The morning after getting to Milwaukee, we went down to look at Lake Michigan. This is me and Robby--my little brother.

It really is just like an ocean, no end in sight.

The lake was pretty.. cold. Cold and pretty. Just look at those faces!

We stood in the cold for a while, admiring the.. coldness of it all.

And we got some good scenery pictures before we headed the rest of the way home.

When we got there, we headed straight for the bar.. and who should we find? Why, my parents, of course! (Dad's watching the Packer game, he's normally a tad more attentive)

Naw, they're not drunk...

Quite possibly the cutest picture ever.

A really nice picture of the family.. if it weren't for the bar, I mean.

We had to check out the cottage before we went home for the gifts.

Snow on the bridge to the island. Isn't it pretty?

Augie got the best gift this year, I think. Of course, that's excluding the trio of jam and the Dr Phil book (WTF?) we got from Mom.

Getting ready for the drive home. I'm a natural-born scraper, of course. That's why B let me do all the work.

On the ride home, I took this picture of the swirl in Bruce's facial hair. Awesome.

The road to.. Nowhere special, apparently. B and I thought it was a little strange.

The smoke stacks were mesmerizing.

This is the view from the ride back. All the way home, the freaking sun in my eyes.

Day From Hell: Part 37

So my day sucked. Here's a random sample of sucky things that happened today:

• Pharmacist thinks I'm ridiculous and stupid because I don't understand Missouri insurance companies, even though this is the first time I've worked with them.
• Pharmacist doesn't use traditional english to request things [eg: "Get me that thing I wrote on" = "Put that bottle away", and "Talk to them about how to fix this" = "Take down this number and call it, only to have them tell you it's the wrong number, and then call the correct number and explain to them the situation, and field the 'Wow, poor stupid you!' comments that Pharmacist should be recieving"]
• Man almost had heart attack sitting outside the window. Man is ~3,000 years old, and in front of a line of 30 people, taking 1/2 hour to write a check, when he complains to me of chest pains. After he sits down and we get an OK from his Dr's office to fill his Nitroglycerin, I tell Pharmacist to watch out, because he's sleeping. She asks me, "Are you sure he's not dead?" Thanks for the panic attack, Pharmacist. It's what I really needed to top my day off.

One good thing that happened though:

• I called Robby "bitch cream" and he thinks it's pretty durn funny.

Now I'm off to Mac and Pam's to have them cook me dinner. Bruce will be joining us after his own Day From Hell.

Just Call Me Sloth

bruce: so you still want to take a cruise for our honeymoon?
sunnyfnday: yes
sunnyfnday: if we can
bruce: :-D
bruce: ok
sunnyfnday: if my teeth don't require us to get married at a courthouse and then spend the first 19 years of marriage leaching off my parents
bruce: LMAO

Yeah, another tooth is acting up. Actually, all of my teeth are acting up, in some weird protest for the one being gone, they're all being bastards. I might have to have as many as 3 worked upon in the near future. Depending on how long I can stand it.

I spent last night in a tizzy, crying over the idea that instead of having my beautiful wedding on the beach at sunset, Bruce would say, "I quit!", leaving me to move back in with my parents, while he finds someone who's not falling apart by the freaking teeth to decide to be with forever.

(deep breath)

As of this morning--after sleeping for 11.5 hours after sobbing myself to sleep over that insane idea, and waking up with a cold (and I'm not even PMSing!)--I'm a little less inclined to believe that he would leave me over something trivial like teeth.

I did, however, take measures to avoid that potential situation. I did mountains of laundry and general cleaning up today, trying to guilt whatever ideas of leaving might be in his head into disappearing forever.

He might be able to find a girl with better teeth, but a girl with better teeth who's willing to clean and do laundry when she's sick? I think not.

Animal-Tastic

God, I feel like crap.

But I'm getting a kitty for Christmas.

Yay!

Reggie White

Blogging Like I've Never Blogged Before:

"Last night on SportsCenter, they opened the show with the Reggie White story and said, 'The NFL and the world suffered a great loss today...'

The world? This is on the same day where over 20,000 people died from a tsunami. Sure, the guy was a minister and I'm sure did a lot of nice things for people. But the world? I bet there are many countries where not one person knew of Reggie White.

'Did you see that wave yesterday? Something else, huh?'

'Yes, I lost my family and my entire village. But at least we still have Reggie White, the great defensive lineman.'

'Oh my, have you not heard? He passed away yesterday.'

'NOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo!!!!!'"

What a riot. Although for those of us Wisconsinites with relatives named after him, it's a little more heart-wrenching. Still, though, one has to wonder about our priorities sometimes.

I bet my dad almost cried.

Shitty thing about that big ol' wave, too, eh?

Jiggity Jig

Home again, and I never thought it'd be this great.

The trip was fantastic. Bruce got the chance to meet a lot more of his new family, and they all got along great. Seeing him and my brother joking around and talking and getting on as well as they did really made me happy. I'm a pig in shit, really. I knew in my heart they'd click, I only needed them to meet to prove it.

He got to meet Jamie, Cindy, Aunt Cal, and Uncle Harv at the farm, and then Debbie and Tom at Perkins (their treat!) on the day after Christmas. It's really funny how they try so hard to be presentable, but inevitably fail--to my great relief--by saying something like, "Man, I'd love to be a mouse on that wall!", and leaving everyone in stitches. I love my family so much.

Mom and Dad were exstatic to have us home for the holiday. They had all of their kids all to themselves, and you could see their eyes just shining. They both met us at the Schoolhouse to watch the Packer game (amazing game!) - it was the first time I've seen Dad at a bar in years.

I guess that's all I have for right now, but I'm sure the stories will be flowing in the next few days.

Pre-Drive

So we're driving 12 hours today, and I've been packing for that long (it feels like), so I'm not going to blog anything more today.

Don't worry, hands will be at 10 and 2, and seats will be totally belted.

Robert Martin, you'd better be ready when we get there.

Love,
Your big sister

Christmas!

It's coming early to Me and B.. specifically.. TONIGHT!

I have to go outside and get his presents and his special wrapping paper out of my trunk, and make his stuff look Way More Awesome than it actually is. It shouldn't be hard, I'm a good wrapper.

Christmas comes early in the Patch this year!

All I Wanted for Xmas

Was to get this freaking tooth out of my head.

I think that deep down, every single girl has a secret fantacy of some sort, involving her lying prone and having people wait on her, while she looks faint and smiles beautifically.

In theory, this idea rocks. I want people to wait on me hand and foot and bring me stuff and ask me how I'm doing every 4 minutes. I want them to have chocolates and flavored coffee and presents and back massages, and I want them given to me with smiles and songs and all five seconds before I open my mouth to ask for them. Isn't that what being sick is all about?

Unfortunately, I've never been the delicate sick type. When something is laying me up, it really incapacitates me. I guess what I mean is.. I'm not the type to lay around when things are just a little wrong. By the time that I'm actually admitting to not feeling the hottest, I'm past the point where chocolates in bed will cheer me up. I really need to start taking advantage of the semi-sick times, otherwise I'll never get to fully appreciate being ill.

The romanticism of being laid up on the couch disappears some when all you can find the energy to do is whine with increasing volume, "It Huuuuuuuurrrrrrrtsss!"

You'd Better Watch Out...

Someone who shall remain nameless is out using the last portion of his lunch break to buy me some socks.. ahem.. I mean, a surprise Christmas present.

I'm a little excited, I have to admit. It's been a long time since I've had a special person in my life to get me socks.. ahem.. a surprise Christmas present. Years. Years upon years. I've never looked forward to socks..

Alright already, you get the joke.

I've got 2 gifts in the trunk of my car, both of which need to be wrapped. The wrapping paper is out there, too.

So far, I've gotten a few presents for my family, one for my dog, and a couple for Lisa. I need to print out some things to go with these presents, which I really should think about doing before I get to wrapping.

What a lame post.

What a Sweetheart!

Sam the beautiful all-black German Shepherd Dog: "Mom and Linda and Kelly are worried about my left leg. I'm kind of dragging it. At the Showcase event on Saturday they huddled and discussed what to do. Keith also gave advice. Looks like I will be going to the vet on Wednesday."

Answer: Vicodin 5-500MG and PenicillnVK 500MG

Of course it would stand to reason that right before my much-anticipated trip to Wisconsin, wherein my fiance will be meeting my little brother (and vice-versa) for the first time, I have a major tooth eruption that will need immediate attention.

I woke up in the middle of the night on Sunday with a throbbing face, and it didn't subside until I'd downed 5 advil. I'd just barely made it back to sleep around 7am, to wake up at 8 for work. I went in, brave soul that I am, and worked my full four hours (ha!). As I left, I informed HR that I might not be in for a few days, as My Face Is Exploding. They took it nicely, reminding me, "You look swollen."

I went to the dentist. Dr. Beazlebub was very kind, letting me know my options:

1. Attempt to fix it, thus reducing my shame at having to smile with a tiny gap in the far left side of my smile for the Rest of My Life, and furthermore earning his practice untold amounts of Christmas money with which to buy happiness.
2. Remove the tooth, and leave me to face my cosmetic shambles of a face.

I am all for cosmetic shambles.

Really, I've thought about it for a long time (aproximately 2 years), and there is no way that I'm going to spend a fortune on saving a tooth that probably won't take well to being saved. I'm especially not fond of the "Attempt" in the first option, because I know first hand how expensive all those attempts could be.

No, I politely informed him that I'm pissed off with the rage of a thousand suns at this tooth, and would like nothing more than to have it cast from my head ASAP. He looked heartbroken, but I did not spare him the sentiment--no need to get his little greedy hopes up on my account. This tooth is getting yanked, come hell or high water.

On a much brighter note, I was able to sleep with much more efficiency last night.

Question: What do you get when you combine a 2-year-old broken tooth with Christmas cheer?

Saturday Night (Christmas) Fever

After the Christmas party, Bruce and I (shown here, and My Don't We Look Spiffy) and a few of our friends..

Decided to go out for a round of drinks at a fancy-pants martini bar. Luckily, they sold beer.

Jade Dynasty

A few weeks ago, we went to eat at a proper Springfield chinese buffet. The view was spectacular--and the little girl behind the fishtank seemed to agree with me.

Even the desserts were uncommonly good. You see, these immigrants have discovered the one true american weakness... Little Debbie.

Merry Christmas!!

There have been a few changes to my blog. Those of you who are smart enough to realize them deserve a reward. Those of you who don't understand will be getting a major clue in the next day or two.

In the meantime, it's really raked into my "weekend hours", so I'd appreciate some comments. You know, to keep my spirits up. In particular, what do you guys think of me as a whole? Not as though I'd base anything off of it, just so I have a platform off of which to perform and not leave you guys wondering.

I love you guys.

The Uterus (or Why I Don't Want Babies)

I saw a uterus today. Well, not an actual, real-life uterus. More like a model of a uterus. Yeah.

No, it was a drawing. Anyway, I'm sure you can see already that it made a profound impression upon me. Kidding aside, it freaked me out a little bit.

I've heard about IUD's before, and I know what the basic concept is. They stick a little piece of plastic up in there, and your body thinks it's a fetus. Naturally, since you can't get preggers when you already are (thank god, by the way, how weird would that be?), it's a pretty effective method of birth control. When I originally heard about it, I was 16--newly sex-fiendish and mad for any information I could find on any and all types of birth control. Most of what I read about BC was slightly outdated, and the information they had on IUDs was that they were potentially dangerous. I think they used to use crazy things to make them, or something. Anyway, my point is that I always pictured this little tiny piece of plastic sticking to the wall of a giant, cavernous uterus. Yummy, yes? For some reason, I always think of the uterus as a hotel for babys, room to swim and all that goodness. Not so, apparently. It's tiny.

Well, not microscopic or anything, but when they say it expands they mean it. I'm looking around and trying to find something to compare it with, to give you folks an idea, but I'm coming up with nothing. Best I can do is tell you to get some paper and marker and draw a triangle. Not a teensy one, but not one that takes up a quarter of the page, either. Ok. That's the size of a uterus.

What really blew me away was that the IUD they had sitting in front of the picture of the uterus was made to fit inside the whole freaking thing. Thoughts on this:

1. Where did I get this crazy notion that uteruses (uterii?) were cavernous?
2. Babys really don't have a lot of room for stretching, do they?
3. I never want to have children.

Ok, so that last one is more of a lifetime's worth of thoughts, less of a light-bulby thought that happened when I saw a drawing of a uterus. But I mean it. I guess my sister will have to hurry up and get married to someone else and then start spitting out kids, cause she's my mom's last hope for grandchildren. When I start feeling nostalgic about having kids (usually it only happens about once a year), I just go down to the mall. The people with strollers full of crabby babies are more than enough reminder that I have no maternal instinct.

Heap big drinky last night.

No more Mad Dog 20/20. It might have tasted a little like grape juice at the time, but I don't think it was as good the second time around (must ask Lil Nick for confirmation). Bleh, me no likey worky after heap big drinky. Especially at new job, where have to Act Responsible, so that they don't suspect that I'm a freak on wheels. Nice work lady bought me breakfast sammich, yummy. B was right, I feel better after eating something just now. Mmm, bean dip.

What's up with "nuke" in reference to a microwave? As in "The bean dip? Oh, just nuke it for a minute or so, it'll be fine." How did "nuke" become the verb to use in conjunction with the microwave? Is it sad 70's slang that I use accidentally (damn you and your Old Slang, Mom!)Where did that come from? Was it a cold war thing? Is it just my mom who says it? If so, then disregard that. For some reason it just struck me as strange and I want to know the answer.

Last night was pretty awesome, I must say. Here I thought it was turning into a quiet evening, and all of a sudden it exploded in a breathtaking shower of alcoholic goodness. Much Fun Was Had. Much Talking Was Done.

Man, even now, after the hangover has passed me by (I think that nonsense at the beginning of this post was the last wave of it) the MD makes me cringe.

Other than that, though, things are looking up for the weekend. B and I are going to head down to the japanese gardens tomorrow morning, and then Pam and I are going shopping. I Really Need to get something for Bruce, and I'm not really sure what it's going to be yet. I guess I'll just do it like I do all of my Christmas shopping, wandering around looking at stuff until something strikes me as Absolutely Perfect. I love that feeling.

I already know what we're getting for most everyone else. I've even got an awesome idea for Robby, and I never freaking know what to get him.

What? Oh, you want to know what I'm wanting for Christmas?

I have no clue. Surprise me. I mean a good surprise, not like the mystery bruise on my thigh. Happy surprise, like the lady passing out birth control like candy this afternoon. Good surprise like the no-hastle, no-haggle birth control, please.

Not Ortho-Novum 7/7/7, though, I've got enough of that to last me a year.

Wait, how the heck DID I get this bruise?

"The Gift That Got Away"

(I found this blog the other day, and I just responded for the first time--thus announcing my presence. It's a good question, and instead of stealing it like usual, I thought I'd share my responce with you guys, and recommend this blog to you.)

Every year for as long as I can remember, I've asked for a Chia Pet. I saw the commercials (you know, the ones that they still play every year at Christmastime), saw the magical goo grow into beautiful green hair on that schmucky clay face, and I was in love. I wanted the sheep, the one where the alfalfa grows into "wool". I asked for a Chia Pet from the time I was 5 until I was 18, and I never got one.

A few years ago, my "uncle" Bun gave me and my little brother Christmas presents for the first time. He's a retired biker/drunk driver, and it was probably the first time he'd ever had enough money to spare on the holidays. I took the present dubiously, unsure of what he'd have bought a 20-year-old who wasn't really his niece, just the daughter of his high school buddy. Lo and behold, it's a Chia Pet. It wasn't the sheep, it was the clown--but still, it's got to be the best Christmas present I've ever gotten. Completely unexpected, and completely what I'd always wanted.

I never grew it, I think it's still in a box somewhere; it's a little bit too sweet to actually cover in the goop and grow, you know?

I'm sure there are more presents that never came, but that's the one that always sticks out in my mind as "the one that got away". But then again, you know what they say, "If you love something, set it free.. blah blah blah."

Startled

I was just making coffee and I glanced into the living room and saw who I think is Robert Marone playing the hired thug in Weekend at Bernie's. Is this true? I can't be sure because I only saw him for a few seconds, and he was talking in a completely different accent than normal. If it's him, he's pretty damn good, that's all I've got to say.

Stupid Question:

Apparently today is the day for doing things I've been putting off for a while. I just posted an update on B and the Mrs, and now I'm about to place a call to Planned Parenthood.

Here's the problem: I've always had a slight issue figuring out what to ask people like them. Do I call and just say what I need? Should I play dumb and ask them how to go about getting put on birth control? Or should I be straightforward? I always lean twards playing it stupid, because that way, I don't get all puffy-chested over misinformation. Also, I've got a strange fear that if I tell them the truth (that I just moved down here) that they won't let me use their services. I realize that PP is hardly a heartless organization, and that they really want to help people out, but I can't help but feel as though I'm walking on thin ice when I talk to them. They seem almost too good to be true.

Especially here, where they don't require a pelvic exam to provide a person with birth control (it's called HOPE--Hormones with Optional Pelvic Exam). SCORE!

The Holidays Cometh

Here it is, the middle of December, and I've yet to update Mrs. B. This will be my attempt to catch everyone up on the facts:

• I moved from Shawano, Wisconsin to Springfield, Missouri on the 6th of November.
• We settled me in, moving my things to appropriate places in the domicile, hanging (all but 2 of) the pictures I had brought and going grocery shopping to compensate for the fact that my diet expands beyond ramen (not that I don't love ramen as much as the next guy, but...).
• I spent a few weeks agonizing over finding a job that would fit what I was looking for, ending up alarmingly close (nearly mirroring, actually) the job I'd just moved away from. Pharmacy technician seems to be my fall-back occupation now. I have to say, it's a step up from "cashier" or.. well, "cashier" seems to cover everything on my resume. In any case, I'm pretty darn happy that I got the job.

That covers much of what I've been doing for the past month-point-five. Sorry for not keeping the blog up-to-date, but I'm generally pretty lazy. To make up for it, here's a list of what's to come in the next 2 weeks. It might not seem like a big deal, but it's the first time I'll be sharing any of this with Bruce, and that makes it extremely special to me:

• Christmas cards.
• Christmas-present-buying.
• Drive to Wisconsin to spend holiday with my family (Bruce and Robby meet!).
• Drive back.
• Figure out what to do over New Years.
• Have Sean spend some time at the apartment (Sarah and Sean meet!).

Mommy Dearest

I can't wait to go home for Christmas. It'll be 3 days of reminding myself why it's great not to live at home anymore (again). I miss them terribly, but there are a few things I've gotten used to in a very good way.

For example, my mom wants me to call my grandma on the phone, and whine to her about not spending any time with her, so that she cuts back her stay at the Evil Auntie's house. I'm supposed to do this under premise that I'll spend loads of time with her if she's not at EA's house, which is frankly a lie. I'll probably spend 1/2 hour talking to grandma, whether she goes to EA's house or not. I'm not looking forward to getting involved in all sorts of family drama over my 3 day vacation.

"Loose"

So, today at my brand-spankin' new job, I didn't do my actual job. No, that would have been too pleasant. Today, I spent 6 hours on checkouts.. or I was supposed to. I only did that for aproximately an hour, though, and then focused my time entirely upon putting the shit that people didn't want for one reason or another back in it's place.

Normally, this would have been pleasant, a withdrawl from the monotony of the registers. Today, however, on my 3rd day at the job, it was it's own special brand of hell. Seeing as how I don't know where most of the departments are, nor the general layout of the store yet, it meant that I was wandering around the store trying to find the "homes" for things I'd never seen before. Curiously enough, in this Kmart it's called putting away the "loose" items, as opposed to doing the "shop-backs" as I'm used to. For the first 20 seconds after they asked me, I stood looking at the girl who requested it of me as though I was "differently abled" in the head. What do you mean, you want me to "do the loose"? Luckily, she's probably used to training people even dumber than I, because she was kind enough to explain.

I've got aching feet, an aching back, and my tooth hurts. All but one of them is related to walking aproximately 10 miles around in circles for 6 hours, indirectly due to the fact that I absolutely refuse to ask someone about every single item I'm re-shelving. Does that make me more or less of a moron?

On the upside, I've got a better mind-map of the store now.

Cupid

Until I was 5, we owned a cat named Cupid. We got Cupid from the Dillenburgs as a young siamese, which he remained throughout his lifetime (the siamese part, not the young). He was an indoor/outdoor cat--which I suspect I might have been partly to blame for, as during the time he was with us, I went through several stages of "annoying brat" in the eyes of any animal (namely ooh-let-me-pull-that-tail all the way up through this-is-my-baby-watch-me-carry-him-around-the-house). No matter the reasons, he spent a fair amount of time outdoors when the weather permitted.

Cupid (or Puke-id, as I liked to call him, much to the amusement of everyone around me--See this post for another amusing story.) died when I was 5. I remember sitting in the scraggly faux leather chair in my living room, on my mom's lap, when my dad came in to tell us. He found Puke-id in the garage, sleeping.. but he wouldn't wake up. I cried my little eyes out in the chair that was in shreds put there by that damn cat.

Don't you hate it when you realize that you've believed something completely ridiculous for as long as you can remember? I do. There are so many things that I used to think were true, simply because I didn't question my parents when they gave me an explanation for something, or because they didn't clarify my explanation when I gave it.

Cupid was missing the tip of his right ear. When I was little (think 2-3 here), I asked my mom what happened, and she told me that he had gotten it slammed in a door. I was horrified of getting things caught in doors for my first 10 years, thinking that those parts might fall off (this was corrected when I accidentally slammed my little brother's finger in the car door, and it didn't fall off. He did cry an awful lot, though).

It was only about 2 years ago that I asked my dad about that ear again. Apparently I was old enough to explain the real reason to, because I learned that Cupid had had frostbite once.

robby: Chad & the robber

I posted this on B's blog by mistake, and thought I'd spread the wealth a little further. Here it is again, just click on the title of this post. My little brother, the poet.

It's well worth the visit, I promise.

Not in Kansas Anymore

I've just completed my first day of "grownuppedness" in Missouri. Sure, the job search was heart-wrenching, but the actual completion of a full-days-work really sets in stone that I'm here for the long haul. At least a 6 month haul. That's a lot to people like me--my most long-lived job happened between the ages of 14 and 16, and I had barely grazed the wonders of $6.00 per hour when I quit. What can I say? Dairy Queen, I am not.

I have a confession: When I was 18-19, I stole some money, and got caught. Anyone ambitious enough to stalk me could find out that I, in fact, stole a total of ~$2000.00 from a past employer. It is my least proud moment, and those of you who have been reading for a while know that I do have more than my fair share of unproud momentii. I'm telling you in order to get it off of my proverbial chest. My real chest is in no mood for lightening--it's been at the same state of self-shame as it has been since the fateful day on which I was arrested.

That's right, arrested. Full-blown, escorted-from-the-building-in-handcuffs arrested. My insides squirm thinking of the complete shit that descision has brought to my life.

The shit of it is (being a begger doesn't leave me much room for pointing blamey-fingers, but I will anyway) that "They" (my employer) waited until I was over the legal age of prosecution and had taken enough money to qualify as a felony before they confronted me. Yes, I put up a fairly good "I have no idea what you're talking about" battle, but in the end, it didn't matter very much. I was caught, and I knew it.

I believe the only thing that kept me afloat in the sea of justice is my innocent appearance. Even with bleach-blond hair, I looked like I was 12, and that's the major reason that I don't resent my young appearance. I never will. They charged me on two misdemeanor counts of theft, when they could have tried me on a felony, and won. I owe much of the good parts of my life to that decision, and I'm grateful forever.

Don't assume that I have been spared the consequence of paying for my mistakes. As Bruce would be happy to explain in detail, I'm a virtual wreck when applying for new jobs. I can't stand the idea that they might look into my past and find out this thing which marrs me for life as someone unemployable. It's almost too much.

My stomach is churning today because, even though I've gotten the same job I had in Wisconsin, they require more of a background check. For now, I'm working because I've sent in the application to be employed in Missouri as a pharmacy technician, but I'm scared beyond my comprehension that that application will come back Denied. Pharmacy Technician is the only job I've ever had where I felt as though I was doing something important. Making a difference. This application, the one which requires a questionaire and a Notary Public Signing and two (count 'em, two!) sets of fingerprints? It's a bit much to be weighing on my mind.

I haven't done anything illegal since my trial. Of course I'm excluding the few excursions into the land of pot, but hey, I was a college student. I need some reassurance, please. Does anyone have anything similar to share, or some stories to tell me to make me feel better? I'd appreciate it, whole-heartedly.

My Brother

(Wherein we discuss pizza, his try-outs for a solo in choir, and poop.)

rObStEr: i ate too much pizza
sunnyfnday: mmmm pizza
rObStEr: no more talk about it
sunnyfnday: :-(
rObStEr: i didn't get a solo.
sunnyfnday: why not?
sunnyfnday: fuckers
rObStEr: i know
rObStEr: seniors did
sunnyfnday: bastard seniors
sunnyfnday: what the fuck they need a solo for anyway?
sunnyfnday: not like they're going to learn anything from it that they can use in their real, grown-up lives
rObStEr: true
rObStEr: and they all suck
rObStEr: gah
sunnyfnday: well, chin up
sunnyfnday: we both know you're better than those jackasses
rObStEr: honey thank you so much
rObStEr: you know what to say
sunnyfnday: yes
sunnyfnday: we'll beat them with hockey sticks
rObStEr: see ya later
rObStEr: it's poop time.
sunnyfnday: LMAO
rObStEr: is away at 5:26:39 PM.

Straight From the.. erm, Butcher's Fingers?

Far be it from me, and my (at best, forgetful, at worst, highly insane) mind, to remember exactly how I started going to this particular blog, but it's author really has some great things to say. Just thought I'd share. There is one post in particular which I thought really summed up my ideas on religion.

Oh yeah, the other stuff he blogs about is pretty interesting, too. He's like Pops, with less philosophy. Or less something. Either way, it's a good read, and I thought I'd share.

Pre-Employment Test

Aren't they fun? They can be a real ego-boost, I swear. Answering questions like the ones I did this morning is really a testiment to how far I've come since fifth grade. I've learned a lot about social structure and acceptable behavior, honestly. Also, I know which questions to never ever tell the truth on. Here's an example of the "test" that I took:

Please choose the option which you feel best explains your agreement to the following statements. 1 = Strongly Disagree, 2 = Disagree, 3 = Don't Know/Indifferent, 4 = Agree, 5 = Strongly Agree. Check the corresponding box on the worksheet provided. Do not mark the questionaire!

1. I feel frustrated when things don't go according to my plans.
2. I get emotional in stressful situations.
3. I work well in a team.
4. I love helping people.
5. I am a natural leader.
6. I torture small animals for pleasure.

This is actually sort of fun, if you don't spend too much time thinking about the questions. I tend to get caught up in simple things like linguistics. One other problem I have with these is a general trepidation over not knowing exactly how they read the answers. For example, I can theorize that in a certain light, answering that I Strongly do anything sort of makes me look like a jackass.

On the other hand, if I don't Strongly feel any answers, am I a complete pussy?

Perhaps I'm looking too closely into this. After all, we've all seen the sort of people who work at Kmart, haven't we? Frankly, I'm surprised some of my future co-workers know how to read. No, no, you're right, that's unfair. I'm surprised that some of my future co-workers understand the english language. That's much more accurate.

Actually, I'm thinking that I did ok. I think the main purpose of those tests is to confirm that I'm not a serial killer. I've only got slight mass-murderer tendancies, and I think they let teensy issues like that pass.

[I wrote this originally at 1:30 pm, and it got ate up by blogger. Please bear in mind that that post was infinitely more thoughtful and humorous. Thought I'd let you know that when I called back to talk to HR Bonnie, she said, "Oh, Sarah, you know what? I think I'm just going to go ahead and hire you.. is Wednesday too soon? You can fill out the paperwork then." (does little happy dance) So you know what that means? I get to be a pharmacy technician again! You know what else that means? Endless more posts about the job of a pharmacy technician! Yay!

Ok, you're right. But I have a job! Yay!]

Happy Birthday Kamden!

Wow, who would have guessed at 4:30 yesterday, while we were heading over to Mac's house for some wings, that when we came back home we'd have witnessed the miracle of birth? Sure, the odds got better when you knew Pam was waiting to pop, but all-in-all I guess I thought it'd take longer than it did. Great job, girl!

I guess we didn't so much "witness" it (thank the stars) as "stand outside in the hallway during" it. We're not complaining.

Baby was 2lbs, 13oz at ~7:40 last night. 24 inches long, too. Doctor said he's strong, a fighter, and that's awesome. He's going to be in the hospital until he's aproximately 4lbs--they want to make sure that he's breathing perfectly and eating with no troubles before they let him go--maybe he'll be there into Februrary. They're taking all precautions, he's in very good hands.

Congrats to Mac and Pam on the beautiful baby boy. Try not to spoil him too much, and for godssake let him learn to talk before you start teaching him to type!

retroCRUSH: The World's Greatest Pop Culture Place

retroCRUSH: The World's Greatest Pop Culture Place: "I'm a super TV theme song junkie and have always appreciated a good tune to set the mood of the show. Over the next few weeks we'll be paying tribute to The 100 Greatest TV Theme Songs. We've used over 2 years of reader feedback, and expert research to come up with a list that you're sure to love with many of your favorites guaranteed to be included. So keep coming back each day for more as we count 'em down to #1! You'll learn about the people behind the songs, and we'll be spreading the retro love and linking up a lot of cool sites that love these songs and shows as much as we do!"

HappyFunBall put up a link today, and one of the links on that page led me to this, which I thought my readers might enjoy.

Also, I have something to add to my "I-Want List". Dark Shadows. I want the series. Did anyone else used to watch that? I spent a whole summer (I believe it was 12, otherwise known as the "Bad-Perm Summer", also dubbed "I Scare My Friends") watching Dark Shadows and Bob Ross. Please buy me my (old) friends for Christmas.

Hint, Hint

Seriously, I can only think of a few things I really want for Christmas.

• Yarn
• Craft books
• Real books
• Big memory card for camera
• A pet
• Stuff to go with a pet

Really, that's about it. I get all crafty in winter, and a project to crochet would be cool, as would the yarn to go with it. We need a memory card for the honeymoon, so we can take stunning pictures of the dolphins swimming with us, and all sorts of other miraculous things. Obviously I want a pet. I can't think of one Christmas yet where I haven't (at least in secret) asked for some sort of pet. If I got one this year, it'd be the first time ever that I've gotten one.

Beyond the list, though, I've always totally loved getting something that isn't something that I've asked for. I love it when someone is out doing their shopping and sees something that spontaniously makes them think of me, and goes with the feeling and buys it. It really makes me happy to think that I'm on someone's mind like that. So bear that in mind, as well, when you're doing the holiday shopping. Alright, enough Christmas talk, I've got to find a job.

For Sale:

Want the best? Interested in proving, once and for all, you're better than all of your neighbors combined? Step right up, folks, and buy yourself one of these. It slices, it dices, there's a 72 hole golf course next door.

I think I figured out what I want for christmas.

My Friends

There are some things that a mind makes all to clear. Some parts of life seem to come to us without question, without fail. For some people, that clarity comes through religion, for others, through heroin. I'm not the person to tell you right from wrong. I'm not the messiah who will tell you the best way to get to the next stage in existance. I'm not even the person to tell you (or anyone, really!) which particular brand of dishwashing liquid will leave your dishes sparkling. I will, however, tell you the most major influence on my life. Like it or not.

I love my friends. That's a statement that most people can say, without fail. It's a given, really, up there with 'My mom is annoying', or 'Cat piss stinks'. Most people will tell you that it's a proven statement. I don't think that most people can tell you what I'm about to, however.

I love my friends unconditionally. I love my friends whether they date someone horrid, or smell bad on Tuesdays, or (God forbid) we don't speak on a daily--or weekly, or monthly--basis. It's a point I've chosen to come to with my friends. I take circumstances into effect. I have enough faith in my own judgement to say that I've chosen the best people I know for friendship, and because of that, I always take into consideration the idea that they have christened Tuesdays as No-Bathing-Day, or that they know what's best for them (even if it's for a short period, and they choose someone god-awful) when they choose to date. It's a freedom that I give them, but don't assume that it's completely selfless. Because I expect the same from them, all the time.

I don't consider everyone I know to be friends. Far from it. There are many people around who would probably list me on their "friends list" if it came down to it; many people whom I would list as well. There are few, however, that I would put on a master, trust-them-with-your-life list, the kind of list that matters throughout a lifetime.

The people I count on my lifetime list (bear with me, I know I sound like the TV Guide Channel) don't always talk to me on a regular basis. There are a few who I only speak to once a year. One particular friend hasn't been in contact for nearly 6 years. They are still my friends. They will always be my friends, and I'm forever grateful for the times that we have together. Perhaps more important are the times we spend apart. For I know that these particular friends won't vanish as soon as the well of conversation runs dry. They aren't the sort of people to assume that I dislike them, the minute the emails end. We have reached an unspoken agreement. One which I will always cherish. "We don't need to talk on a regular basis to know that we care about each other". Isn't that beautiful?

A few of my best friends are people whom I've never even met, how's that for crazy? The point is, the more a friend requires of me, in order to maintain friendship, the less likely I am to keep up on it. A friendship is more than a contract of needs, it's an arrangement based upon mutual understanding and genuine goodwill. Is there anything more that needs to be asked of a person, anything more you would require of your friends?