Look to the right

To the right, directly under the "I Love Bats" bumper sticker.

That unholy bumper sticker.

April 10, 2012

Good to know that the same brain child who belongs to the American Turd Association also believe that that bumpersticker is in any way appropriate for polite society.

Happy Birthday I-Shien!

When I was a Freshman in high school I went out for the JV basketball team.  At the unexpected invitation of girls in my class, I had played one season of Rec ball in 8th grade.  It was probably an invite that these girls (and the coach) hugely regretted the minute I showed up for the first practice.  I was terrible. I was SO terrible that I didn't even know how terrible I was, hence the questionable decision to go out for JV ball the next year. 
All I can say, is Thank GOD for private school and it's willingness to put me on the team.  Whether it was because there were so few of us or because our parents paid a not insignificant amount for us to be there, it frankly doesn't matter. I found my uncoordinated, seriously uncomfortable self on the JV basketball team with as close to no basketball skills as one can get.

There was one girl. The most outgoing, the most universally loved girl in our class and one of the best basketball players (the only Freshman on the varsity team) was SO unbelievably kind to me.  Amidst the rolling eyes, she would come up and physically rearrange my arms and legs until they were at least close to the correct place.  She'd stop and spend 30 seconds re-explain what our coach had just spent 15 verbose minutes trying to say, boiling it down so that it made sense to me. 

She didn't have to be so kind, but in a world of mean high school girls it just who she was. 

There are few things that I feel defined my high school experience and basketball was one of them.  I played for all four years and learned an incredible amount from being a part of that team.  I learned that my body is capable of more than I thought.  I learned that you are who you choose to be, that you define yourself with each action and that you can change your mind. I would have quit the basketball team if it hadn't been for I-Shien. 

Two weekends ago, several high school friends and a handful of post-high school friends got together in Jacksonville to celebrate I-Shien's30th birthday. Happy, Happy, Happy Birthday I-Shien Shiao!!  We love you more than you know!

March 31, 2012

The Florida Primaries

When Mitt Romney won the Florida Republican primary, I have to admit, I was a bit relieved.  Don't get me wrong, I'm not even close what you would call a "Romney Fan", and not being a Republican I didn't get a say in this one.  It's just that I don't think that I can handle living in a state that thinks Newt Gingrich is an acceptable candidate for President of the United States.(Seriously, when Congress, CONGRESS censures you for ethics violations?!  You're up to some pretty nix level shit and I truly believe that if we are going to impeach a sitting President for sexual indiscretions, we should raise our standards for Presidential nominees high enough to rule out those censured for ethics violations.)

So I was sitting there thinking, okay - don't love the guy but if it has to be one of them...might as well be him.  Then I heard his victory speech.


"While we celebrate this victory, we must not forget what this election is really about ..."

What? Getting the economy moving?  Keeping Americans safe? Providing Americans with solid, fair health care? Supporting our educational system so that young Americans receive an education that prepares them to be competitive in the world market?

Nope

"While we celebrate this victory, we must not forget what this election is really about: defeating Barack Obama."

It's the Iowa Caucus all over again. 

I'm not so naive to think that the primaries aren't about the Republican party finding a candidate who can defeat President Obama, but it should be about so much more than just winning.  It's about what you're going to do with that win and the fact that they're not even pretending that it's about more that that, I find it disgusting and disheartening. 

The definition of a first world problem

First World Problem (n.) - problems from living in a wealthy, industrialized nation that third worlders would probably roll their eyes at.

October 24, 2011

 I'm pretty sure that there's no "probably" about the rolling of eyes and dismissing of this problem as not a problem at all.

I swear, sometimes I think all that I do is buy kitty litter. Admittedly, the upside to this constant purchasing of litter means that my house rarely smells like kitty poo...I think. 

It all started with the mail

This past week at work was Crappy with a capital "C" and it all started with Monday afternoon's mail. 

October 17, 2011

One ought not to lose ones marbles over some mail but this week was apparenlty my week for not losing but throwing my marbles around our office. I'm not particularly proud of it but there you have it.

Piss and Moan Meeting: October 2011

Piss and Moan met this weekend in the town of its founding. The two founding members traveled from Minneapolis and Tampa to induct (after a rigorous interview process of course) the two new junior members of the Club.  A full complement of Piss and Moaners hoisted beers, sipped wine and had a fabulous time in general.

Rule number one of membership in Piss and Moan: loyalty and friendship among members is numero uno.  And friends share, they share anything that needs sharing...including napkins.

October 9, 2011

Hey, we all need role models!

Redemption

Usually I don't blog about the interesting things that happen at work, primarily because I am interested in keeping my job.

Let it suffice to say that I HAVE BEEN VINDICATED!!


(please insert vindicated laughter here)

lift your own suitcase dammit!

It seriously bothers me when women bring carry-on luggage onto planes that they can't lift into the overhead bins.  It's ridiculous that the airlines are charging for bags and I understand that in the current economy, spending an additional $25 or $35 for your luggage just isn't necessarily within reach but seriously...lift some weights or pack less. 

This isn't to say that there's anything wrong when men are being polite or gentlemanly and they offer to help, it's when that help is expected or solicited.  Your vagina is not a disability, if you can't lift the bag above your head, take out the stuff you don't need or shell out the extra bucks.

Damn You Tannins, Damn you

Around 730 last night I remember thinking "red wine is so delicious! why don't I drink it more often!?"

Around 645 this morning I remembered why. 

Want to see my head explode?

Do this:

just throw the God damn wrapper AWAY!

(No John Lybargers were injured in the creation of this post.)

Thinking..

Thinking that I'm just not okay with the toe sock / shoe hybrid. I'm all for the "science" behind it but I'm just not okay with the lady next to me on the plane wearing these:

Call me closed minded but seriously, they just kinda creep me out a bit.

Seriously? Seriously!?

If you're going to call something or someone retarded, please don't spell it "retarted" because it makes me think that you, are in fact retarded.

I generally try to avoid the use of the term "retard" as an insult.  My mom worked with physically and mentally handicapped  kids when I was growing up and throwing that word around our house as an insult was unacceptable.  Also unacceptable was the use of God's name in vain (apparently 'gosh' is a much more acceptable term for us unswervingly secular folk) or describing your mood as 'pissed.'  (It sounds trashy.)  Shit on the other hand was overall an acceptable expression of frustration.  Regardless, the use of any of these terms never bit me on the ass like the use of 'retarded' did.  You see, this one time in graduate school I got a little punchy and cavalierly threw it out at a classmate.  Turns out this classmates younger sister has Downs Syndrome and needless to say, he wasn't very amused.  That might go down in my biggest foot-in-mouth, moment of all time and if it's not at the top, it's in the Top 10.  Thinking of it in those terms, it's definitely worse than asking a non-pregnant lady when her baby is due and so as of this moment, elevator lady receives a formal pardon for her transgression.

'Retarded' as an insult has been seeing a bit of a comeback lately, a comeback that I attribute almost solely to The Hangover.  REtard is making a comeback and I have to admit that with the inflection on the first syllable, it kinda becomes amusing all over again.  Nonetheless, this is an tweeny bopper, middle school era insult that should seriously just die.  Even the Black Eyed Peas took it out of their song because it just sounds...well, mean and wrong.

All this being said, if you're going to throw down the R word and THEN SPELL IT INCORRECTLY...well that might just mean that YOU are a bit delayed and slow in the brain power area.

One of Many Reasons that I Love Laura

Very pregnant co-worker Laura is pretty awesome on a number of different counts, she is a founding member the Gainesville Florida Clinical Research Branch of Piss and Moan after all.

Previously recognized awesomeness not withstanding, today I discovered yet one more reason to love her:

When we're waking into the hospital and someone asks "when is your baby due?" I (ahem...we all) can assume that question is directed towards her and the cauliflower sized fetus currently residing in her belly.

yeeeessssssssssssssssss!

Ew

Dear Vagisil Advertising People,

I am not a squeamish person. I work in a hospital and over the past few years I've discovered a lot about the human body and have come to the informed conclusion that human body doesn't hold a lot that I can't handle. Granted, the concept of an episiotomy (or the alternative "tearing") does give me a little bit of the willies but that's mostly the ouch factor speaking.

That being said, your new Vagisili Satin commercial, just takes it a damn step too far. Clearly stating the purpose of your product is one thing, but might I suggest revisiting your choice of adjectives for this commercial?

I am female and I may in my lifetime require such a medicated goo and even I don't want to watch that commercial.

We need to take it down a notch please.

Sincerely,

Anna Kukulka

Junior Leage, Schmunier League. I want to be a member of Piss and Moan!

As I have chosen today to be a day of absolutely nothing and have spent the better part of both morning and afternoon lounging in one context or another, I have taken a few moments to reflect upon the past week. I feel the need to inform you all that I was not alone in my bad attitude last week, that I in fact had some company. Fabulous pregnant coworker Laura was also approaching work from the a bad attitudinal location, and while for very good reason the details shall remain un-enumerated since I have indeed learned my lessons from reading Dooce. On Friday morning before anyone else got to work we shared a cup of tea and (here's the moment of enlightenment) pissed and moaned. We didn't have bad attitudes! We were forming the new Gainesville Clinical Research branch of the Piss and Moan Club!

Ahh the relief that washed over me when I made the connection. Alone I may have a bad attitude, but with a partner(s) in crime, we qualify for full fledged membership in one of the most illusive and sought after clubs of this century!

Originally founded in 1997 by Monica "Don't Hold Back" Stynchula and Nancy "Let 'Em Have It" Kukulka, Piss and Moan has a long legacy of providing mental health benefits and sanity to the more...shall we say observant members of society. Recognizing what incredible candidates we truly are I immediately contacted Piss and Moan headquarters and requested the bylaws so that we could be certain to adhere.

Piss and Moan Bylaws

Version 2.0

1. A member can never piss and moan to much
2. A member can never repeat the same complaint too often
3. A listening member is required to reply to ongoing pissing and moaning with outrage, upset and unending understanding. The occasional "ain't it the truth, is helpful
4. Embellishment is encouraged, humor is required, laughter is a must, creative complaining is essential
5. Any attempts to be reasonable or resolve a complaint will not be tolerated.
6. Refreshments are not just legal, they are required before a meeting can begin
7. Rehashing old bitches is a must
8. Members are required to never ever forget every detail of a previous complaint insinuating that it may have been too trivial to remember.
9. No bitch is ever too trivial to remember, dredging up the past makes the present oh so much sweeter

Even without the foreknowledge of these rules I have to say that the first unofficial meeting of the Gainesville Clinical Research Branch of Piss and Moan did exceptionally well in keeping with the the spirit of Piss and Moan. The only exception being bylaw #6 which was not observed in it's original intent due to the very pregnant nature of one participant AND the need to meet while at work. There was however tea and cafeteria oatmeal, both refreshing and sustaining!

While a formal application to Piss and Moan has yet to be made, I feel quite confident that we will qualify for at least probationary membership and that my guilt surrounding The Week of Bad Attitude will be assuaged.

The Art of Sandwich Making

Much like John Montague the 4th the Earl of Sandwich I am a HUGE fan of placing my meal between two slices of bread and calling it a sandwich. Sandwiches are the epitome of genius simplicity and I could (if my ass allowed it) eat them for every meal. I could seriously go all Bubba Gump on sandwiches (egg sandwiches, peanut butter sandwiches, peanut butter and cheese sandwiches, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, breakfast sandwiches, hot sandwiches, cold sandwiches...) Sandwiches are virtually fool proof in their simplistic and endlessly forgiving nature, what is not to like? In 5 minutes and with minimal effort even the most inept cook can come out with a delicious and nutritious meal slapped between two slices of bread. Overall sandwiches are hard to mess up, that is, unless you work at the "cafe" at the hospital.

I've never seen people struggle so much sandwich assemblage as the staff at the hospital cafe. In my extensive sandwich experiences I have found that after condiment the bread, it is most common to then pile cheese, meat, veggies etc on to one of the slices of bread and the put the other piece of bread on top. This is not so at said hospital cafe. Instead they pile meat and cheese on one side, condiments and veggies on the other and then upend the veggie side over the meat side. If you've made a sandwich in your time you may be seeing the problem with this system. It's not just one stoned-out-of his-mind sammich maker who does this, they ALL do this. It is painful to watch this process, not to mention time consuming.

Sandwiches should be made with care and love, not reckless abandon for it's innards.



That is all.

The Week of Bad Attitude

Things I dislike about the South:

• Confederate flags
• Overt racism
• Ball-hugging Wrangler jeans
• A rampant inability to form the past tense
• Frog-giggin'
• A less than stellar educational legacy
• Chewing tobacco

Things that I appreciate about the South:

• Sweet Tea
• Fried pickles
• The acceptable conjunction of 'you' and 'all'
• Cheese grits
• The use of 'ugly' to describes someone's behavior
• A constant attention to one's attitude.

So in honor of my geographical location I have to admit, I've had a bad attitude this past week and this bad attitude led the the ugliest of the ugly behavior seen in The Great Diet Pepsi Heist of 2010.

The oustanding start to a very long day

The one thing that I've always hated about my job is that I used to scoot into my desk at 730 in the morning I'm one of the last people to get there. I find it unreasonable that 730 am is the "late" arrival time. I also find it unreasonable that my co-workers response to my assessment of this situation as obscene is that I should come in earlier. What in Gods sweet name is wrong with you people?

Getting to work super early, say around 630 am used to have the benefit of a chance at a close parking space. Around 630 you could snag one of the sparking spots in the near garage and thus skip the 10 minute walk from the big garage. Since the new hospital tower opened this is no more which is why this morning when I rolled into the near garage around 710 and saw a spot I was super stoked. Between a huge black truck (admittedly parked within the lines though almost bigger than the spot itself) and a wide-ass green sedan parked OVER their line into the drivers side of my space, was a skiiiiiinny little space. Schloop into that tiny non-space went Dora and out the passenger side door I went. I do love thwarting the best laid plans of space-hoggers.

So we were off to a good start when it happened - the pivotal event of the morning that unavoidably indicated that today was going to be an okay day. The thing that gave me hope. The moment that gave me the strength to make my morning coffee and listen to the 6 minute 37 second voicemail on my phone.

Bendy. Straws.

That's right, I said bendy straws. The cafeteria now has bendy straws.

Manana

It's okay - I'll just sleep tomorrow night instead, when tomorrows work activities have been completed. I didn't really need to sleep tonight anyways...

And then the take-out menu was missing

I came home today on a mission. A mission of the utmost importance: fold the mountain of clean laundry that is threatening to avalanche over the counter in the laundry room thus burying Joe Lewis' litter box. This had to be done for two main reasons: 1. if it did in fact avalanche onto the litter box it would no longer be clean and require a second washing. This is bad for the environment and bad for my temper. 2. I'm leaving tomorrow after work to visit Club Fun in South Fun and Run a 5K to raise money for Breast Cancer Research and I need clean underpants. I'm making sure to mention the race when telling people I'm leaving town, it makes it sound more like I'm doing it for a reason and less that I'm just in Club Fun withdrawal. But I digress, the laundry, it must be finished.

While I am laundering the underpants Wes, being all wonderfully and boyfriendy like he is, got his car professionally cleaned and tuned up today so as to be in perfect working order for my road trip. Yes yes, I'm taking his car. Nothing is wrong with Dora but the Speedy Coche is well...speedier? possessing of satellite radio, sun roof and a super smooth ride? It also has a steel frame as opposed to the tinfoil and plastic frame that Dora has to offer. And it's bright yellow. For these reasons Wes insists that I take his car and he suffers acute misery of the mind driving my reliable, economic though not-so-speedy Honda Civic. Combine this with earlier this week when I walked in the door to the comforting homey scent of bleach cleanser. He was bleach cleaning the counters, AFTER emptying (and then reloading) the dishwasher and folding all the blankets and de-cluttering the living room. Is there any wonder why I love this man?! He used the bleach cleaner!

He's been on a roll lately but then tonight, well all I can say that I am sincerely disappointed. I got up to find the take-out Italian menu and as I wander around the kitchen checking the front of the fridge (where it usually is,) the towel drawer (where it could be,) and the junk drawer (where it shouldn't be but hey who knows) I keep asking "where's the Piesanos menu?" And "I swear it was here the other day." So now I'm hungry, super hungry, four mile run kind of hungry and I can't find the take-out menu. When I'm hungry I'm not only touchy and mean but my problem solving skills seriously fall apart. So five minutes of aimless wandering around the kitchen and the couch saying "I can't find the thingi" Wes looks up and says "Oh, it's ON TOP OF THE REFRIGERATOR."

On. Top. Of. The. Refrigerator.

Because I totally could have found it up there on my own. And I totally didn't mean the last 5 minutes of asking "where is the thingi!? I can't find the thingi!?" Only half of this household can see on top of the refrigerator and I AM NOT IN THAT HALF. On top of the refrigerator, because THAT is the most logical place for items used by the whole household. In that place that only half of the household can see. The place that is not where the take-out menus goes but is a solid 8 INCHES ABOVE MY HEAD. Why must you choose this moment, the moment of hunger induced terror and confusion to mess with my emotions!?