GOING TO THE DOGS

I'm glad to see Ruth posting a lot. I would have been blogging myself, but I've been going to the dogs instead. Let me explain.

Ordinarily I mess around with our rat terrier Mickey and walk my neighbor Margery's Lhasa Apso, Molly. Margery is in a wheelchair and is pretty well housebound, so I try to see that Molly does her little doggy dumps on a neighbor's grass instead of on Margery's carpet. Besides, I need the exercise myself. I don't get any from walking Mickey because he just wants to sniff around, but Molly zips along at a brisk pace. She is my personal trainer.

But for two weeks now I also have a foster dog, Marley. My across-the-alley neighbor Debra is in a church choir touring Europe and singing on New Year's Day for the Pope. Her husband is tagging along. At the last minute their dog-sitting arrangement fell through, so I got sort of drafted into it, as in "Oh, no, I wouldn't mind at all, I LOVE Marley." Huh. I am discovering two weeks is a long time. I water and feed Marley, let her in and out of their house several times a day, and take her on walks.

Marley is a nice, muttsy dog, sort of a cross between a border collie and a black lab. She has a gorgeous soft black coat and a feathery tail and is very soulful. At the moment she is traumatized because her People are not there. Some time ago their other dog, a little poodle with painted toenails (named Mercedes) died, and she went into such desperate mourning that they bought a stuffed yellow ducky to keep her company. Marley adopted the duck, and it became her Baby. If you go over there, she runs and gets her Baby to show you, and you had better make a fuss over it. Even though it is faded and held together by dried dog slobber.

It is clear she is in mourning for her missing People. I think she believes they are under the sod in the flower bed with Mercedes. She is desperate for attention. When I go over there she follows me around anxiously and wants me to pet her and admire her Baby, and she cries when I leave. I feel so sorry for her that I have been taking her on walks twice a day. LONG walks. She loves walking, and it is all I can do to drag her back home. Of course, this is on top of my regular walks with Molly. And the sniff-a-thons with Mickey.

I have been taking Mickey over there with me so they can play together and she can hang out a little with him. And I have started spending some time in their house in the evening, reading or watching TV, so she will not be so lonesome.

Unfortunately, Mickey is a very jealous little dog. He doesn't like me paying attention to any other dog. He frets about me going over there, and he is very clingy when I am home.

Last night I took him with me and we hung out in the house with Marley for close to an hour. I read and worked a crossword puzzle, and they played this little game they invented. They run pellmell through the house and slide on the linoleum and crash into furniture. I was glad when they finally wore themselves out, and I didn't pay as much attention to what Mickey was doing as I should have.

When I finally investigated, it was too late. Mickey had sneaked off in a corner with Baby and out of pure-D old spite had amputated one stubby wing and pulled out hunks of stuffing from its stomach. Marley was watching him with a stupid look on her face. I think she had been showing him her Baby and was pleased he was admiring it so thoroughly.

I had a terrible time getting Baby away from Mickey. He wanted to keep on trashing it. Then I had a terrible time taking it home so I could suture it up. Marley was inconsolable when she saw it going out the door. I'm sure she thought I was going to bury it in the flower bed with Mercedes and her People. I got home with it, in spite of Mickey jumping up all along the way and trying to snatch it.

That was yesterday, and I still haven't stitched it up. Mickey drove me crazy trying to find it, so I just poked the stuffing back in and made the best of it and took it back over to Marley that night. She was so relieved to have it back, I don't think she even noticed it had been mutilated. I will fix it up later. I hate to sew. I wonder if duct tape will stick to dried dog slobber.

Things You Don't See Every Day

On my way to work yesterday I saw what happens to the deer that get crushed by passing cars. There was a big truck following one of those front scooping tractors or whatever they are called. In the scoop of the tractor thing you could see a pile of assorted deer parts, legs sticking out all over the place. I wonder what they do with them after they fill up the truck?

The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly


The Good : Cookie Dough Ice cream

The person who came up with idea of putting little chunks of chockolate chip cookie dough in ice cream was a genious, right up there with Einstein, Gallileo, and that guy who invented fire. Now if they would just realize how much better it would be in chocolate ice cream my life would be complete.

The Bad : Stupid People

Me: What city and state?

Stupid Person: Dallas, TX.

Me: What listing please?

Stupid Person: Dallas, TX.

Some people just shouldn't be allowed to use the telephone.


The Ugly: White Eyes

There is a woman who works here that is blind. I don't have a problem with blind people. They are pretty much like everybody else, with the exception that they can't see. She is pretty cool. Some days she comes in with her seeing-eye dog, which is really cool, but some days she just uses the old fassioned white cane. Anyway, one day I walked past her while she was talking to somebody, and I saw her eyes. There wasn't anything but white. I guess her eyes were rolled up, or down, or sideways, or whatever, about as far as they could go without exploding or popping out of their eye-sockets. It was just freaky. It reminded me of that Geordi La Forge on Star Trek when he takes his visor off. For goodness sakes, put on some glasses or something, lady.

Keep The Change

I have a problem with change. I get used to things being a certain way, and don't like it when they change. Some of my favorite blogs have had the nerve to change their appearance. One person even experimented with a totally different blog host, which luckily was a total failure and now he has his blog back where it belongs. That makes me happy, but he still changed the style, which bugs me. Another person changed their blog and their new blog style makes me pout. Every blog entry has it's own page, which is wrong. And you used to be able to see what was playing at Snarkyworld before you clicked on it. Now I have to keep checking to see if there is anything new up.

What a chore. My life just gets harder and harder. I'm trying to think of any other major whines, but I think that's it. Now I think I'm going to change the template here and mess everything around.

I have been wanting to post an appropriate holiday greeting on this blog that won't offend anyone, but it's made difficult by the fact that fellow-blogger Mary is an agnostic, if not a downright atheist, and Ruth is a Wiccan. Then Hallelujah! (oops!)I ran across this posting on David Burge's "Iowahawk" website, excerpted below:

HOLLY JOLLY SOLSTICE!

Washington, DC - In an effort to help American elementary schools adhere to federal guidelines regarding religious content in school activities, the American Civil Liberties Union today unveiled a new holiday musical program for the nation’s 120,000 public elementary schools. The program, entitled “Holly Jolly Solstice,” will be performed in all federally-funded public schools starting in 2005.

Unveiled yesterday at ACLU headquarters, the program features bouncy, major-chord melodies with strong kid appeal and a libretto that “is 100% certified religion-free.

For instance, every kid’s favorite holiday character is celebrated in the bouncy number, ‘Here Comes Mother Earth’:

Watch out loggers and resource hoggers,
Here comes Mother Earth!
Watch out polluters, with your Microsoft computers!
Here comes Mother Earth!

(Mother Earth speaks)
Global warming and acid rain,
Capitalism is to blame!

Hey meat eaters and overbreeders -
Here comes Mother Earth!
Behind the wheel of your automobile!
Here comes Mother Earth!

(Mother Earth speaks)
E-coli and cow methane,
Capitalism is to blame!

Other future hits include "A Value Neutral Solstice" ("Don't hurt my fragile self-esteem") and the joyous "Safe Sex Solstice" ("it’s so warm when we linger--‘round the pentagram--with a dental dam--and some latex on my dinger").

I would include more. However, the constraints of space, etc. etc. . . .


ENOUGH OF THIS PC HORSESHIT!

I'm just gonna wish everybody a plain ol' Red State MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!!

On The Outside Looking In

For the past two days I have been parking in the drive-way. Not because I'm afraid to park in the garage, or because my husband won't let me or anything. I have been forced to park in the drive-way because the garage door opener has aparently been possessed by the devil. Wednesday night when I got home from work the garage door wouldn't go up all the way. It would go up about half-way and then stop. Then when I tried to get it to go down it would just move a little bit and stop. I couldn't get it to cooperate, and ended up having my husband go in the garage and try from inside, but he couldn't get it to work either. Thursday he got it to open enough to get the van out, but he said it was still acting cranky so we've both been parking in the driveway. Of course, this had to happen during the coldest, freeze-your-nuts-off spell we've had so far this year. On the bright side, with his van parked right next to my car I probably won't run into it. Probably.

This Close

I can't believe what a dingbat I can be. I was backing out of the garage this morning. Do I even need to finish that sentence? Luckily, I noticed this huge white form coming into view on the passenger side and put on the breaks before I ran into my husband's van a second time. I'm starting to really think I might be better off parked on the street, or even just out in the drive-way instead of in the garage. Let me run down the list of times I've had difficulties backing out of the garage.

Well, there was the time I was backing out and turned the wheel a little too much to the left while I was still in the garage and actually ran into the side of the garage itself with my front driver-side fender. Opps. Then the time I backed out all the way to the street, cut the wheels in a nice gracefull curve, and backed into my husband's car that was parked in front of the mailbox. That one should have been his fault for parking in front of the mailbox, but he didn't see it that way. Luckily I just hit the tire of his car and didn't actually do any damage. After that was when I backed out and scraped up against my brother's truck's bumper. Then just a month or so later was when I scraped down the side of my husband's van. It would have been much worse today because I was coming in at an angle, instead of just parallelling the van. I don't know what I would have done if I hadn't noticed in time to avoid hitting the van again. I think running away would have been number one on the list, followed by denying any involvement, maybe even blaming it on some teen-age hot-rodder. How he would have hit the van in the driveway would have been tough.

It Can't Be Real

I keep going back to the Landover web site. It's too funny to not be a parody of a church site. You should check out the stuff they have for sale. Bumper stickers saying things like 'Who Would Jesus Bomb?' and 'Jesus Is Watching You Masturbate'. There is a Christmas card to send to your heathen friends and relatives. In the center is a big sappy picture of Jesus. On top it says "Jesus Is The Reason For The Season' and on the bottom it says 'And Why You're Going Straight To Hell'. I bet you can't really get the free Playstation, but can you order the other merchandise?

I had fun the last few days. I went back in time to the beginning of this blog and read the whole thing through. If I must say so myself, and I feel I must, this is a DFB, Damn Fine Blog. I wish I had started blogging while I still cooked in a restaurant. There was always some kind of scandal or rumor or something going around that I could have blogged about. If you've never worked in a restaurant you don't know what you missed. The latest bloggable material from 411 is I've had two little kids calling in wanting Santa Claus's phone number. I just sent the calls to the higher-ups. Let them tell the little kid there isn't any Santa Claus.

One thing I noticed when I went back and read the old entries is there is one I forgot to make. I blogged about the day I thought I had to be in at 9 but didn't have to be in until 12, but I didn't blog about the time I thought I had to be in at 3 and it was really 11. I was minding my own business, cleaning my bedroom, when about 12 I decide I should check the schedule and see if I was supposed to go to work at 3 or 3:30 or 2:45 or what. Imagine my reaction when I saw that I was supposed to be at work an hour ago. I called work and let them know I was coming in and flew-ass down the highway.

I parked my car, got out and shut the door. Right on my middle finger of my right hand. You know how some cars have doors without the top half, and some have the doors with a metal frame surrounding the windows. It would have been nice if my car had the plain, 'no metal frame crushing my finger into the doorframe' type doors, but of course I wasn't that lucky. And to make it even better, I always lock my door, so I was standing there with my finger smashed in the door and couldn't open it. Luckily, my car has the keyless entry deal, so I didn't have to dig out my keys, which of course were in my right pocket and would have been a bitch to fish out with my left hand. I just punched a couple of numbers and opened the door.

My finger was just barely caught in the doorway, only down as far as the end of the fingernail. I looked at my fingernail and it didn't look too bad, then I noticed the blood coming from the other side of my finger. I had a couple of napkins in the car from the last trip through the drive-thru, so I wrapped up my finger and went on inside.

Personally, now that I look back on it, smashing my finger in the door was a stroke of genius. When the ladies working the desk saw my poor finger they took pity on me and went into the computer and tweaked my schedule. Instead of getting there 2 hours late I just stayed 2 hours later than I was originally scheduled. No harm, no foul.

And Now For Something Completely Different

I like watching Real reality TV shows. Not Survival or any of those other shows, I'm talking about things like CourtTV, the Discovery Channel, things like that. Especially if it involves detectives or coroners. They are cool. I was watching a show about a coroner somewhere who was trying to find out why a woman died. It turns out the victim was originally a man and had a sex change operation. That wasn't what killed her, it was her silicone implants. Or rather, her silicone injections. Apparently some people without any sense have what are called pumping parties. Everybody sits around and lets somebody inject liquid silicone into their boobies. Unfortunately, the last injection she got hit a vein and injected the silicone into her bloodstream. What was really bad was they used plain old carpenter's silicone watered down a little. I'll never be able to look at a line of calking without thinking about boobies now. And now I've shared that holiday cheer with you.

Just In Case You Missed It Last Year

There is a web site run by the Landover Baptist Church. They want to give every child in America a free Playstation 2. Well, not exactly free. You have to accept Jesus as your saviour and tell the nice man on the phone what numbers are on your Daddy's credit card. Then if your parents ever ask you where you got the Playstation, you are supposed to tell them Jesus Himself gave it to you. Personally, I can't believe this is a real web site. I mean, come on, telling kids to hate their parents and steal from them, and saying that Jesus wants you to, is pretty low. I really like the part where it said you can download the image of Jesus and have him go into 'God Mode' and zoom around on a skateboard in a toga or whatever you call the robe wardrobe He's always pictured wearing. Everywhere except here, where he's wearing a t-shirt and bluejeans. The Jesus doll sounds legitimate, but I'm not sure about the Landdover site. How about it, Mom, want to do a little Snoping for the Cud?

Let's Do The Math

I just want to let everybody know that I don't really think either political party knows it's ass from a hole in the ground. They are waaaaaay to concerned with fighting each other than actually making the country a better place. All politicians worry about is getting elected, and then once they get elected all they can concentrate on is keeping the other party from getting credit for doing anything to improve the life of the average working American. Politicians remind me of a bunch of pre-schoolers playing, or is it fighting, in a sandbox.

What I would like to know is how many people are there in America that are hypothetically capable of voting? Out of that bunch, how many have ever actually registered to vote? Out of the registered population, how many got off their asses and made it to the voting booth? Out of all the people who actually voted, how many really voted for Bush? How many voted for Kerry not because they thought he was the best candidate but just because they didn't like Bush? When did we go from a real democracy to a 2-party monarchy?

FAIR WARNING

Ruth has got me started thinking about politics and why Democrats and Republicans, Red Staters and Blue Staters, are at such loggerheads. I’ve lived through a good many national elections but can’t remember one like this, where one side can’t see any good at all in the other side. A lot of Red Staters think that all Blue Staters are bunch of Volvo-driving, latte-drinking, flag-burning, NPR-listening, unpatriotic elitist snobs that would have your sister marrying a lesbian and your brother hanging out in a queer bath house. And a lot of Blue Staters are convinced all Red Staters are a bunch of Bible-thumping, cousin-marrying, flag-waving, beer-drinking, snaggle-toothed rednecks that want to beat up fags and kill all the ragheads.

Of course, that’s true only of people who think about politics—most don’t give it that much thought, may not even bother to vote, and are more interested in (a) having a good time and (b) keeping some shit job that keeps food on the table and the landlord off the porch.

As a result, I am going into Deep Thought mode and will, from time to time, post some of my ruminations (appropriate for a blog called The Daily Cud) on politics, current events, and important questions of the day. Be forewarned.

That's Your Opinion

I guess I've heard my husband cuss so much I'm not shocked by it anymore. I'm sure some people cuss for the shock value, but some people just cuss for emphasis. 'Fuck' doesn't mean anything more than just extreme displeasure. Let me translate a couple of sentences from the questionable post.


Fuck Republicans (I really don't like Republicans),
fuck the current administration (I'd like to radically change the current administration),
and fuck all the fucked up smoke and mirrors bullshit (and I'd like to get rid of all the rediculous smoke and mirrors propaganda)
that we've been put through because of the cooperation of the aforementioned fucks and the media fuckups (that we've been put through because of the cooperation of the aforementioned idiots and the media flunkies).


See, that's all he meant.

B-O-O-O-R-R-R-I-N-G!

That's how I feel about that whiny posting by Anonymous Coworker. Since when does "fuck" shock anyone? She (or he?) might as well have called George Bush a great big poop head. A classic example of using "shock" words as a substitute for THOUGHT. Was I offended? Not particularly. A little disappointed? Yeah, somewhat. I may be a Bush supporter but--big surprise--a lot of us appreciate a really well written anti-Bush diatribe, such as the following:

BEFORE THE INAUGURAL--THINGS TO DO LIST

1. Get that abortion you've always wanted.

2. Drink a nice clean glass of water.

3. Cash your social security check.

4. See a doctor of your own choosing.

5. Spend quality time with your draft age child/grandchild.

6. Visit Syria, or any foreign country for that matter.

7. Get that gas mask you've been putting off buying.

8. Hoard gasoline.

10. Borrow books from library before they're banned - Constitutional

law books, Catcher in the Rye, Harry Potter, Tropic of Cancer,

etc.

11. If you have an idea for an art piece involving a crucifix - do it

now.

12. Come out - then go back in - HURRY!

13. Jam in all the Alzheimer's stem cell research you can.

14. Stay out late before the curfews start.

16. Go see Bruce Springsteen before he has his "accident".

17. Go see Mount Rushmore before the Reagan addition.

18. Use the phrase - "you can't do that - this is America".

19. If you're white - marry a black person, if you're black - marry a

white person.

21. Take a walk in Yosemite, without being hit by a snowmobile or a

base-jumper.

22. Enroll your kid in an accelerated art or music class.

23. Start your school day without a prayer.

24. Pass on the secrets of evolution to future generations.

26. Learn French.

28. Attend a commitment ceremony with your gay friends.

29. Take a factory tour anywhere in the US.

30. Try to take photographs of animals on the endangered species list.

31. Visit Florida before the polar ice caps melt.

32. Visit Nevada before it becomes radioactive.

33. Visit Alaska before "The Big Spill".

34. Visit Massachusetts while it is still a State

Not Really

I just wanted to let everybody know that there isn't usually so much cussing in the AnnonymousCoworker Blog. that one post probably had as much profanity as the whole rest of the blog. I don't want you to think I troll around looking for stuff like that. One of the reasons I liked that post is because it reminds me of my husband. He swears. A lot. Some people have rich fantasy lives, he has a rich profanity life.

Not that he's all hard as nails or anything. He does have a soft side. Last night while I hade to work he was able to go listen to The Girl's Christmas todo at school. He said he actually teared up, and maybe even shed a tear. It wasn't because they were so bad, either. He said they sang really good. At least compared to the only other recital he's been to where he had to sit through the elementary students singing like cats fighting in a duffle bag. And it wasn't because we were forced to pay $75 for a dress that The Girl wore for a total of about 5 minutes and then changed into something else. I don't mean forced in the sence that she whined and pouted until we bought it, I mean the music director made buying this dress a vital part of her grade and if we didn't buy it she wouldn't pass.

New Blogs For Your Enjoyment

I have been spending more time reading other blogs than actually writing in mine. Not good. But on the other hand, I've found some new blogs that I really like, and am starting to notice some that I have been reading really aren't all that interesting to me anymore. So I'm going to update the links on the side, but first I am going to cut and paste a sample from two of the new blogs I've started reading. My favorite parts is about cat piss and Homer Simpson. My apologies in advance to Mom. I know you will be particularly impressed with these posts. You Texans think you're so hot.


~~~~~~~

Here's something from AnonymousCoworker

Name:AnonymousCoworker
Location:Baltimore, Maryland, United States



Friday, September 10, 2004
You know what-

Fuck Republicans, fuck the current administration, and fuck all the fucked up smoke and mirrors bullshit that we've been put through because of the cooperation of the aforementioned fucks and the media fuckups. Fuck service in 'Nam. Bush fucked up catching Osama, fucked up and weakened national security, fucked our civil liberties, fucked up pre and post Iraq (whatever the fuck that means), fucked up the economy, fucked up the environment, fucked up education, fucked up science, is fucking the wall between church and state into the ground, fucked up women's rights around the world, fucked up healthcare, and fucked our relationships with most people on this planet. Not to mention that he's a giant fucking douchebag in general, and I hear he smells like cat piss.

Next time somebody brings up fucking swift vets for truth, or fucking TANG, or fucking whatever, just ask about that long fucking laundry list of fuckups, and watch them twist in the wind to explain why adding hundreds of thousands of jobs less than you predicted to the workforce is actually a good fucking thing. Goddamned motherfucking idiots!

Fuck count: 29
Douchebag count: 2
Outrage Fatigue: Averted
Time until Ashcroft knocks on the do...

;a jf
a
a

Fellow patriots, I have had a change of heart. Criticizing the president is un-American. A vote for John Kerry is a vote for terrorists. France is our enemy. This statement has NOT been brought to you by a Homeland Security agent.

by AnonymousCoworker @ 9:16 AM


And a gem from Papa Dog's Blog



Wednesday, November 03, 2004
Black Armband on the Faversham

Yesterday started out well, I thought. For days it had looked like things were going the Good Guys’ way, signs, portents, and polls all heaving laboriously about like a laden tanker, slowly but plainly moving in the direction of a small but sure Kerry victory. I raced home from work, hoping to get back before the first returns had been announced. The first results were depressing but not surprising – the Bad Guys well in the lead off the bat, but all in fundamentalist strongholds they had been sure to take. Gradually, Kerry began to make ground on the eastern seaboard, but then a little after nine, I heard NPR call Florida for the villains. Polls had shown that state shifting into the Kerry column in the last few days, and the loss did not bode well for his prospects. By the time I went to sleep, the count stood at (if I remember correctly) Bad Guys 249, Good Guys 242…everywhere, that is, except at Fox “News” where Ohio had been called for Bush by 10 p.m. (when they were still unable to admit that Kerry had won California).

America, I despair of thee. You have chosen ignorance over intellect. Superstition over reason. Insularity over inclusiveness. Privilege over charity. Militarism over diplomacy. Corporations over humanity. The commentators are saying that exit polls show the key issues underlying the belated confirmation of George Bush’s appointment to the Presidency were “moral” ones. To that, I can only say: America, are you insane? This is a man who waged a trumped-up war, costing thousands of lives, to enrich the companies of his backers. This is a man who as Governor of Texas supported life sentences for crimes he himself committed but wrote off as “youthful indiscretions.” This is a man who in wartime deserted even the cushy pseudomilitary post he had used his daddy’s connections to secure. This is a man who time and again enacts policies to further enrich the already-wealthy at the expense of the always-poor. He’s a man who believes that if you can’t afford something, you must not deserve it, be it health, home, or security. He is a smug, stupid child of wealth who has never had to work in his life. He has gotten away with everything since he was a child; and as an adult, he has continued to get away with doing harm to others on a grander and grander scale. Last night, you let him get away with it again. He is the least moral man ever to inhabit the White House.

America, we’ve had a complex relationship, one that’s difficult to explain to anyone who isn’t a Canadian living in the U.S. Growing up, it was an article of faith amongst my peers that your people were – how to put it politely? – assholes. I don’t think you realise you’re perceived in that way around the world. Well, maybe you know the French think that, but it probably hasn’t occurred to you that your nearest English-speaking neighbours think it too. Maybe you don’t realise you have English-speaking neighbours, and that’s part of the problem. We are a quiet and unassuming people. You are a loud and presumptuous people. Still, for almost two hundred years we’ve been the best of neighbours, enjoying a relationship unique among the nations of the world. But how you strain that bond! It used to be you were Fred Flintstone and we were Barney Rubble. You blustered, you bragged, you caused harm out of ignorance rather than malice, but underneath it all we knew you meant well, and at the end of every half hour you had learned your lesson. These days – well, you’ve become Homer Simpson, meaning we’re stuck being Ned Flanders. You’ve grown wilfully ignorant, destructively slothful, motivated entirely by the impulse of the moment, and at the end of four years you haven’t learned a God-damned thing.

It was on some level a shameful thing to me when I moved here. As much as I love the idea of democracy, and as much as I love to exercise the democratic franchise, I’ve never, after almost 18 years here, contemplated achieving the right to vote by taking American citizenship. This is the peculiar conflict of being a Canadian in the U.S. My wife and child were born here, and so were most of my friends…and still, I’ve always thought it would be an insult to my ancestors to become one of “them.” Well, here’s what I’m thinking after the debacle of last night. There comes a time when it’s no longer possible to be a disinterested observer, and I think I’ve reached that point. I don’t know exactly what that means. Maybe it means letting go of my prejudice and arming myself with a vote. Maybe it means getting directly involved with the shambles that is the Democratic Party and beginning to work now on finding a way to repair last night’s damage over the next four years. We all have to do something. Last night, this country reached terminal velocity in its plunge into an abyss of ignorance. Who will remake this land for those who value humanity over commerce? Who will remake it for those who value reason over superstition? Who will remake it for those who believe we all have an equal right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness?

posted by PapaDogDuvalier 11:14 AM


And now, back to our regularly scheduled program.

Bring Out Your Dead

WARNING: Men might want to avoid this post. Don't say you haven't been warned.

I haven't been blogging much lately because an evil flu monster attacked my family. My husband missed almost a whole week of work, and The Girl missed four days of school. I got lucky and just caught the tail end of it. All I missed was one day of work. My husband was talking to our neighbor, a nurse, about the taking The Girl to the doctor. The Girl was prescribed antibiotics, and the doctor suggested eating yogurt to avoid a yeast infection. When he told our neighbor that she told him the yogurt would work better if it wasn't eaten. When he told me that I immediately thought of the movie The Road To Wellville, about a turn of the century health spa. In that movie everybody gets yogurt enemas. I wasn't about to give anybody a yogurt enema, but he said that wasn't what she meant. You just smear the yogurt all around your girly parts. I'm not sure if she was talking about a tablespoon, or a whole container because I didn't want to find out. I also don't know if she meant just externally, or internally, too, and I'm not going to find out. That is just something we're all going to have to wonder about.

We're all still coughing and sniffling, but the worst is past. I missed work Tuesday, and when I came in yesterday I was very easily irritated. I wanted to track down about two thirds of my callers and choke them with their phone cords. You are always supposed to sound happy to talk to the callers, but it seemed like everybody was pushing my buttons yesterday. I'm lucky and don't suffer from PMS, but I think I came down with PFS, Post Flu Syndrome. I feel better today. I still have the sniffles, and every now and then it feels like my eyes are going to pop out of my head, but at least I'm back to my normal cheery self.

Feedback from a 411 Customer

I sent Ruth's complaint about Californians who insist their power company IS California Edison, to my Aunt Norma in suburban L.A. and got back this response:

"Ruth is right and so are the ones who ask for the telephone number. We just got our bill from :Southern California Edison Company, and in small print "An Edison International Company". The return address for our bill is:
Southern California Edison Company P. O. Box 600, Rosemead CA 91771-0001, 14 hr customer service: 1-800-684-8123.

"It is possible the directory assistance does show it as an Edison International Company. Jim said he had never seen that name and every thing on the bill states Southern California Edison but now we do see the name as"an Edison International Company" so I assume that is the parent company. The envelope they sent to us gives Southern California Edison and the mailing address is P. O. Box 6400 Rancho Cucamonga, CA 91729-6400. I assume this address is the home office where the bills are made up."

Whatcha say to that, Ruthie? No wonder your poor customers are confused. SHOW A LITTLE PITY!

More About Work

There are some listings that I really like. The other day I had a call for somebody wanting the number of Recal, just like in the science fiction movie Total Recal. There actually is a business named Recal, but I doubt if it can implant fake memeories. Of course, you never know. One day I got a call requesting the number of a bar called the Screaming Chicken Saloon. Right after that I got a call for a restaurant called the Squatting Chicken. The stupidest business I've ever heard of is Rent A Tire. I think I might have blogged about that already, but it's stupid enought for two entries. I mean come on, who would rent tires? I think my newest favorite business request is something called Skank World. I have no idea what kind of business it is, and I don't remember where it was listed. Then there was the lady looking for somebody who lived on Manlove Street. Personally, I could think of about a gazillion better names for a street than Manlove Street. And a couple of days ago somebody called up asking for a restaurant. He had an accent, and it sounded like he wanted the Testes Cafe, but it was the Tastee Cafe.

There is one guy that calls constantly. I don't know what he does for a living, but apparently he needs a lot of people's phone numbers to do it. I wish every caller was as nice and professional as this man. He's my favorite caller. He always wants two listings, and they are usually in the same city. He pronounes the names perfectly, and spells the unusual ones without me having to ask. I always try to find the listings he wants, but I know if I can't find them he will understand and not whine about how he knows they live there, I just haven't looked hard enough, and I'm probably not spelling it right, and he wants to speak to my supervisor because I'm obviously incompetent. Every time he calls I want to say hi and ask him what his name is, where does he work, does he wear boxers or briefs.

Oh, I forgot to write about my favorite Halloween call. About a week or two before Halloween I got a call from some old lady trying to get the phone number for a mausoleum. Not so unusual, but she needed the number because somehow her granddaughter or neice or somebody had gotten left inside at closing time and was locked in. I was able to find the number of the mausoleum, but she said she already had that number and nobody was answering because they were closed and everybody was gone. Except her granddaughter. I finally ended up giving her the number to the police.

I have been working for 411 for 6 months now, and I already have a bad habit. I talk back to my callers. Not while they are on the line with me, but after I hit the send button if they bugged me I mutter something witty and brilliant, like 'You dumbass' or something. Some people just get on my nerves. The people who want the McDonald's on Elm in Dallas, even though there isn't a McDonald's listed on Elm. There can be 50 McDonald's listed on other streets, but they need that particular one. I've got a news flash for you, the one you're looking for is propably listed on the cross street, and if you don't know the cross street I can't give you the number you want. Telling me it's next to the mall doesn't really help, either.

Some people bug me because they want a listing for a business on a certain street, and I'll find two listings on different streets. They insist it's there on the street they said, so I look and look, checking nearby cities and different spellings of the name. Then when I finally give up and tell them I only have that business listed on the two streets I mentioned at the beginning, they suddenly realize that one of those listings is what they wanted all along. Of course, they never apologize for acting like jerks and treating me like a moron. They still act like it's my fault for wasting their time.

One thing I have to watch out for is people who are looking for residential listings for people named Richard. A couple of times I've had to catch myself right before I told the callers I don't have a Dick.

There are also some people who just bug me. Like the people who want to chit chat instead of just getting their number and hanging up. I don't care why you want the phone number of Autozone. I don't care why you want to talk to your long lost cousin who you haven't seen since you both went to summer camp and both of you got busted skinnydipping with the counselors. Other people who bug me are the ones who don't want to cooperate with the automated system. It makes my life so much easier if you just step into the 21st Century like the rest of the world. Just say what city and state you want, don't cuss out the machine. And going on and on about wanting to talk to an operator doesn't help any, either. The longer you talk the longer the computer listens to you. As soon as you stop talking the computer sends you to the operator, so if you want to talk to an operator just shut the hell up, okay?

One last whine before I post this. I've been looking at the other operators, and I'm a little worried about what I see. Some of them are on the wide side. When I say they are on the wide side I really mean it. I don't know how some of them fit into their chairs without taking off the arm rests. When they walk past the floor shakes like on Jurassic Park. Not like I'm Twiggy or anything. I could loose about 50 pounds. I just don't want to let this job go straigt to my ass.

Misc Ramblings About Work

They did something wonderful and evil at work. They put in computers where we can go on-line during our breaks. Oh, the joy of a quick check of my e-mail and favorite blogs during my break. Oh, the horror of looking up at the clock and seeing that my break ended 4 minutes ago and I'm only half-way through my e-mail. So I decided since I'm blogging from work I might as well blog about work.

First thing, I would like to send everybody in California an important announcement that their electric company is NOT named Southern California Edison, it's named Edison International. If you are from California, write that down at every phone terminal in your house. If you know anybody in California, please, for the love of God, send them a letter explaining this. I thought surely after a couple of months people would realize it's called Edison International, but apparently the electric company didn't bother explaining any of this to their customers, so I have to listen to people rambling about how they want the number to Southern California Edison, when I know good and well there is no such thing. So listen up, everybody. Southern California Edison is Edison International. Now you know.

Never Thought I'd Live To See The Day

I don't believe it, but sometimes I miss working at the factory. I didn't have to really think about what I was doing, so I could just daydream all day long. You probably wouldn't believe it, but I used to mentaly recite the multiplication tables to see how far I could get before I had to actually waste any brain cells on a work-related matter. I could get up to the 6s most of the time.

Another thing that I know you wouldn't believe is I used to mentally recite the Rosary to keep my mind busy. You wouldn't think a witch would be interested in reciting the Rosary, but I am a strange witch. Some witches describe themselves as ecclectic witches, but I like to conside myself an eccentric witch. If Christians can steal from pagan beliefs, I don't see why pagans can't steal from Christian beliefs. I think the Virgin Mary rocks.

Plus there are some Christian paraphanalia that I like. Those little circles for the advent candles are perfect for using to represent the 4 corners of a circle. I've seem some metal ones with Celtic knots all over that would be perfect. I also like the crosses with the circle around the top half. The circle totally transforms the cross, as far as I am concerned. I'm an equal opportunity thief because I also like the Star of David. That symbolizes the perfect ballance of the 4 elements. Most witches think pentacles are so hot, but I like the Star of David better. And where do you think the Christians got the idea for candles and insence? They even stole Christmas trees and Santa Claus.

The Perfect Gift

As if it isn't hard enough to pick out a Christmas present for my husband, he had to be born on November 30. He is one of those people who just go ahead and buy things they want, instead of dropping hints and hoping somebody else will remember what they want. So I was having a hard time picking out a birthday present for him, when I had just the best idea. Why not give him a great big scratch all down the driver's door of his van? I was backing out of the garage, minding my own business, when I heard this strange sound. It sounded like two plastic soda bottles rubbing against each other. I looked back and there was his van, smashed up next to my car. Oops. I pulled back up and managed to avoid the van on my second attemp out of the driveway. There isn't any major damage. There is just a stripe about half-way down the door where the paint is scraped a little. As far as I am concerned, we could just quit washing the van and let a layer of dirt disguise the scratch. At least there isn't a big dent or crease in the metal, if there is any metal in the door. Luckily, my car just has a little scuff mark on the bumper. Of course, that could be from when I was backing out of the garage and ran into the bumper of my brother's truck. I'm starting to think maybe parking in the garage isn't such a good idea. Or maybe I should think about looking in back of my car before I back up. I'll think about it.