no man? no dog? got a dog but no man? got a man who acts like a dog? write. i would love to feel like i'm not the only tragic case. so feel free to share, anonymously if you wish...or using your stage name...
but maybe you're a lucky one. maybe you have a man AND a dog and get licked by both on a regular basis. feel free to share that too, and allow me to live vicariously through you. i know there are a lot of bored workers out there, so you have no excuse.
you may send anything you wish to manlessdogless@gmail.com. word of caution: it will probably be posted.
ps. also accepting submissions from guys who are tired of seeing man and dog in the same sentence.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
problem solved
my cuteness + my winning smile + 2 guys + acetone + super glue = a fixed car and a very happy me
so don't feel bad, houston adriana. all is well (and thanks for reading!).
i am back in business in L.A.
so don't feel bad, houston adriana. all is well (and thanks for reading!).
i am back in business in L.A.
Friday, April 3, 2009
because i'd had nothing to write about
the universe felt it was necessary to give me something to writer about. so here's an update:
today, as i was pulling into the job that i decided i was completely over yesterday, i ran into a cement pillar. i got a nice, foot tall gray paint streak alllll down the passenger door. to top it off, i hit the pole so hard, that all the lights came on in my car like it was fucking christmas and they wouldn't go off. having been trained by my circumstances to be independent and self-reliant, i decided i needed to fix the door so that the lights would go off, and i wouldn't come downstairs to a dead battery at the end of an equally dead day. so i started fiddling with some...thing in the door and messed that up to the point where the door wouldn't even close anymore. so now...just so we're all on the same page: 1. hit pillar; 2. gray paint (so now i look like i have a two-tone door or like i did a terrible job at trying to paint flames); 3. lights on; 4. battery dying; 5. passenger door not closing. in the midst of my "i can fix it myself, damnit" moment, i somehow got black oil from the...thing...all over my fingers, fingers which accidentally touched my pants. so, 6. oil on pants.
so now, how in the hell am i supposed to take the car anywhere to AT LEAST get them to fix the light switch/fuse whatever, if the damn door won't even close?
and why don't i have a some xy chromosome-possessing individual whom i can call to take care of this? or at least complain to?
and why am i typing on my computer and eating a doughnut, while my car is downstairs with the door open and the battery draining?
because i'm over it.
i am glad i'm off all next week, L.A.
today, as i was pulling into the job that i decided i was completely over yesterday, i ran into a cement pillar. i got a nice, foot tall gray paint streak alllll down the passenger door. to top it off, i hit the pole so hard, that all the lights came on in my car like it was fucking christmas and they wouldn't go off. having been trained by my circumstances to be independent and self-reliant, i decided i needed to fix the door so that the lights would go off, and i wouldn't come downstairs to a dead battery at the end of an equally dead day. so i started fiddling with some...thing in the door and messed that up to the point where the door wouldn't even close anymore. so now...just so we're all on the same page: 1. hit pillar; 2. gray paint (so now i look like i have a two-tone door or like i did a terrible job at trying to paint flames); 3. lights on; 4. battery dying; 5. passenger door not closing. in the midst of my "i can fix it myself, damnit" moment, i somehow got black oil from the...thing...all over my fingers, fingers which accidentally touched my pants. so, 6. oil on pants.
so now, how in the hell am i supposed to take the car anywhere to AT LEAST get them to fix the light switch/fuse whatever, if the damn door won't even close?
and why don't i have a some xy chromosome-possessing individual whom i can call to take care of this? or at least complain to?
and why am i typing on my computer and eating a doughnut, while my car is downstairs with the door open and the battery draining?
because i'm over it.
i am glad i'm off all next week, L.A.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
an office worker and a gentleman
i spent an hour at the carwash today. apparently everyone came out for the Tuesday special. i didn't actually think i was going to be there for an hour, so i didn't bother to sit down when i got there. furthermore, i sit all day, so when i have the opportunity to stand...in the sun...i take it. well, half an hour later i was still standing. i considered sitting at that point because one side of my body was starting to crisp under the direct sunlight. but i would have had to sit next to the guy who was smoking or the guy who was talking too loudly on his cell phone or the guy with the kid who had Cheeto powder all over his fingers. furthermore, chester cheeto jr. was a bit...how should is say?...inquisitive. which is a nice way of saying he had a lot of questions about a lot of shit and made a lot of noise and couldn't sit down. i decided it was best if continued to stand (with my purse blocking my legs, seeing as how i'd opted to wear a dress and not shave).
behind me, a guy asked, "would you like to sit down?" i turned around. it was the custodian of the kid with the orange fingers. he was talking to me. what a pleasant surprise! "no, but thank you so much," i replied. "you sure?" "yes. thank you though." i declined, not because i was afraid his kid would ruin my dress but rather, i wasn't very well going to have this guy get up out of his chair for me. maybe it's all that single-sex education i had growing up or the absence of chivalrous behavior in L.A. that has led me to view such behavior as unnecessary or slightly absurd. in any case, i turned him down, but i was flattered nevertheless. several minutes later, he got up, picked up his chair, brought it over to me and set it down saying, "you should sit. it's going to be a while. and you shouldn't stand there all this time in boots." (yes, the boots). i accepted this time, hell, the chair was right there and thanked him profusely. but i could NOT BELIEVE that he had actually given me his chair. perhaps i'm making a big deal out of something insignificant, but actions like this are so rare. a guy being nice just because? wtf? to top it off, he went to grab another chair for himself, and when he rejoined his son, the little boy asked, "where did you go?"
"to get a chair."
"why?"
"because i gave mine away."
"why?"
"because that's what boys do." (silence)
dad continues, "do you know what boys do for girls?"
"whaa?"
"what do boys do for girls?"
"whaa?"
that's right, kid. that's the same answer you'll have 20 years from now, i thought to myself. way to go. pops on the other hand, that was a different story. chivalrous AND trying to teach his kid a much-needed lesson. i was SMITTEN. it was time for some deductive reasoning: he's already established that he's a gentleman, he's at the carwash so he has a car, and he has a kid so he's clearly not impotent or opposed to family life...with all that established my mind immediately went down the obligatory prenuptial checklist. 1. could i deal with the kid? well, kristin, you aren't really into the whole insta-family thing. and his son seems to lack discipline. but i'm sure you could work with it... 2. would his asian relatives totally hate me and talk about me in a language that i don't understand? probably. do you really want to deal with that? no. but if i promise them mini-tiger woods then they might lighten up...
i wondered if the best course of action would be to engage him through the kid or talk to him directly. i turned toward them, smiling at the son, who by this time was laid out on the ground (who lies down on the ground at a carwash?) and pondered my approach. that's when i noticed the damn ring on daddio's finger. arg. i always forget to look there first. oh well. i really am not prepared to be a step-mom, so i will gladly let his wife deal with the cheeto stains. regardless, i did appreciate the gesture and the fact that he did it and had no ulterior motive made it all the more...magical. it gave me hope that there are gentleman out there...somewhere...mostly at koreatown carwashes, i imagine.
behind me, a guy asked, "would you like to sit down?" i turned around. it was the custodian of the kid with the orange fingers. he was talking to me. what a pleasant surprise! "no, but thank you so much," i replied. "you sure?" "yes. thank you though." i declined, not because i was afraid his kid would ruin my dress but rather, i wasn't very well going to have this guy get up out of his chair for me. maybe it's all that single-sex education i had growing up or the absence of chivalrous behavior in L.A. that has led me to view such behavior as unnecessary or slightly absurd. in any case, i turned him down, but i was flattered nevertheless. several minutes later, he got up, picked up his chair, brought it over to me and set it down saying, "you should sit. it's going to be a while. and you shouldn't stand there all this time in boots." (yes, the boots). i accepted this time, hell, the chair was right there and thanked him profusely. but i could NOT BELIEVE that he had actually given me his chair. perhaps i'm making a big deal out of something insignificant, but actions like this are so rare. a guy being nice just because? wtf? to top it off, he went to grab another chair for himself, and when he rejoined his son, the little boy asked, "where did you go?"
"to get a chair."
"why?"
"because i gave mine away."
"why?"
"because that's what boys do." (silence)
dad continues, "do you know what boys do for girls?"
"whaa?"
"what do boys do for girls?"
"whaa?"
that's right, kid. that's the same answer you'll have 20 years from now, i thought to myself. way to go. pops on the other hand, that was a different story. chivalrous AND trying to teach his kid a much-needed lesson. i was SMITTEN. it was time for some deductive reasoning: he's already established that he's a gentleman, he's at the carwash so he has a car, and he has a kid so he's clearly not impotent or opposed to family life...with all that established my mind immediately went down the obligatory prenuptial checklist. 1. could i deal with the kid? well, kristin, you aren't really into the whole insta-family thing. and his son seems to lack discipline. but i'm sure you could work with it... 2. would his asian relatives totally hate me and talk about me in a language that i don't understand? probably. do you really want to deal with that? no. but if i promise them mini-tiger woods then they might lighten up...
i wondered if the best course of action would be to engage him through the kid or talk to him directly. i turned toward them, smiling at the son, who by this time was laid out on the ground (who lies down on the ground at a carwash?) and pondered my approach. that's when i noticed the damn ring on daddio's finger. arg. i always forget to look there first. oh well. i really am not prepared to be a step-mom, so i will gladly let his wife deal with the cheeto stains. regardless, i did appreciate the gesture and the fact that he did it and had no ulterior motive made it all the more...magical. it gave me hope that there are gentleman out there...somewhere...mostly at koreatown carwashes, i imagine.
Monday, March 16, 2009
puss 'n boots
you all know i love my boots. i wear them with my real clothes, and i wear them with my pajamas. well, it just so happens that i wore them out (again) on friday night. i got home around 2 a.m. and clopped around on my hardwood floors, partially because i like the sound (it's sexy and official...somewhere on the decibel chart between government translator and the owner of a football team), and partially because i hoped it was more than slightly disturbing to fatty mcmasturbator upstairs. anyway, i eventually took them off, only to put them on again saturday night. i returned home a little after midnight to discover a note taped to my door.
it read:
Hi,
It's your neighbors @ unit C. Can you please remove your heels when you come home in the evening because the wood floors echo very loudly. I hope it's not an inconvenience but the sound from your heels wakes us up every night.
Thank you very much,
snatch 1 and snatch 2
well, when i first started reading it, i assumed it was from upstairs, and i was MORE than ready to give her a piece of my mind. but when i realized that it was in fact from someone(s) else, this threw a wrench in my plans. suddenly i, the crabby, cane-wagging, popo-calling old lady had become the noisy neighbor. who knew?
i DID in fact remove my boots in a timely fashion...and then i drafted this response:
Dear snatches,
so sorry about the heels. i actually had no intention of disturbing you; i was trying to disturb the masturbating lady above me. you guys think YOU have it bad? you should hear some of the things i've woken up to. i will try to remove my boots promptly (i will take them off by 11 p.m. if i'm just wearing them around the house). i will also try to rely on my obnoxious 80s music more as a sound barrier. that's the best I can do. if you really want to get to the source of the problem, go upstairs and tell that 'zilla that if she would stop spending so much time with her hand up her vag, i wouldn't spend so much time with my feet in my boots.
thanks,
boots.
ps. are you all the ones with that little yippie dog that barks every time the wind blows? now that's annoying.
then i drafted a second response:
Dear snatches,
i don't wear heels anymore. what you hear is actually sound of my peg legs tapping against the floor as i struggle to care for myself. i had the lower portion of both legs amputated recently when some thoughtless wench, much like yourself, ran me over in a prius right outside my front door. so sorry if the sound of me trying desperately to get a glass of tap water at night disturbs you.
thanks for nothing,
pegs.
i have yet to give them either one. want to let the responses marinate first. see which way i want to go.
i can't believe there's someone who doesn't like my boots in L.A.
it read:
Hi,
It's your neighbors @ unit C. Can you please remove your heels when you come home in the evening because the wood floors echo very loudly. I hope it's not an inconvenience but the sound from your heels wakes us up every night.
Thank you very much,
snatch 1 and snatch 2
well, when i first started reading it, i assumed it was from upstairs, and i was MORE than ready to give her a piece of my mind. but when i realized that it was in fact from someone(s) else, this threw a wrench in my plans. suddenly i, the crabby, cane-wagging, popo-calling old lady had become the noisy neighbor. who knew?
i DID in fact remove my boots in a timely fashion...and then i drafted this response:
Dear snatches,
so sorry about the heels. i actually had no intention of disturbing you; i was trying to disturb the masturbating lady above me. you guys think YOU have it bad? you should hear some of the things i've woken up to. i will try to remove my boots promptly (i will take them off by 11 p.m. if i'm just wearing them around the house). i will also try to rely on my obnoxious 80s music more as a sound barrier. that's the best I can do. if you really want to get to the source of the problem, go upstairs and tell that 'zilla that if she would stop spending so much time with her hand up her vag, i wouldn't spend so much time with my feet in my boots.
thanks,
boots.
ps. are you all the ones with that little yippie dog that barks every time the wind blows? now that's annoying.
then i drafted a second response:
Dear snatches,
i don't wear heels anymore. what you hear is actually sound of my peg legs tapping against the floor as i struggle to care for myself. i had the lower portion of both legs amputated recently when some thoughtless wench, much like yourself, ran me over in a prius right outside my front door. so sorry if the sound of me trying desperately to get a glass of tap water at night disturbs you.
thanks for nothing,
pegs.
i have yet to give them either one. want to let the responses marinate first. see which way i want to go.
i can't believe there's someone who doesn't like my boots in L.A.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
hate is such a strong word
there are a few things i hate. i hate morning meetings that require me to wake up an hour early and come to work to listen to some shit for 60 minutes that i could have read in an email and/or power point slide show in 6 minutes. i hate that i don't have kids because when you do, you get special privileges...like not having to attend morning meetings. "little johnny wouldn't put his sweater on this morning, so you couldn't make it?" excuse me if i call "bullshit!" just be truthful. you wanted to eat freakin' cheerios and watch veggie tales with your damn kids. fine. whatever. me and my unfertilized eggs would have liked an extra hour of sleep and a blueberry muffin. how come we don't get the same respect? i hate that i sit in front of a computer all day, and the stress of boredom is accumulating in my right shoulder, which is causing my right shoulder to be higher than my left, which equates to me turning into a hunchback. i hate that i work in an office full of dog lovers. i mean, i have nothing against dogs. i'm not going to hold the fact that i have been chased by german shepards and hungry rottweilers against the whole population (that would be rather racist). but seriously, i don't really want to hear "cute stories" about how your dog threw up again or about how she pissed on the rug or how the groomer irritated the dog's genitals with the shears. and no i do not want you all to initiate a "bring your dog to work day" and have them all running around sniffing and licking. i do NOT want the first lick i receive this year to be at the hands of a border collie. i also hate feeling like a bitch. for example, yesterday a group of people were huddled in my office, and one woman was talking about her dog who's on its last leg, and everyone started getting emotional and talking about THEIR dogs, and all i could think was, "should i stop playing this computer game? is that rude? but i'm at a really important part, and i might win this level, and...damn it, i will probably cry more if i actually lose this game than i will at this dog story. man, i'm such a bitch." i did win that level by the way (with an expert score). i hate that dates (men not the fruit) make me nauseous. and i don't mean nervous, "i have butterflies" nauseous. i mean "i ate bad egg salad" nauseous. i wonder if it's my immune system trying to fight off the destructive, man bacteria. i guess my body has learned to recognize the initial signs of the invader and simply goes into attack mode. the symptoms are all there. as i'm getting dressed, i feel light headed, flushed, and i really just want to take my clothes off and get in the bed. to make matters worse, the guy usually picks me up, and he's usually a bad driver, and i usually get car sick. i hate that none of the men i meet are tim riggins. i hate when i turn up pandora on my computer, and instead of people realizing that i'm doing it because i don't want to hear them, they just talk louder. i hate that i now have to end my blog because i have another goddamn meeting to go to, to talk about future events that i hope to not be here for! agh.
i am so spiteful today in L.A.
i am so spiteful today in L.A.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
my Secret problem
um...so if you receive an e-mail from your co-worker that reads, "hey, i heard you're leaving..." and you have not found a new job nor have you told anyone that you're leaving, should you assume that you are getting fired? well, that's what i assumed when i received an e-mail this morning that said that very thing. i didn't panic or head for the nearest window. my only thought was, "damn, now i won't even be able to say i have a job when i go to my reunion."
i began to wonder what led to my downfall. was it my hours on perezhilton? my fantasy footballing? my playing Diner Dash 1, 2 and 3? the updike novel on my desk? my blogging and disguising it as work? i e-mailed my co-worker back just to verify that this was in fact the case (considering he's worked here for 15 years and handles the checks, i assumed that if anyone would know that this pay period was to be my last, it would be him). i very lightheartedly replied, "i am? i didn't know anything about that. am i getting fired? did you just give me a heads up?" he didn't respond. determined to know how much longer i had before i would be lying on my couch all day watching court shows, i wrote "AM I GETTING FIRED?" in black sharpie on a sheet of paper, walked over to his desk and held it in front of his face. he laughed, said no, i wasn't getting fired. not to his knowledge anyway. but he had heard from a couple of people that i was leaving.
i feel like i'm missing something. i went straight from visualization to resignation without the manifestation. damn you, Secret. nowhere was it mentioned that you could screw the process up. nowhere did it say "visualizing your desired career may result in nothing more than rumors circulating around the workplace. use at your own risk." i'm sure this "information" was born out of the fact that i leave for writing-related meetings whenever they arise. i don't deny that, and i'm flattered that people think i have something lined up and am on my way out the door. however, that's not the case. and it's not that big of a deal. it's just that i have a hard enough time not living up to my own perfectionist expectations let alone those of other people that i unwittingly created. whatever. just another minor work annoyance--a little worse than people who say "sorry" all the time, but not nearly as bad as people who talk way too damn loud and too damn much about nothing at all.
i am still employed, L.A.
i began to wonder what led to my downfall. was it my hours on perezhilton? my fantasy footballing? my playing Diner Dash 1, 2 and 3? the updike novel on my desk? my blogging and disguising it as work? i e-mailed my co-worker back just to verify that this was in fact the case (considering he's worked here for 15 years and handles the checks, i assumed that if anyone would know that this pay period was to be my last, it would be him). i very lightheartedly replied, "i am? i didn't know anything about that. am i getting fired? did you just give me a heads up?" he didn't respond. determined to know how much longer i had before i would be lying on my couch all day watching court shows, i wrote "AM I GETTING FIRED?" in black sharpie on a sheet of paper, walked over to his desk and held it in front of his face. he laughed, said no, i wasn't getting fired. not to his knowledge anyway. but he had heard from a couple of people that i was leaving.
i feel like i'm missing something. i went straight from visualization to resignation without the manifestation. damn you, Secret. nowhere was it mentioned that you could screw the process up. nowhere did it say "visualizing your desired career may result in nothing more than rumors circulating around the workplace. use at your own risk." i'm sure this "information" was born out of the fact that i leave for writing-related meetings whenever they arise. i don't deny that, and i'm flattered that people think i have something lined up and am on my way out the door. however, that's not the case. and it's not that big of a deal. it's just that i have a hard enough time not living up to my own perfectionist expectations let alone those of other people that i unwittingly created. whatever. just another minor work annoyance--a little worse than people who say "sorry" all the time, but not nearly as bad as people who talk way too damn loud and too damn much about nothing at all.
i am still employed, L.A.
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