Puppy love

Ahh, the joys of being a journal member. Due to my inability to get my deadlines right, I'm currently at home frantically trying to finish something that I thought was due tomorrow, but is actually due today. None of the citations are in proper form, some are missing altogether, and the article in question was written by someone whose first language is quite obviously not English. Fantastic.

Anyway, that's not the point. The point is, I'm sitting here doing my edits, vaguely watching a Discovery Channel show on oceans in the background, when the saddest commercial ever comes on. It's basically a series of slowly changing pictures of sheltered and abused animals, set to that "In the Arms of an Angel" song, and it's asking me to donate to the ASPCA. And it totally works. I'm the biggest sucker for animals, and puppy dog eyes are basically guaranteed to make me give up anything. I could probably be starving to death and would give up my last scraps of food to my dog if it looked at me the right way. Like, I'm that person who isn't bothered when the main character in a movie dies, but will collapse into sobs if the faithful dog happens to meet an untimely end. So I immediately log on to their website, and pledge $18 per month (only $.60 per day!). I'm feeling charitable, and tell Max about it when he calls me to see how my editing is coming along.

Me: Blah, blah, blah, editing's fine, etc. Oh, so I signed us up for monthly donations to the ASPCA. It's only $18 a month. Only $.60 per day!

Max: That's a pretty substantial amount when you think about it. That's more than we give to the ACLU.

Me: That's because I care about animals more than civil rights.

And now, more about me

Funny man Hoosier Joe tagged me, so here goes:

I have to elaborate on the following words/phrases:

Accent – I'd like to think that I don't have one, but I'm pretty sure I'm lying to myself. I grew up in Pittsburgh (where people sound oddly Southern), Pennsylvania Dutch Country, and now I'm here in New Orleans, so I doubt that I've escaped unscathed. For example, I've been told that I mispronounce the word "bagel."

I Don’t Drink – shots. I mean, I'll drink them if someone buys one for me, because to do otherwise would be impolite, but I generally protest since they almost always lead to the kind of drunkeness that involves embarrassing photos, worshipping of the porcelain god, or a really unpleasant morning after. Or all three.

Chore I Hate – every single one of them, but my all time most hated chore is doing the dishes. When the dishwasher broke last year, Max and I ate off of disposable plates with plastic utensils, because I just don't do dishes.

Pets – Mosquito, my unnecessarily loud cat, and Kallee the lab, who's only sort of mine since she still lives with my parents. But she loves me best, I'm sure of it.

Essential Electronic – This implies that I can only choose one, but since this is my blog, I'm going to say my cell phone and my computer. 'Cause I'm a rebel like that.

Perfume/Cologne – I used to work in the perfume/cosmetics department of a big department store, so I have about twenty, but mostly I wear Clinique Simply.

Gold or silver – Silver or white gold. My skin tone is such that I look goofy in anything related to the color yellow.

Insomnia – Not really. I've drugged that right out of myself.

Job Title – Law clerk. Not a secretary, not yet a lawyer.

Most Admired Trait – My booty. It's fabulous.

Kids - I don't like kids. They smell funny, they cry, they're always covered in jelly or ketchup or some other sticky food product (these are gross generalizations. Don't get insulted). I don't plan on having any, because I'd be a terrible, terrible mother. And if you look at me with a patronizing expression and say "Oh, you'll change your mind someday" or "I'm sure you'd feel differently about your own babies," I will kick you in the head.

Religion – makes for a boring Sunday morning.

Siblings – a younger brother, Jeremy, who's wonderful in an Indie snob sort of way, and my older sister Kate, who has never met a stray pet that she didn't rescue (she has two dogs, and four cats, and two turtles...and an understanding husband). I also have a stepsister, who tends to get herself into a lot of interesting situations, and a stepbrother, who's out in L.A. trying to be an actor/model.

Time I wake up – 6:30 a.m. A little earlier if I'm going running that day. Almost always crankily, until I have my first cup of coffee.

Unusual talent/skill – I'm not sure that I have one. You'd have to ask someone else.

Vegetable I refuse to eat – Olives, if they're a vegetable. Are they? I don't know, they're just too olivey. And bell peppers, if they're uncooked.

Worst habit – road rage, and getting prematurely annoyed about things.

X-rays – I've had a lot of them. I'm both clumsy and easily breakable.

My favorite meal – Sushi, or McDonald's breakfast combo #3, or anything with bacon. Or fried oyster po-boys. I could go on, but I'm really hungry now.

And for the tags: Some Girl (although I can't find her blog, despite hours of searching), LSD, Asenath, Heddy, and loco.

Me v. Vending

Day 1: In need of caffeine, I visit vending machine #1, put in my $1.25, and press the button for a soda. Nothing happens. I press it again. Again, nothing. I press the change return button. Nada. So I smack the machine with the heel of my hand, and get one quarter back. I smack it again, and it reluctantly coughs up another quarter. Okay, fine then, deep breath. I will not do anything so undignified as to freak out on an inanimate object.

So I move on to vending machine #2 with my two quarters and another three gathered from my wallet. I put in my money, and...nothing. Screw dignity. I yell at the machine. I kick the machine. Still nothing. I kick it again, and it coughs up two quarters. &*#$^%^#&*%^#. While swearing at the machine, a friend walks by and gives me a dollar to stop me from further making a scene. I give the machine its money. It gives me a soda. Crisis averted.

Day 2: I need of caffeine, and wary of vending machine #1, I take my dollar directly to vending machine #2, since it did, eventually, give me a soda the other day. I give the machine its money and...nothing. I take a deep breath. I take the very last bit of change out of my wallet, and give it to the machine. I press the button again, and again. Still no soda. So, this time, after swearing at and kicking the machine, I decide that I'm not going to take it anymore.

Fed up, I march out of the lobby, across campus, and into card services. Card services, it appears, is not there today, but is in the new building across from the law school. Okay, fine, I'll walk back up across lower campus, in the 100 degree heat, for a couple of quarters. I get to building #2, hot and irritated, and walk into Card Services, where I wait for several minutes, resisting the urge to tap my foot, while Cranky Woman #1 talks to Cranky Woman #2. Finally, CW1 is finished, and asks me what I'd like. So I tell her the saga of the vending machines, and she snippily informs me that she can't give me my money back, because today they are doing ID cards only, and I will have to wait two more days for my $2.50. And fine, maybe I should just walk away, but dammit, I'm pissed off now, and I want my money back, and it's the principle of the thing. So I whine that this is the second day in a row that this has happened to me, and I prepare to huff my way out of the room. However, it would appear that CW1 has also had it up to here with vending, and tells me that she is sick of taking all of the grief for something that she has no control over, and she wants vending services out. Just my luck that I get the woman who wants to overthrow vending. So she picks up the phone, calls vending, and literally shoves the phone into my hand so that I can tell vending just how much their machines suck. Which I do, sort of, since at this point I'm mostly just confused and I just want to get my soda and go to class. And I hang up, and cranky woman thanks for me for helping her cause, and I go back to class, sodaless and moneyless, and a little befuddled, and it's two days later, and I still don't have my money, or my soda.

I guess you could say that vending won.

All I want for my birthday is...a hurricane?

So, my birthday is coming up, next Sunday to be exact. Which means, per usual, that it's time for a hurricane scare . For previous examples, see Katrina (2005), and Ernesto (2006 - it doesn't matter that it didn't do anything in the end. The point is that I spent the week up until my birthday worrying about it). So, lo and behold:

From weather.com:
"Dean now a major hurricane"
It is too early to tell what, if any, impacts Dean will have on the United States but all along the western Gulf Coast, including coastal Texas and Louisiana, will want to keep monitoring Dean through the weekend into next week.

Now isn't that just peachy. I mean, New Orleans is already on my shitlist lately (see: ridiculous Entergy bills, possible failure of city's water system, soaring crime rate, etc. etc. etc.), and this isn't helping. Which means that no hurricanes are allowed to ruin my birthday this year. Hear that, Dean? That means go away. I do not need you to blow out my candles for me.

Priorities

Max: {{Sigh}}
Me: What's up?
Max: Nothing. I just wish I had two days off sometimes. (Max works six days a week, about 12 hours a day)
Me: I do admire your work ethic though.
Max: {{Laughs}} Thanks.
Me: No, seriously. I just worked for two months and I need a week off.
Max: Well, soon you'll be starting school again.
Me: {{Sigh}} I know. I hope it doesn't interfere with my social life.

Homework

The blogger home page has just informed me that I haven't updated since July 7. I suck, and I apologize to all five people who read this on a regular basis. But I'm updating now! Sort of, although I guess I'm going to have to go back to work in a minute or two. See, I'm working from home right now, and I thought it was going to be all great and vacay-like, and I would wear my pajamas all day, but mostly I just feel guilty. I felt guilty when I put my laundry in the wash, despite the fact that it only took up two minutes. I felt guilty when I ate lunch, even thought I do that on a regular basis while at the office. I felt guilty when I facebooked for a couple minutes, even though I also do that while at the office. It's like being at home has made all those random little brain-breaks that I take during the day feel worse. I mean, while at the office I do the same things (except for my laundry, obviously), but at least I'm at the office, and I can justify two minutes here and there because, for one, I have to constantly be on the alert that my boss will walk into my office, and two, because I have to be there, and thus should be compensated for my time away the more noble pursuits of laying around in the sun and drinking daiquiris. But here, partially because I expected that I might slack off a little bit, I feel much worse about it when I fulfill my own low expectations of myself. And on that note, I'm starting to feel a little bad about the fact that I'm not currently being all legal-minded, so it's back to work for me.

Natasha Bedingfield, I kind of hate you right now

So, Mike over at In It But Not of Of It wrote this really insulting entry about how Natasha Bedingfield's new song "serves as an insulting (but probably accurate) anthem for women everywhere." Since he kindly provided the video along with the entry and that little gem of wisdom, let me say that after watching it, I'm just insulted. That is not my anthem, but more like my closest idea of the ninth circle of hell. Babies crawling around everywhere? Shudder. Do guys seriously think that all women think like this? Please, tell me the answer is no.