drunks on third shift. But still, you'd think that at least a few morons would have wiped themselves out of the gene pool by their mid-twenties. At least there's hope the younger ones will either get smarter, or dead. Which really doesn't matter to me.

Next was, "Do you ever feel like you're the only armed participant in a contest of wits?" I mean, really. It could just be my superiority complex talking, but when you actually have to star open-mouthed in complete and total shock at the stupid crap that comes out of people's mouths, don't you wonder? You'd think that after a certain point, even a moron's brain would short circuit.

One of my favorite questions posed to my unfortunate co-worker was, "Have you ever felt the need to baa at someone because you couldn't stand their sheep mentality for another second?" I've already discussed the people are sheep theory before, so I won't bother recounting it again. Let's just say that I truly had the urge to baa at a few people today. Would have amused me, but I'm sure my point would have been well and truly lost on them.

My final thought for the day was a statement rather than a question. Simply put, it's good to see that people don't stop being idiots just because they're not drunk. Ammened slightly when had to replace idiots with assholes. I truly hate being spoken to as if I'm incompetent. When some schmuck throws money on the counter and expects me to smile politely and calmly place his change in his hand and wish him a nice day it's enough to make me want to take up targeted killings. I can understand unforgiveably rude and/or moronic behavior if someone's under the influence, but really, is it necessary to remind people that you're an asshole/idiot (sometimes both) all the time?

Bah. Hate people. Hate stupid people most of all. Have been very lucky so far to tamp down on urge to reach across counter and strangle people, but is wearing thin. Need new job soon. One where I can avoid people, or failing that, make fun of them unmercifully.
Comments: Add Your Own.

Subject:So Bored and So Not Sleeping
Time:3:26 am.
Mood: awake.
See, I didn't wait one month between posts. I waited two months. Who says I'm not a woman of my word. Hah! So I'm home and awake. My rotten boss has decided that he needs to keep screwing with my hours, so while I have worked all three shifts this week, I have to do another quick turnaround for a morning shift today, immediately following an overnight shift last night. Damn my job sucks. But at least I have a lot of books to read.

Recently made a trip to the bookstore and came home with much too much to work through. Have also decided that I have so many books, it might be fun to start reviewing them. After all, I already catalogue them by author, title, ISBN, series and occasionally characters. This would just be another attempt to keep them straight. And hey, if anyone reads this, I might even be able to help people find some really good books. One book I picked up on a whim, which turned out to be really good is And God Created the Au Pair by Benedicte Newland and Pascale Smets. Will have to post a full review after I finish.

Also, have been spending much too much time reading Avatar Fanfiction. I still leave most of the hard work sorting through Harry Potter fanfiction to Cat. I may even get back into writing a few of them again. Probably not, since I have so little time on my hands.

Oh yeah, I still have my own business going. Not much to say about it other than the same information as last time. I still offer an editing and tutoring service. I have business cards and an e-mail address and everything (hoxietutoringandediting@yahoo.com) I have three clients currently. One is mainly editing and the other two are tutoring. That takes up three days a week, sometimes for more hours than I care to think about, but it's mostly enjoyable. Sometimes it's a real killer on my sleep time, but I think it's worth it. Maybe one of these days I'll have a more reasonable full time job that won't kill all my free time and suck the life out of me. Well, we should all have dreams.

Now to occupy myself with pretending to sleep for the last two hours. Won't actually do anything worthwile, but should at least make the attempt.
Comments: Add Your Own.

Wednesday, March 1st, 2006

Subject:Long time no see
Time:10:17 pm.
Mood: cheerful.
Well, it's been a long time since I wrote anything here. A lot has happened in the last four months. I'm now living on my own in an apartment that I can barely afford, but it sure is nice to have a place of my own. Just a note to anyone thinking about moving to New Jersey, especially southern parts, be prepared to pay through the nose in rent. The cheapest places I found here cost as much as renting a whole house in Syracuse. Granted, not the best locations in Syracuse, but still. What I pay in rent for a studio is the same that my mother paid for a three bedroom house back home.

Anyhow, the studio I have is still bigger than my last room. And I have it set up like another dorm room. Studios don't exactly have the space for a whole lot of furniture, so I have my bed, computer and television all near each other. So much like going through college.

I'm still working the same job, although there have been a few waves lately. It's not a bad job, but I'm definitely in the market for something else. At least my current overnight schedule gives me plenty of time for the new business I've started. I'm now working on my own as a tutor and editor. I have four clients at present, and am working four days a week. It's pretty fun, and how else was I ever going to be able to use statistics again. Yes, one of my students is taking a college course in statistics. Who'd have thought that my taking Behavioral Statistics for my fun course one semester would actually pay off. I did have to do some furious scrambling for notes and review materials before my first session with that student. Four years of non-usage really puts some rust on those thought processes.

One of my other students is 9-years old. I'm supposed to be tutoring him in every subject. That includes handwriting. Yes, those of you who have seen my handwriting can get up off the floor now. I know that idea is hysterical, but hey at least my handwriting is better than a fourth graders. Not by a whole lot, but it is there.

I am completely sleep deprived, but at least I'm happy with what I do. I work five nights a week from 11pm to 8 in the morning. Then I catch a few hours of sleep and get up at 2 or 3 in the afternoon. I prep for my next session (if I didn't do it before I fell asleep). I work for a few hours with whichever student I have and then catch a quick nap before going back to work that night. It's completely exhausting at the moment, but I'm sure it'll get a little easier with time. After all, if anything prepared me for being awake at odd hours and getting little sleep, it was four years of college. I survived that and by senior year, the weird schedule I had wasn't even a struggle. So, four years down the road, I should be well-rested and alert. Talk about your long-term goals.

Well, I am supposed to be writing up a test for my fourth grade student right now, so I suppose I'll get back to work. Maybe I won't wait months between entries next time.
Comments: Add Your Own.

Sunday, September 25th, 2005

Subject:Nothing Much Going On
Time:2:31 pm.
Mood: content.
I thought I would update this with a general rambling message. It's Sunday and I'm hanging out with Amy and Brian. I've been here since Friday night since it just seemed easier. Rather than running around like a chicken with its head cut off, I came over Friday night after work (which was almost Saturday morning) and haven't wanted to go home just yet. It's a good thing Amy and Brian actually like me hanging around. Either that or it's a good thing that I'm an excellent editor and can help Amy with papers.

I do have to go home tonight though. I really want to sleep in my own bed and my computer is feeling pretty lonely I'm sure. Actually, I also want to watch Rome when it comes on tonight. Such a neat series. I'm addicted. And my show, Medium, started last week. It's on Monday night, but I think I'm going to miss it again this week. Wah!!! I don't watch that many things, but it always seems like I manage to have to work during every one of the shows I try to catch. And Battlestar Galactica's season ended Friday while I was working. Drat!! Maybe one of these days I'll have a normal job that doesn't have oddball hours.

Anyhow, I just bought a sewing machine. Actually, a sewing machine and a serger. Go me. Now I can actually repair the clothes that I've shoved into a bag and forgotten. That and work on some other clothes that I'd like to make. Maybe a blanket or two. Rachel can't be the only one who can put those together. I guess I'd better start re-learning that sewing language that I used to know and have forgotten. Without my mom around to translate, I'm on my own. I figure as long as I don't sew myself to anything I'll be alright.
Comments: Add Your Own.

Tuesday, June 21st, 2005

Subject:The Geek Code
Time:11:50 am.
Mood: amused.
So I found this fun little site today. You can quantify your geekiness with the use of this helpful code. And if you can read this code without having to stop for references, I bow to you. It's hard to remember quite all of it. Of course, the roomate is completely disgusted with me for taking the time to write up this code. Find your own geek code at http://www.geekcode.com/geek.html .

Here's my code:

GPAd-s+:+a23C+>C++++U?PLE?W++@N-o?K-w(w+)>w++O?M-@VPS++PEY+PGP-t+@5+@X++R+>R+++tv+b++++DI++++D+Ge++hr%x+
Comments: Add Your Own.

Friday, April 29th, 2005

Subject:I've always said squirrels are evil.
Time:8:14 am.
Mood: laughing hysterically.
I was reading my e-mails and I found this little story. Of course I was reading it while people were sleeping and I had to try to be quiet. I think I almost burst a lung trying to be silent. Even the second time I read it was hysterical.

As a warning, don't even attempt to eat or drink anything while reading this. I wouldn't even have objects near the computer if I were you. It's just that funny.

Squirrel Encounter
By Daniel Meyer

I never dreamed slowly cruising on my motorcycle through a residential neighborhood could be so incredibly dangerous! Little did I suspect. I was
on Brice Street - a very nice neighborhood with perfect lawns and slow traffic. As I passed an oncoming car, a brown furry missile shot out from
under it and tumbled to a stop immediately in front of me.

It was a squirrel, and must have been trying to run across the road when it
encountered the car. I really was not going very fast, but there was no time
to brake or avoid it -- it was that close.

I hate to run over animals, and I really hate it on a motorcycle, but a squirrel should pose no danger to me. I barely had time to brace for the
impact. Animal lovers, never fear. Squirrels, I discovered, can take care of
themselves!

Inches before impact, the squirrel flipped to his feet. He was standing on
his hind legs and facing my oncoming Valkyrie with steadfast resolve in his
beady little eyes. His mouth opened, and at the last possible second, he
screamed and leapt!

I am pretty sure the scream was squirrel for, "Bonzai!" or maybe, "Die you
gravy-sucking, heathen scum!" The leap was nothing short of spectacular ...
as he shot straight up, flew over my windshield, and impacted me squarely in
the chest.

Instantly, he set upon me. If I did not know better, I would have sworn he
brought 20 of his little buddies along for the attack. Snarling, hissing,
and tearing at my clothes, he was a frenzy of activity. As I was dressed
only in a light T-shirt, summer riding gloves, and jeans this was a bit of a
cause for concern. This furry little tornado was doing some damage!

Picture a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a
T-shirt, and leather gloves, puttering at maybe 25 mph down a quiet residential street, and in the fight of his life with a squirrel.

And losing...

I grabbed for him with my left hand. After a few misses, I finally managed
to snag his tail. With all my strength, I flung the evil rodent off to the
left of the bike, almost running into the right curb as I recoiled from the
throw.

That should have done it. The matter should have ended right there. It really should have. The squirrel could have sailed into one of the pristinely kept yards and gone on about his business, and I could have headed home. No one would have been the wiser.

But this was no ordinary squirrel. This was not even an ordinary angry squirrel. This was an EVIL MUTANT ATTACK SQUIRREL OF DEATH! Somehow he caught my gloved finger with one of his little hands and, with the force of the throw, swung around and with a resounding thump and an amazing impact, he landed squarely on my BACK and resumed his rather antisocial and extremely distracting activities. He also managed to take my left glove with him!

The situation was not improved. Not improved at all. His attacks were continuing, and now I could not reach him. I was startled, to say the least.
The combination of the force of the throw, only having one hand (the throttle hand) on the handlebars, and my jerking back unfortunately put a healthy twist through my right hand and into the throttle.

A healthy twist on the throttle of a Valkyrie can only have one result. Torque. This is what the Valkyrie is made for, and she is very, very good at
it. The engine roared and the front wheel left the pavement. The squirrel
screamed in anger. The Valkyrie screamed in ecstasy. I screamed in .. well
.. I just plain screamed.

Now picture a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a slightly squirrel-torn t-shirt, wearing only one leather glove, and roaring at maybe 50 mph and rapidly accelerating down a quiet residential street on one wheel, with a demonic squirrel of death on his back. The man and the squirrel are both screaming bloody murder.

With the sudden acceleration I was forced to put my other hand back on the
handlebars and try to get control of the bike. This was leaving the mutant
squirrel to his own devices, but I really did not want to crash into somebody's tree, house, or parked car. Also, I had not yet figured out how
to release the throttle... my brain was just simply overloaded. I did manage
to mash the back brake, but it had little effect against the massive power
of the big cruiser.

About this time the squirrel decided that I was not paying sufficient attention to this very serious battle (maybe he was an evil mutant NAZI attack squirrel of death), and he came around my neck and got INSIDE my full-face hlmet with me. As the faceplate closed part way, he began hissing in my face.

I am quite sure my screaming changed intensity. It had little effect on the
squirrel, however. The RPMs on the Dragon maxed out (since I was not bothering with shifting at the moment), so her front end started to drop. Now picture a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a very raggedly torn T-shirt, wearing only one leather glove, roaring at probably 80 mph, still on one wheel, with a large puffy squirrel's tail sticking out of the mostly closed full-face helmet. By now the screams are probably getting a little hoarse.

Finally I got the upper hand ... I managed to grab his tail again, pulled
him out of my helmet, and slung him to the left as hard as I could. This
time it worked ... sort-of.

Spectacularly sort-of ...so to speak. Picture a new scene. You are a cop.
You and your partner have pulled off on a quiet residential street and parked with your windows down to do some paperwork. Suddenly a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a torn T-shirt flapping in the breeze, and wearing only one leather glove, moving at probably 80 mph on one wheel, and screaming bloody murder roars by, and with all his strength, throws a live squirrel grenade directly into your police car.

I heard screams.

They weren't mine...

I managed to get the big motorcycle under control and dropped the front wheel to the ground. I then used maximum braking and skidded to a stop in a cloud of tire smoke at the stop sign of a busy cross street. I would have returned to 'fess up (and to get my glove back). I really would have. Really... Except for two things.

First, the cops did not seem interested or the slightest bit concerned about
me at the moment. When I looked back, the doors on both sides of the patrol
car were flung wide open. The cop from the passenger side was on his back, doing a crab walk into somebody's front yard, quickly moving away from the
car. The cop who had been in the driver's seat was standing in the street, aiming a riot shotgun at his own police car. So, the cops were not interested in me. They often insist to "let the professionals handle it" anyway.

That was one thing. The other? Well, I could clearly see shredded and flying pieces of foam and upholstery from the back seat. But I could also swear I saw the squirrel in the back window, shaking his little fist at me. That is one dangerous squirrel. And now he has a patrol car. A somewhat shredded patrol car ... but it was all his.

I took a deep breath, turned on my turn-signal, made a gentle right turn off of Brice Street, and sedately left the neighborhood. I decided it was best to just buy myself a new pair of gloves. And a whole lot of Band-Aids.



Honsetly, tell me that wasn't freaking hilarious. Ha, you can't! Hope you took my advice on not eating/drinking. If not, I hope you didn't short out too many electronics.
Comments: Add Your Own.

Thursday, February 10th, 2005

Subject:Juice: Canned Killer?
Time:8:41 pm.
Mood: annoyed.
Watching the news tonight, I was outraged by the so-called Health Alert that they played. Did you know that juice is bad for you? Of course you didn’t, because for years our parents have been telling us that juice is good for us. You had to drink your juice and eat your fruits because they kept you healthy. You needed the vitamin C to keep you from getting sick and juice and milk were the main components given to young developing bodies. Now apparently, they’re trying to convince us that juice is bad for us. Why? Is it causing cancer, disease, sexual promiscuity? No. Juice is bad for us because it has sugars in it. According to this health alert, a 12 oz. can of all natural juice has more sugar in it than a 12 oz. can of soda.

Hold on a second. I feel a serious ‘no shit’ moment coming on. Let’s take this step by step. First, the sugars in fruits and fruit juices are natural sugars. Already that makes them better than the processed sugars found in soda. Second, who the hell is drinking a whole can of juice on their own? A concentrate can of juice has three cans of water added to it, in order to break it down. I don’t know anyone who sits down and drinks a whole pitcher of juice at a time. But maybe I should be giving these researchers the benefit of the doubt. Maybe they’re making a juice pop and just eating the frozen juice right out of the can. Now, remember, we’re still talking about natural juice, nothing added. I don’t vouch for anyone drinking that stuff that has extras added. Third, how can you compare soda and juice simply based on sugar content? Does anyone read the labels on products anymore? How many chemicals are in soda, does anyone know? I don’t have the exact number, but I can tell you without even looking that it’s more than can be found in a freaking orange. You know why? Because an orange is natural. Soda has never been and never will be a natural product.

Given all that, I would dearly love to slap the hell out of the media involved in these bullshit health alerts. For crying out loud, can’t we find real things to be afraid of, without having to resort to scaring people away from juice? Oh no, natural sugars might rot your teeth. Don’t drink it. No, you idiots, brush your teeth. That’s why my mother always made us brush our teeth after breakfast. Have you ever brushed your teeth and then taken a nice big swig of orange juice. It’s enough to make you vomit, almost as bad as mixing cranberry sauce and milk. So drink your juice, brush your teeth and cut the sugar out of your diet someplace else. Maybe by cutting down on that candy consumption or what you put in your coffee or those trips to McDonald’s or Burger King or Wendy’s or whatever fast food joint you swing by without thinking. Keep the vitamins and cut the crap. On second thought, I hope everyone stops buying juice. It’s expensive as it is, and maybe a serious panic over sugars will have the price dropping. Then I can save money while simultaneously watching everyone develop scurvy. It’ll serve them right. Morons.
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