Hi! Remember me? I’m the kid who had a report due on space….
…
(No? Anyone? ...Bueller? ...Bueller?)
So yeah, I’ve been busy. The Funasaurus was out of town last week, but I didn’t get lonely, oh no, for his sister and her boyfriend are currently living with us.
Fortunately, they are very nice and we all get along well and laugh a lot. Unfortunately, The Funasaurus’ sister has some princess-esque tendencies, herself. And, well. I am used to being the only princess in the house. So sometimes there are disagreements over who is more lazy. Or the exact placement of the trash can. Or whether we should have any vegetables with dinner, ever, at all. (And BTW that’s ME who finally insisted on a few little green beans around last night’s extra meat-y spaghetti! There IS someone in the world who eats less healthily than I do!)
But in the grand scheme of things, we’ve actually been having a fun time together. And Sister’s Boyfriend, from here known as SB, is quite a cook, so there have been some tasty (though veggie-less) dinners in the Funasaurus household, recently.
We also went to the World Series game on Sunday night, which was a lot of fun, though might have perhaps been slightly MORE fun had we not had to watch Boston beat us like the playground bully after our lunch money. Bambino-curse or not.
Today is Halloween, though the temperature high is supposed to be all of 47 degrees. Not that that ever stopped me when I was a kid. Nay, I wore many a princess (oh, like you’re surprised) costume with a big ol’ ski coat underneath. I just figure it was training for my future Norwegian monarchy.
Last year we got six, SIX whole trick-or-treaters, two of whom were parents with their own, separate treat bags. I don’t know about you, but I don’t feel like parents get to get treats, too. Especially if they don’t dress up. (One dude was holding a motorcycle helmet, which COULD have been a piece of a costume until I looked closely.) You’re too old, man. You are now paying your dues for all the hours you dragged YOUR dad around YOUR neighborhood while you were ringing doorbells dressed as Luke Skywalker for the third year in a row. So this year I am making, “Grow the Fuck Up!” tickets to hand out to any candy-grubbing parents.
Because I fully embrace the spirit of the holiday that way.
Of course, I bought three large bags of candy (Reeces Cups, because those are the aces of Halloween candy, Butterfingers because those are my favorite, and Nerds for the non-chocolate lovers, and also because if you don’t like Nerds then there’s something wrong with you.) for our potential four kids who come by this year.
I’m o.k. with having leftovers.
Happy Halloween!
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Variations on the Theme: Sleep
The Funasaurus is away on a business trip, and while I am sad and miss him very much, Sugar and Tatum are like, “SCORE! MORE BED FOR US WITH NO FEAR OF BEING SMUSHED IN THE NIGHT!” and have laid claim to about 99% of the covers, leaving me in a very awkward position in the corner, not daring to move lest I disturb their delicate, sleeping selves. How two cats that weigh less than eight pounds a piece are able to take up an entire queen bed is entirely beyond me. But they do it. And sometimes it is not enough space, because I had to wake up twice to remove a determined Tatum jaw from Sugar’s squealing head because apparently she was in the exact spot that he wanted to be.
We have also recently acquired DVR, and I am slowly learning the wonders that are “FAST FORWARD! THROUGH THE COMMERCIALS!” My sister-in-law had to remind me, at every single commercial break, that, “You know, you can skip this if you want,” and I would remember I had awesome power to fast forward the TV.
Mwah-hah-hah-hah.
Screw you, Downy, Viagra, and Comcast! I shall never be bored to tears with your drivel, again.
And....
That’s all I got. I’ve been working a lot, recently. Again. On the other hand, I have somehow managed to squeeze in a nap two out of the last three days in the middle of my work week, so I guess I can’t complain. Having my own office does have its benifits.
We have also recently acquired DVR, and I am slowly learning the wonders that are “FAST FORWARD! THROUGH THE COMMERCIALS!” My sister-in-law had to remind me, at every single commercial break, that, “You know, you can skip this if you want,” and I would remember I had awesome power to fast forward the TV.
Mwah-hah-hah-hah.
Screw you, Downy, Viagra, and Comcast! I shall never be bored to tears with your drivel, again.
And....
That’s all I got. I’ve been working a lot, recently. Again. On the other hand, I have somehow managed to squeeze in a nap two out of the last three days in the middle of my work week, so I guess I can’t complain. Having my own office does have its benifits.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Royal Review
I begrudgingly admit that Eat, Pray, Love was not all bad. A little cheesey, and I little metaphor-happy, but actually pretty good. And that’s something, coming from someone (hi! Me!) who was prepared to poo-poo it.
It is exactly what you expect; if you read the summary, there are no surprises. Still, she spins a good story, and she has you seriously considering giving up your wordly possessions to go live in Bali by the end of the novel, which is always a mark of a good book, in my opinion.
It was a little longer than I expected, the pages are thin and the type is deceptively small (in that it doesn’t LOOK small, but it takes a fair amount of time [relatively] to read one page, and you have a headache after each reading… [either that, or I’ve just been spending too much time with my Excel spreadsheets, recently,]) but I kind of like that. I feel like a lot of modern literature is written for our ADD culture, it’s all quick and wit is crammed into every sentence so that the developmental editor can then pare down the minimalist story still further until only the witty bones are left because that’s all the time any ADD reader has to devote to the story. Sometimes I think a little meandering character background is endearing. And it makes you work for it. Kind of like a Jane Austen novel. There’s a lot of drivel, to finally get to the love story that was meant to be, by the end of the book. But the drivel quietly endears you to a character, and by the end, you truly feel like you’ve gone on quite a journey with the character, and are truly invested in their prudish, 19th century English love.
Not that Eat, Pray, Love was prudish or 19th century. No, it was very me, me, me, why don’t you love me, NOW, but it moved at a good place and really told you enough about the setting that you became invested, and I liked that.
And… I’m done. Pass the chardonnay.
Meanwhile The Funasaurus and I have scored tickets to the World Series, despite the debacle you may have read about, because we qualified to get tickets a day early on Sunday, because we were technically season ticket holders, for buying our little 25-game-pack! Hooray! Sitting through those long days of intense sunlight and overpriced beer were worth it! I’m going to a Very Important Game! Go Kaz Matsui (I have no idea if I spelled that right. But I dearly love saying his name.)
We also saw a play this weekend. (Go culture!) It was billed as a “haunting thriller” though since there was a severe lack of ghosts, blood, and Things That Make You Jump, we deemed it not at all a “haunting thriller” so much as a “talky, well-acted dark drama with a Very Naked Dude in it” (hello, limp penis!) And also “some Christ-y-action.”
Today Is The Funasaurus’ birthday, so HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BABY, even though you no longer read this! I love you very much, and also it totally was me who ate the last ice cream sandwich, but I think it’s funny that you think you did and didn’t notice. Can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you. Mwah.
It is exactly what you expect; if you read the summary, there are no surprises. Still, she spins a good story, and she has you seriously considering giving up your wordly possessions to go live in Bali by the end of the novel, which is always a mark of a good book, in my opinion.
It was a little longer than I expected, the pages are thin and the type is deceptively small (in that it doesn’t LOOK small, but it takes a fair amount of time [relatively] to read one page, and you have a headache after each reading… [either that, or I’ve just been spending too much time with my Excel spreadsheets, recently,]) but I kind of like that. I feel like a lot of modern literature is written for our ADD culture, it’s all quick and wit is crammed into every sentence so that the developmental editor can then pare down the minimalist story still further until only the witty bones are left because that’s all the time any ADD reader has to devote to the story. Sometimes I think a little meandering character background is endearing. And it makes you work for it. Kind of like a Jane Austen novel. There’s a lot of drivel, to finally get to the love story that was meant to be, by the end of the book. But the drivel quietly endears you to a character, and by the end, you truly feel like you’ve gone on quite a journey with the character, and are truly invested in their prudish, 19th century English love.
Not that Eat, Pray, Love was prudish or 19th century. No, it was very me, me, me, why don’t you love me, NOW, but it moved at a good place and really told you enough about the setting that you became invested, and I liked that.
And… I’m done. Pass the chardonnay.
Meanwhile The Funasaurus and I have scored tickets to the World Series, despite the debacle you may have read about, because we qualified to get tickets a day early on Sunday, because we were technically season ticket holders, for buying our little 25-game-pack! Hooray! Sitting through those long days of intense sunlight and overpriced beer were worth it! I’m going to a Very Important Game! Go Kaz Matsui (I have no idea if I spelled that right. But I dearly love saying his name.)
We also saw a play this weekend. (Go culture!) It was billed as a “haunting thriller” though since there was a severe lack of ghosts, blood, and Things That Make You Jump, we deemed it not at all a “haunting thriller” so much as a “talky, well-acted dark drama with a Very Naked Dude in it” (hello, limp penis!) And also “some Christ-y-action.”
Today Is The Funasaurus’ birthday, so HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BABY, even though you no longer read this! I love you very much, and also it totally was me who ate the last ice cream sandwich, but I think it’s funny that you think you did and didn’t notice. Can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you. Mwah.
Thursday, October 18, 2007
Little Somethin' Extra
I am having the most delicious day, today!
It started out ominously enough, what we me getting up earlier than I normally do. However, it was not to go to work. Work has decided to oh-so-kindly finally upgrade my ancient computer that I think came out sometime in the Mesozoic era, and was perhaps trampled on my a brachiosaurus before being handed down to me full of unused files and spyware, and so that is GREAT news for someone who would like to open e-mail attachments in under 2.5 minutes. What with 90% of my job coming from e-mail attachments. Getting an unofficial day off because I had to overnight my computer back to the New Jersey location to exchange it for the new one that will be overnighted to me tomorrow is just a big icing on the big slab of extra frosting cyber cake!
I like words.
So anyway. I got up EARLY on my unofficialbutofficial day off to go brave the Social Security office again, thanks to some advice from April, (HI APRIL! GREAT ADVICE!) and got there 40 minutes before they opened for the day to get my damn SQ78536865 number. It would have been 60 minutes, except I *may* have gotten lost on the way. On the way to the office that’s not all that hard to find. The office where I was just at last week. I *may* have called my mother in tears to get her to Google (and if you know my mother, you know that asking her to Google something on the COMPUTER is asking a lot) the damn Social Security office because I was pretty sure it had evaporated. Mostly likely because someone threw holy water on it.
Sadly, It was still there, slightly south of where I had expected to find it, (apparently not enough holy water was thrown, but at least it’s moving in the right direction) and I went in, armed with The Official Marriage License, OMG, a certified COPY of the marriage license, the temporary marriage license, the official form I had printed out and filled in from the Social Security website, my passport, my birth certificate, my driver’s license, reading material, and the rights to my first born child, and also what’s left of my soul.
I only had to wait for 20 minutes after they opened, before my number was called and I came face to face with the SAME FUCKING DRONE who was so rude to me last week. I smiled at her, and did not shove any papers at her, and handed things to her (including The Official Marriage License, OMG) as she asked for them.
She seemed exceptionally cold, and rebuffed any smile I tried to give her. Fortunately, she could not send me away in tears because I came with a full armory of Official Crap OMG, this time.
At one point she abruptly got up, mid-typing, and disappeared, with no explanation. She came back, handed me a piece of paper, and said, “Please sign here and here if this information is correct.” She looked annoyed that I bothered to read it over before signing.
“Erm.” I said, summoning all of my courage, “This is actually NOT correct.”
The drone finally made eye contact with me. The HORROR! You have never seen such condescending hatred in your whole life!
“I actually would like to be Princess Golashes Funasaurus,” I explained. (It has a nice ring to it, no?) “Not Princess in Funasaurus,” I continued.
“It would have been helpful to have told me that earlier,” the drone sneered.
“Well, I didn’t know,” I said. “I have it written on this official form, here,” I said, sliding it across the counter.
“You should have given it to me earlier,” she said, evilness oozing off of every syllable.
“You didn’t ask for it, “ I replied snottily, finally getting pissed, remembering how she snapped at me the week before when I tried to give her the paper before her royal droneness was ready for them.
She rolled her eyes, took the form, THREW IT IN THE TRASH, and then proceeded to re-fill out my application. She got up, got the paper for me to sign again, and the deal was done. She said I could expect my card in the mail in two weeks.
I almost skipped away in joy, but I stood there smiling and said, “THANKS! Have a great day!”
She did not even look up. I kid you not. There was no way she missed it, I was intentionally loud. She was intentionally rude, and I thought many hateful things, but I smiled and walked out, and am now waiting for my card to arrive in the mail.
I considered it a success, though stressful, and ran some errands, and then took myself to McDonalds for lunch to celebrate my uofficialbutofficial day off. Ask me if I’m even sorry. Go ahead.
Am I?
No! No I am not even sorry! Thanks for asking.
Then I came home and played on-line. Then I checked my voicemail at work, returned one phone call, cuddled with Sugar, took a nap, woke up to Sugar snarling at Tatum who had decided to attack her head while she slept, and played on the computer some more.
Not bad.
It started out ominously enough, what we me getting up earlier than I normally do. However, it was not to go to work. Work has decided to oh-so-kindly finally upgrade my ancient computer that I think came out sometime in the Mesozoic era, and was perhaps trampled on my a brachiosaurus before being handed down to me full of unused files and spyware, and so that is GREAT news for someone who would like to open e-mail attachments in under 2.5 minutes. What with 90% of my job coming from e-mail attachments. Getting an unofficial day off because I had to overnight my computer back to the New Jersey location to exchange it for the new one that will be overnighted to me tomorrow is just a big icing on the big slab of extra frosting cyber cake!
I like words.
So anyway. I got up EARLY on my unofficialbutofficial day off to go brave the Social Security office again, thanks to some advice from April, (HI APRIL! GREAT ADVICE!) and got there 40 minutes before they opened for the day to get my damn SQ78536865 number. It would have been 60 minutes, except I *may* have gotten lost on the way. On the way to the office that’s not all that hard to find. The office where I was just at last week. I *may* have called my mother in tears to get her to Google (and if you know my mother, you know that asking her to Google something on the COMPUTER is asking a lot) the damn Social Security office because I was pretty sure it had evaporated. Mostly likely because someone threw holy water on it.
Sadly, It was still there, slightly south of where I had expected to find it, (apparently not enough holy water was thrown, but at least it’s moving in the right direction) and I went in, armed with The Official Marriage License, OMG, a certified COPY of the marriage license, the temporary marriage license, the official form I had printed out and filled in from the Social Security website, my passport, my birth certificate, my driver’s license, reading material, and the rights to my first born child, and also what’s left of my soul.
I only had to wait for 20 minutes after they opened, before my number was called and I came face to face with the SAME FUCKING DRONE who was so rude to me last week. I smiled at her, and did not shove any papers at her, and handed things to her (including The Official Marriage License, OMG) as she asked for them.
She seemed exceptionally cold, and rebuffed any smile I tried to give her. Fortunately, she could not send me away in tears because I came with a full armory of Official Crap OMG, this time.
At one point she abruptly got up, mid-typing, and disappeared, with no explanation. She came back, handed me a piece of paper, and said, “Please sign here and here if this information is correct.” She looked annoyed that I bothered to read it over before signing.
“Erm.” I said, summoning all of my courage, “This is actually NOT correct.”
The drone finally made eye contact with me. The HORROR! You have never seen such condescending hatred in your whole life!
“I actually would like to be Princess Golashes Funasaurus,” I explained. (It has a nice ring to it, no?) “Not Princess in Funasaurus,” I continued.
“It would have been helpful to have told me that earlier,” the drone sneered.
“Well, I didn’t know,” I said. “I have it written on this official form, here,” I said, sliding it across the counter.
“You should have given it to me earlier,” she said, evilness oozing off of every syllable.
“You didn’t ask for it, “ I replied snottily, finally getting pissed, remembering how she snapped at me the week before when I tried to give her the paper before her royal droneness was ready for them.
She rolled her eyes, took the form, THREW IT IN THE TRASH, and then proceeded to re-fill out my application. She got up, got the paper for me to sign again, and the deal was done. She said I could expect my card in the mail in two weeks.
I almost skipped away in joy, but I stood there smiling and said, “THANKS! Have a great day!”
She did not even look up. I kid you not. There was no way she missed it, I was intentionally loud. She was intentionally rude, and I thought many hateful things, but I smiled and walked out, and am now waiting for my card to arrive in the mail.
I considered it a success, though stressful, and ran some errands, and then took myself to McDonalds for lunch to celebrate my uofficialbutofficial day off. Ask me if I’m even sorry. Go ahead.
Am I?
No! No I am not even sorry! Thanks for asking.
Then I came home and played on-line. Then I checked my voicemail at work, returned one phone call, cuddled with Sugar, took a nap, woke up to Sugar snarling at Tatum who had decided to attack her head while she slept, and played on the computer some more.
Not bad.
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
Working Hard for the ...? It's Certainly Not "the Money!"
I realize I have been gone a long time, but I pass the blame entirely, straight onto work which has been a huge fucking imposition on my life, recently.
There have been many late nights and many groggy mornings, the only good result being a legitimate reason to forgo running. And The Funasaurus, being a supportive husband (HUSBAND! Tee hee) has sacrificed his running time, too, in order to sleep in with me.
Plus, it’s getting cold and dark out, and really, I didn’t need any more reasons not to run. I basically feel it’s a sign from the universe that the whole “exercise” thing was a very bad idea, indeed.
Meanwhile, our real marriage license has arrived, but I have not gone back to the Social Security office because just thinking of that place makes me shiver and my eyes tear up just a little.
I think I shall only be Princess Funasaurus, socially.
So I have absolutely no fun stories to tell you (not that that will keep me from blathering on and on) because WORK is the only thing I’ve been doing recently. Last week my monthly, bi-weekly, and random reports all happened to become due right at the same time, thus creating the Perfect Spreadsheet Storm, and my eyes! Oh, my poor, strained little eyes! Sometimes I have trouble driving home from work because they are still looking for itty-bitty formulas in itty-bitty cells and totally overlook the “DANGER! SINKHOLE! ROAD CLOSED!” signs because they are enormous and it is just TOO MUCH for my dilated little pupils.
Somewhere in all this mess, Shooting Star and I decided to go ahead and start a classics book club, because we are huge English major dorks, trying to justify our BAs. So if you live in Denver and want to re-read Jane Austen, Mark Twain, and Eugene O’Neil and such, send me an e-mail and come join our group of dorks! There will be wine! (We may be dorks, but we still appreciate a good Chianti.)
There have been many late nights and many groggy mornings, the only good result being a legitimate reason to forgo running. And The Funasaurus, being a supportive husband (HUSBAND! Tee hee) has sacrificed his running time, too, in order to sleep in with me.
Plus, it’s getting cold and dark out, and really, I didn’t need any more reasons not to run. I basically feel it’s a sign from the universe that the whole “exercise” thing was a very bad idea, indeed.
Meanwhile, our real marriage license has arrived, but I have not gone back to the Social Security office because just thinking of that place makes me shiver and my eyes tear up just a little.
I think I shall only be Princess Funasaurus, socially.
So I have absolutely no fun stories to tell you (not that that will keep me from blathering on and on) because WORK is the only thing I’ve been doing recently. Last week my monthly, bi-weekly, and random reports all happened to become due right at the same time, thus creating the Perfect Spreadsheet Storm, and my eyes! Oh, my poor, strained little eyes! Sometimes I have trouble driving home from work because they are still looking for itty-bitty formulas in itty-bitty cells and totally overlook the “DANGER! SINKHOLE! ROAD CLOSED!” signs because they are enormous and it is just TOO MUCH for my dilated little pupils.
Somewhere in all this mess, Shooting Star and I decided to go ahead and start a classics book club, because we are huge English major dorks, trying to justify our BAs. So if you live in Denver and want to re-read Jane Austen, Mark Twain, and Eugene O’Neil and such, send me an e-mail and come join our group of dorks! There will be wine! (We may be dorks, but we still appreciate a good Chianti.)
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Bureaucracy VS the Princess
Yesterday was a horrible day that ended on a better note than the one on which it began. Today has started out not so much better, what with my computer freezing and eating my entire post for this morning, without saving it.
Hateful, hateful computer.
But back to yesterday. I began the day by gathering our temporary marriage license, my driver’s license, my passport, my completed form ZQ6749w7/b, my book, (which IS a bit self-righteous, but the author does have a good voice and is entertaining, despite using more unnecessary metaphors than there are stars in the sky) and my (now working!) iPod, and headed off to the Social Security office to begin the name change process.
At 9:15 AM, I walked in and got a ticket, marked, “#S155, Estimated wait time 60 minutes” and looked around in the dim fluorescent lighting and chose a hard plastic chair next to a seemingly sleeping homeless guy, and crancked up my iPod to listen to the Hos in Different Area Codes.
Around 10:15 I pulled out my earplugs to start listening for the numbers being called. “E24, E24, please approach the counter.”
E24?!?!?! WTF? I have S155!
I went back to my book, but kept an ear out for the next call.
Ten minutes later, “E25, ticket E25, please come to the desk.”
Are you kidding me?
At 11:00 I heard them call G240. It was then that I realized that the Social Security office was working on a system more complex than any traditional alpha-numeric organization than I had ever seen. I began pondering, how far after E25 and G240 do you suppose S155 falls?
My answer finally came AT NOON, when I finally heard, “S154, please come to the desk.”
Hooray! Surely, I must be next!
But sadly, G248 was next.
I eventually heard my number at 12:15. I bolted to the counter, undeterred, grinning wildly, “Hi! I’m here to become Mrs. Funasaurus! Would you like to see my driver’s license? How about my passport?” I said gaily, shoving my pile of documents under the counter.
“Not yet, m’am,” said the drone, and she glared at me until I retrieved them. “Social Security number?” she asked.
I gave it to her, and then waited for what felt like ten minutes as she typed it in. I’m quite sure I only gave her nine digits, but wow, either she had to enter it four hundred times, or she dashed off a quick note to her drone husband debating the democratic system.
“Marriage license,” she finally asked.
I passed it through the window.
“No, the official one.”
“But? This IS the official one,” I said, waving the temporary one. “See, it has our signatures, our pastor’s signature, the time, date…” She just looked at me. “I was told this one functioned exactly the same as the permanent one,” I continued.
“No, I need the one that was issued by the state.
"The state gave me THIS ONE."
"Sorry. S156? S156, please approach the window."
"But, but, but... three hours!... Missing work?" I peeped.
S156 pushed me out of the way.
I was... Not Happy. Nay, I was downright disgruntled. I called The Funasaurus to explain that I would have to take more time off of work (time that I don't technically have) and do it all again. With the "official" marriage license. And then I got my shit together and as professionally and collected as possible, I sobbed like a blubbering idiot because that was a miserable fucking waste of three hours of my life that I will never get back.
Fortunately, that night, we went up to my parents' house to see some wedding pictures they had gotten, and we were greeted at the door with enormous glasses of wine, and so my night ended with ice cream and extra cabernet, and so life is not all bad.
But Social Security? I've got my eye on you.
Hateful, hateful computer.
But back to yesterday. I began the day by gathering our temporary marriage license, my driver’s license, my passport, my completed form ZQ6749w7/b, my book, (which IS a bit self-righteous, but the author does have a good voice and is entertaining, despite using more unnecessary metaphors than there are stars in the sky) and my (now working!) iPod, and headed off to the Social Security office to begin the name change process.
At 9:15 AM, I walked in and got a ticket, marked, “#S155, Estimated wait time 60 minutes” and looked around in the dim fluorescent lighting and chose a hard plastic chair next to a seemingly sleeping homeless guy, and crancked up my iPod to listen to the Hos in Different Area Codes.
Around 10:15 I pulled out my earplugs to start listening for the numbers being called. “E24, E24, please approach the counter.”
E24?!?!?! WTF? I have S155!
I went back to my book, but kept an ear out for the next call.
Ten minutes later, “E25, ticket E25, please come to the desk.”
Are you kidding me?
At 11:00 I heard them call G240. It was then that I realized that the Social Security office was working on a system more complex than any traditional alpha-numeric organization than I had ever seen. I began pondering, how far after E25 and G240 do you suppose S155 falls?
My answer finally came AT NOON, when I finally heard, “S154, please come to the desk.”
Hooray! Surely, I must be next!
But sadly, G248 was next.
I eventually heard my number at 12:15. I bolted to the counter, undeterred, grinning wildly, “Hi! I’m here to become Mrs. Funasaurus! Would you like to see my driver’s license? How about my passport?” I said gaily, shoving my pile of documents under the counter.
“Not yet, m’am,” said the drone, and she glared at me until I retrieved them. “Social Security number?” she asked.
I gave it to her, and then waited for what felt like ten minutes as she typed it in. I’m quite sure I only gave her nine digits, but wow, either she had to enter it four hundred times, or she dashed off a quick note to her drone husband debating the democratic system.
“Marriage license,” she finally asked.
I passed it through the window.
“No, the official one.”
“But? This IS the official one,” I said, waving the temporary one. “See, it has our signatures, our pastor’s signature, the time, date…” She just looked at me. “I was told this one functioned exactly the same as the permanent one,” I continued.
“No, I need the one that was issued by the state.
"The state gave me THIS ONE."
"Sorry. S156? S156, please approach the window."
"But, but, but... three hours!... Missing work?" I peeped.
S156 pushed me out of the way.
I was... Not Happy. Nay, I was downright disgruntled. I called The Funasaurus to explain that I would have to take more time off of work (time that I don't technically have) and do it all again. With the "official" marriage license. And then I got my shit together and as professionally and collected as possible, I sobbed like a blubbering idiot because that was a miserable fucking waste of three hours of my life that I will never get back.
Fortunately, that night, we went up to my parents' house to see some wedding pictures they had gotten, and we were greeted at the door with enormous glasses of wine, and so my night ended with ice cream and extra cabernet, and so life is not all bad.
But Social Security? I've got my eye on you.
Monday, October 08, 2007
There is a Severe Lack of Pink in the NFL
For someone who does not really like sports, I spent an awful lot of time at sporting events, this weekend. On Saturday we scored tickets to the Rockies games, which, for anyone living under a rock with no high speed wireless connection, was a huge deal. Because the Rockies have basically sucked for their entire existence. And so to not only make it to the playoffs, but to actually sweep the Phillies, was quite a feat.
That was fun, especially watching the very drunk guys next to us who danced on the railing, tempting death with their endless stream of Patron and horrible gyrating,
Sunday we went to the Broncos game. The Funasaurus is a die-hard fan. I am an I-like-to-go-to-the-games-when-a-free-ticket-falls-into-my-lap fan. A free ticket did appear when The Funasaurus’ best friend (with whom he has season tickets) up and went to Italy, deciding that doodling along the Mediterranean and eating copious amounts of olives and pizza was better than a football game. (I can’t say I disagree. I also can’t say I don’t like double-negatives.)
So I got his ticket, and The Funasaurus and I went along to the game, where we promptly watched the Bronco’s get their asses served to them on a silver platter. And then a platinum platter. And then a diamond-studded platter dipped in melted rubies for good measure. And then it rained on us.
It was so very Hemmingway. 41-3.
Ouch.
We stayed for the whole thing, and then we trudged home (in the rain) stopping at Tattered Cover on the way back to buy this book because I keep hearing amazing reviews about it, but I’m always skeptical of bestsellers. I am suspicious of their my-life-is-so-great-aren’t-you-jealous-this-didn’t-happen-to-you condescending tone.
I will let you know.
That was fun, especially watching the very drunk guys next to us who danced on the railing, tempting death with their endless stream of Patron and horrible gyrating,
Sunday we went to the Broncos game. The Funasaurus is a die-hard fan. I am an I-like-to-go-to-the-games-when-a-free-ticket-falls-into-my-lap fan. A free ticket did appear when The Funasaurus’ best friend (with whom he has season tickets) up and went to Italy, deciding that doodling along the Mediterranean and eating copious amounts of olives and pizza was better than a football game. (I can’t say I disagree. I also can’t say I don’t like double-negatives.)
So I got his ticket, and The Funasaurus and I went along to the game, where we promptly watched the Bronco’s get their asses served to them on a silver platter. And then a platinum platter. And then a diamond-studded platter dipped in melted rubies for good measure. And then it rained on us.
It was so very Hemmingway. 41-3.
Ouch.
We stayed for the whole thing, and then we trudged home (in the rain) stopping at Tattered Cover on the way back to buy this book because I keep hearing amazing reviews about it, but I’m always skeptical of bestsellers. I am suspicious of their my-life-is-so-great-aren’t-you-jealous-this-didn’t-happen-to-you condescending tone.
I will let you know.
Friday, October 05, 2007
Proving I am No Vegetarian
Last night I convinced The Funasaurus that our counters were just too gross to clean and then cook and that we absolutely MUST go out to dinner, instead of making something quick at home and then writing the thank-you notes like we swore we would do. (I swore I would still do some when we got home.) I vetoed all the fast food options, saying that we needed to eat something a little lighter and more nutritious. So we end up at a nice-ish restaurant, and The Funasaurus orders salmon with green beans and carrots and I order a half pound burger. With extra cheese. And cheesy mashed potatoes as my side.
“I don’t fault you, cheeseburgers are the most fabulous food ever,” began The Funasaurus, “I just didn’t realize large chunks of red meat fell into the ‘light and nutritous’ category…” I did not reply, because I was busy shoveling it into my face as fast as it would go. But rest assured, I thought hateful thoughts.
I polished that huge section of cow right off. It was the weirdest craving, but I felt extremely satisfied. And I did write a couple of thank-you notes last night, and told The Funasaurus I would just jog extra hard in the morning.
Naturally, when the alarm went off at 6:45 I immediately turned it off and cuddled The Funasaurus in a compromising position so that his attempts at getting up to go jog were quite short-lived. We slept in until 7:30, at which point I wandered downstairs and made myself some cereal.
The Funasaurus and I looked at each other very seriously, and said, “We will definitely go jogging tomorrow.” (HA! It’s Saturday! Damn dirty lies!)
Anyone want to take bets on if we make it? I will bet you a large steak with a side of fries.
“I don’t fault you, cheeseburgers are the most fabulous food ever,” began The Funasaurus, “I just didn’t realize large chunks of red meat fell into the ‘light and nutritous’ category…” I did not reply, because I was busy shoveling it into my face as fast as it would go. But rest assured, I thought hateful thoughts.
I polished that huge section of cow right off. It was the weirdest craving, but I felt extremely satisfied. And I did write a couple of thank-you notes last night, and told The Funasaurus I would just jog extra hard in the morning.
Naturally, when the alarm went off at 6:45 I immediately turned it off and cuddled The Funasaurus in a compromising position so that his attempts at getting up to go jog were quite short-lived. We slept in until 7:30, at which point I wandered downstairs and made myself some cereal.
The Funasaurus and I looked at each other very seriously, and said, “We will definitely go jogging tomorrow.” (HA! It’s Saturday! Damn dirty lies!)
Anyone want to take bets on if we make it? I will bet you a large steak with a side of fries.
Thursday, October 04, 2007
Getting Ideas
Thanks to everyone for your input on my IPod dilemma. It is now working, though only from The Funasaurus' computer. And I have remembered to bring it on our morning jog exactly ZERO times, because my brain is just not functioning that early in the morning (and by "early" I mean, 7:30, sometimes 7:45...we're getting lazy) and it's not part of my routine, yet.
Plus, the first thing I downloaded was a bunch of early riverboat jazz, and the calliope sound just doesn't seem quite like hard-core running tunes. It's more like a drink-mint-julips-until-your-eyes-bubble-with-happiness-as-you-sit-in-a-rocker-on-a-large-front-porch sound.
The Funasaurus and I have taken our newlywed status straight to... the guest room closet, which we have slowly been cleaning out (the college backpacks went, the dancing hamsters were kept) in preparation for The Funasaurus' sister and her boyfriend to move in with us this weekend. They are going to be here for two to four months while their house is being built, and we decided we should probably give them a bit of space to hang some clothes.
We found a bunch of random stuff while purging, besides TWO dancing hamsters, we also found a Miller Lite tap handle from the old Coors stadium, which brought out a certain nostaligic twinke in The Funasaurus' eye, especially considering how well the Rockies are doing right now, an electronic whoopee cushion, complete with remote control, (kept that!) an unbelieveable quantity of gently-used gift bags that I just couldn't bear to throw away, knowing that my friends had paid $4.99 just for the nice presentation of a gift, and a blond wig from last year's Halloween. (The Funasaurus wore it.) Which brings up the ever-pertinent question, what are we going to do this year?
Any suggestions? I will give you lots of kisses if you can think up a clever costume for us. We like the homemade variety, no store bought stuff, we need it to look very ghetto. But also very fabulous.
Much like Kermit and Piggy from last year.
Plus, the first thing I downloaded was a bunch of early riverboat jazz, and the calliope sound just doesn't seem quite like hard-core running tunes. It's more like a drink-mint-julips-until-your-eyes-bubble-with-happiness-as-you-sit-in-a-rocker-on-a-large-front-porch sound.
The Funasaurus and I have taken our newlywed status straight to... the guest room closet, which we have slowly been cleaning out (the college backpacks went, the dancing hamsters were kept) in preparation for The Funasaurus' sister and her boyfriend to move in with us this weekend. They are going to be here for two to four months while their house is being built, and we decided we should probably give them a bit of space to hang some clothes.
We found a bunch of random stuff while purging, besides TWO dancing hamsters, we also found a Miller Lite tap handle from the old Coors stadium, which brought out a certain nostaligic twinke in The Funasaurus' eye, especially considering how well the Rockies are doing right now, an electronic whoopee cushion, complete with remote control, (kept that!) an unbelieveable quantity of gently-used gift bags that I just couldn't bear to throw away, knowing that my friends had paid $4.99 just for the nice presentation of a gift, and a blond wig from last year's Halloween. (The Funasaurus wore it.) Which brings up the ever-pertinent question, what are we going to do this year?
Any suggestions? I will give you lots of kisses if you can think up a clever costume for us. We like the homemade variety, no store bought stuff, we need it to look very ghetto. But also very fabulous.
Much like Kermit and Piggy from last year.
Monday, October 01, 2007
Playing with Toys... Unsucessfully
Do you want to see one of the coolest presents I got for the wedding?
Here.
Bask in it's fabulousness. I was feeling very lucky when I received it.
Do you see how is it pretty and shiny and cranberry colored? Do you see how is is sleek and lovely and yummy? I kind of imagine it to be like a delicate little metallic wafer, it is so sleek and delicious.
What you do NOT see, however, is how it hates me.
We own two computers. TWO! I have spent quite a bit of money and time downloading all sorts of fabulous pickled herring songs onto both of them, only to have the IPod REJECT BOTH OF THEM.
Mother fucker. I am so frustrated I fantasize about smashing the delicate slice of cranberry colored fabulousness with a jackhammer. ... Strapped to a bulldozer.
It taunts me.
I have play lists, oh yes I do. But one computer apparently is not new enough, and the other computer doesn't let the IPod do anything. It may be broken. I'm not sure. Can an IPod freeze like a computer? It doesn't do much anymore. I push on buttons, and it just sits there all pretty and cranberry and whatnot, but doesn't DO anything. No more menus.
Never were any songs.
The Universe is back to its old ways.
And I am angry. Of course, I am also newly married and all happy about being in wuv, making my anger sort of Funasaurus-love-filled, thus rendering my fury a bit less... Zeus-like. And a bit more whiney.
So far, The Funasaurus is realizing married life is much like committing to a pissed-off child who needs a nap but will not take one unless you make my Ipod work oh PLEASE for the love of God make my Ipod work, and he has decided to deal with the whole thing by retreating to the nether world of the NFL in HD.
If anyone has a recommendation for making my new toy come back from the dead, or strategy for whatever Madden game The Funasaurus is playing these days, please feel free to come over. And please bring wine.
Here.
Bask in it's fabulousness. I was feeling very lucky when I received it.
Do you see how is it pretty and shiny and cranberry colored? Do you see how is is sleek and lovely and yummy? I kind of imagine it to be like a delicate little metallic wafer, it is so sleek and delicious.
What you do NOT see, however, is how it hates me.
We own two computers. TWO! I have spent quite a bit of money and time downloading all sorts of fabulous pickled herring songs onto both of them, only to have the IPod REJECT BOTH OF THEM.
Mother fucker. I am so frustrated I fantasize about smashing the delicate slice of cranberry colored fabulousness with a jackhammer. ... Strapped to a bulldozer.
It taunts me.
I have play lists, oh yes I do. But one computer apparently is not new enough, and the other computer doesn't let the IPod do anything. It may be broken. I'm not sure. Can an IPod freeze like a computer? It doesn't do much anymore. I push on buttons, and it just sits there all pretty and cranberry and whatnot, but doesn't DO anything. No more menus.
Never were any songs.
The Universe is back to its old ways.
And I am angry. Of course, I am also newly married and all happy about being in wuv, making my anger sort of Funasaurus-love-filled, thus rendering my fury a bit less... Zeus-like. And a bit more whiney.
So far, The Funasaurus is realizing married life is much like committing to a pissed-off child who needs a nap but will not take one unless you make my Ipod work oh PLEASE for the love of God make my Ipod work, and he has decided to deal with the whole thing by retreating to the nether world of the NFL in HD.
If anyone has a recommendation for making my new toy come back from the dead, or strategy for whatever Madden game The Funasaurus is playing these days, please feel free to come over. And please bring wine.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)