Updatin'

First off, I need to get something off my chest.

Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!! Not Allison! You were the most consistently talented girl there! Why, why, why?

Okay, now that I've just revealed my deep, dark, secret (yes, I watch a reality talent TV show, but only because they've got some darn good dancin'), let's get on to real business:

AAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHHH!

Yeah, I'm still really annoyed with my new boss. I wasn't so annoyed for a while, but then he came back from vacation and started having team meetings and all of my newly-formed positive resolutions kind of evaporated. It's going to be a long several months. (I still have no idea why he was hired over my uber-qualified and awesome co-worker Kate. But I won't go into that here.)

Aw, man. I'm watching local news as I write this and they're showing Allison's friends and family react to the news, and now her little sisters have nearly got me crying. This is depressing.

In other news, I am going slightly crazy, craving the Greek sandwiches from the Resto Beauborg. Have been for three days now. The problem: the Resto Beauborg is located in Paris. France, not Texas. Need to find a cheap substitute... does anybody know of any good Greek places in the Salt Lake Valley? I'd never really eaten Greek before we went to Paris, so I have no idea where to get any around here. I welcome your suggestions!

I am also craving some thunderstorms here. Last night we had an el-huge-o windstorm with Hat Island (the little tiny island nobody knows about in the Great Salt Lake) getting hurricane-force winds for about half an hour. Now, we don't live on Hat Island (as far as I know, nobody does, not even really bison...) but I did have worries that some of the trees around the parking lot would fall on Sonya, forcing us to get another new bumper. I don't know if I mentioned Sonya's new bumper. It's green. (Sonya is blue. Fortunately it's a non-clashy, rather flashy, green, so she looks two-toned rather than stupid. I'll have to post pics sometime.) None of the parking lot trees fell over, although some along the street in back did lose their tops. But no thunder at all. I miss thunderstorms. And by extension, my Margot.

Over the weekend we nearly died when Shallow Man found an even-huger-than-el-huge-o desk at the good ol' D. of I. Seriously, this thing is massive (36" deep by 72" wide, about 200 pounds), and he didn't believe me when I told him it was too big. I was able to persuade him that at the very least we would never fit it into Sonya, so we called up my daddy and he brought the minivan over to help us take it home. He ended up having to tie the back doors shut with ultra-strength DI twine and I still hurt from struggling up the stairs with it.

As a side note, my dad is the best ever. I seriously don't know what we'd do without him - from helping us move to fixing the car to paying for the wedding reception to lending us movies, my dad is the best. My mom, too. I hope you're reading this and I hope you enjoyed the ice cream and we really don't thank you enough. Love you, Mom and Dad!

We also finally have a dresser. The only problem is that it took so long to put together that we were too exhausted to unpack the suitcases full of underwear into it, so it's still empty. But it looks good.

Well, the Simpsons are on so I need to go cuddle and giggle with my husband. (Who forgot to mention, by the way, that he didn't actually decide to ask me out - I had to prompt him heavily. I'm pretty sure if we were relying only on his agency in that situation, we'd still be waiting.)

In closing, tha moon is very useful everyone. And I am waaaaayyy too easily amused.

AAAAARRRRRGGGHHH!!!!

Don't mind me. That loud noise you just heard was only the sound of Ultimate Suffering.

I was going to post something more cheerful, but I'm just too upset right now.

No, no deaths here. But you have to wonder what on earth is wrong with the world when they hire a practically illiterate (brags that he's never finished a book in his life, excluding scripture), has no ability to write a well-crafted sentence, probably wouldn't notice an even adequately-crafted sentence if it danced a polka on his nose, has limited social skills and absolutely no respect for personal boundaries or privacy, quit college to work two jobs full time (one in a call center and the other at Home Depot) person to manage a team of college graduates, all with English degrees (some with graduate degrees in English), whose job is to write letters all day long. Oh, and did I mention he also has no idea how to even begin to do the job he's supposed to be managing?

What really stings is that there was a perfectly-qualified applicant from the team who has a degree, who writes extremely well, who knows the job inside and out, who's been managing the team ever since the old manager left while still doing her own job and excelling at both, holding everything together seamlessly, and who has the respect of all the team members besides? (No, it's not me.)

I don't know if this is due to male chauvinism (hiring the unqualified male over the qualified female), total ignorance of the actual qualifications needed to do the job (the person doing the hiring really doesn't know what the job requires; so why is he doing the hiring anyway? Just one more unanswered question among many...), or just sheer stupidity (the pointy-haired boss system of management, hiring and promotions), but whatever it is, it stinks.

Please cover your ears for a moment while I mutter angry things under my breath. On second thought, you may just want to leave altogether so I can get back to screaming and tearing my hair out...

Happy Fourth!

Just wanted to take a brief moment to wish all y'all a Happy Fourth of July. Hope it was great, you ate lots of good food, and you enjoyed some fireworks.

Oh, and sorry for the long break... I think I slept through June somehow...

Hello, people....

While I realize that editorial opinion is usually the province of Shallow Man, I needed to stop for a moment and just get something off of my chest.

Regarding "The Da Vinci Code" (don't worry, I'm not going to get into an argument about the religious implications), I just want to say one thing:

People, it's FICTION! It's a MOVIE! MOVIES ARE NOT REAL!

It bugs me that people would even think that a disclaimer at the beginning of the film, specifying that the following story is fictional, would be necessary. (Director Ron Howard's response to this was that you don't have disclaimers in front of spy thrillers telling the audience that they're not real.)

As I said before, movies are not real! Just because you saw it in a movie does not mean that it is an accurate depiction of the way the world really is. Sheesh. (And the fact that you picked up the novel in the "Fiction" section should also have clued you in on the fact that it is, well, fictitious. As in, not real.)

It reminds me of when we went to see "The Bourne Supremacy," and a disgruntled older man leaned over to his wife and said in an extremely disdainful and not-quiet-at-all voice, "There's our tax dollars at work." Like it was a documentary or something and that Matt Damon actually is an agent of the US Government. Um, I don't think so.

Ron, maybe we do need those spy movie disclaimers after all.

...but I was late to work.

Note: So this was delayed again, due to moving, traffic, finals, and freak blizzards in the middle of April. Now I'm trying to get this posted while I wait for Shallow Man to finish his last final (who schedules finals from 8-11 p.m., honestly?) and hoping I'll finish before my laptop battery dies, so this may not be as high-quality of a retelling as I'd hoped.

So I was driving to work early on morning about a month ago. The commute takes about an hour, meaning I have to get up at 5:30 to make it there by 7:00. This is a problem for a few reasons, as anybody who knows me can tell you:

1) I am not a morning person.
2) Morning hurts.
3) Whoever came up with the idea that the day should start any earlier than 9:00 a.m. should be shot.
4) Even then, my brain doesn't wake up until 10:00 a.m. at the earliest.

Combine this with the fact that I am genetically five minutes late at least and you can see that getting to work in the morning is a major challenge. (It's true, by the way -- I've been late all my life, starting with those extra 13 days before my birthday. My mom wasn't too happy about that.) Generally I end up leaving the house five minutes after I'm supposed to. When I leave on time, a fleet of semi-trucks and white Buicks descend upon me on the freeway and pen me in at 55 all the way. When I leave early, something drastic must occur.

Which is why I should have known something was going to happen when I was running early enough that I was 5 minutes away from work at 6:50 a.m. I was feeling pretty good, actually, and thinking to myself that I was going to be early, I'd be the first one there, they'd all walk in and there I'd be, wouldn't it be so cool, etc, etc, and so forth.

I was still paying attention to the road, though, because it was at that one spot where traffic is ridiculous and stops suddenly for no reason whatsoever. So when it stopped, I was able to do so as well, coming to a halt about a foot away from the car in front of me.

Unfortunately, the girl behind me had been trying to change lanes and was checking her blind spot when everyone stopped. So she didn't see until it was too late to do anything more than slam on the brakes so she wouldn't hit me at full speed.

She slammed into the back of me and pushed me into the car in front.

Long story short, it was about as good as it possibly could have been (if you'll forgive the obvious oxymoron of a "good car accident"). No airbags went off, nobody was hurt (other than a headache from residual adrenaline), all three cars were still driveable, nobody was a jerk, nobody had been doing anything wrong (I highly applaud checking your blind spots, actually; I've had several near misses when people around me didn't), everyone had insurance, and the car most easily repaired was the one with the most damage.

Yes, my poor sweet Sonya valiantly took the brunt of both impacts. She now needs two new bumpers (but no other damage, another good point), while the SUV in front had minor cosmetic damage and the Audi behind me had a bent grill and a headlight hanging out.

Of course, the poor 19-year-old behind me saw all of Sonya's other dents and thought she'd done a lot more to me. I tried to calm her down by pointing out which ones were already there, which was the majority. (The big dent in the back is another great story, but doesn't come into play here.)

I also pointed out to her that our license plate frame was even more appropriate now. That made her laugh.


That's about all I have time to post with the battery life I have. I know it's really anti-climactic after all that wait, but what can you do? I'll make a more exciting version later. It will probably be at least a week, though, as our new apartment doesn't have internet access yet. (Hence the feverish posting on no battery. My finally-delurking-faithful-readership-in-Texas would probably kill me via phone if I waited any longer.)

As some sort of compensation, here's some more blurry photographic evidence for your enjoyment.

More views of the damage:


Our front bumper, much less noticeable:


It was worse before my dad pushed the side of the bumper back in, but you can still see how it looks like a shark swimming up the side of my car:



The back bumper that is no more:


A final view:



Oh, by the way, this means our car has officially paid for itself now. But again, that's another story for another time...

And now a word from our sponsor

Okay, so I know it's taking a ridiculously long time to finish off the to be continued. This is not entirely my fault. We're in the process of moving, my job involves an hour-long commute each way so I'm rarely home (although once we've moved it will only be 12 minutes, yesssss!), and the blurry photographic evidence is on Shallow Man's computer, which is home even less than I am. He keeps forgetting to put them up where I can get at them, and I can't get my hands on his computer to put them up myself.

So the story itself is going to be pretty anticlimactic after all this wait. I'm sorry. Maybe I'll post two versions: the real one, and the one you've all been imagining for the past two and a half weeks.

At any rate, I hope to have it up soon. Say, within the next 48 hours or so. At any rate, happy Eastovernox. (I think that about covers it; let me know if I missed anyone.)

Well, first off, I'm okay....

Have you ever noticed how, whenever something not-that-great happens, most people will begin telling the story to their friends, neighbors and relatives by saying, "Well, first off, I'm okay..." It's always spoken in a slow, deliberate, attempting-to-be-soothing tone: I'M OOOOOO-KAAAAAAAYYYYYYY, with the last syllable rising up slightly like a question. (I'm Okay? Right? Did you get that? Me? Okay? Yes?) This is invariably followed by a very pregnant pause.

It makes whatever comes after that seem worse than it may actually be. Anything you say after that will sound ominous.

"Well, first off, I'm okay... but I couldn't find the flavor of Goldfish crackers I wanted in the store today."

"Well, first off, I'm okay... but we need a new couch because the one we have now is screwing up our backs."

"Well, first off, I'm okay... but the glass pan holding the enchiladas for dinner just exploded." (This actually did happen once, but that's a different story.)

"Well, first off, I'm okay... but our house just burned down."

See what I mean? Even the goldfish scenario there was giving me goosebumps of dread. What happened? Did you fall to the floor with grief and hit your head because there were no Parmesan Goldfish? Did the Rainbow Goldfish jump off the shelf and try to jump down your throat, nearly choking you and causing you to pass out from lack of oxygen and fall to the floor and hit your head? Goldfish may be synonymous with concussions for me from now on. I may never be able to go down the cracker aisle again without hearing the Jaws theme in my head. FOR PETE'S SAKE, WHAT HAPPENED WITH THE GOLDFISH?!?!?!

I don't know why we do it. Maybe we're worried that someone may not realize that we're obviously not dead if we're telling them the story of our terrible Goldfish tragedy. In essence, it's like saying, "First off, he wanted to get to the other side... but why did the chicken cross the road?" Spoiling the punchline.

And yet I can't count the number of times I've said it this last week. Now that a bit of time has passed, I figured I could (and should) blog about this, although the photographic evidence for the sad tale is not yet available...

So what is this sad tale?

Well, first off, I'm okay...

To be continued...