bluemarsupial's Xanga

Fix it like a girl!

Tue, 14 Jul 2009 22:46:20 GMT

So I had an old Handspring Visor Edge laying around, pretty basic as far as PDA's are concerned, but at the amazingly low-low cost of free...who wouldn't love to shove it in their purse and go? Classic aluminum styling, (reasonably) big storage, and it meets my employers requirement for not using using any internet on the job other than theirs. Unfortunately it was deader than disco. I'd put it on the charger, reset it five-times from Sunday, but notta. It wasn't turning on. A few $20 "diagnostic" trips to the PDA repair store yielded nothing other than getting mentally undressed by the burly man at the counter (****** didn't even buy me dinner first), but no PDA love. Still I wasn't about to throw the towel in, so I risked a cool $3.82 on ePay and bought a battery. Got it in the mail yesterday and, thanks to some itty-bitty eyeglasses screwdrivers, managed to install it. Nope. Still nothing.

Grrrr!!!

Not one to be outdone by 7oz of plastic and glass, I took it apart again. Three cans of compressed air and a half-hour later, I'd given it probably the best blow job I'd given since before getting married, but no...no dice. I took it apart again and checked everything. "beep" Huh? Are you alive there little fella? The screen was still blank, but it'd given me a small audible grunt of satisfaction, so I knew I was on the right trail. Once again I took the top off and checked all its jubbly bits. Oddly enough, it started working once it was topless. Go figure! I re-clothed it and tried it again, but once again it was squarely in dead-fish mode. For the longest time I didn't get it. I'd turned it on, touched it in all the right places, stripped it naked, and still it refused to perform. I'm reminded of my ex-boyfriend.

Performs when topless but goes limp fish when clothed, what gives? I started researching online a bit and came up with nothing...that is until I picked some heart stickers off my shirt. The whole time I'd been working on this infernal PDA, my 5-year old was sticking little heart stickers all over me. Hmmm. I took one off and used it as insolation between the exposed circuits and the backing.

Success! Naturally I wasn't sure just how many heart stickers to put on the back of my PDA, so I employed the proven girly-tech method...I used an entire sheet's worth! Up down and all over the back end and underside of the PDA. Not only did my little 6" wonder come alive and start working, but thanks to the backing securely screwed on...I'm PDA-ing in style (and now with protection too)!

I wonder if this approach would fix my car?

Today's Positive: While I can't drop the oblitigory "I'm back" ball on the blogoverse, I can say that I'm making an effort to do so. Things have been absolute hell last few months, sadly not in a funny way.

Today's Negative: It may be a few more weeks before I'm ready to tackle the everyday grind of daily blogging again. Bear with me and, while I won't promise you won't be disappointed, I can promise I won't leave a burning bag of very stinky kitty poo on each and every one of your doorsteps...

Bad Blogging 101

Fri, 24 Apr 2009 00:22:58 GMT

Clearly my blogging rhythm seems to have been dropped as if it'd been run over by a drunken yobbo in a Ford Pinto, but when exactly did it happen? When did I become a bad blogger? I could cite excuses like the ozone layer or my children, of course, my miserable excuse for a job putting the kibosh on blog city. Its terrible, I'm actually expected to work@work! The fact of the matter is I probably could get up a few minutes early or stay up a few minutes late to surf a narly blog, but the reasons behind my lapse boils down to a simple truth; I tend to blog when I find that its convenient.

In fact, don't we all?

Sure, you might try pointing out that no one else who has children complains about the lack of blog-worthy opportunities and, in fact, somehow manager to blog on a regular basis. True. You might even claim that, if the anklebiters require that much of my time, perhaps I shouldn't have had them in the first place; but I wouldn’t recommend this approach unless you want to know what it feels like to be hit in the face with a shovel. The sad truth is that even with two jobs and two children (three if you count my husband), I find the seventeen minutes of free time I get each night between or after work are best spent peeing, brushing my teeth...or anything else that my twisted and often warped mind can conceive of behind the locked doors of either my bedroom or in my master bathroom.

Naturally then, it comes down to both time and convenience. Sadly, despite the evidence pointing to the contrary, it seems lately that I've got neither. In the words of Prince Humperdinck, I'm swamped! Thankfully my schedule is changing soon, but in the meantime...it seems like Mojave-sucking-on-a-cactus-when-I'm-able-to-blogging. I wonder if its possible to farm my blogging needs out to a Malaysian sweat shop somewhere? Made to order blogging out of a Japanese vending machine? Perhaps I could hijack another blogger or perhaps hire a blogging subcontracter? Certainly its worth consideration. In the meantime, I leave you with these unalienable truths I've discovered:

Sneezing and a full bladder do not play well together and never ends well.
There is nothing that cannot be fixed without a butter knife, duct tape, or ipecac.
Two children cannot sit on top of the refrigerator...but one evidently can.
Finger painting is a good hobby.
Finger painting the cat is not.
A little girl's easy-bake oven makes the absolute best hot dogs.
He's going to look at other boobs occasionally. Get used to it.
Hersey's syrup and a wicked imagination goes a long way.
The pressure from 27 flamming-hot "Suicide" wings and the dangling of your bottom over a public toliet immediately after is probably not a good combination.
Alone time with sweets tends to make you wax philosophical: If I eat this wedge of cheesecake and no one is here to see it, did I really eat it?
Ignorance is bliss, particularly when you find panties superglued to the fishtank.
We are not the masters of our own destiny...or where the cat decides to vomit.
Anyone who says chocolate is better than sex is eating chocolate laced with cocaine.
Cynicism is great fun!
If it looks like cake, tastes like cake and smells like cake...it's not always cake.

Today's Positive: Got out of work today and almost kissed the ground. Literally.

Today's Negative: Got home this evening to find a boat in my back yard. No, literally a boat. Evidently some asshat was dumping an old Gilligan's Island boat, tied it to a tree in the back alley, and then drove their truck out from under it. So now I'm stuck with a crapped out 50's motorboat sitting back there that I cannot move and the city doesn't feel the need to tow off. Yahoo! I lead an interesting life.

Blogging without words

Mon, 13 Apr 2009 22:05:54 GMT

Today's Positive: So far today I've managed not to strangle, behead, maim, injure, rough up, scatter, smother, cover, dice, chunk, pepper, filet, feed to the piranhas, slap, scalp, twist, tease, light on fire, shave, or apply a 45-volt nipple clamp to any of my coworkers today. Now thats what I call progress!

Today's Negative: I'm trying Monday without coffee. So far, so good I'd say.

Saving Johnny polar bear

Sat, 11 Apr 2009 03:41:44 GMT

The keepers at the zoo go to work everyday in their shorts which, best I can figure, is good enough reason to depise them entirely. Naturally they do this both because the job of taking care of Johnny polar bear requires them to be able to move quickly should he get annoyed (or amorous), but really I suspect this all is just a prelude towards what we'll all be wearing to work soon thanks to state-propigated myth of global warming. Yes, the polar caps are melting, cartoons are too violent, and since we're all obviously making too much money; Obama will happily take your hard-earned pesos and spread the wealth to your good-for-nothing neighbors. Socialism trifecta is now officially in play.

...or so right-wing radio would have you believe.

True enough, you’d be hard-pressed to spot a Nazi searchlight anywhere outside a museum (or perhaps Al Gore's boxer shorts), but that isn't to say the mongers of planetary doom haven't drawn a dotted line connecting the so-called economic and environmental crisis with the greenness of your panties either. Now depending which of the cash-lined rabbit trails of cataclysmic doom you chose to follow, the end result always seems to end with the lot of us destitute and stranded for life on Gilligan's island while poor Johnny polar bear drowns after the polar ice caps have melted entirety.

Plainly then the problem here isn't global warming at all, rather we simply have too much water on our planet! Thankfully we can fix that. Rather than force-feed compact cars and low-emission porno on the good people of Earth, clearly the answer is to pump some of our water directly into space. Brilliant! Thankfully space is a short 75 miles from the surface of the Earth, so why not make a giant pipe, dip one end in the ocean and take the other end out into the void of space where of course; there is a vacuum. That means all this nasty eco-unfriendly water should be sucked up the pipe (without the need for any energy-absorbing pumps) and save us all. Not only will we happily be back to outdoor grilling of Johnny polar bear on the hood of gas-guzzling muscle cars by noon, but we'll have created beach-front property and brought fire to the common man. Lex Luthor will be so proud.

Today's Positive: Good Friday? Nah, it was the best.

Today's Negative: Got a new boss at work. Yep, it seems lately I go through them faster than maxi pads, but this lady weirds me out. She hasn't said one word to me, but she sits there talking in Spanish all day and occasionally looking at me. I've taken to calling her Cruella Tijuana behind her back and most definitely when nobody is listening. Don't ask me why..it just made me giggle a bit.

Calling in (not) sick

Wed, 08 Apr 2009 15:19:48 GMT

I've always felt that calling in "sick" sounded so limp and woolly, particularly when your ailment is a simple case of not feeling like going into the office, and yet hear I sit in front of my computer in a frumpy t-shirt and panties when I ought to be sitting all cheery at my desk; thanking my lucky stars I still have a job in this troubled economy. I have argued several times that skipping out of a perfectly good job is the portal through which all slackers must pass if they genuinely don't appreciate their job or want to know what it is that differentiates them from a toaster oven or a comfy Barcalounger.

True enough, I don't appreciate my job. Over the past six years, they've taken an otherwise decent job and turned it into a puppy mill. Surfing privileges gone. Lunch hour curtailed. Breaks shortened. I can't even get up and go pee outside of my regularly scheduled breaks without it affecting my job performance. Yes, I totally understand that its the responsibility of any company to whip the donkey a little more in hopes of getting a little extra productivity, but must they pull away the carrot at the same time? The sad truth is they pay...somewhat decent. That and the fact don't hold a degree in anything beyond the ability to talk my way out of a wet paper bag means I find myself stuck in a job I loathe.

Clearly I need to start robbing banks (or knuckle down and go back to school).

Today's Positive: Outside of whining about something momentarily outside of my control, I am enjoying having the day off with my 3-year old. Its like a free Saturday in the middle of the week!

Today's Negative: Ugh. Gotta go to work tomorrow.

An impromptu porning

Mon, 06 Apr 2009 21:50:00 GMT

There I was skimming through the cable "pay-per-view" menu when I, rather unexpectedly, came across a provoking preview for a slightly stereotypical pornographic movie that promised to be more invigorating than a high colonic and a Pepsi cola. True enough, the prospect of mentally getting into someone else's pants (without having to launder them later) does have a strong theoretical appeal; except I'm not really into porn. In fact I've never been a fan watching two sweaty college freshman doing their best to immitate Mick Jaggar's face. Even I can recognize the irony of that statement considering how much I joke about related topics on one hand and yet use the other to pull up a relatively saggy pair of Levi's that seems to enjoy showing off my veritical smile; but it still is a fact.

Afficionados, on the other hand, claim you can't knock it until you've tried it (no doubt several times behind the closed doors of their parents basement); but clearly this makes about as much sense as saying that you can't knock a poorly lit truck stop toliet seat until you've after developed an embarrassing itch. Naturally this line of thought begs for some good old fashioned research, except again...seeing any boobs beyond my own on video rates high on the "eww" meter. Thankfully there are others in the office who were all too eager to explain exactly what I've been missing out on (and seeing as I had a good twenty minutes to burn off the afternoon work clock), I happily grabbed a clipboard and proceeded to query the lunchroom in the name of "reseach". A few of the highlights:

"Does the term 'money-shot' mean anything to you? I'd explain it more detail but somehow that look your giving me says you'd either not get it...or file a sexual discrimination suit on me."
- Brett, 42, happily divorced for 17 years

"Only occasionally, you know, when the wife isn't interested in whats going on down there. You know what I mean? That'd be about every 28 days...get it? Oh nevermind."
- Michael, 24, married

"Porn is like...so disgusting."
- Lisa, 30, dating

"I like to pretend that I accidently found it or stumbled across it by mistake on the web. Oh my! Who put that on my screen? Oh well, its already there, might as well enjoy it."
- Margie, 28, engaged

"Oh hell yes! I practically put Larry Flint's kids through college all by myself. Wait, does he have kids? Well someone's kids can thank me...I guess its the thought that counts."
- Joshua, 72, widower

"Dude. You can stare at the cows on the wall at the cracker barrell and be miserable or you can go find one and milk it yourself. Simple math. Porn is for losers, pedophiles, and preachers."
- Mac, 38, single (and likes it that way)

What was weird isn't what I discovered, its what I didn't. Despite the "enhancement" claim made by porn enthusiasts, instead of massive ape-like solo monkey spanking, is that porn actually brings couples together; yet none of my complete and thorough lunchroom queries found any evidence to suggest the viewing of did anything but cause the average man to pop like a bag of microwave popcorn in under two to five minutes. In fact, while exceptions to the rule probably exist, for the most part it appears to be a solo-sport. Its that to say that low-rent porn involving girls with double-D's and ejaculate that spurts out like a fire hose is necessarily a bad thing? Ethics aside, its hard to say. But speaking only for myself, I would imagine when you take your eyes out of the real world and start focusing on the fantasy world; disappointment is likely to be the last thing that pops up as a result.

What about you? Do you porn?

Today's Positive: Got home this afternoon to find an entire bag of Ghirardelli chocolates tucked next to my computer. Wow! Naturally I'll be sharing them with absolutely nobody. Nope, all mine. Weee!

Today's Negative: Sat down this morning around 9am and the seat in my pants totally ripped out. Thankfully I had a long sweater on and nobody around noticed. I totally lucked out on that one!

A failed night of the rumpty-tumpty

Tue, 31 Mar 2009 20:13:01 GMT

You'd think I just sketched out a new HBO mini-series. Rolled up cheetos over an unwarranted and uncared about Monpoly board sitting idle next to an open bottle of KY, sadly after three and a half attempts of the rumpty-tumpty, it no longer seemed how many times we tried, one thing after another kept putting off our getting it on. Miserable Chinese takeaway usually has always been our thing, a feeble rush to convince both the kids that despite the sun still being up, it really is their bedtime...followed by dirty interpretations of each other's fortune cookies. It wasn't happening. One thing after kept popping up instead of the one thing that we'd like to. No...not on Rex Manning day!

Sex requires the absense of distractions. Unfortunately when you have two toddler-aged children, distractions are the norm, hense we copulate an awful lot less than we'd like, hence our proud reputation as the floozies of our neighborhood when we're finally able. Yes, I too tend to be sceptical of any story that involves married couple enjoying a conspicuous amount of leg-over, but the sad fact is the getting-your-freak-on well seems to have dried up in the last year. I swear my children have some advanced form of sexdar because it seems that anytime Santa Claus is getting ready to slide down my chimney, the kids suddenly appear out of nowhere to disprove his lowly existence.

(and thus far its worked)

Its downright uncanny. Whenever, however, and yet somehow they always manage to interrupt. 4am and one of them suddenly had a bad dream. Lock the door and they beat on it like a little puppy wanting stroked. Oddly enough, I know the feeling. Drop them off at Grandma's and one of them happens to have an accident that requires my immediate return. We can't even do it on the dining room table without one of them catching us. That leaves the car. Yes, its quite "low rent", I completely acknowledge, but its the one place where we're not likely to get caught. Our driveway is conveniently tucked behind the house, completely hidden in the dark, and seemingly the perfect rendezvous for the modern day parents still wanting to rewarded with the Pillsbury doughboy giggle-n-tickle...or it would have been perfect assuming one of us hadn't forgotten to turn the dome light off.

My neighbor made eye contact this morning. I'm absolutely paranoid she got a late-nite matinée.

Today's Positive: Mum bought a whole bunch of Road Runner cartoon DVDs for the kids. Pfft, as if! I've probably invested 7 hours in the past week watching them. Stupid coyote. Will he ever learn?

Today's Negative: Brand new shows have been sitting in my closet for a year and the first time I wore them, I found a fresh pile of kitty poo in one of them. Anyone want a cat? I'll sell it really cheap.

Assumptions and my over-zealous sniffer

Mon, 30 Mar 2009 22:57:04 GMT

Clearly it’s bigger than the one about not coveting your neighbour’s wife, bonking your granny over the head at the dinner table, or forcing your date to hide in the trunk at a drive-in movie so you don't have to pay for the both of you (but my God he'd be an entertaining date); giving yourself the "sniff" test in the backseat of your car isn't necessarily advised before working. Actually doing anything in the backseat of your car before waltzing into the office is probably ill-advised but for the sake of argument, we'll pretend I was simply trying to get my pants buttoned before starting my shift, which is completely true, but not entirely in the same way my earlier rhetoric might lead you all to imagine.

Thanks to a sick child and my husband having all the bedside appeal of Doctor Kevorkian in the middle of the night, I didn't get the chance to shower today. Yep, yesterday's grime is still attached. In fact, I ran out the door this morning in little more than a pair of boxers and a half-attached bra on with my work duds tucked under my arm. In hindsight perhaps not the best of choices but at time seemed preferable than dragging a crying 5-year old on my leg towards the front door. Naturally I caked on some deodorant once I'd dressed and gave my underarms a good wiff before walking into work, confident that I smelt like a million bucks (so long as a million frogbacks smells like lilac and vanilla). Unfortunatley, my sniffer was a bit over zealous and was a bit smeared in Lady Speed Stick.

"Rebekah?"
"Yeah boss? Wassup?"
"We need to talk to you about your little problem. Now we're not pointing fingers, but..."
"I know, I know. I was hoping nobody would notice. Look I was up all night and it just happened."
"The evidence is pretty apparent. I have to ask, do we have a problem?"

Picture it. I'm at my desk, doing my best not to curse some lady on the phone for cronic stupidity (a growing epidemic I'm afraid) when my boss and the snooty lady from HR pulls me aside to ask about "my problem". Sadly I'm either not getting what they're implying (or I'm trying to cover up for a complete lapse now after the fact), but I'm under the impression the conversation is about my lack of shower. Nope. Not even close. The thick white powder on the tip of my schnoze told another story.

"Look Rebekah, its not uncommon for employees in your position to have similiar addictions."
"I'd hardly call it an addition, but I fear my 5-year old might be have joined in my bad habit today."
"OMG! Thats...terrible! Do you need help? How long have you been doing this with your children?"
"Totally my first time...although my husband has been doing it for years and likely rubs off on them."
"This is beyond me. You need help, honey. We have programs at work that can help you beat this."
"We have showers here at work?"

Today's Positive: Got home this afternoon to find dinner ready, the dishes done, my computer on and waiting for me, and the kids already ready for bed. I must have done something right recently!

Today's Negative: I've been such a bad blogging buddy. Thanks to the IT department at work putting the kibosh on all "non-work related" surfing, whatever that means, my blogging time has turned to crap. Sadly I get home and the kids are demanding I actually play with them, cook for them, and the larger hairy gorilla has completely different and shower-demanding requests of his own. AGH!!

No means no

Tue, 24 Mar 2009 22:58:46 GMT

No means no. At least thats the schoolgirl mantra that often gets lip service while we decide if we really wanna, but in his case, I can honestly say I did not want to. He looked right through my window, not even pretending he was interested in anything else but making moves on me (despite the fact my husband was in the car with me). I shook my head but, like all men, no means try harder. He stalked up to my window and began to nudge it until I eventually rolled it down. Clearly there was no escaping those deep brown eyes. Slowly and methodically he made his way over to the car and made eye contact with me. Before I realized it, I rolled the window down for this handsome stranger.

"I can't" I told myself but already I couldn't ignore, despite the sheer and utterly daunting size of him, how completely cute he was. I've always been a sucker for cute boys. He gave just a hint of a smile as he entered my car further and wordlessly invited me to touch him. Could I? Should I? The urge was overpowering, regardless of the fact that my husband of nearly ten years was not more than two feet away watching with a morbid curiousity as another man made moves on his wife. He beckoned. I dared. Not able to restrain myself further, I began to stroke his face and his soft beard.

The passion in his eyes was unavoidable as he snarled just a bit and licked his lips at me like an animal. I had something he wanted...and he intended to lay claim to it. Without further hesitation he began to sniff my chest and my arms, and before I could say no, his head plunged into my lap and greedily began to take his fill. No intentions of defending my honor, my husband laughed and encouraged the stranger to take more, to finish all his bride had to offer from a complete stranger.

                               ...and take he did. Within minutes I was completely out of oats.

Today's Positive: Managed to cancel my gym membership. Okay, so that may not necessarily be a good thing for the ever-blossoming thing on my backside I sit on occasionally and use to fill out my pants, but seeing as they wanted over $450 for a contract that I absolutely didn't sign; its wonderful!

Today's Negative: Unfortunately this means I'll have to come up with a new and interesting way to burn some calories. Hubby is suggesting nightly workouts and strip tennis on the Wii. Hmmm...

Call me Ostrich girl

Mon, 23 Mar 2009 20:56:57 GMT

Call me Ostrich girl. Like fondling a big pair of silicone breasts in the middle of church, there’s no escaping the watchful eyes of others should you happen to fall flat on your face in the middle of a crowded shopping mall. On a north-bound escalator. While wearing a Southbound skirt. The results were extraordinary, almost as impressive as getting smacked by Jay Leno with a skillet on live television, and yet somehow the notoriety gained by poking your fanny straight up in the air at the top of an escalator isn't quite what you'd expect it to be. Go figure. Naturally I thought seriously about burying my head in the sand, sticking my fingers in my ears and singing a few sea shanties, or just laying there and crying for a bit. You'd think that I'd either learn to never wear a skirt (or stop venturing into public) thanks to my penchant for going down faster than a Thai hooker at a "buy me drinky" bar thanks to a slight inner-ear issue of mine. Yep. Once it awhile, it can suck to be me occasionally...

Thanfully, in all other arenas of life, I am to be completely envied.

Sadly I've fallen (and subsequently exposed myself) in public just enough to guess which of about three probable responses of the nearby crowd. Its always the same thing. They either pretend it never happened, some Samaritan offers to help me up while the crowd gives me a pitiful "I'm glad it wasn't me" face, or they clap. Unfortunately Sunday seemed to be an applause sort of afternoon. They wooped. They clapped. I even heard a few "ooh babies" from the crowd, not that anyone could blame them of course thanks to the sea of red panty about the size of Vancouver rolling like a drunken moose from under my skirt at the top of escalator, but the experience still sucked worse than one of those new upright Dysons. I'd love to say I somehow made it look impressive, jumped up and took a bow while speaking in an outragiously fake accent, but I didn't. I tucked my head and proceeded to drown my embarrassment out in a Caramel Macchiato (with extra whipped cream).

Starbucks. Its the modern way of burying one's head in the sand.

Today's Positive: My three-year old came up this morning and announced, in a rather snarky know-it-all way that her poopy was brown and my hair was brown; therefore I'd better wash it really quickly.

Today's Negative: Definitely have a case of the Mondays today. Sheesh!