Despite the fact that I'm the same feminist to tried to encourage others to laugh through the pain with a Dave Attell joke,* I would still consider myself a feminist.^
But, I just received an invitation to a "Goddess Party." I'm supposed to bring a show and tell item - something that "makes you proud to be a woman" - to this shindig. It's going to take every ounce of my better judgement to prevent me from bringing: 1) a box of tampons, 2) a vibrator, or 3) the South Park episode where Cartman thinks he gets his period and establishes a goddess club.**
Okay, maybe I should have named this post, "Reason 479 Why I'm not Allowed in Public."
*Q: What do you tell a woman with two black eyes?
A: Nothing she's already heard twice.
^I was a Women Studies minor. (Yeah, okay I waited to declare the minor until I had about three glasses left to fulfill the requirements.) I took a short, guided tour through the lesbian neighborhood. (It lasted about six months, and I still blame being bored in New Hampshire.)
**Are you There God, It's me Jesus.
Sunday, October 7, 2012
Thursday, August 30, 2012
A Blast From the Past
I've lived in my current apartment for close to 18 months, and I have at least four boxes that I have yet to unpack. For the most part, they're full of crafts.
The past few months have been full of work. Not only do I spend 45-50 hours at work, but then I come home and study for tests that I'm encouraged to take for - you guessed it - work. My next test is scheduled in five days, so I've been going all out.
Tonight I wrapped up a 642 page prep book. Tomorrow I'll start on the nine practice exams I have yet to tackle. However, I'm done studying for the night, which is why I decided it'd be a perfect time to do something like change the two light bulbs that burnt out earlier this week. While digging around in my junk cabinet,* I came across one of those boxes I haven't unpacked.
What's the best way to procrastinate? Do things that you've been meaning to do, but have been neglecting - like laundry, dishes, or unpacking a random box.
That wonderful little bankers box was full of all sorts of high school memorabilia. We're talking student body cards, certificates of recognition, old love letters, and so, so many photos.
Here's what I learned from my own personal time capsule:
5) I was a big, big freak in high school.
4) I was convinced that I was hilarious, but I'm not so sure about it now...
3) The mid- and late '90s were not kind - fashion wise - to small town Oregon.
2) Over the past 15 years I've been working to shed my pack rat ways, but for some reason I've moved the junk in that box over 6,400 miles.^
1) My streaked hair - black, blond, red, sometimes orange - didn't look so bad.
*I live in a studio and have so much junk (e.g., potting soil, pots, light bulbs, etc.) that a single drawer will never be enough.
^The number would have been higher if I hadn't stored it during the other 16,472 miles.
Monday, August 13, 2012
JD Receptionist Part Deux
As you may know, I started with my company as a temp at the
front desk. Within three months
they had hired me as a permanent employee, but then I was locked into that
position for a year. I finally
moved into a new position the beginning of this year, and I’m still getting
used to the novel idea of working (and not messing about in NASA’s various Flickr Photostreams) during work
hours.
One of our regular receptionists is currently away on her
honeymoon, so they brought in a temp.
I’ve had several people tell me that I started a run of over educated
people working at the front desk, because this temp also has his JD.
When I was at the front desk, I was a little embarrassed by
the fact that I had my JD and I was doing an administrative job.* No matter how bad I felt for myself, I
feel a little worse for this guy.
He graduated from law school in 2010 after being kicked out
for a term (his grades slipped below the minimum average), passed the bar in
the spring of 2011, but didn’t pass the ethics portion of the bar (it’s a
separate test that most people take during law school) until this year, so he’s
been licensed to practice for about four months now. Since then he’s had one legal job interview, so he’s seriously
considering teaching English in South Korea for the next year or two – like his
brother – just to have a job to start paying down his student loans.
I had never spoken to this guy before today, and I learned
all of this in about ten minutes.
He may just be an over sharer or I may just be a great listener, but I
couldn’t help but think of the two times that I’ve seriously over shared with
people who are barely acquaintances.^
I remember the tidal waves of frustration, anger, despair, and
disbelief. I don’t miss those days.
If I’ve done the math correctly, this guy is two years
younger than I. However, he seems
so, so young and I do not envy the major life changing decisions he’s about to
make.
*I wasn’t embarrassed about the work or think it was below
me. (Dreams and moonbeams weren’t
going to pay my bills…) However, I
was embarrassed by what I assumed other people thought of me.
^Number one was during undergrad. I was working at 7-Eleven and the TA from one of my
photography classes came in and made the mistake of asking me how I was
doing. I unloaded on him. My dad had had a stroke two months
earlier, and was still hospitalized.
I was supposed to study abroad in Greece and had already invested
thousands of my Slurpee pouring, hotdog selling, and beer hawking money into
what was supposed to be my first grand adventure. I was torn between going and staying.
Law school ushered in number two. While sitting by myself in the student lounge area, my
socially awkward Legal Research TA happened upon me. He made the mistake of asking how I was doing, and the
floodgates opened. I had just
moved over 3,000 miles to the opposite coast. I had gone from urban Portland, Oregon to rural Concord, New
Hampshire. My law school (Franklin
Pierce Law Center, which is now University of New Hampshire School of Law) was
one of the only two stand alone law schools in the nation (the other is the
John Marshall Law School in Chicago, Illinois, which is now the last stand
alone school. Anyway, there were
only about 350 students in my entire school between the JD and graduate
programs. I hated most of my
classes. The one class that I was
pumped to take – Legal Writing – was crushing my will to live. I hadn’t made any real friends, and I
was SO sexually frustrated. Again,
I was torn between going and staying.
Okcupid, You’ve got a Touch of the ‘tard in You
I’ve already deactivated one account on Okcupid, but I was later
talked into signing up again.
After conversations with douche bags, guys who cancel dates
the day of and want to reschedule, 18-year-olds, and most recently Captain
Observo* - I think I’m over it.
Again.
* Aug 4, 2012 – 9:48 p.m. he wrote:
Baby, where’d you get your body from? Tell me, where’d you
get your body from? Baby, where’d you get your body from? Tell me, where’d you
get your body from? I got it from
my mama I got it from my mama I got it from my mama I got it, got it, g-got it
Aug 6, 2012 – 6:05 p.m. I wrote:
I do enjoy some will.i.am.
Aug 6, 2012 – 8:51 p.m. he wrote:
So can I get a name, I find you attractive and would like to
chat if interested... Plus you are stacked... :P
Aug 10, 2012 – 10:52 p.m. he wrote:
Sadness...
Tuesday, June 5, 2012
Biggest Loser Weeks Seven and Eight
Week Seven - I spent the entire week studying for a securities exam. The exam was the morning of my weekly weigh in. Thanks to the exam - I hardly slept the night before and I couldn't eat the morning of, and BAM! I lost 3.5 pounds.
Week Eight - It was like I couldn't avoid delicious, delicious food. Around the corner from work is a train sushi restaurant that I may be obsessed with,* and on Saturday I hung out with a few friends and ate everything under the sun. I gained a pound.
In short, we're looking at a net loss of 10.4 pounds.
Today over sushi, a coworker shared a little bit of her crazy weekend with me - her house was broken into. She's a little shaken up, but luckily nothing was stolen and she is now the proud owner of a home security system. It brought up to topic of how vulnerable women can feel at times. Then she asked if I carried pepper spray.
I don't.^
It wasn't until I opened my mouth - and found myself saying, "I just assume that people won't mess with me" - that I realized I've always considered my size a form of protection.
The belief in this unjustified form of armor stems from a single thought.
Who would want to rape a fat girl?~
Somewhere between California and Philly rolls I had an aha moment. I've known for a long, long time that eating is one of my coping mechanisms, but it wasn't until today that I realized I also use my weight as a soft, jiggly security blanket.
I've been using this subconscious self soothing tool for the better part of 30 years. I can only hope that I'm ready to move on without it.
I am so, so ready to move on without it.
* I go at least once a week. Apparently, that's too much, because today one of the sushi chefs gave me a philly roll before I had the opportunity to ask for it.
I told him that I loved him.
^ I used to walk to work before 6 a.m. I've traveled alone domestically and internationally. I slept on a beach outside of Dublin, and had a drunk local wake me up to ask for my lemonade. And, considering the fact that my college boyfriend crossed the street to avoid transients and carried brass knuckles if he had to walk across campus at night - I'm surprised he never gave me pepper spray.
~ What the what, right?
It's like I had a stroke and didn't remember a single thing from any one of my 11 Women Studies classes. Rape isn't sizeist. Hell, it's not even sexist.
Rape is about power and control.
Week Eight - It was like I couldn't avoid delicious, delicious food. Around the corner from work is a train sushi restaurant that I may be obsessed with,* and on Saturday I hung out with a few friends and ate everything under the sun. I gained a pound.
In short, we're looking at a net loss of 10.4 pounds.
Today over sushi, a coworker shared a little bit of her crazy weekend with me - her house was broken into. She's a little shaken up, but luckily nothing was stolen and she is now the proud owner of a home security system. It brought up to topic of how vulnerable women can feel at times. Then she asked if I carried pepper spray.
I don't.^
It wasn't until I opened my mouth - and found myself saying, "I just assume that people won't mess with me" - that I realized I've always considered my size a form of protection.
The belief in this unjustified form of armor stems from a single thought.
Who would want to rape a fat girl?~
Somewhere between California and Philly rolls I had an aha moment. I've known for a long, long time that eating is one of my coping mechanisms, but it wasn't until today that I realized I also use my weight as a soft, jiggly security blanket.
I've been using this subconscious self soothing tool for the better part of 30 years. I can only hope that I'm ready to move on without it.
I am so, so ready to move on without it.
* I go at least once a week. Apparently, that's too much, because today one of the sushi chefs gave me a philly roll before I had the opportunity to ask for it.
I told him that I loved him.
^ I used to walk to work before 6 a.m. I've traveled alone domestically and internationally. I slept on a beach outside of Dublin, and had a drunk local wake me up to ask for my lemonade. And, considering the fact that my college boyfriend crossed the street to avoid transients and carried brass knuckles if he had to walk across campus at night - I'm surprised he never gave me pepper spray.
~ What the what, right?
It's like I had a stroke and didn't remember a single thing from any one of my 11 Women Studies classes. Rape isn't sizeist. Hell, it's not even sexist.
Rape is about power and control.
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
Biggest Loser Weeks Five and Six
Yes, I know it's cheating by writing about two weeks at one time, but that's just how I roll.
Week Five
I lost another two pounds and was so sure of myself that I made a mixed berry cobbler for dessert on Thursday night. This thing had fresh fruit, rolled oats, whole wheat flour, Splenda Brown Sugar Blend, and margarine. AND, I paired it with Arctic Zero Ice Cream, which has only 136 calories per pint.
A good dessert decision, right?
It might have been if I hadn't consumed the entire thing. I mean, I didn't eat the entire cobbler or pint of ice cream in one sitting. Plus, I was going to the gym at least five days a week - I even ended up going twice one day to hit up two different classes. But, my food decisions were bad. Very, very bad.
I had the cobbler for breakfast on Saturday, and did it again on Sunday.
Week Six
I knew the weigh in was going to be bad, so I picked my clothing based on which items would add the least amount of weight. I ended up in a summer dress and peep toe flats.
It rained all day, and a gust of wind almost blew my skirt up. Twice.
Despite my best efforts to out smart the scale, I gained a pound.
For those of you who are following along at home - that's a net loss of eight pounds. The weight isn't exactly melting off like I had hoped, but I'll take a slow loss over no loss.
Week Five
I lost another two pounds and was so sure of myself that I made a mixed berry cobbler for dessert on Thursday night. This thing had fresh fruit, rolled oats, whole wheat flour, Splenda Brown Sugar Blend, and margarine. AND, I paired it with Arctic Zero Ice Cream, which has only 136 calories per pint.
A good dessert decision, right?
It might have been if I hadn't consumed the entire thing. I mean, I didn't eat the entire cobbler or pint of ice cream in one sitting. Plus, I was going to the gym at least five days a week - I even ended up going twice one day to hit up two different classes. But, my food decisions were bad. Very, very bad.
I had the cobbler for breakfast on Saturday, and did it again on Sunday.
Week Six
I knew the weigh in was going to be bad, so I picked my clothing based on which items would add the least amount of weight. I ended up in a summer dress and peep toe flats.
It rained all day, and a gust of wind almost blew my skirt up. Twice.
Despite my best efforts to out smart the scale, I gained a pound.
For those of you who are following along at home - that's a net loss of eight pounds. The weight isn't exactly melting off like I had hoped, but I'll take a slow loss over no loss.
Saturday, May 12, 2012
Biggest Loser Week Four
The good news is that I've lost over seven pounds over the past few weeks.
The bad news is that I've started compulsively thinking, talking, and even dreaming about food - especially when it comes the food I'm trying to avoid.
Last week, I couldn't stop talking about quiche. It was all about how I wanted to be elbow deep in cheese and fluffy, fluffy eggs, but it needed to be surrounded by a buttery, flaky crust. Frittatas weren't going to cut it. And, most importantly, I wanted to eat the entire thing.
Earlier this week it was pizza. I couldn't stop talking about it - thick, buttery crust, spicy sauce, delicious cheese and wonderfully fresh toppings. And, big surprise, I wanted all of it.
This process has taught me that my inner fat kid is a bit of a bitch, especially when I'm starving her. She REALLY does not like to share.
The bad news is that I've started compulsively thinking, talking, and even dreaming about food - especially when it comes the food I'm trying to avoid.
Last week, I couldn't stop talking about quiche. It was all about how I wanted to be elbow deep in cheese and fluffy, fluffy eggs, but it needed to be surrounded by a buttery, flaky crust. Frittatas weren't going to cut it. And, most importantly, I wanted to eat the entire thing.
Earlier this week it was pizza. I couldn't stop talking about it - thick, buttery crust, spicy sauce, delicious cheese and wonderfully fresh toppings. And, big surprise, I wanted all of it.
This process has taught me that my inner fat kid is a bit of a bitch, especially when I'm starving her. She REALLY does not like to share.
Thursday, May 10, 2012
It all Started with a Skinny Mustache
I don't even know why I thought it was a good idea to go to a medical provider located in Portland's Pearl District. Oh, that's right - I'm lazy and that particular optometrist office is five blocks from work AND in network.
Seriously, I've been going there for about 18 months, and my hatred for that office increases with every appointment. Since I have a chronic dry eye situation that arises in the middle of the night hasn't significantly improved in the past 18 months of eye steroid drops, Omega 3 pills, twice daily eyelid washes, warm eye compresses, and regular appointments with my optometrist - my hatred level for this office is beyond words.
Not only is there the obligatory gay guy with a skinny mustache,* but you've also got the waif-like blond with a pixie cut,^ rockabilly loving brunette with a passion for cat eye eyeliner, and a hot Asian chick.
In short, it's a hipster petri-dish.
An allergy to hipsters is a burden that I have to bear. I've been using this doctor's office as a way to build up my hipster tolerance, and today it backfired.
All I wanted was my annual eye exam. They couldn't cram it into my last dry eye follow up, so I went today. It was a bad visit from the start.
Not only was the doctor running 15 minutes behind schedule and I got to hang out in a waiting room littered old water and tea cups, but I had to deal with the creepy hair lip liner guy. I was trooper and didn't stare too hard.
I was more than a little bit relieved when the doctor strolled in. That relief lasted exactly as long as it took for the doctor to introduce herself and shake my hand, and all bets were off when she pointed out the long term ramifications if I didn't consider addressing my dry eye condition - soon.
The same dry eye problem that she had been treating for over a year and checked on two weeks ago.
It was during her lecture that I realized two things, 1) she had no idea who I was and 2) she didn't even bother to look at my patient file before launching into my exam. And, honestly, I'm more concerned about the latter.
So, I'm going to wrap up my little contact fitting project and then head to another optometrist's office. Maybe I'll be lucky enough to find a doctor who can treat my peepers without the mustachioed posse.
Hey, a girl can dream.
*A la Austin Scarlett
^If you're thinking Mia Farrow in "Rosemary's Baby", you'd be right on the money.
Seriously, I've been going there for about 18 months, and my hatred for that office increases with every appointment. Since I have a chronic dry eye situation that arises in the middle of the night hasn't significantly improved in the past 18 months of eye steroid drops, Omega 3 pills, twice daily eyelid washes, warm eye compresses, and regular appointments with my optometrist - my hatred level for this office is beyond words.
Not only is there the obligatory gay guy with a skinny mustache,* but you've also got the waif-like blond with a pixie cut,^ rockabilly loving brunette with a passion for cat eye eyeliner, and a hot Asian chick.
In short, it's a hipster petri-dish.
An allergy to hipsters is a burden that I have to bear. I've been using this doctor's office as a way to build up my hipster tolerance, and today it backfired.
All I wanted was my annual eye exam. They couldn't cram it into my last dry eye follow up, so I went today. It was a bad visit from the start.
Not only was the doctor running 15 minutes behind schedule and I got to hang out in a waiting room littered old water and tea cups, but I had to deal with the creepy hair lip liner guy. I was trooper and didn't stare too hard.
I was more than a little bit relieved when the doctor strolled in. That relief lasted exactly as long as it took for the doctor to introduce herself and shake my hand, and all bets were off when she pointed out the long term ramifications if I didn't consider addressing my dry eye condition - soon.
The same dry eye problem that she had been treating for over a year and checked on two weeks ago.
It was during her lecture that I realized two things, 1) she had no idea who I was and 2) she didn't even bother to look at my patient file before launching into my exam. And, honestly, I'm more concerned about the latter.
So, I'm going to wrap up my little contact fitting project and then head to another optometrist's office. Maybe I'll be lucky enough to find a doctor who can treat my peepers without the mustachioed posse.
Hey, a girl can dream.
*A la Austin Scarlett
^If you're thinking Mia Farrow in "Rosemary's Baby", you'd be right on the money.
Sunday, May 6, 2012
Biggest Loser Week Three
Folks at my company started their own version of The Biggest Loser a few weeks ago.
Week one worked out great - I lost three pounds.
Week two rolled around and sucked ass - I gained .4 pounds. Read that one again. I gained, not four pounds, but less than half of a pound.
Freaking LAME!
Not only did I have to shell out a whole dollar, but I also spent the next two days complaining about how I didn't drop a deuce before weighing in last week.
The good news about all of my complaining is that it opened the door for other people in our little competition to share their weight loss secrets with me.
One of my coworkers stops drinking water the night before whereas there's another that doesn't weigh in until after she pinches off her morning loaf.*
My coworkers' crazy approaches toward this little competition just makes me <3 them even more.
*I'm just glad that I'm not the only one who thought of it.
Week one worked out great - I lost three pounds.
Week two rolled around and sucked ass - I gained .4 pounds. Read that one again. I gained, not four pounds, but less than half of a pound.
Freaking LAME!
Not only did I have to shell out a whole dollar, but I also spent the next two days complaining about how I didn't drop a deuce before weighing in last week.
The good news about all of my complaining is that it opened the door for other people in our little competition to share their weight loss secrets with me.
One of my coworkers stops drinking water the night before whereas there's another that doesn't weigh in until after she pinches off her morning loaf.*
My coworkers' crazy approaches toward this little competition just makes me <3 them even more.
*I'm just glad that I'm not the only one who thought of it.
The Feminine Side of Recycling
I’m an Oregonian. I’m supposed to recycle. I don’t know if I’m supposed to be crazy when it comes to recycling, but I am.
When I had roommates, I used to pick through both the trash and the recycling and resort it. The roommates might have been from another country or another state, or just didn't understand the concept of recycling.
If I saw aluminum foil or a glass bottle in the trash - I'd clean it out and put it in with the recycling.
When plastic bottles and tin cans were put in the recycling and still covered with chocolate sauce or ketchup - I'd clean them and put them back in the recycling or set the bottles with deposits to side so I could place them out separately for the folks who would otherwise pick through our trash.
Well, that was until things got more and more ridiculous, and the crazy roommate started pulling things from the recycling bin and putting it in the trash and removing the bottles deposits labels so the deposits couldn't be collected.
I just couldn't take it any more. So, I left things in the trash and threw the soiled recyclables away.
Now that I'm living on my own in an apartment building that means that my crazy recycling ways pop up in other ways.
My building has a dumpster for trash, another dumpster for mixed paper, a small bin for glass, and a large bin for all the other recyclables. Everything's labeled, but I find trash bags in with the mixed paper recycling among other things...
Today I found an empty ergonomic vibrator package - made for women by women - in the wrong recycling bin, so I moved it and the empty protein shake bottle into the the right bin.
Although, I'm glad my neighbors are taking their sexual satisfaction into their own hands while they thin down, I still really wish people would learn how to read freakin' signs.
When I had roommates, I used to pick through both the trash and the recycling and resort it. The roommates might have been from another country or another state, or just didn't understand the concept of recycling.
If I saw aluminum foil or a glass bottle in the trash - I'd clean it out and put it in with the recycling.
When plastic bottles and tin cans were put in the recycling and still covered with chocolate sauce or ketchup - I'd clean them and put them back in the recycling or set the bottles with deposits to side so I could place them out separately for the folks who would otherwise pick through our trash.
Well, that was until things got more and more ridiculous, and the crazy roommate started pulling things from the recycling bin and putting it in the trash and removing the bottles deposits labels so the deposits couldn't be collected.
I just couldn't take it any more. So, I left things in the trash and threw the soiled recyclables away.
Now that I'm living on my own in an apartment building that means that my crazy recycling ways pop up in other ways.
My building has a dumpster for trash, another dumpster for mixed paper, a small bin for glass, and a large bin for all the other recyclables. Everything's labeled, but I find trash bags in with the mixed paper recycling among other things...
Today I found an empty ergonomic vibrator package - made for women by women - in the wrong recycling bin, so I moved it and the empty protein shake bottle into the the right bin.
Although, I'm glad my neighbors are taking their sexual satisfaction into their own hands while they thin down, I still really wish people would learn how to read freakin' signs.
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
Other People's Money
No, I'm not talking about the 1991 Danny DeVito film.
I'm talking about my new found motivation for losing weight. Yeah, okay, there's all of the normal motivations like living healthier, looking better naked, and an increased likelihood that I can talk someone into seeing how much better I look naked.
However, it appears that I'm the kind of girl who needs a competition with a prize. A cash prize. And, it's even better when that cash prize is - you guessed it - other people's money.
People at my company have had their own version of The Biggest Looser for the past few years. There's been a group of about ten folks who have participated every year. A mass e-mail went out this morning announcing the start of a new round that kicks off today and runs through July.
There's a $10 buy in and a weekly fee of $1 for each week that a person gains or maintains their weight. The winners are based on the percentage of weight lost.* Second place gets $10 and first places gets everything else.
When I signed up this morning around 10 a.m. there was a $150 pot.
The way I figure it is that I already have plans to go shopping at the outlets^ in mid-June, so if I lose even a little weight this little competition is going to better justify all of my shopping.~
*If Person A weights 110 pounds and loses 5 pounds during the competition - they would have lost 4.5 percent - and Person B weighs 200 pounds and loses 8 pounds - losing 4 percent of their body weight. Person A would win.
^Women love outlets. I have a uterus, therefore I also love the outlets.
~Bonus.
I'm talking about my new found motivation for losing weight. Yeah, okay, there's all of the normal motivations like living healthier, looking better naked, and an increased likelihood that I can talk someone into seeing how much better I look naked.
However, it appears that I'm the kind of girl who needs a competition with a prize. A cash prize. And, it's even better when that cash prize is - you guessed it - other people's money.
People at my company have had their own version of The Biggest Looser for the past few years. There's been a group of about ten folks who have participated every year. A mass e-mail went out this morning announcing the start of a new round that kicks off today and runs through July.
There's a $10 buy in and a weekly fee of $1 for each week that a person gains or maintains their weight. The winners are based on the percentage of weight lost.* Second place gets $10 and first places gets everything else.
When I signed up this morning around 10 a.m. there was a $150 pot.
The way I figure it is that I already have plans to go shopping at the outlets^ in mid-June, so if I lose even a little weight this little competition is going to better justify all of my shopping.~
*If Person A weights 110 pounds and loses 5 pounds during the competition - they would have lost 4.5 percent - and Person B weighs 200 pounds and loses 8 pounds - losing 4 percent of their body weight. Person A would win.
^Women love outlets. I have a uterus, therefore I also love the outlets.
~Bonus.
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
Dear Acuvue Oasys Rebates - I hate your stinking guts
It's true. You are nitpicky, ridiculous in your rules, and pretty damn lame.
After three back-and-forths, with me providing more and more information, you have still rejected my rebate. I know it's only $25, but considering I've already invested about $5 of postage into this little information gathering mission of yours - I really feel like I've earned it.
Listen, I get it. You require that a person buys contacts within 90 days of a vision exam, and you give them six months to buy one year's worth of contact lenses. Well, I did all of that. But, my second round of contacts was ordered during the first week of a new year.
BAM! I'm disqualified.
You know what, Acuvue? You can suck it.
I know that I'm only one person shelling out a couple hundred dollars per year for fancy contacts, because I have astigmatisms in both eyes. But, I also know that there's a nice little assortment of other contact manufactures who would love to get their hands on both my eyes and my money.
Plus, after looking into the likes of Biofinity Torics, which sound pretty awesome, and Air Optix for Astigmatism, which don't sound shabby either, my peepers are pretty pumped to try something else on for a change.
Don't look for any future rebates from me, because there won't be any. I mean, even if these other contact companies don't have a rebate program - since I'll be saving $5 in postage every time I try to apply for a rebate, it's almost as good as a rebate. Actually, it's even better - there's NOTHING for me to fill out, make copies of, or contact my doctor for further elaboration on. I'm not even required to sign up for annoying e-mail reminders, which I then have to unsubscribe from.
Do nothing and save money? It's like magic!
And with this, Acuvue Oasys, I bid you adieu.
After three back-and-forths, with me providing more and more information, you have still rejected my rebate. I know it's only $25, but considering I've already invested about $5 of postage into this little information gathering mission of yours - I really feel like I've earned it.
Listen, I get it. You require that a person buys contacts within 90 days of a vision exam, and you give them six months to buy one year's worth of contact lenses. Well, I did all of that. But, my second round of contacts was ordered during the first week of a new year.
BAM! I'm disqualified.
You know what, Acuvue? You can suck it.
I know that I'm only one person shelling out a couple hundred dollars per year for fancy contacts, because I have astigmatisms in both eyes. But, I also know that there's a nice little assortment of other contact manufactures who would love to get their hands on both my eyes and my money.
Plus, after looking into the likes of Biofinity Torics, which sound pretty awesome, and Air Optix for Astigmatism, which don't sound shabby either, my peepers are pretty pumped to try something else on for a change.
Don't look for any future rebates from me, because there won't be any. I mean, even if these other contact companies don't have a rebate program - since I'll be saving $5 in postage every time I try to apply for a rebate, it's almost as good as a rebate. Actually, it's even better - there's NOTHING for me to fill out, make copies of, or contact my doctor for further elaboration on. I'm not even required to sign up for annoying e-mail reminders, which I then have to unsubscribe from.
Do nothing and save money? It's like magic!
And with this, Acuvue Oasys, I bid you adieu.
Monday, March 26, 2012
XXX Financial Planning
This all started because I am ridiculously immature and I’ve spent a good check of my spare time studying for a securities license exam.
Earlier this week my company had an all employee meeting, which happens about once a quarter. The president and CEO of the company touched on the areas of the country where we were under represented. He identified these as our “under-penetrated markets.”
My first reaction was to realize that I have an under-penetrated market of own. And, that was about the time I mentally undertook the following script:
INT. OFFICE – DAY
Over an INTERCOME:
MS. DIANE (OS)
Why don’t you bring your long straddle in here, Michael?
MICHAEL
Actually, I’ve been feeling a little bearish recently.
MS. DIANE (OS)
Well, I’m bull enough for the both of us, so get in here already!
INT. MS. DIANE’S OFFICE – DAY
MICHAEL Enters:
MS. DIANE
Finally!
MICHAEL
I was identifying under-penetrated markets throughout the midwest.
MS. DIANE
Why don’t you come over here? I’ll show you either my aggressive investment strategy or my horizontal spread.
MICHAEL
I think you need to take advantage of the cooling off period, because I think you’re too heavily invested in back-end loaded securities.
MS. DIANE
I’m sorry. When I see a hot issue with a firm quote, I just can’t help myself.
MS. DIANE starts to undress.
Here are a few financial terms to that I used above, and a few others that I just think are fun to say:
Adjusted gross income – Earned income plus net passive income, portfolio income, and capital gains.
Aggressive investment strategy – A method of porfolio allocation and management aimed at achieving maximum return. Aggressive investors place a high percentage of their investable assets in equity securities and a far lower percentage in safer debt securities and cash equivalents, and they pursue aggressive policies, including margin trading, arbitrage, and option trading.
Asset-backed security – One whose value and income payments are backed by the expected cash flow from a specific pool of underlying assets. Pooling the assets into financial instruments allows them to be sold to investors more easily than selling them individually. The process is called securitization.
Back-end load – A commission or sales fee that is charged when mutual fund shares or variable annuity contracts are redeemed. It declines annually, decreasing to zero over an extended holding period – up to eight years – as described in the prospectus.
Bear market – A market in which prices of a certain group of securities are falling or are expected to fall.
Cash market – Transactions between buyers and sellers of commodities that entail immediate delivery of and payment for a physical commodity.
Catastrophe call – The redemption of a bond by an issuer owing to disaster (e.g., a power plant that has been built with proceeds from an issue burns to the ground).
Chinese wall – A descriptive name for the division within a brokerage firm that prevents insider information from passing from corporate advisers to investment traders who could make use of the information to reap illicit profits.
Cooling-off period – The period (a minimum of 20 days) between a registration statement’s filing date and the registration’s effective date. In practice, the period varies in length.
Double-barreled bond – A municipal security backed by the full faith and credit of the issuing municipality as well as by pledged revenues.
Firm quote – The actual price at which a trading unit of a security (such as 100 shares of stock or five bonds) may be bought or sold. All quotes are firm quotes unless otherwise indicated.
Horizontal spread – The purchase and sale of two options on the same underlying security and with the same exercise price but different expiration dates.
Hot issue – A new issue that sells or is anticipated to sell at a premium over the public offering price.
Naked – The position of an option investor who writes a call or a put on a security he does not own.
Naked call writer – An investor who writes a call option without owning the underlying stock or other related assets that would enable the investor to deliver the stock should the option be exercised.
Naked put writer – An investor who writes a put option without owning the underlying stick or other related assets that would enable the investor to purchase the stock should the option be exercised.
Sales load – The amount added to a mutual fund share’s net asset value to arrive at the offering price.
Stripper well – An oil well that produces fewer than 10 barrels per day.
Two-dollar broker – An exchange member that executes orders for other member firms when their floor brokers are especially busy. Two-dollar brokers charge a commission for their services; the amount of the commission is negotiated.
Thursday, March 22, 2012
Reason 213 Why I Shouldn't Have Kids
I just got upset about the fact that I my house plants want to be watered at least once every other week.
Can you imagine what would happen if I had kids that expected to be fed and changed several times a day? Yeah, I know. It'd be a disaster!
Why then are my younger siblings* betting that I'm going to be the next one to pop out a rugrat? Probably because they think it'd be hilarious!
We'll see who has the last laugh.**
*Who will be 29, 28, and 27 this year.^
^Yes, I did that in reverse order. Because I have to count backward from my own age.+
+Maybe this should have been titled Reason 4,209 Why I'm the Worst Sister EVER...
**In the last two minutes I've come to terms with the fact that I'm a bad sister and can't recall random facts like people's ages at the drop of a hat. You know what? I'm okay with it.
I'm so okay with my role as a bad sister that I'd have no problem making those bitches watch the video of me pooing all over a table while strangers have their hands in my junk, and a cantaloupe tares open my pink parts. If this shit ever goes down, I'd make them watch it repeatedly and in slow motion.
And, I'd do it while nursing in plain sight.
Can you imagine what would happen if I had kids that expected to be fed and changed several times a day? Yeah, I know. It'd be a disaster!
Why then are my younger siblings* betting that I'm going to be the next one to pop out a rugrat? Probably because they think it'd be hilarious!
We'll see who has the last laugh.**
*Who will be 29, 28, and 27 this year.^
^Yes, I did that in reverse order. Because I have to count backward from my own age.+
+Maybe this should have been titled Reason 4,209 Why I'm the Worst Sister EVER...
**In the last two minutes I've come to terms with the fact that I'm a bad sister and can't recall random facts like people's ages at the drop of a hat. You know what? I'm okay with it.
I'm so okay with my role as a bad sister that I'd have no problem making those bitches watch the video of me pooing all over a table while strangers have their hands in my junk, and a cantaloupe tares open my pink parts. If this shit ever goes down, I'd make them watch it repeatedly and in slow motion.
And, I'd do it while nursing in plain sight.
Sunday, March 4, 2012
Huh. So, I'm like a Piñata?
Yeah, maybe I am a little beat up,* but that's not what I mean when I liken myself to a piñata. What I mean is that I'm full of candy and booze,^ just like how piñatas should be.
The weird thing is that I'm more drunk now - home, alone, with my cats~ - than I was in Vegas last week.
All things considered I want to count Vegas as a win, but considering 1) I consumed less than five alcoholic beverages the entire four days I was in Nevada, 2) I came out $3 "ahead"+, 3) the most "action" I saw in Vegas was on a dance floor in the Paris casino and came in the form of an ass slap from a drunkard who had previously been rejected by my friend, AND a very large black man's warm, soft junk resting on my thigh as he tried to cross the dance floor, ** and 4) the hundreds of dollars I spent on food.^^
I had AMAZING food. I had good food. And, I had acceptable food.
When all was said and done I was just excited not to be in Oregon, which is probably why I'm planning my next two trips out of this hipster oasis.~~ I can only hope that it's sooner than later.***
*I totally have a bruise on my right wrist the size of a thumb that makes me look like an abused woman. The strange thing is that I have no idea where it came from.
^Best. Weekend. Ever.
+I lost $2 on slots and won $5 at Casino War. Granted, I spent less than 15 minutes gambling the entire tie I was in Nevada and promptly turned around and reinvested my $3 winnings in the casino in a form of a Diet Pepsi - I'll take every little win I can get.
~Living every teenage lesbians dream. Too bad that I'm not a lesbian, right?
**I'm still not sure if this one was on purpose, due to the packed dance floor, or cut short thanks to my robot. We may never know.
^^Now you know my weakness - food. Also, my traveling companions all know my weakness for cheese.++
++I. Love. Cheese.
~~I just want to get out so, so badly.
***So, I get drunk, wake up with all sorts of strange bruises, and not feel ashamed. Again.
The weird thing is that I'm more drunk now - home, alone, with my cats~ - than I was in Vegas last week.
All things considered I want to count Vegas as a win, but considering 1) I consumed less than five alcoholic beverages the entire four days I was in Nevada, 2) I came out $3 "ahead"+, 3) the most "action" I saw in Vegas was on a dance floor in the Paris casino and came in the form of an ass slap from a drunkard who had previously been rejected by my friend, AND a very large black man's warm, soft junk resting on my thigh as he tried to cross the dance floor, ** and 4) the hundreds of dollars I spent on food.^^
I had AMAZING food. I had good food. And, I had acceptable food.
When all was said and done I was just excited not to be in Oregon, which is probably why I'm planning my next two trips out of this hipster oasis.~~ I can only hope that it's sooner than later.***
*I totally have a bruise on my right wrist the size of a thumb that makes me look like an abused woman. The strange thing is that I have no idea where it came from.
^Best. Weekend. Ever.
+I lost $2 on slots and won $5 at Casino War. Granted, I spent less than 15 minutes gambling the entire tie I was in Nevada and promptly turned around and reinvested my $3 winnings in the casino in a form of a Diet Pepsi - I'll take every little win I can get.
~Living every teenage lesbians dream. Too bad that I'm not a lesbian, right?
**I'm still not sure if this one was on purpose, due to the packed dance floor, or cut short thanks to my robot. We may never know.
^^Now you know my weakness - food. Also, my traveling companions all know my weakness for cheese.++
++I. Love. Cheese.
~~I just want to get out so, so badly.
***So, I get drunk, wake up with all sorts of strange bruises, and not feel ashamed. Again.
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
Reason 129 Why I don’t Date Cont.
Yes, it's still me.
Sure, I complain about not dating, but since I’ve spent more time telling people how crazy I am* or listing out the reasons why a particular guy shouldn’t want to date me^ I probably shouldn’t be all that surprised.
*Yeah, okay, it’s true. But, guys could probably figure it out in their own time, and before they do this girl might get a little action.
^Yes, this is the guy I was convinced would sell me into white slavery.
He wrote:
Yo,
So as it turns out, the [school] offered me a tenure-track position. I accepted. I'll be moving there in August. You know, to prepare the way for your glorious arrival and all. I was wondering whether my impressive new job, and raw animal magnetism, would be enough to seduce you. This gravy train is about to leave the station. Get on board now.
Sorry that kinda sounds creepy. What I really want to know is what you're up to these days, whether you'd like to get acquainted. I can't really say "re"acquainted, given that we didn't get too far in the acquainting process the first time around. Anyway, let me know.
I wrote:
That's wonderful news about the position with [the school]. Congratulations…!
I feel like it needs to be said - I don't think I can live up to all of the hype.
Personally, I think I'm pretty awesome. However, this morning I belted out the theme song to "Golden Girls" with a coworker. Last week, I forgot that I was in my work lunchroom and I burped like drunken frat boy. I'm more likely to spend Friday nights hanging out with my cats, watching "Misfits" on Hulu or, generally, giving my neighbors another reason to believe that I'm either a recluse or a lesbian, than bar hopping or whatever else 30-year-olds are supposed to do with themselves.
Plus, I'm sure it's just a matter of time until a Chicagoland native sweeps you off your feet. Hey, maybe you'll do better than I did at The Wiener's Circle. (After my meal, I may or may not have redecorated the inside of someone's car with my stomach contents.
And, by "may or may not," I mean that I totally did.) Chicago's great, and I'm sure that you can find someone much, much closer that would run - not walk - to get aboard your gravy train.
[Me]
P.S. Given your upcoming move, I would encourage you to read "Devil in the White City." I don't want to spoil it, but there's a murder hotel. Complete with secret passageways and a body disposal room. Oh, yeah, and it's non-fiction.
I feel like it needs to be said - I don't think I can live up to all of the hype.
Personally, I think I'm pretty awesome. However, this morning I belted out the theme song to "Golden Girls" with a coworker. Last week, I forgot that I was in my work lunchroom and I burped like drunken frat boy. I'm more likely to spend Friday nights hanging out with my cats, watching "Misfits" on Hulu or, generally, giving my neighbors another reason to believe that I'm either a recluse or a lesbian, than bar hopping or whatever else 30-year-olds are supposed to do with themselves.
Plus, I'm sure it's just a matter of time until a Chicagoland native sweeps you off your feet. Hey, maybe you'll do better than I did at The Wiener's Circle. (After my meal, I may or may not have redecorated the inside of someone's car with my stomach contents.
And, by "may or may not," I mean that I totally did.) Chicago's great, and I'm sure that you can find someone much, much closer that would run - not walk - to get aboard your gravy train.
[Me]
P.S. Given your upcoming move, I would encourage you to read "Devil in the White City." I don't want to spoil it, but there's a murder hotel. Complete with secret passageways and a body disposal room. Oh, yeah, and it's non-fiction.
He wrote:
That is the nicest rejection ever. Can we at least get a beer when I'm back in Portland? Throw me a bone!
I wrote:
Sounds like a plan, sir!~
~He asked me the same thing a few years ago, and that didn't happen. So, I feel pretty safe about the fact that if I am sold into white slavery, this isn't going to be the guy who does it.
I wouldn’t consider them drinking buddies…
One of the major PSA[i] campaigns I remember from my college days posed the question, “Are you making friends or drinking buddies?” It had never been a major concern of mine until tonight when I realized that I don’t have drinking buddies – I have eating buddies.
Growing up is funny, because relationships never turn out how you thought they would. I have moved thousands of miles away from two of my best friends,[ii] and now that I live in the same city and the three of us work less than a mile from each other I feel less connected to them. When I lived 3,000 miles away, there were several phone calls every month that lasted for over an hour and when I came home for winter vacation we would hang out for days on end.[iii]
Now we meet up once or twice a month for happy hour.
However, on my standing happy hour dates, I’m just as likely to order a Diet Pepsi with an appetizer as I am to drink my dinner. This afternoon I received an e-mail from an eating buddy in another state about our upcoming trip to Vegas. Half the things she wanted to do involved food.[iv] That was about the time I realized that all of my best friends have somehow turned into or were always eating buddies.
Note to self: Suck it up and go to one of the many, many neighborhood pubs and belly up to the bar already!
[i] For those of you who missed out on the glory of interning for a public television station in high school or working for your college radio station, a PSA is a Public Service Announcement. The more you know!
[ii] Twice
[iii] Granted, the only difference between me crashing on a couch for a couple of days or a couple of weeks is about three inches of snow. Thank you, Oregon, for snowing my ass in multiple times!
[iv] She wrote:
[Is] there anything special people wanted to do? Here's my wish list:
Diablo's Cantina nachos and margaritas (or whatever the place at Monte Carlo is called)
House of Blues - their blacked chicken sandwich is making my mouth water right now!
Free Pirates of Treasure Island and Exploding Volcano at Mirage shows at night
Fancy ladies dinner someplace where we all dress up!
Fancy ladies dinner someplace where we all dress up!
Discount vegas show...Tara and I have been discussing
Also just found out they have a zipline over fremont street while the big ceiling light show is going on...for $20! Also I wouldn' tmind hitting up Madame Tussards...
[v] I drink much too much during my weekly family dinners.
[vi] Arguably, my cats are also my dinner companions, roommates, peeping toms…1
1 With those dirty jerks (see: perverts) sharing my adorable (see: tiny) studio, I’m never really alone during “alone time.” 2; 3; 4; 5; 6; 7; 8; 9; 10; 11; 12; 13; 14; 15; 16; 17; 18; 19
2 Yes, I’m talking about “double clicking my mouse.”
3 Rubbing one out
4 Going to the gym
5 Washing my hair
6 Airing my orchard
7 Watering my flower
8 Carpet bumpin’
9 Fluffin’ my muff
10 Going to the gym
11 She bopping
12 Dipping my digits
13 Focusing on a hot button issue
14 Bangin’ my hood
15 Undergarment typing
16 Making cookies
17 I think I’m done
18 I was wrong – masturbating
19 Okay, and now I’m done
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
To all the Single Dudes on Valentine's Day
Listen, I get it. It's Valentine's Day.
If you don't already have a special someone to hang out with tonight then you might as well find a lonely lady with low self esteem you can take advantage of, right?
You don't have to answer, I know I'm right.*
In short, you all need to stop acting like a bunch of d-bags. Or, at the very least act like half a d-bag, so that I wouldn't mind grabbing a drink with the other half.
Wait.
If all y'all - d-bags or not - wear skinny jeans or man capris, "rock" an ironic mustache, may or may not be a hipster, or dressed up as "Where's Waldo" or Santa for a pub crawl - I may need to reconsider the whole "not a lesbian" thing.
*I hadn't logged into OkCupid in weeks or maybe a month or more, but then today I get two messages back to back. One was a simple, "Hey. How are you doing?" but the other was something special. A dude in a cowboy hat asking me, "Hi how ate you" and wishing me a "Happy valentines".
Seriously, I hope that dude in a cowboy hat didn't copy and paste that message to send it to ALL the ladies. Or, if he did, I hope no one fell for it. Yeah, I know. There are tons of lonely ladies with low self esteem who are itching to put out tonight, but I'm not one of them. Well, not to just anyone.
If you don't already have a special someone to hang out with tonight then you might as well find a lonely lady with low self esteem you can take advantage of, right?
You don't have to answer, I know I'm right.*
In short, you all need to stop acting like a bunch of d-bags. Or, at the very least act like half a d-bag, so that I wouldn't mind grabbing a drink with the other half.
Wait.
If all y'all - d-bags or not - wear skinny jeans or man capris, "rock" an ironic mustache, may or may not be a hipster, or dressed up as "Where's Waldo" or Santa for a pub crawl - I may need to reconsider the whole "not a lesbian" thing.
*I hadn't logged into OkCupid in weeks or maybe a month or more, but then today I get two messages back to back. One was a simple, "Hey. How are you doing?" but the other was something special. A dude in a cowboy hat asking me, "Hi how ate you" and wishing me a "Happy valentines".
Seriously, I hope that dude in a cowboy hat didn't copy and paste that message to send it to ALL the ladies. Or, if he did, I hope no one fell for it. Yeah, I know. There are tons of lonely ladies with low self esteem who are itching to put out tonight, but I'm not one of them. Well, not to just anyone.
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Reason one why I should go directly to bed after drinking my dinner
Dear Me,
Sure, it’s been a banner year so far,* so you go out with your two best friends and celebrate. It’s the Tuesday before payday and you only have $15 to your name, so you decide to drink your dinner.^ What could go wrong, right?
Well, in this technological world, where you also decide that it’s an acceptable idea to post on your blog while you’re still drunk – anything could happen. And, you know what? It usually does.
Do you remember that nice guy you met on eHarmony over a year ago who turned out not to be in Portland, Ore. at all, but was actually living in London? And, who quickly offered to pay for half of your plane ticket out there? You know, the offer that happened so quickly that it convinced you that he was going to sell you into white slavery?
Yeah, that’s the one.
Guess what? You’re home alone and drunk, and you’ve got an e-mail from him. What do you do?
You decided to respond,^^ blog about it, and then finish watching “To Sir, with Love.” Seriously, what in the hell is wrong with you?++
*Not only did you get a promotion, but the following week you won your company’s college football pool.
^The happy hour at Cafe Nell is pretty decent, so three happy hour and one regular Widmer Hefeweizens later – you still have money to tip the nice gay boy who doubles as the bartender.
+ On Tue, Jan 10, 2012 at 4:48 PM, he wrote:
Hey there... I don't know whether you remember me. (If you don't, take a look at the exchange below.** It might jog your memory.) Anyway, I recall you saying that you planned to move to Chicago from Portland. Well, as it happens, I'll be traveling to Chicago for about five days on January 20th. I'll be interviewing and lecturing at the University of Illinois, Chicago. So there's a chance I may be in Chicago indefinitely. I was wondering whether you'd like to get a cup of coffee or a drink or something while I'm in town. I hope this doesn't make me seem like a hopeless obsessive, or a creep.
Best,
[Him] (the guy from London, remember?)
[Him] (the guy from London, remember?)
**It was an e-mail exchange alright. One from October 2010.
^^Yes, I remember you. Sadly, the dream has not yet come to fruition.
I'm still in Portland, but I'm a step closer in my plan to take
Chicago by storm.
Good luck on the interviews and give my best to the windy city.
I'm still in Portland, but I'm a step closer in my plan to take
Chicago by storm.
Good luck on the interviews and give my best to the windy city.
++Where ever shall we start?
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