Congratulations, Staff Sergeant Scout.
(By the way: it is a new goal of mine to spell "sergeant" correctly without having to look it up.)
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
No hablo espanol
I learned two things today at work (which are totally unrelated, by the way).
1. I need to learn Spanish.
2. Men from under-developed countries need a reality check.
I've realized that I have a natural tendency to (attempt to) speak in Spanish when I am helping a customer that speaks about as much of my language as I do his. Today, I had an extremely pointless conversation with a gentleman looking for two X-Boxes.
"No tengo dos," I said. "Yo tengo uno."
Naturally, the man thought I was fluent in Spanish, so he started saying all this stuff I didn't understand. Then I had to explain in English that I didn't speak all that much Spanish. And of course, the girl I work with that speaks Spanish as her native language was off today. A conversation that should have lasted five minutes lasted about a half hour.
So Mom, Dad, anyone. For my birthday (or Saint Patrick's Day, or Easter, or whatever holiday you can justify spending this much money), I would like this.
I've also noticed that men from a certain region of the world (although I can't pinpoint a specific country) are cavemen.
Just for the record, I'm not a feminist by any stretch of the imagination. I just don't like being treated like a herd of cattle.
These cavemen I'm referring to come to this country and expect women to cower when they enter the room. Like I said - a reality check is in order.
Today, a caveman came to my register and had me quote a broken gold bracelet. I told him I would buy it from him for $20. I can't even describe the look on his face - he looked at me as if I was out of my freakin' mind.
"Twenty dollars," he said, "You can't give me more than twenty dollars?"
I gave it my new "take-it-or-leave-it" look that I've quickly learned works much better than the explanation of how we price gold, how the point of most businesses (including this one) is to turn a profit, and how he probably got ripped off because he bought it from an expensive jeweler. He didn't like being told no.
He then walked over to a case where we display some of our digital cameras. He looked at me and snapped his fingers. I looked at my boss and said, "That man is out of his damn mind if he thinks I'm going to respond politely to that."
So that was my day in a nutshell. Man, you guys wouldn't believe some of the other stories I've come home with.
More:
After I finished writing this post, I turned off all the lights and headed for bed. Scout was happily humming (some song I couldn't distinguish) in his sleep and I couldn't help but smile. Dang, he is so freakin' cute.
1. I need to learn Spanish.
2. Men from under-developed countries need a reality check.
I've realized that I have a natural tendency to (attempt to) speak in Spanish when I am helping a customer that speaks about as much of my language as I do his. Today, I had an extremely pointless conversation with a gentleman looking for two X-Boxes.
"No tengo dos," I said. "Yo tengo uno."
Naturally, the man thought I was fluent in Spanish, so he started saying all this stuff I didn't understand. Then I had to explain in English that I didn't speak all that much Spanish. And of course, the girl I work with that speaks Spanish as her native language was off today. A conversation that should have lasted five minutes lasted about a half hour.
So Mom, Dad, anyone. For my birthday (or Saint Patrick's Day, or Easter, or whatever holiday you can justify spending this much money), I would like this.
I've also noticed that men from a certain region of the world (although I can't pinpoint a specific country) are cavemen.
Just for the record, I'm not a feminist by any stretch of the imagination. I just don't like being treated like a herd of cattle.
These cavemen I'm referring to come to this country and expect women to cower when they enter the room. Like I said - a reality check is in order.
Today, a caveman came to my register and had me quote a broken gold bracelet. I told him I would buy it from him for $20. I can't even describe the look on his face - he looked at me as if I was out of my freakin' mind.
"Twenty dollars," he said, "You can't give me more than twenty dollars?"
I gave it my new "take-it-or-leave-it" look that I've quickly learned works much better than the explanation of how we price gold, how the point of most businesses (including this one) is to turn a profit, and how he probably got ripped off because he bought it from an expensive jeweler. He didn't like being told no.
He then walked over to a case where we display some of our digital cameras. He looked at me and snapped his fingers. I looked at my boss and said, "That man is out of his damn mind if he thinks I'm going to respond politely to that."
So that was my day in a nutshell. Man, you guys wouldn't believe some of the other stories I've come home with.
More:
After I finished writing this post, I turned off all the lights and headed for bed. Scout was happily humming (some song I couldn't distinguish) in his sleep and I couldn't help but smile. Dang, he is so freakin' cute.
Saturday, March 03, 2007
Busy
I'm so sick of saying "I've been so busy," but I really have been. Too busy to blog about meeting Jimmy Carter, too busy to keep in touch with my family and friends, and too busy to knit and read (which I've had a recent increased desire to do).
But I'm still here. I think about blogging all the time; I've had many things to blog about in the last couple of weeks. But I've found that in times that I have a spare five minutes, I don't feel the urge to write about meeting Jimmy Carter two weeks ago, or about how much my boss pissed me off five days ago.
And as much as I'm loving Texas, I'm also feeling lost without my three dearest friends: Sarah, Kelly, and Susan. I should have soaked them up more while I was in Germany. I just want them all right here with me.
That's all. I hope to write more soon.
But I'm still here. I think about blogging all the time; I've had many things to blog about in the last couple of weeks. But I've found that in times that I have a spare five minutes, I don't feel the urge to write about meeting Jimmy Carter two weeks ago, or about how much my boss pissed me off five days ago.
And as much as I'm loving Texas, I'm also feeling lost without my three dearest friends: Sarah, Kelly, and Susan. I should have soaked them up more while I was in Germany. I just want them all right here with me.
That's all. I hope to write more soon.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Question of the Day:
Why is it that when pets have an instant urge to vomit or have diarrhea, they will run to the 10% carpeted area of a home rather than the 90% tiled area?
Perplexing, isn't it?
Perplexing, isn't it?
Tuesday, February 06, 2007
Daisy
I know I promised pictures of the new addition to our family, but I haven't had the patience to figure out our new camera (plus the fact that I can't find the USB cord for it). So, no pictures for now.
After braving the ER on Sunday, Scout decided that he wanted to go to the Humane Society. Now, I'm never in objection of visiting or rescuing unwanted dogs, but Scout has always been a little hesitant to allow our pack of canines to continue growing. Well, apparently he got a wild hair and decided he needed a new dog (in addition to the three that we have and the new cat we just adopted last month).
Still convinced that Scout was playing an April Fools joke on me, I helped him pick out a beautiful female weimereiner. We walked her, talked to her, and started thinking that maybe this was the dog we would take home. We put her pack in her kennel, promising her we'd be back in a few minutes. When we went to the front office to do the paperwork, the lady who worked there told us we couldn't have her because she was heart worm positive - we'd have to wait about two months to pick her up. I didn't have the heart to go back in and say goodbye to her. She really didn't want to go back in that kennel.
Our disappointment was suddenly distracted by four pitbull-mixed puppies. Scout has recently started talking about pitbulls because they are so beautiful and naturally strong. I told him that this particular breed typically has too much baggage for me to deal with (especially with other animals in the house), and if he wanted one, it would be a puppy or a female - and it would be rescued, not purchased by a breeder or at a pet store.
The story of the puppies (and the mother) was disturbing, although I have to say not as disturbing as some I've heard. Have I said before how much it outrages me that people can be so cruel?
Anyway, we picked out a white pup with a blond eye patch, brought her home, and named her Daisy. She really is quite cute, although I told Scout I would never have puppies again. Ever. That lasted a little over a year.
Daisy now as a pink leather collar with spikes (in full pitbull style, of course).
So now I'm going to take the opportunity to make a plea. First, what I'm about to say might make those of you that have purchased a purebred dog feel like I'm targeting you - I'm not. Dogs are bred for certain characteristics, and I can certainly respect wanting a particular breed because of personality, demeanor, or physical attributes. Having said that, if you are thinking about getting a dog, please visit your local pound or Humane Society first. They have all types of breeds, as well as mixed breeds for those that may not care. Like I mentioned, we saw a weimereiner, pitbulls, blue heelers, dachshunds, saint bernards, labradors, etc. Not only can you get a dog (or a cat) that is purebred, you can fix what the animal's previous owner fucked up, and you don't have to pay 17 million dollars for him or her either.
Just in this particular Humane Society alone, there are about 90 unwanted dogs, and about the same number of cats. Imagine how many unwanted animals there are around the country. If I could rescue them all, I seriously would. But in the real world (where I sometimes live), I can't bring all unwanted pets home. So I need your help. Just consider it next time you want a pet.
After braving the ER on Sunday, Scout decided that he wanted to go to the Humane Society. Now, I'm never in objection of visiting or rescuing unwanted dogs, but Scout has always been a little hesitant to allow our pack of canines to continue growing. Well, apparently he got a wild hair and decided he needed a new dog (in addition to the three that we have and the new cat we just adopted last month).
Still convinced that Scout was playing an April Fools joke on me, I helped him pick out a beautiful female weimereiner. We walked her, talked to her, and started thinking that maybe this was the dog we would take home. We put her pack in her kennel, promising her we'd be back in a few minutes. When we went to the front office to do the paperwork, the lady who worked there told us we couldn't have her because she was heart worm positive - we'd have to wait about two months to pick her up. I didn't have the heart to go back in and say goodbye to her. She really didn't want to go back in that kennel.
Our disappointment was suddenly distracted by four pitbull-mixed puppies. Scout has recently started talking about pitbulls because they are so beautiful and naturally strong. I told him that this particular breed typically has too much baggage for me to deal with (especially with other animals in the house), and if he wanted one, it would be a puppy or a female - and it would be rescued, not purchased by a breeder or at a pet store.
The story of the puppies (and the mother) was disturbing, although I have to say not as disturbing as some I've heard. Have I said before how much it outrages me that people can be so cruel?
Anyway, we picked out a white pup with a blond eye patch, brought her home, and named her Daisy. She really is quite cute, although I told Scout I would never have puppies again. Ever. That lasted a little over a year.
Daisy now as a pink leather collar with spikes (in full pitbull style, of course).
So now I'm going to take the opportunity to make a plea. First, what I'm about to say might make those of you that have purchased a purebred dog feel like I'm targeting you - I'm not. Dogs are bred for certain characteristics, and I can certainly respect wanting a particular breed because of personality, demeanor, or physical attributes. Having said that, if you are thinking about getting a dog, please visit your local pound or Humane Society first. They have all types of breeds, as well as mixed breeds for those that may not care. Like I mentioned, we saw a weimereiner, pitbulls, blue heelers, dachshunds, saint bernards, labradors, etc. Not only can you get a dog (or a cat) that is purebred, you can fix what the animal's previous owner fucked up, and you don't have to pay 17 million dollars for him or her either.
Just in this particular Humane Society alone, there are about 90 unwanted dogs, and about the same number of cats. Imagine how many unwanted animals there are around the country. If I could rescue them all, I seriously would. But in the real world (where I sometimes live), I can't bring all unwanted pets home. So I need your help. Just consider it next time you want a pet.
Sunday, February 04, 2007
Sty In My Eye
I spent a good part of my day in the emergency room.
Why, you ask? I had a double-sty. INSIDE.My.Freakin'.Eye. And by the way, sty is just a really nice way of saying: Huge Freakin' Zit On One's Eyelid.
After two hours of listening to screaming children and being reasonably sure that my leather Fossil bag would have been heaved on had I not promptly moved it, a doctor told me she could relieve my painful, itchy eye ailment by popping the sty with a scalpel. Believe it or not, it sounded less torturous than letting the damn thing pop on its own.
So I called Scout back to the makeshift "Emergency Room" to hold my hand, which was really just a hallway with folding chairs filled with other patients. As I laid my head back to rest it on the wall, a medic held me down and the doctor proceeded to do what felt like plucking my eyeball out with a spoon. Dang, it hurt.
So now my eye is just a little swollen, but it feels much better.
And Scout decided that he needed another dog today. But that's a whole different post. I'll blog about it when I can post some pictures.
Why, you ask? I had a double-sty. INSIDE.My.Freakin'.Eye. And by the way, sty is just a really nice way of saying: Huge Freakin' Zit On One's Eyelid.
After two hours of listening to screaming children and being reasonably sure that my leather Fossil bag would have been heaved on had I not promptly moved it, a doctor told me she could relieve my painful, itchy eye ailment by popping the sty with a scalpel. Believe it or not, it sounded less torturous than letting the damn thing pop on its own.
So I called Scout back to the makeshift "Emergency Room" to hold my hand, which was really just a hallway with folding chairs filled with other patients. As I laid my head back to rest it on the wall, a medic held me down and the doctor proceeded to do what felt like plucking my eyeball out with a spoon. Dang, it hurt.
So now my eye is just a little swollen, but it feels much better.
And Scout decided that he needed another dog today. But that's a whole different post. I'll blog about it when I can post some pictures.
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