Sad

My mom makes me sad everytime she calls me now. I think she's just nervous about her surgery, but still. I hate crying after every phone conversation.

Random Radical Ramblings

One of the reasons I like having Anne as my friend is because she is always bringing up the artistic side of life. She writes poetry and sings and loves music and books just as much, if not more than, I do. So it's no surprise that I got a CD, a book, and a giant Smart Heart Bear for Christmas. (Only, mine is awesome and giant and plush and doesn't play stupid guessing games. Also, I know Smart Heart Bear isn't a "real" Care Bear, but he has a British accent and teaches that school is cool. I AM that bear, ok?)

So in Anne's continued quest to share her awesomeness, she bequeathed the Over the Rhine CD, Good Dog Bad Dog, to me around Christmas time. She did not give this to me because of the obviously and eerily appropriate title that could serve as some of meta statement for my relationship with my little Parsnip, but because she already owned that CD and my stupid ex-boyfriend likes to give her gifts that she already owns. (Yes, you read that sentence right. It's a loooong story.) For once in my life, I'm really grateful that my stupid ex-boyfriend doesn't know Anne very well because this CD is awesome! I hate to love it because it has stupid ex-boyfriend cooties, but it's just so good. It makes me think of a million different things all at once and gives me a glimpse of a passion that I have long since lost.

Anyway, I can't really pick a favorite song but I do like "The Seahorse" quite a bit because of these lines.

You can always tell me
anything at all.
Think of all the times
you've let my lips move, yeah, yeah, yeah.

I always like to personalize songs when I listen to them, but this song can't be pinned down because I could recite those lines to 30 different people and they make sense. I'm just so lucky to have a plethora of people who are willing to sit on the phone or in front of the computer and listen to me. And I'm glad that those people are still in my life. Most of them don't qualify as "near" anymore, but they're there. I can pick up the phone. I can send an e-mail. I could even write a card. And they'd be there. Ready, willing, and able to help pick my shit up and move me along. And I couldn't ask for more.

It's All about the Benjamins, Baby

I was officially offered a permanent position in the office at work. Yay! No more factory work for me! I'm a little worried about my new responsibilities because it sounds like I'm going to be the office snitch. You know? It's like the teacher just made me the hall monitor and now the cool kids will NEVER like me. Frankly, I'm not surprised by this turn of events, because I've been preparing for this job my entire life. I was always the kid who the teacher asked to write down the names of other kids who talked while she was out of the room. Yeah, I was that kid. A complete and total goody-goody two shoes who was way too uptight for her 7 years. I realize the actual job responsibilites are making no sense at this point, but unless you know me personally and we can discuss this job thing on a more private front, it'll just have to remain this way. But trust me when I say this: I am the office's golden snitch.

So with the promotion generally comes more money, but since this a new position that they've never had before (my responsibilities are a hodgepodge of other people's responsibilites), there's no set pay rate or anything. So my value will be ...er, evaluated in 4 weeks and my rate changed accordingly. Let's hope I'm a 24K gold snitch through and through, shall we? My iPod is still broken. And so is my laptop. I'm basically technologically dead in the water. I also need a car that was made in this century and does not sound like a giant dying boar everytime it turns its wheels. Or brakes. Or moves.

The Facts of Life

After much debate, I have decided to leave this post up. You have been warned all you males who are completely grossed out by the talk of feminine hygiene products. Proceed at your own risk!!

Let's talk about tampons, shall we? Maybe have a hypothetical tampon story time. I know that the males who read this blog probably just jumped back in pain and are quickly backpeddling on to another boy-friendly page, and I understand. Not all blog posts are created equal and this one is most definitely female-oriented.

So, tampons. Feminine hygiene products. They're great. The story starts when that special time of the month rolls around. And it's just AWESOME. (Nothing like trying to impress the cute guy two desks away by groaning in pain every 5 minutes and breathing really deeply and slowly like you're having contractions.)

But I digress. Tampons. This post is about tampons, not cramps. Cramps happened yesterday. Tampons happened today.

Sometimes tampons suck. Seriously. Especially cheap ones that were given to you by the lady you used to live with whose daughter left them there when she moved out 2 years ago. But you keep them because at the time you're a poor missionary and can't afford expensive tampons. (Why are the good ones so expensive? They're a necessity...like food!) But then you still have them a year later even though you can now afford "nice" tampons, but are too lazy to go out to the store and buy them. Besides, you never ever thought you'd get through the Sam's pack of tampons you bought that one time with your ex-boyfriend just to make his face turn red!

Tampons. So you decide to use these cheap tampons rather than go buy new ones this month. So you're at work and you go to use said cheapo piece of crap and the stupid thing just won't work right. Like it won't stay intact, so that it will, you know, move properly. But you sort of ghetto rig it, so that it will WORK dammit! You will not waste this tampon! So you, ahem, get it where it should be and before you can do a little victory dance, you realize an awful truth. The string is gone.

GONE.

And so now what are you supposed to do? There is now a foreign object lodged in you and no way to get it out. You panic. You start thinging about this one time, in college, when your friends talked about this type of a situation. A situation in which the life line BROKE OFF and there was nothing to do but do the obvious. GET.IT.OUT.

But you're at work and people are constantly coming in out and you can't even relax long enough because there is going to be a tampon stuck in your body forever and you'll never ever have sex and even if you do, oh my god, how will the baby come out? Will I give it TSS? I think my pelvis is inflamed!

So you run out of the bathroom and e-mail one of your OTHER college friends in the hopes that she'll have some kind of advice for you other than the obvious unholy act that you must commit in the work bathroom. But no. This has never happened to her. Great. Now it's just you and the damn tampon.

So you pretend like nothing is wrong and go about working for a few hours.

Refreshed, you go back into the bathroom determined to come out the winner. Deep breath. Calming thoughts. Soothing ideas. You are in control of this situation.

AND YOU ARE THE WINNER. The string didn't break off, but was snuggling with it's good friend, the tampon. Which is bad because it can't serve it's purpose if it's not visible. But you found that sucker and you won. You walk out of the bathroom resolved to do the right thing next month.

Buy a lifetime supply of pads.

iPod Down

My iPod is broken. Yes, broken. Not even just broken. Dead. In the water. DNR. Kaput.

I can't get it fixed without paying a sizable amount of money to the bastards at Apple. And I have to send it away to do this! I can't let my little girl go off into the world never to return! What if she meets some strangers who offer her candy? Or ask her to get into a large, unmarked van? We can't have that happenning! She might become scarred for life and unable to give the perfect random mix I need while I'm bemoaning the woes of life!

So I can't decide if I should just put this iPod out to pasture and purchase a new, more fancified one or get this one fixed. I have a lot of senimental attachment to my current one, even though it's now big and bulky and outdated and TOTALLY without a color screen. But I love her....

What to do?

Of Jobs and Toys

So I got a new job, sort of. One in which I get to wear cute clothes and sit behind a desk and type on a laptop all day long. I enjoy it. I also get to talk to on the phone with complete strangers and completely not care about their personal lives as long as they're willing to give me something. In short, I've gone back into the ministry.

I kid.

I mean, the whole job thing is true, just not the ministry. It was funny, you laughed. It's okay.

I work for the same company I have been with for the past year. Only I am no longer slaving away out on the factory floor cracking a whip and yelling "FASTER!" It's officially a temporary move, but the CFO has approached me about looking into a "more permanent position," so I think I'm there to stay. Yippee!

In other news, I saw the 4th Harry Potter film at the IMAX and it was as awesome as you would expect. I also have been spending embarrasingly large amounts of time playing games on the Nintendo DS my parents gave me for Christmas. (Yes, I am 25.) There is no boyfriend distracting me, since that's the normal reason girls stop blogging for months at a time, you know? They go away all sad and then come back with "exciting news!" Not me, no sirree. I come back with the possibility of a new tax bracket and carpel tunnel from pushing the A button too frequently.

Next time, we'll discuss my opposition to the conspiracy that is iPod repair. Until then, faretheewell.

Alive and Mostly Kickin'

I'm not dead. I haven't abandoned the internet or blogs or life in general. But work is busy and there are video games to be played and trivia questions to be answered. Forgive me, blogosphere, I have let thee down.