Archive for the ‘random’ Category

Don’t mess with my trash…

It was bound to happen.

A few weeks ago I forgot to set my trash bin out the night before pickup and decided, stupidly, to leave it out the rest of the weekend as to not forget for today’s run. Not a habit I plan to develop because I think it is very tacky to keep that thing out. It makes the neighborhood look bad.

Anywho, I still had a few bags left the next morning and trotted out in my nightgown (also tacky) and got ready to dump the rest of my stuff when behold! There were several black bags of trash (filled to the brim, mind you) that I knew darn well were not mine. On top of that, they were filled with yard waste which you all know is a no-no. It wasn’t even bulk week! I was reminded of that King of the Hill episode…the same thing happened to Hank, though I was only a tad tempted to dig through the bags of trash to ID my bin-stuffer.

Mad as Cain (or McCain for that matter), I looked around and tried to see who the culprit was…yes. In my nightgown. All I did was kind of look for evidence of who might have cut some branches down recently. And of course I could not figure it out.

What would you have done? I’m sure this won’t be the last time this happens and even if I put my trash out the same day, who is to say someone won’t add last minute junk to my bin?
I need advice as a new homeowner, missing her old apartment dumpster.

I know my quest for advice is a little late, because once I got dressed that morning, I went to my computer and got to work. I typed these words:

KEEP YOUR TRASH TO YOURSELF

THIS IS A FRIENDLY REMINDER

TO THROW YOUR TRASH IN YOUR OWN BINS.

IF YOURS IS FULL, DON’T WAIT TO THE

LAST MINUTE NEXT TIME…

I posted this note on every bin on my alley. Think the neighbors hate me yet?

Vote for the fairy…

Me at Halloween

Or go ahead and vote for Obama or McCain. I don’t mind. Just vote.

If the soul could speak…

Realizations that travel through Gmail

I’m not really a YouTube watcher. When I get a link or hear about the latest YouTube craze, I look. And then of course there are all of the other videos that pop up on the right side of the screen that taunt you to keep clicking. But I got an email from a great friend that had a link that I took a lot of notice of because it hit home.

I am probably behind in the music scene, I’m a classic rock fan anyway, but the link she sent was this Gnarls Barkley video. The song is called “Who’s Gonna Save My Soul?” It’s enough to actually get me to buy the CD. And I don’t really buy CDs. Who does anymore?

Anyway, here it is.

I feel weird that a music video has made me reflect. I hoped you watched it because here is my tirade:

Why does it work this way? I didn’t really give it much thought. But now that I have on this dark Hurricane Ike day, I can think of one guy who ruined my heart and another who walked away with it. That’s at least the simplisitic version. And both happened at least half a decade ago. Since then I think I don’t really look at men the same. Not that I compare anyone I’ve dated to them, but maybe knowing that I have already gone down that route means that once I try to travel it again, I’m already damaged goods. Yep. I said it. Damaged. Most men will say, “Ah! Told you. Women hold a grudge!” But I’m not bitter. I’m just more aware of what is at stake EVERYTIME I decide to date again. I know how temporary it all is and I’ve yet to be proved wrong. Or feel the need to feel bad about it. It just is.

I’ve grown so much since that first real relationsship. And I’m growing even still, even in this past year. What does it all mean in the end? Maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe it’s like I said. It just is. Am I supposed to dissect it?

Rate My Space: A kind of certain madness

If ever there was a more definitive moment where an individual is at his/her most self-important finest, it is when said person uploads that very first photo on the HGTV madhouse that is Rate My Space.

As long as I have been on my own, I have always felt that when I decorated the place I lived, I had what I would like to call eclectic taste on a budget. That said, I never really thought I didn’t have taste in decorating. I just was a victim of making do with what I had/could afford or what was given to me. And if I had the proper moola, every room would look a million times different. I am also a victim of an unhealthy HGTV obsession. And it has morphed into something really scary since buying my house. I watch everyday and now I’ve officially become a Rate My Space user. If you haven’t ever heard of this, it’s basically a part of the HGTV Web site in which you upload photos of your home, cross your fingers, rip yourself wide open and lie there as you let people dissect your furnishings and decor. Fun, right? Well now this concept has carried over onto the HGTV channel itself in that the lowest rated homes get renovated and are inspired by the top rated homes on the site. Madness, right? Why leave yourself open to such criticism, you might ask. Well, because I like the impartiality of it all…and I of course hope to one day be picked for the show. Sad, right?

So I’m actually risking a lot giving you guys the link but why not? Feel free to make fun, but know that I’ve changed some stuff up since these photos but not much. Look, I had all this crap before I got the place. Minus the red couch. Just trying to make it all work somehow. Don’t even ask about the glass blocks. They were some kind of charming monstrosity (yes, I see them this way — good/bad, interesting/tacky). I keep trying something new to make those things work for me, but alas, I’m sure I’ve missed the mark and I’m exhausted. Some of the comments on my spaces are brutal but I think if I showed the culprits my debt to income ratio, they would understand! In the end, maybe it will result in HGTV FINALLY coming to my little abode.

Bottom line: What people think I suppose means squat but if the average person really believed that, a Web site like Rate My Space probably wouldn’t get as much traffic as it gets. A new photo is uploaded every 30 seconds. I’ve timed it.

The white envelope and the fork

Things are really changing in my line of work. As to avoid popping up on any random Google searches performed by coworkers (fat chance of truly avoiding that, I may add), I’m not going to go into details but if you piece my life together from this blog, my location and what I do, and the fact that my silly attempts at being cryptic are probably going to be in vain, I’m sure you can figure it out.

The thing is, my profession is no longer exclusive. You almost don’t need to go to school for it anymore as long as you know what the hell to do with a video camera, a still camera, Internet and video ****ing and some savvy.  Anyone can grab a camera phone, hop on the Internetand be his/her own ******list. Yes. On this particular post I’m not putting ANYTHING in writing but then again how obvioius can I be? Still, the work environment is too delicate and I’m all over the net anywho. Just know that if it’s happening here, you know very well it’s happening some place where you are.

The irony of the self-made professional is that in the department I work in, I basically groom them. I help them along, encourage and ***t their work. I enjoy what I do but the double-edged sword is that it is snuffingout what I thought I WANTED to do when I got out of college. Things are changing rapidly and I didn’t see any of this coming. I didn’t plan for it but lucky that I am working in an environment just in time to learn it all without paying for the extra college courses. I am plugging away in a good position for the transition of this medium. But the problem is, I wonder for how long will it be this way? How long am I somewhat safe from the white envelopes giving me either the choice to cut and run or to stick it out another year in this Brand (not brave) New World of communication?

None of this will make sense if you don’t follow such stories. But if you do follow, you probably know why I’m torn. I miss that first job straight out of college where I had to pay my dues (as they always told you to) in a small town and getting into every facet of everyone’s business from the supposedly friendly neighbor next door to the city manager sitting in on a dual role as police chief. Yep, that actually happened. Man I miss those days.

I could get run over by a truck…

Be hit by a freak tornado. Suddenly lose my memory. Get kidnapped. But today is the day.

I’m supposedly closing on that townhouse I told you all about back in April but couldn’t get. If you need a refresher of what happened, read CHANGES up at the top of the page. I hesitated talking about my going after it again because I didn’t want to jinx it. I hope I haven’t done that by telling you before the keys are in my hot, little hands. I will divulge later.