I had a very day.
Very bad.
Awful.
So the fuck factor today has been labeled HIGH.

What this means: I am cranky. I want to maim people. So stay out of my way.

The coworker knows when the insider is having a HFF day. I am very obvious. And she’s worked with me long enough to know when she shouldn’t antagonize me.

Today, she decided to ignore that and press on.

One lovely little thing was an email that said “post something funny on your blog.”

Now here’s the thing. I am insanely busy lately. We have major projects to do and to top it off, we had to run labs today. Labs where dumb and annoying people come to test the websites we design. (I am allowed to call them dumb and annoying because I am a designer and it’s my damn prerogative.) When we run these labs, someone from the head office always comes down. Typically it’s the Big Boss, but today, it was this woman who helps run the other side of the business… the one that makes money that we never fucking see. Anyway, she’s absolutely, unbelievably annoying—and she made the day hit the HFF within an hour. And she talks all the damn time—about things that have NOTHING to do with work. Normally I work with headphones in and the coworker knows she needs to bang on the wall or email me to get my attention. The chick from Main? She kept talking. I had both headphones in and I wasn’t looking at her and she was STILL TALKING. Annoying, fucking annoying.

All this together makes for a HFF day. So when the coworker emails me and tells me to “post something funny,” I almost decked her. I believe I instead sent a sarcastic email. I don’t recall.

We hashed this out after the chick from Main left—8PM. As I did her eye makeup (Seriously, I’m pissed off—partially at you—and you trust me to put makeup on your face? Crazy girl), we grouched and she told me to write about it. So yeah. There ya go. Hysterical, I know. I bet you’re all just rolling in your seats.

Stupid day.

Is it that surprising that this is the only thing that made me laugh today?

Damn pouring rain.
Damn loud, cacophony of thunder.
Damn blindingly bright lightning.

The insider is CRANKY when she can’t sleep.

The insider NEEDS TO SLEEP NOW.

I mean seriously, JuBeJu, Spaghetti Monster, whoever the hell you are, please just stop with the storm already, OK? It served it’s purpose (of what, I dunno), but it should be done now. RIGHT NOW.

No, I really mean NOW.

Make it end.

Argh.

Whoever it is, it’s definitely male.

‘Cause they NEVER LISTEN.

I’m gonna be so cranky.

Every morning on my way to work I pass a used bookstore. It’s cute, tucked into an old building on a small side street off Main, and it always has two racks of books outside on the sidewalk. And every morning, I have to resist the urge to pull over and peruse their selection.

This morning I noticed a young man unloading cardboard boxes from the back of his truck, and carting them into the store. He had four, and they were full-to-the-brim with books. The books didn’t appear to be particularly old or worn out—so I guess he was just selling them. After all, the sign above the door does say “Used Books—Bought and Sold.”

It made me sort of sad, to be honest. (When I told the coworker over lunch I was going to blog about a used book store, she rolled her eyes at me, lol.) See, I can’t imagine parting with a single book I own. (I even kept some textbooks I liked in college.) I love books—particularly my books—and while I love and respect the concept of a library, I hardly ever step foot in one. Partly because I’d end up in there for hours, and partly because I get cranky when I read a book and then am forced to give it back. Give it back? But it’s brilliant… the prose, the thoughts, the feelings it evoked when I read the last page… I don’t want to give it back.

In my apartment I have books in bookshelves, on dressers, on side tables and in cabinets—back at my parent’s home, I have three giant bins of books, dating back to when I first started reading, waiting for me in the garage. Every Christmas when I go home I crack open those bins and page through the memories of my youth, then I take a few and stick them in my suitcase, promising the rest that I’ll be back soon.

I plan to have amassed a giant personal library when I die—and that I can bequeath to someone who loves them as much as I do.

Either that or I’m having a giant pyramid built to house them all and I want my body (encased in a white gold casket with emerald accents) placed smack dab in the middle.

Alright, here’s a quickie.

Did you know George Washington’s teeth were never actually made of wood?

I was disturbed by this knowledge, and almost lost a $2 bet.

Anyway, so here’s the question. Where did the myth come from? Anybody know? (I might even give out a prize or something… doodoodoo.)

Greatest Internet Moments (so far), by some random guy.

It’s historical and hilarious at the same time.

So let’s see…

A blogger I like was just published in the San Diego Reader. He’s a highly entertaining read, an ex-pat living in Slovenia. Why Slovenia, you ask? Go see.

And John Fowles, reclusive author of The French Lieutenant’s Woman, died. I really enjoyed this book—didn’t so much like the movie, but the book is phenomenal.

So I did basically nothing today, except finish a book—A Long Way Down, and no, reading this book in no way reflects on my current mental status, just to get that out there—and vacuum.

And oh yeah, where do I go to get one of these?

8:15 Update: Finished The Unwanted, too. Kien Nguyen’s memoir about growing up Amerasian in Vietnam during the 70s. Brilliant and heartwrenching.

Now The West Wing is featuring a live debate between the two candidates. It’s fun. 🙂

I woke up this morning with a brilliant plan… to shop at Target, then compare the prices with what I have purchased before at Wal-Mart. And yes, I do have a life and no I’m not weird… Although I was telling this plan to everyone I spoke with on the phone today, and they’ve decided I am weird… and that I talk too fast. (Sorry baby.)

This plan turned out to be harder than I expected. Sales, different sizes and weights of products, etc., make it difficult to do a side-by-side comparison. So, with seven items, I deduced that going to Target actually saved me 49 cents—and a hell of a lot of grief: no screaming kids, mad salespersons or grumpy women fellow shoppers. Matter of fact, I ran into one woman’s cart twice (Shut. Up.) and she just kept laughing. We ended up having a lovely chat about 2-ply, lol.

It’s still a tough call, though. Looking at several Wal-Mart receipts, I noticed that prices fluctuated quite a bit when things were on sale—over a dollar for Diet Coke, bottled water, toilet paper and cat food. In the end, I probably have saved more by shopping at Wal-Mart.

However, Target has sales, too. (12 packs of Coke products are on sale, 3 for $10 right now.) And a lot of times the prices at Wal-Mart are comparable to those at Target—it’s the sale prices that make each store come out about equal… when it comes to price, that is.

I really don’t like going to Wal-Mart. It makes me irritable, and I’m really not that fun when I’m irritable (again, sorry baby). So I think I’ll go back to shopping at Target—and watch for the sale prices. Which, seriously, is where real money is saved.

On a completely separate note, I got hit on by a very adorable man at Bed, Bath and Beyond. I bought a teakettle (I would’ve directed you to BBandB, but they didn’t have this one online)—I’ve wanted one for awhile and I’m all excited about it. Possibly more than I need to be, but ah well. Of course, I didn’t have to pay anything for it because I returned a coffee pot and had a 20% off coupon and it came out even. Anyway, said adorable man at BBandB? Liked the spelling of my name (it’s different than normal) and then when I laughed and just started talking to him, he blushed. Furiously blushed—red as a tomato. And stammered. And then asked me if I needed help out to my car. At that point I almost blushed (and said sure why not)—what, it was cute—but it was a little teakettle and I didn’t even need a bag. lol

Saturdays are entertaining, aren’t they?

It’s like the song that doesn’t end. About llamas.

And it’s funny, and no, I don’t know why.

Snatched it from her. (She’s funny, too.)

Guess who got a HEMI?

Hi Dad. Did you get a Hemi?

You should sound more excited than that. It’s a HEMI.

Woohoo. Which one did you end up getting?

The Overland. Your mom wouldn’t let me have the Commander. ::giant sigh::

Dad, you’re never going to need that many seats. Ever.

I might. You never know when you need extra space.

I hear my mom in the background…. grandchildren is mentioned… my dad laughs.

Epilogue: My dad got himself the new Grand Jeep Cherokee Overland, with a HEMI.

(Make sure you say it with oomph.)

🙂