And a LOT of salt goes ALL the way—to the slammer, baby.
(Note to Dunkin Donuts employees: Watch the powdered sugar, guys. YOU MIGHT BE NEXT!)
Seriously though, couldn't they find someone else to arrest in Georgia? Like, I don't know... maybe a criminal?
Monday, September 10, 2007
Thursday, September 06, 2007
Bleah
I'm sad. I found out today one of my favorite co-workers is leaving for a position in another company. And even though I knew it was coming, I'm still not happy about it. Well, I'm happy for her, of course. But not for me.
Also, and not that this is at all in the same league as the above, but I think I swallowed a bug while I was running tonight. Yuck.
Finally, I can't seem to focus on my writing tonight. I have two new stories in the works, and I was all excited about them—until I sat down to work on them. To my disappointment, the stories refused to write themselves. Grrr.
I think I need to call it a day.
Also, and not that this is at all in the same league as the above, but I think I swallowed a bug while I was running tonight. Yuck.
Finally, I can't seem to focus on my writing tonight. I have two new stories in the works, and I was all excited about them—until I sat down to work on them. To my disappointment, the stories refused to write themselves. Grrr.
I think I need to call it a day.
Tuesday, September 04, 2007
Saturday, September 01, 2007
Still Hoppin'
In spite of what are no doubt the hopes and best wishes of the Neptune Society (see previous post), I continue to live and breathe. At least, I think so. Actually the nine-mile jog I did this morning has left me feeling a little unsure about my mortal status, and the current heat wave isn't exactly helping. I started my run at just before 7am, and by the time I finished at 8:30ish, it was already inching toward 80 degrees.
All of which to say, I may not be an actual zombie, but I bet I could play one pretty convincingly on TV right about now.
On another note, I was thinking the other day about all this global warming stuff, and I started wondering what happened to cause it the first time, back when the earth was covered in ice, during a time called (appropriately, if not creatively) the Ice Age. I mean, where did all the ice go? I'm guessing, through a series of lightning-fast intellectual processes far too advanced to explain here, that it melted, but my question is: how? Were the wooly mammoths using hair spray with dangerous fluorocarbons? Or were the other creatures driving cars and eating up fossil fuels (when they weren't falling into pools of them, getting stuck, and then dying for the benefit of future paleontologists who would eventually study their tarpitted remains)?
Inquiring minds want to know.
All of which to say, I may not be an actual zombie, but I bet I could play one pretty convincingly on TV right about now.
On another note, I was thinking the other day about all this global warming stuff, and I started wondering what happened to cause it the first time, back when the earth was covered in ice, during a time called (appropriately, if not creatively) the Ice Age. I mean, where did all the ice go? I'm guessing, through a series of lightning-fast intellectual processes far too advanced to explain here, that it melted, but my question is: how? Were the wooly mammoths using hair spray with dangerous fluorocarbons? Or were the other creatures driving cars and eating up fossil fuels (when they weren't falling into pools of them, getting stuck, and then dying for the benefit of future paleontologists who would eventually study their tarpitted remains)?
Inquiring minds want to know.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
An Offer To Die For
So two nights ago I was going through my mail and found an offer from a company called the Neptune Society, for a chance to win (drum roll please)... a free pre-paid cremation. Yes, you read that correctly; I said CREMATION. Not $1 million. Not a brand-new car. No, I get an offer to win a means of disposing of my mortal remains. As you can imagine, I am thrilled to be so subtly reminded of my inevitable—and apparently imminent—demise by thoughtful direct marketers. Woo-hoo.
Oh and here's my fav quote from the letter: "Cremation just makes sense." Doesn't it though?
You know, this was really the icing on the cake of weird mailings that I've been receiving lately, such as offers for discounts on hearing aids (which I emphatically do NOT need), or offers for estate planning services that would presumably necessitate me having an estate in the first place (which I emphatically do NOT have).
So yeah, seems like 32 is the new 80, folks. Hope you're not older than I am, or you might just as well be a ghost.
OK, I'm off to bed. But before I go, allow me to extend my sincere congratulations to Ruth Sims, who was the July 2007 winner of the pre-paid cremation offer. You go, girl! Have fun with that.
Oh and here's my fav quote from the letter: "Cremation just makes sense." Doesn't it though?
You know, this was really the icing on the cake of weird mailings that I've been receiving lately, such as offers for discounts on hearing aids (which I emphatically do NOT need), or offers for estate planning services that would presumably necessitate me having an estate in the first place (which I emphatically do NOT have).
So yeah, seems like 32 is the new 80, folks. Hope you're not older than I am, or you might just as well be a ghost.
OK, I'm off to bed. But before I go, allow me to extend my sincere congratulations to Ruth Sims, who was the July 2007 winner of the pre-paid cremation offer. You go, girl! Have fun with that.
Friday, August 17, 2007
Finally!
Hey everyone! Look, I'm still alive! Barely perhaps—or so it feels like today—but here I am anyway.
Contrary to popular (i.e., one person's) belief, I have neither been incarcerated nor locked up in a convent for the past however long it's been since my last post. I have, however, been a) working, b) writing (or avoiding it, which takes even MORE energy than the actual writing), c) running (gotta get in shape for the Nike Women's Half-Marathon!), d) trying to have some semblance of something that might approach the rudiments of a social life.
Needless to say, I'm exhausted.
Speaking of writing, I am now just past the halfway point of my second semester. Hard to believe how fast it's going. If I were a better, less completely frazzled writer, I'd come up with some metaphor for the speed with which the seasons are flying by, but I can't. Two nights of last-minute panic putting together a packet of writing that went out this morning have sapped every last drop of creativity that I had, and I have nothing left to give. Sorry. You will have to make up your own metaphor this time.
And please don't ask me what a metaphor is, or I will throw my beloved copy of The Elements of Style at you. (In addition to being tired, I am also cranky. In case you couldn't tell.)
On the plus side of life, today is Friday. That means tomorrow is Saturday. And since I sent off my writing packet today, that means I can actually *gasp* enjoy the weekend.
Wow. Now I have to think of something fun to do, I guess. Hmm, that could take some work.
D'oh! Work does not equal fun, so that means I've ruined my weekend in advance, before it's even happened. I am a talented girl, aren't I?
I really, really, really need more sleep...
Contrary to popular (i.e., one person's) belief, I have neither been incarcerated nor locked up in a convent for the past however long it's been since my last post. I have, however, been a) working, b) writing (or avoiding it, which takes even MORE energy than the actual writing), c) running (gotta get in shape for the Nike Women's Half-Marathon!), d) trying to have some semblance of something that might approach the rudiments of a social life.
Needless to say, I'm exhausted.
Speaking of writing, I am now just past the halfway point of my second semester. Hard to believe how fast it's going. If I were a better, less completely frazzled writer, I'd come up with some metaphor for the speed with which the seasons are flying by, but I can't. Two nights of last-minute panic putting together a packet of writing that went out this morning have sapped every last drop of creativity that I had, and I have nothing left to give. Sorry. You will have to make up your own metaphor this time.
And please don't ask me what a metaphor is, or I will throw my beloved copy of The Elements of Style at you. (In addition to being tired, I am also cranky. In case you couldn't tell.)
On the plus side of life, today is Friday. That means tomorrow is Saturday. And since I sent off my writing packet today, that means I can actually *gasp* enjoy the weekend.
Wow. Now I have to think of something fun to do, I guess. Hmm, that could take some work.
D'oh! Work does not equal fun, so that means I've ruined my weekend in advance, before it's even happened. I am a talented girl, aren't I?
I really, really, really need more sleep...
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
I'm Still Here
Dear FOG (fans of gracky)
I know its been ages since I last wrote. I hope you’ll forgive me for not writing sooner, because I've had heaps of good intentions to do so and something’s got to be said about good intentions besides the fact that the road to hell is paved with them. Isn't it the thought that counts? Well, I've been thinking a lot about writing you, so I hope that serves to vindicate me just a little.
How are you? I’m doing all right. Life has been as busy as I can make it, so I don’t have time anymore to think too much, the way I usually do. It’s nice for a change.
My days have fallen into a predictable routine: wake up between 6:00-6:30am, go for a walk or jog, eat breakfast, get dressed, then hop in the car and drive to work while half-listening to NPR. Then after work, go for another walk or jog, before heading either home or to a coffeeshop where I will, in theory, spend some time writing short stories. In actual fact, I spend a great deal of time avoiding writing. Sometimes I’ll manage to squeeze a bit of piano practice into the day. Eventually I will get tired and go to bed, looking forward—if that’s the right term—to getting up the next morning and doing it all over again.
By the way, if you didn’t know, or forgot, I am a full-time proofreader for a direct marketing agency, which is all kinds of excitement, as you can no doubt imagine. If I had a dollar for every time someone said, “Wow, that is one job I could never do,” I’d be—well, not rich, but I could afford a venti latte at Starbucks for once. Seriously, though, I wonder sometimes what people mean by saying that. Are they saying they could never do it because they think it is so mind-numbingly boring? Or because they can’t spell? I don’t know. Maybe they mean both. As for my own thoughts about it, well, it’s an OK job. I don’t mind it usually, but the past couple weeks have been draining. Too many projects all at once. I never thought I’d come to hate reading, but that’s how I’ve felt lately.
Of course, that’s a problem because I’m just getting into the thick of my second semester in a Master of Fine Arts creative writing program, and naturally I have to do a lot of reading for that. At the moment, I am busily reading just about anything except what I put on my reading list--like Flannery O'Connor's Mystery & Manners and The Habit of Being, or the latest issue of Ploughshares. I would say I'm avoiding my "real" reading because I have a bad case of senioritis, but I’m not a senior, so there goes that theory. I know what it is really—summeritis. I find it hard to focus on work when the sun is out and the days are warm.
And by the way, if I had a dollar for every time I read an article about how MFA programs are no good and are ruining literature, I might not have had to take out student loans for another set of high-priced, non-lucrative letters to go after my name. Oh well.
Hey, guess what—we had another fire today. I saw it from my cubicle, which looks north toward the mountains. I forgot what the mountains are called. Anyway, I happened to look out the window (thank God my cube is next to a window!) and saw a plume of smoke rising behind the ridge of the nearest mountains. Not again, I thought. We just had those Griffith Park fires a couple months ago. Thankfully, they got this one under control and extinguished pretty quickly. I never even saw anything about it on the news, so I guess it didn’t do too much damage.
In other news, I’m still planning on doing the Nike half-marathon in San Francisco in October. I’ve been jogging several times a week, and can now go twice around the Rose Bowl (six miles) without too much trouble. So I think I’ll do better this year than I did the first time I attempted the half-marathon, which was in 2005. That was a fun, but awfully painful, experience.
Well, I have to go. I promise it won’t be too long before I write again. Til then, be as good as you can, and miss me, my darlings.
Kisses from the frogg princess
I know its been ages since I last wrote. I hope you’ll forgive me for not writing sooner, because I've had heaps of good intentions to do so and something’s got to be said about good intentions besides the fact that the road to hell is paved with them. Isn't it the thought that counts? Well, I've been thinking a lot about writing you, so I hope that serves to vindicate me just a little.
How are you? I’m doing all right. Life has been as busy as I can make it, so I don’t have time anymore to think too much, the way I usually do. It’s nice for a change.
My days have fallen into a predictable routine: wake up between 6:00-6:30am, go for a walk or jog, eat breakfast, get dressed, then hop in the car and drive to work while half-listening to NPR. Then after work, go for another walk or jog, before heading either home or to a coffeeshop where I will, in theory, spend some time writing short stories. In actual fact, I spend a great deal of time avoiding writing. Sometimes I’ll manage to squeeze a bit of piano practice into the day. Eventually I will get tired and go to bed, looking forward—if that’s the right term—to getting up the next morning and doing it all over again.
By the way, if you didn’t know, or forgot, I am a full-time proofreader for a direct marketing agency, which is all kinds of excitement, as you can no doubt imagine. If I had a dollar for every time someone said, “Wow, that is one job I could never do,” I’d be—well, not rich, but I could afford a venti latte at Starbucks for once. Seriously, though, I wonder sometimes what people mean by saying that. Are they saying they could never do it because they think it is so mind-numbingly boring? Or because they can’t spell? I don’t know. Maybe they mean both. As for my own thoughts about it, well, it’s an OK job. I don’t mind it usually, but the past couple weeks have been draining. Too many projects all at once. I never thought I’d come to hate reading, but that’s how I’ve felt lately.
Of course, that’s a problem because I’m just getting into the thick of my second semester in a Master of Fine Arts creative writing program, and naturally I have to do a lot of reading for that. At the moment, I am busily reading just about anything except what I put on my reading list--like Flannery O'Connor's Mystery & Manners and The Habit of Being, or the latest issue of Ploughshares. I would say I'm avoiding my "real" reading because I have a bad case of senioritis, but I’m not a senior, so there goes that theory. I know what it is really—summeritis. I find it hard to focus on work when the sun is out and the days are warm.
And by the way, if I had a dollar for every time I read an article about how MFA programs are no good and are ruining literature, I might not have had to take out student loans for another set of high-priced, non-lucrative letters to go after my name. Oh well.
Hey, guess what—we had another fire today. I saw it from my cubicle, which looks north toward the mountains. I forgot what the mountains are called. Anyway, I happened to look out the window (thank God my cube is next to a window!) and saw a plume of smoke rising behind the ridge of the nearest mountains. Not again, I thought. We just had those Griffith Park fires a couple months ago. Thankfully, they got this one under control and extinguished pretty quickly. I never even saw anything about it on the news, so I guess it didn’t do too much damage.
In other news, I’m still planning on doing the Nike half-marathon in San Francisco in October. I’ve been jogging several times a week, and can now go twice around the Rose Bowl (six miles) without too much trouble. So I think I’ll do better this year than I did the first time I attempted the half-marathon, which was in 2005. That was a fun, but awfully painful, experience.
Well, I have to go. I promise it won’t be too long before I write again. Til then, be as good as you can, and miss me, my darlings.
Kisses from the frogg princess
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