tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-88980754200920696432024-02-07T23:29:41.094-06:00fresh mincemeatsometimes you just feel like chopped fruit.Arisu_2http://www.blogger.com/profile/09970838701331045768noreply@blogger.comBlogger90125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8898075420092069643.post-74796847385170140182011-07-31T13:11:00.003-05:002011-08-25T09:57:51.603-05:00Though You Treat Me Like A Dancing Bear<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Twelve years ago girl moves to new country. Boy meets girl. Boy likes girl. Girl is oblivious to his advances but happy to have a friend. Girl gets to know boy and goes to the movies with him (as friends). Boy is happy. Girl is happy, but in denial. Soon boy and girl start dating.</span></span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKBUqQRQmh1vQLDGVr3nBwYF44TQr38Q6jZxDz__pCjmd2rRkI2U8Uhr01PRPwByE6U7EzjJJ7bsmtZkGJK_kB9gyo1mzIXeUgovp1c8Dlx7VEh8VqS6HtLcd67jogj95LDXoThOjKgp4/s1600/alexkatrina-25.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKBUqQRQmh1vQLDGVr3nBwYF44TQr38Q6jZxDz__pCjmd2rRkI2U8Uhr01PRPwByE6U7EzjJJ7bsmtZkGJK_kB9gyo1mzIXeUgovp1c8Dlx7VEh8VqS6HtLcd67jogj95LDXoThOjKgp4/s1600/alexkatrina-25.jpg" /></a><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Skip to the end.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Girl and boy get married one year ago.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">In New York (because we're trendy like that).</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Two of the hardest things about marriage that no one warned me about? Creating and using a new signature and calling the boy husband. The most common question I get? (It's not what you think.) Everyone asks me "How's married life?" I feel their agreement when I tell them it's the same.</span></span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn2jVvs6y1wBhBKjuuNjj3nWcUYIrHPiRazz7fIi8mDKeJFOK26HRr6m2AWiOMDKj6tOLK525TVnh2RodAAOmVGfH9U5zzx8HwG4gqh12qbcTZtzRresQiEI7wbJB2YDnrejt7sJ3CWMk/s1600/alexkatrina-25.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"></span></a><br />
<div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">I may be one of the few people who went into marriage knowing nothing does (or should) change. Except for my name. But that was my choice.</span></span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Ah marriage, I avoided you for as long as I could, but in the end you are like the smoke monster. All show and no action. You're not as scary as I imagined you to be.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><3</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>Characters used = 1,000.</i></span></span></div>Arisu_2http://www.blogger.com/profile/09970838701331045768noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8898075420092069643.post-71016584164053862922011-07-18T03:22:00.007-05:002011-07-18T03:22:00.554-05:00Because Jamaican Me Crazy<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Relax.</span></span><br />
<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It sounds easy, doesn't it?</span></span><br />
<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
Just relax.<br />
<br />
What if relaxing makes me anxious?<br />
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(I'm normal, I swear.)<br />
<br />
Later this week I'll be traveling to Jamaica. An all inclusive. This worries me.<br />
<br />
I wonder about the accommodations. The weather. How strong the sun will be. What I'll feel like doing. That I won't use my time wisely. Maybe I'll drink too much (or not enough). If I'll sleep well or have enough sunblock. Maybe I'll get addicted to being lazy. Will I find any <a href="http://thebloggess.com/2011/06/and-thats-why-you-should-learn-to-pick-your-battles/">metal chickens</a>? I might have to drink Jamaica rum. Frick.<br />
<br />
I know, tough life, right? We're going with a large group. Everyone is excited for different reasons. The main reason I'm going, and what I'm most excited about, is our friends' wedding. On the beach. If nothing else goes the way I imagine, I know this will be awesome. Why? Because I remember seeing the spark in the first few minutes they met. And while I never imagined they would be getting married 4 years later, I can't say that I haven't been waiting for this day.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>Characters used = 1,000.</i></span></span></div></div>Arisu_2http://www.blogger.com/profile/09970838701331045768noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8898075420092069643.post-86580701229851184362011-07-15T12:36:00.002-05:002011-07-15T12:36:00.735-05:00And I Will Try To Fix You<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Come December, I will have been a receptionist for seven years. A job I was told would be a "stepping stone" after graduation. A job I never expected to love. A job I never expected would change me. A job that, after all these years, still surprises me daily. Oh, and frustrates me daily. (These are both good things.)<br />
<br />
I love meeting new people and making friends with my regular visitors. I love having something that keeps me busy all.day.long. I love when people realise the indirect power I have. I love being able to passive aggressively mess with jerks.<br />
<br />
People can be absolutely nasty to people in a service related job. Whether it be a waiter, cashier, or receptionist. I'll never understand the need to be rude to another person. Especially someone who is trying to help you.<br />
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I'm not saying it's right to spit in someone's food. To put your bread on the bottom of the bag, or to send your calls directly to voicemail. I'm not even admitting these things happen on purpose.<br />
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But they might.</span></span><br />
<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Characters used = 1,000.</i></span></span></div>Arisu_2http://www.blogger.com/profile/09970838701331045768noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8898075420092069643.post-1576745903997930642011-07-13T21:21:00.000-05:002011-07-13T21:21:38.973-05:00I'll Be Better When I'm Older<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">At what point can you call yourself an adult? Is it a matter of age? Career? Wisdom? The concept of being an adult never appealed to me. I realise you can't escape it, I just wonder where that feeling of maturity comes from.<br />
<br />
I used to think working full-time would make me feel older. Instead it has made me cynical (er, more so). Then I imagined getting married would do the trick. Go figure, nothing changed then either. If anything, I now wonder if I suck at being a grown up.<br />
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I don't clean. I stay up too late and sleep too little. Sometimes I eat cookie dough (with raw eggs for the double whammy) for dinner. I am sarcastic in nature and use naughty language.<br />
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On the other hand, I am employed full-time. I exercise regularly. I always pay my taxes and vote. I eat my vegetables and take my vitamins.<br />
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Maybe being adult means finding a balance rather than playing the comparison game. I hope that dirty jokes and staying up late always appeal to me. Whether it's "adult" or not is irrelevant.<br />
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Characters used = 1,000.</span></span>Arisu_2http://www.blogger.com/profile/09970838701331045768noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8898075420092069643.post-60340605882608174612011-06-10T21:04:00.006-05:002011-07-27T20:30:03.930-05:00So Beautiful To Me Your Mystery<div style="font: 11.0px Lucida Grande; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">When I was 15 I moved from Canada to the United States. While my accent is a strange Wisconsin-Alberta blend, my thoughts are less of a melting pot. Things that I know from Canada, I don't expect to see in the U.S and vice versa. When something forces me to blend my memories, I get confused.</span></div><div style="font: 11.0px Lucida Grande; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 13.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 11.0px Lucida Grande; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Like the Stanley Cup Final. The fact it's on my TV right now is awesome. I love hockey. However, Hockey=Canada. Fine, so I process this fact and adjust. I get to watch hockey on an American broadcasting channel. As the puck flies around I notice advertisements around the rink and I see companies like Tim Hortons, Rogers, and Canadian Tire. These are companies I know, but never see anymore. This does not compute.</span></div><div style="font: 11.0px Lucida Grande; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 13.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 11.0px Lucida Grande; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">I often tell people that the two countries are more similar than anyone will admit. Even though this is true, it's not until you look at the small details that you see what makes each countries special and unique. Are there similarities? Are there differences? Of course, just look closer.</span></div><div style="font: 11.0px Lucida Grande; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 11.0px Lucida Grande; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Characters used = 1,000.</span></i></div>Arisu_2http://www.blogger.com/profile/09970838701331045768noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8898075420092069643.post-32842504266370633782011-06-08T11:50:00.000-05:002011-06-08T11:50:13.790-05:00Put Me In A Room, Distraction Less<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Procrastination is contagious. Here’s a list of 25 things I should be doing (in no particular order):</span> <ol><li><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Cleaning my house.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Going to bed at a normal time.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Changing my name on my credit cards (last thing!).</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Updating this blog.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Writing back to a foreign exchange friend (from October).</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Spending the last of my gift cards.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Writing my cousin back (from May).</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Designing a poster for my work.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Dying my hair (priorities).</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Cleaning my car (to sell it).</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Planning a game night (it was never promised).</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Visiting my family in Canada (that was promised).</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Learning Norwegian (seriously). </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Clothing shopping for a trip next month (see #6, hmmm).</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Going strawberry picking (missed it last year).</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Emptying my e-mail inbox (is 300 unread too many?).</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Getting to work on time (see #2).</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Watching the end of Prison Break (that show ended?).</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Reading my book (from 6 months ago).</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Baking cookies (per request).</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Finishing this list.</span></li>
</ol><em><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Characters used = 1,000.</span></em>Arisu_2http://www.blogger.com/profile/09970838701331045768noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8898075420092069643.post-26878307899130442952011-06-06T21:07:00.001-05:002011-06-06T21:09:31.774-05:00Get On The Plane, It's Fine. It's Fine.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">I love gore. Every good movie should have a touch of it. I know I should like movies with happy endings, but those are the movies I can't stomach (or believe). Horror movies have a familiar pace and tone I enjoy. I've often said that all good movies have at least one proper decapitation. It may be surprising that there's three on-screen events I can't stand to watch.</span></span></span><br />
<ol><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">People getting injected with needles. (Why do they always need to show close-ups of it?)</span></span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Teeth falling out. (The thought of this seriously keeps me up at night. Especially after one of my teeth broke and needed to be repaired.)</span></span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Vomiting. (Enough said.)</span></span><div style="font: 11.0px Lucida Grande; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"></div></li>
</ol><div><div style="font: 11.0px Lucida Grande; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Serial killers who take you while you sleep? Psychopaths who enjoy torturing you? Ghosts who want to seek revenge? Sounds like a good time. Just don't touch my teeth.</span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"> </span></span><br />
<div style="font: 11.0px Lucida Grande; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">PS: The horror movie that stuck with me the longest? The one I refuse to watch again? Final Destination. The movie wasn't scary to watch, but the idea that death would hunt me down still scares me.</span></span></div><div style="font: 11.0px Lucida Grande; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"> </span></div><div style="font: 11.0px Lucida Grande; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; line-height: 20px; white-space: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Characters used = 1,000.</span></span></span></div></div>Arisu_2http://www.blogger.com/profile/09970838701331045768noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8898075420092069643.post-18082259167433168722010-04-14T04:12:00.000-05:002010-04-14T12:34:29.947-05:00I Have Shoes Older Than You<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQLmDtnvEYe31xpJFAx6pxF_2IghnjGv4f0g1DPPZtDS2L3YjvCiZn9iRIcLIOc8wPvPxhY1ge9hTeJq9K_IxhsTZSGmiGH71SLO0jKTC_IRBCTbuqC32iBhNADKjmg_YOct-gZ8KqlE8/s1600/candy+(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQLmDtnvEYe31xpJFAx6pxF_2IghnjGv4f0g1DPPZtDS2L3YjvCiZn9iRIcLIOc8wPvPxhY1ge9hTeJq9K_IxhsTZSGmiGH71SLO0jKTC_IRBCTbuqC32iBhNADKjmg_YOct-gZ8KqlE8/s200/candy+(1).jpg" width="165" wt="true" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">I notoriously hate birthdays. Not because it makes me a year older, but because the day is usually a disappointment. You know that song, I’ll cry if I want to? That’s me. I put too much pressure on the day to be perfect and enviably something goes wrong.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">This year I decided to shake things up. I took the day off work. Then I took successful elements from other birthdays. Throw in the mom and throw out the schedule. Golden. We started the day off at my favourite diner (25th), where I had an amazing mimosa with cinnamon swirl French toast. Then we drove down to Illinois for ice skating (10th) and shopping. I skipped cake and had a giant bag of bulk candy (6th). Then I had dinner at Applebee’s (16th).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Even though I was sleep deprived, ate candy until I felt sick, and failed at shopping, it was an amazing birthday. Why? No expectations. I went with the flow, did things I enjoyed, and rocked out as a grownup and a little kid. After 27 years, I learned that birthdays can be fun. Wacky.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><em>Characters used = 1,000.</em></span>Arisu_2http://www.blogger.com/profile/09970838701331045768noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8898075420092069643.post-57219206284340272022010-04-09T14:08:00.011-05:002010-04-09T14:08:00.383-05:00Toonies, Tuques, And Turks<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">I’ve lived in the United States for over ten years. Even when I first moved here, it didn’t seem foreign. Not to my 15-year old brain. It did feel a bit like a mirror universe; things were slightly askew. Gone was the French, in with the Spanish. Obviously, the flags were different (and plentiful). The houses were shorter and older. It wasn’t acceptable to say pop, cutlery, or tuque. School started an hour earlier, ran in quarters, and had seven classes a day.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">There are things I miss about Canada, but they’re not what you'd expect. I liked picking up change off the ground and having it be worth money. I adore Big Turks and proper hot tea. I miss seeing and reading bilingual anything. Chinooks and the Northern Lights are amazing. I miss hockey, curling, and the frozen ice pond we used as a skating rink.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Home is where you live. People wonder why I haven’t moved back. I loved living there but it’s not home. You can never move back to what you had. You can only move to someplace new.</span><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">Characters used = 1,000</span></em>Arisu_2http://www.blogger.com/profile/09970838701331045768noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8898075420092069643.post-82387836690303389622010-04-07T10:21:00.000-05:002010-04-07T10:21:19.899-05:00Why You Throw Chip?<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">The charm is wearing off. My visitors are now creepier and less surprising. We have a two-fer!</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">There were a ton of cold calls today. A visitor wanted to leave information for the IT Manager. As he stapled his business card to a brochure, he asked me if I was “sure that I could manage doing this.” Buddy, you’re dropping off paper, I think I can manage. After I reassured him I was capable of taking care of this task, he asked to use the bathroom. After he finished, he thanked me for saving a life. I’m glad he appreciated peeing so much. This would constitute as a first impression fail.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">The second was on the phone. He started chatting with me. First he wanted to know what I was doing (answering the phones), if I was working late (no), and if I received the cable he dropped off (uh). It was strange. When I admitted I knew nothing of the cable, it finally dawned on him that he had no idea who he was talking to. I suppose I could have told him that but then what would I complain about?</span><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Characters used = 1,000</span></em>Arisu_2http://www.blogger.com/profile/09970838701331045768noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8898075420092069643.post-3784679769171710702010-04-05T11:43:00.002-05:002010-04-05T11:46:27.789-05:00Twenty-Four Hour Notice Appreciated<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Saturday night the (<a href="http://freshmincemeat.blogspot.com/2010/04/once-you-grow-you-cant-stop.html">glorified</a>) SO and I hosted our first game night. It was something we had wanted to do for a while. Months ago we made plans with two couples. We planned games to try (no monopoly!) and food to serve (nacho bar!). Last week I confirmed the time and date with both couples. We were ready.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">I woke up early Saturday to get all my errands finished. I splurged on new wine glasses and fresh blueberries. Everything was coming together. The first couple called to say they would be late. No problem. The second couple (the one I planned the whole party for) called 15 minutes before they were supposed to arrive. I assumed they needed directions. Wrong. They were calling to cancel. She decided she wasn’t feeling well. They wanted to reschedule.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Are. You. Kidding. Me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">We still held our game night. We had a blast. Part of me is upset that they blew us off like that. You didn't know any earlier than that? If I were a doctor’s office, she would be charged for the appointment.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;"><em>Characters used = 1,000</em></span>Arisu_2http://www.blogger.com/profile/09970838701331045768noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8898075420092069643.post-57333171758310454992010-04-01T04:10:00.001-05:002010-04-01T15:37:49.977-05:00Once You Grow, You Can't Stop<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivH0M0cd_A2KJFI8MYQRBUU1hSYG7j-tdZFLk59LFD4hkq_1JHTeI0hBIQ6kJc3WBAtoN_bEzfNUQVmktha_Z6w364O-xCpQpK3-u56zBpJ0G2MNmN94fWImFs_Z3J0oYldeF8uWMu3NM/s1600/ringu.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" nt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivH0M0cd_A2KJFI8MYQRBUU1hSYG7j-tdZFLk59LFD4hkq_1JHTeI0hBIQ6kJc3WBAtoN_bEzfNUQVmktha_Z6w364O-xCpQpK3-u56zBpJ0G2MNmN94fWImFs_Z3J0oYldeF8uWMu3NM/s320/ringu.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">If you’ve ever gone out to eat with me, you know that I’m not an experimental eater. I tell people that I’m not picky; I’m specific. I know what I like and don’t like to be surprised when it comes to food. My sister likes to tease me; I can go to any restaurant and find a chicken or steak dish (a good restaurant is one that has multiple chicken options).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">I’m not sure when the change happened. In the last few months I’ve tried everything from ahi tuna to zucchini. What’s crazier is I’ve been cooking at home. I’ve never liked cooking; it pales in comparison to baking.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">The funny thing is, once you start branching out in one place, you start branching out in other places. I’m doing something different for my birthday this year. This week we’re hosting our first game night. I have good intentions on trying yoga in the near future. I even decided it was time to give marriage a try. Heck, at this rate, I might even get on a roller coaster.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Two thousand and ten, you're one crazy year.</span><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">Characters used = 1,000</span></em>Arisu_2http://www.blogger.com/profile/09970838701331045768noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8898075420092069643.post-83284263139285143652010-03-29T14:39:00.000-05:002010-03-29T14:39:20.877-05:00Digital Idiots Or This Is Why I Hate<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">I think my snark has gone up. I’m not sure if it’s from being in the work market, getting older, or a combination of the two, but I’m more argumentative. It’s possible I’m looking for the <a href="http://freshmincemeat.blogspot.com/2010/01/dont-shoot-follower.html">balance between being a pushover and a bully</a>. Whatever the case, I think my callers are in trouble.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">The last few weeks I’ve been cutting off the idiots mid-sentence, hanging up on the ramblers, and calling out the liars. My boss not only approves of this but it brings him glee. What’s good for the career is good for the soul, right?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Today I got in an argument with a caller over an employee. He asked me if he was back at work. I wanted to know why he thought he was gone. Certainly if you knew him well enough to call him at work, you'd know if he was actually HERE. I don’t think I was asking for much. I explained that I didn’t know all 300 employees personally but would page the shop if he was confident his friend was here.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">I looked up the employee later. He hasn’t worked here since last April.</span><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">Characters used = 500 (Normal) + 500 (Snarky)</span></em>Arisu_2http://www.blogger.com/profile/09970838701331045768noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8898075420092069643.post-70850824477928965382010-03-26T14:40:00.000-05:002010-03-26T14:40:39.784-05:00Love My Gagh Or Go DIAF<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">The reason I created a blog was because twitter didn’t offer enough characters to properly vent. Normally the two don’t crossover. This update is an exception.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">I mentioned earlier that my <a href="http://twitter.com/Arisu_2/status/11092706702">coworker confused</a> my breakfast with a bowl of <a href="http://www.yumsugar.com/Would-You-Eat-Fried-Mealworms-2581904">mealworms</a>. When I told him he was crazy, he countered that people around here eat strange things or maybe I was going fishing later. As ridiculous as his assumptions were, it got me thinking: Why do people feel the need to comment on other people’s food? Even if I were eating mealworms (and not delicious <a href="http://www.danispies.com/archives/breakfast/pear_cobbler_oatmeal.php">pear cobbler oatmeal</a>), what would it matter? Obviously it’s something I want to be eating. No feedback needed.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Many of my coworkers like to comment. My favourites are the ones who tell me that my food disgusts them. I never know if I should apologise when they make those comments. If you go to someone’s house for dinner, you don’t tell say you hate the food. You’re polite. You deal. I expect the same courtesy when they’re not expected to eat my food.</span><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Characters used = 1,000.</span></em>Arisu_2http://www.blogger.com/profile/09970838701331045768noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8898075420092069643.post-37290253413026165002010-03-22T14:25:00.004-05:002010-03-25T14:34:40.913-05:00I Find Your Underwear Offensive<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">I need feedback. A few weeks ago, I was at a bar. It used to be my favourite but with management changes, it's gone downhill. We were there for early St Patrick’s Day festivities. Within 20 minutes of being there I was upset. First I couldn’t get served, and then when I did my beer was stale. Then a homeless lady interrupted me in the washroom and shoved her way in (before letting me out). All of this I could ignore.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">What put me over the edge was what I saw the bartender do. For St. Patrick’s Day, both of the bartenders were wearing kilts (adorable). The younger of the two was absentmindedly leaning over the bar. In slow motion, I watched her flip her kilt up, stick both hands into her underwear, and yank out a wedgie. Arg! It’s not socially acceptable to put your hands down your pants, why can she put them up her skirt in front of the whole bar? No one else seemed to care, but I’m still bothered. If nothing else, the fact she had underwear on with a kilt should be offensive. Right?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;"><em>Characters used = 1,000.</em></span>Arisu_2http://www.blogger.com/profile/09970838701331045768noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8898075420092069643.post-69979427118193809452010-03-11T10:36:00.002-06:002010-03-11T10:40:30.460-06:00I Judge Book Covers Too<span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">I often wonder how much people pay attention to me. My office area is directly across from the conference room. Whenever they have large meetings people sit near the door, giving them a clear shot into my office. Do they see me fix my hair? Adjust my shirt? Overhear me talking to visitors? It stresses me. Or, on days when I’m falling asleep at my desk, makes me paranoid.<br /><br />Regardless, 15 of our company’s best and brightest are listening to a software presentation today. It may sound dull, but I’m enjoying it. Not because the information is useful, but because the visitors giving the presentation are fascinating. From their clothing to their mannerisms, they're straight out of a mafia movie. In a crazy-Ally-McBeal-like imagination scene, I envision them breaking out machine guns if we turn them down, or maybe thugs will come in to twist our arm.<br /><br />It’s terrible to judge someone without knowing them, but that’s what first impressions are about. I wonder if they realise how they appear?</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><em><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">Characters used = 1,000.</span></em>Arisu_2http://www.blogger.com/profile/09970838701331045768noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8898075420092069643.post-51601159248477574542010-03-04T10:32:00.003-06:002010-03-04T10:37:14.645-06:00The Carnie And The Convict<span style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-size:85%;">A new week brings new visitors. We're still getting a steady stream of job applicants. My favourite so far was from a former carnie. For six years he traveled with a carnival. I liked his attitude; sadly he had no qualifications to work here. Many of the walk-ins have no idea what our company does; nor do they care. They apply to qualify for their unemployment checks. I get why they require job searches, but blinding applying at random companies isn't productive. Regardless, I don’t mind signing the forms providing you seem to care.<br /><br />One gentleman doesn't even try. He throws his unemployment form down and demands I sign it. Last week he brought in two! Out of fear I signed, but deep down it bothers me. It's blatant abuse of a system designed to help people.<br /><br />On a brighter note, a different gentleman applied yesterday. He made sure to tell me that the president knew of his qualifications and that he was recently released from prison. With honesty like that, how can you not love him?</span></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><em><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;">Characters = 1,000.</span></em>Arisu_2http://www.blogger.com/profile/09970838701331045768noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8898075420092069643.post-257730811358296042010-03-01T11:55:00.001-06:002010-03-04T10:42:14.818-06:00Take A Look And Really Weigh That<p><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">I found a new way to geek out! People assume that geeks speak the same language. They group us as a generic subclass to be envied or ignored. I like many geeky things; conventions, super hero movies, Star Trek, social networking. Other things, like math, programming, science, or comic books, I have no interest in. To make matters worse, my SO is an IT Manager. They try to bypass him and get me to solve their technical problems. Sure, I have a better grasp of computers than they do, but I can’t fix their computer because my SO can.<br /></span><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"><br />Regardless, I love to bake. I got a digital scale and made the move to baking by weight instead of by volume. There is a learning curve, but I’m hooked. My biggest problem is many recipes don’t offer weight measurements. My stupidest realisation is that a cup of flour weights less than a cup of sugar. It makes sense, but it never occurred to me. I love not having to use different measuring cups and the precision I get. It pleases my inner cynic and my OCD.</span></p><p><em><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;">Characters used = 1,000.</span></em></p>Arisu_2http://www.blogger.com/profile/09970838701331045768noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8898075420092069643.post-11434856433287627952010-02-19T13:06:00.004-06:002010-02-19T13:16:56.947-06:00Want Me Outta My Head<p><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">I’ve been spending a lot of time in my head lately. Earlier this week I was thinking of things I liked starting with the same letter. This led me to find three things I liked for each letter of the alphabet.<br /><br /><strong>Afternoons</strong>, Airports, Aprons<br />Baking, <strong>Bed</strong>, Breakfast<br />Chauffeurs, Chicken, <strong>Conventions</strong><br /><strong>Disneyworld</strong>, Ducks, Dull Days<br />Easter, <strong>Eating Out</strong>, Estates Sales<br /><strong>Farscape</strong>, Foreigners, Frosting<br /><strong>Game Shows</strong>, Google, Grumpy Men<br />Hockey, Horror Movies, <strong>Hot Tea<br /></strong>Indian Food, <strong>International Influences</strong>, (Teh) Intraweb<br />Japanese Culture, <strong>Journals</strong>, Jury Duty<br />Kilties, <strong>Klingons</strong>, Knights<br />Laziness, <strong>Lemons</strong>, Lotion<br />Microbrews, <strong>Midnight</strong>, Multi-Tasking<br /><strong>Naps</strong>, Necklaces, Nut-Free<br />Oatmeal, Overcast, <strong>Oxen</strong><br /><strong>Pajamas</strong>, Pigeons, Pumpkins<br />Questions, Quinoa, <strong>Quips</strong><br /><strong>Rabbits</strong>, Receptionists, Road Trips<br />Sci-Fi, <strong>Scrabble</strong>, Showers<br />Tomorrow, <strong>Topperstix</strong>, Tourists<br /><strong>Understatements</strong>, Umbrellas, Uniforms<br />Vacations, Volunteering, <strong>Voting</strong><br /><strong>X-Rated</strong>, Xenophoes, Xmas<br />Yetis, <strong>Yo Gabba Gabba</strong>, Yoopers<br /></span><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">Zombies, <strong>Zoos</strong>, Zucchini</span></p><p><em><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;">Characters used = 1,000</span></em></p>Arisu_2http://www.blogger.com/profile/09970838701331045768noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8898075420092069643.post-82602460763035356952010-02-01T10:48:00.004-06:002010-02-22T11:03:15.873-06:00For The Love of Scrabble<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA5ChygZ1Wq4ii2csZQ2_AQYODLlTJQmyaGMRD6HkfNcd8Szuhv9A8z86TuVpH3uNVnb8G9UPgEPM7fdKzT4KG2bj_cbBDwkrA4MWzE6yhsEXTEUZu-oSkTQ9Rh5WeXflXr37zspt3DSM/s1600-h/scrablove.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5441114378671261186" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 257px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA5ChygZ1Wq4ii2csZQ2_AQYODLlTJQmyaGMRD6HkfNcd8Szuhv9A8z86TuVpH3uNVnb8G9UPgEPM7fdKzT4KG2bj_cbBDwkrA4MWzE6yhsEXTEUZu-oSkTQ9Rh5WeXflXr37zspt3DSM/s320/scrablove.jpg" border="0" /></a> <div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdvs0vmd1GSgs9_HU-uu7Afjzu-UW6Af4NDERpCztO7jaOksA8geKakCr0XoK52vtH4UrCIx4lwbNvAGSBIHIy61ZM52wN8C38mV0OG5aJJx5O5gEpdwPozVy3p27JQSGPJ9k-EJ0ixb0/s1600-h/scrablove.jpg"></a><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">I am a horrible speller. Back in the day of weekly spelling tests and book reports, mine looked like a battlefield. Phonetics never ring true with me and my aptitude for memorization is lousy. Like many things, spelling is a knack. Someone who is a natural can spell words they have never seen before. I struggle with everyday words like restaurant and embarrass.</span><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"><br /><br /><div>It would seem ironic that I enjoy writing (and got a degree that focused on it). I am also addicted to Scrabble. I could play it for hours and if I don’t play it in a few days I miss it. I have started playing it over breakfast in diners. Sometimes it's a travel version; yesterday it was the full version at McDonald’s. I have played it so much in the last 6 months; I might even credit it to helping my English vocabulary. (When you are desperately trying to get rid of a J, Q, or Z you tend to learn new words.) Luckily my mom and I play a friendly game otherwise I might have started drinking something stronger than tea to play.<br /></div><div><em>Characters used = 1,000</em></span></div></div></div>Arisu_2http://www.blogger.com/profile/09970838701331045768noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8898075420092069643.post-52882867599282353422010-01-29T13:41:00.001-06:002010-01-29T13:41:01.147-06:00This One's For You Mike Or A Man, A Plan<span style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-size:85%;">This week marked the anniversary of a friend’s death. His story was a sad one and sufficient to say it's still weighs heavily. The SO and I celebrated his life the best way we knew how: By mocking him. Cleverly. Respectfully. It was genius (despite the fact it came out of a night of drinking).</span></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><br />Mike was a strange, cranky, and stubborn guy. He worked hard and would call your bullshit out with colourful language. He was funny and fiercely loyal. He died three years ago from complications of untreated diabetes. It was a senseless, slow, and painful death. He slipped into a coma a day before his 50th birthday and never woke up.<br /><br /></span></span><span style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></span><span style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-size:85%;">For reasons unknown, he wore the same thing everyday; long sleeve white shirt and navy Dockers. He literally owned 50 of each. It was quirky. We decided to emulate him to remember him. Dressed in Mike’s finest, we came to work. Since he worked at our company for 25 years, many people got it. A few are thinking of doing the same thing next year. This pleases me.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><em>Characters used = 1,000</em></span></span><br /><em><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"></span></em><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:78%;">PSA: Get diagnosed. Learn more about the disease. Support the cause. At: </span><a href="http://www.diabetes.org/"><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:78%;">http://www.diabetes.org</span></a>Arisu_2http://www.blogger.com/profile/09970838701331045768noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8898075420092069643.post-61459833780137012242010-01-27T12:51:00.002-06:002010-01-27T12:54:43.572-06:00Vacationing At My Desk<span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">A few years ago I was offered a promotion at work. Well, that’s how they phrased it. I would have been moved off reception and into a cubicle to do various and sundry clerical tasks. What they failed to realise is I love being a receptionist and to move me would have been a punishment. It’s a sweet gig; I have the largest desk in the office, it’s next to the president's, and everyone knows my name. I like to tell people I get paid to talk.<br /><br />Except for this week. Saturday I went to a friend’s birthday party at a bar. The combination of a sore throat, bar talk, and smoky air, caused me to lose my voice. Completely. You don’t realise how dependent you are on it. I feel like Ariel without the sexy flipper.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">Since I’m not on my deathbed, I refuse to take unpaid leave. So I sit here, helplessly watching the phone ring. As much as I miss my callers, this has been relaxing. The office has been fantastic at picking up the slack, but they’re frustrated (I may or may not feel bad about that).</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><em><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">Characters used = 1,000</span></em>Arisu_2http://www.blogger.com/profile/09970838701331045768noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8898075420092069643.post-30787903863592370732010-01-18T14:53:00.001-06:002010-01-18T14:59:38.464-06:00Don't Shoot The Follower<span style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-size:85%;">The line between bullies and pushovers is tiny. If there was any doubt, I lean heavily towards the latter. I’ve never liked to be a leader and before I was receptionist, I was quieter and shyer than I am now. Part of me wishes I could work the system better. Unfortunately, the battle is decided by who is the most argumentative.<br /><br />Imagine you’re at a crowded restaurant. Two people have the same problem; they need a table. The pushover would accept the server's apology and wait patiently. The bully, on the other hand, would yell and argue. You know how this ends, right? The bully would get a table, free meal, and an apology because they didn’t want to put up with him. The pushover would eventually get one (maybe with nicer service).<br /><br />It doesn’t seem right that people get rewarded for being rude. At Disney, the more you complain, the more they pacify you. Part of me is envious of them for speaking up and getting what they want. The other part would rather sleep with a clear conscience.<br /><br /><em>Characters used = 1,000</em></span></span>Arisu_2http://www.blogger.com/profile/09970838701331045768noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8898075420092069643.post-26896689619407463582010-01-14T13:48:00.001-06:002010-01-15T14:25:50.227-06:00Common Sense Is So Passé<p><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">People never <a href="http://freshmincemeat.blogspot.com/2009/04/why-so-serious.html">cease</a> <a href="http://freshmincemeat.blogspot.com/2009/04/bribery-is-your-friend.html">to</a> <a href="http://freshmincemeat.blogspot.com/2009/09/i-need-to-know.html">amaze</a> <a href="http://freshmincemeat.blogspot.com/2009/04/this-ones-for-you.html">me</a>. I know this is an on-going theme. I should expect people to be crazy and stupid but I don’t. I live in a bubble and people shock me.</span><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"><br /><br />With it being the <a href="http://freshmincemeat.blogspot.com/2010/01/samuel-peeples-evolution.html">season of resolutions</a>, a common one is to lose weight. It’s a constant topic at my office. Recently, Sparkpeople released a book, outlining their diet plan. My friend went to skim the book at B&N. She seemed angry that there were no gimmicks attached to their (quote, unquote) weight loss secrets. “They want me to eat healthy and set personal goals. That’s not original. I'm disappointed. Have you seen it?” Feeling the need to placate her I apologized and told her I hadn't. I didn’t have the heart to tell her what I was thinking ("well, duh"). Even if there were a gimmick that, say, cured male pattern balding, it wouldn’t work for everyone. Everyone is different.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">The reason people make self-help books? It’s to make money. The reason people buy them? It’s to have something to blame when they don’t work.</span></p><p><em><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;">Characters used = 1,000</span></em></p>Arisu_2http://www.blogger.com/profile/09970838701331045768noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8898075420092069643.post-29135537453417189732010-01-07T16:12:00.000-06:002010-01-15T13:48:02.058-06:00Movie Violence... In Real Life?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhONpuCdsWbo-G_7Euyr7sSrVEBFDRC3slGvN5XY2YccIxQWo4dIxorT-x19yDeFIeetg0FundT-dhyphenhyphenzy8QRYz1r-Tu8JI9iDk0Sc9DDUNnXBtb7cYMDX3XYRmKlAx7uqbrYsLy4jfEXwc/s1600-h/pigeongang.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426723349697022514" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 228px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhONpuCdsWbo-G_7Euyr7sSrVEBFDRC3slGvN5XY2YccIxQWo4dIxorT-x19yDeFIeetg0FundT-dhyphenhyphenzy8QRYz1r-Tu8JI9iDk0Sc9DDUNnXBtb7cYMDX3XYRmKlAx7uqbrYsLy4jfEXwc/s320/pigeongang.jpg" border="0" /></a> <p><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">A coworker missed work today. She sits in the back office so we didn’t think much of it. As it turns out, her entire house was ransacked and vandalized. It happened yesterday while she was working. Not only is this upsetting, but it blows my mind. We don’t have a lot of detail, but it sounds like a plot from a movie. I imagine this large, organized gang of thugs ripping through her house. Unless this is more commonplace then I realise. Sure, your car stereo gets swiped or a window gets broken, but for everything in your house to be stolen?<br /></span><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"><br />To make the story sadder, she bought the house less than six months ago and spent hours putting in new flooring, windows, etc. I’m hoping the chatter I’ve heard is worse than what actually happened, but the best-case scenario is still a home burglary.<br /><br />I’m not sure how I would react. A lot of things don’t bother me, but I love my stuff. I’m not ashamed to admit I’m materialistic. Plus I sleep in my house. People can mess with me when I’m asleep.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"><em>Characters used = 1,000</em></span></p>Arisu_2http://www.blogger.com/profile/09970838701331045768noreply@blogger.com0