An tInneal Mallachtaí - The Curse Engine
English: May an infectious disease destroy your hard disk.
Irish: Go scriosa galar tógálach do dhiosca crua.
Phonetic: guh SHKRIH-suh GAH-luhr TOE-gah-luhkh duh YISS-kuh KROO-uh.
ha-ha-ha-a!
make your own Irish curse.
Tuesday, March 29, 2005
I'm blogging right now only because I said I would yesterday. There's about an hour and a half left of today, my 23rd birthday, and I'm ready for it to be over. I called in sick today, the first time I think I've ever called in sick. And I've been working since I was 15, so I think that's saying something. My 21st birthday was on a Saturday, so no calling in necessary. (And really, I would've had to call in the day after my 21st...) My 22nd was on a Monday - which was fine with me. I just had classes and what not. This year, I promised myself I'd call in sick and spend the day on my, doing whatever I wanted. I'd wake up around 8 (a luxury these days), do a light workout, have a light lunch, get a massage, go buy some books, treat myself to DSW... I literally had all of that planned.
Well, here's how it really went:
5:30am - call in "sick". Feel horrible about doing it, especially because I like my (local Pacer) manager and I didn't like lying to her. Plus, I've got a "good work ethic" and don't like lying in the first place. The second I hang up, my stomach really does start to hurt, probably because I'm psychosomatic or something... Go back to sleep.
8:00am - (local Pacer) manager calls to say I don't have to call (HQ Pacer) manager or (local Ford) manager (I had asked). My mom answered the phone, and when my manager had asked "Is Lindsay there?" my mom was like... "uhhhh I don't know?" Probably sounded sketchy as hell. I suck.
10:30am - Actually wake up. So looks like I won't be going to the 8:30 workout class. Call Lifetime, schedule a 12:45 massage. Okay!
11:00am - Go downstairs. Dad is home from work, sick. Sick with the infection I have now spread to 4 memebers of my family. Only the dog and the older brother who technically doesn't live here anymore haven't gotten it. Yet. Dad asks me to go pick up my brother from his friend's house (he's on spring break), then adds "Happy Birthday".
12:45pm - Massage. Maybe the highlight of my day? It was nice, but I didn't really like the girl who did it. She stood at the front of the spa (which, granted, is in my healthclub, so it's not exclusive or anything) gossiping and pseudo-fighting with one of her friends while I pre-paid for the massage. I was annoyed by her lack of professionalism, and annoyed by my annoyance. (This las sentance, this is my life.)
2:00pm - lunch at Potbellys. No, this was the highlight of my day. I ordered a sub and a milkshake and a soda. Total fatty. Browsed through real estate catalogs - the free ones at the front of the store - and got depressed.
3:00pm - Stopped at TJMaxx on my way home. WHY? That place sucks the life out of me. It's rattiness and smelliness and general disgustingness is just nasty. I spent over an hour of my twentyfour today in that useless store, walking out with only new kneehigh socks for work.
4:15pm - I don't really remember what I did between 4:15 and 6:45... somewhere in there I showered, because I was greasy from the massage, and I check my email (none) and browsed the blogs (mediocre updates). A little more of the suckiness.
6:45pm - My family discusses dinner. "What do you want me to make?" "I don't know." "Ask your dad." "Dad, what do you want for dinner?" "I don't know." "Well, should I go to Farmer Jacks?" "I don't know." I eventually phoned in an order to B-Dubs (new one opened in Ferndale). 18 wings (9 spicy garlic, 9 bbq, 2 sides of bleu cheese), 8 boneless (mild) and a grilled chicken salad. Drive there, took longer than I thought, parking was a bitch, I wanted to cry. It was fucking PACKED in there, I felt really ugly as I walked in and totally insecure walking through the huge crowd. I waited for over 10 minutes EVEN THOUGH I PHONED MY ORDER IN TWENTY MINUTES AGO.
7:45pm - Arrive home. What I actually received was 12 spicy garlic, 6 bbq, 8 boneless WITH NO SAUCE (Why Bother?), the salad, and NO BLEU CHEESE (No Really, Why Bother?) Icing on the cake, this was, to my bad mood. I can tell my mom is like "This is dinner?" and my mood is so sour and I've already cried the entire car ride home and my face is splotchy red and I'm trying to get my shit together. (Cry was not over food, I'm not that pathetic.)
10:00pm - Start to clean my room. ON MY BIRTHDAY. I'm such a tool. Take some mirror pictures of myself with my lame camera that is already broken (because what piece of technology do I own that is not doomed to break?) and feel totally disconnected to the monster I see in those pictures. I hate feeling this way.
10:25pm - Start this blog. I don't know if I actually intend to post it or not, it might be too much lame-ass, feeling-sorry-for-myself pathetic. My brother is on the computer, playing songs from Napolean Dynamite, talking to his BFF, and I catch a glimpse of what it's like to not feel like this. I snap out of it for a second. I remember that tomorrow's Wednesday (it feels like a Sunday to me because I was off work) so that offers some comfort.
11:35pm - I've now been chatting with some people on AOL (am I really 23 and still doing this??) and the ugliness of today has faded. Depression is tiring, I'm about to retire today in the log of days past. Tomorrow will be better, I promise.
Well, here's how it really went:
5:30am - call in "sick". Feel horrible about doing it, especially because I like my (local Pacer) manager and I didn't like lying to her. Plus, I've got a "good work ethic" and don't like lying in the first place. The second I hang up, my stomach really does start to hurt, probably because I'm psychosomatic or something... Go back to sleep.
8:00am - (local Pacer) manager calls to say I don't have to call (HQ Pacer) manager or (local Ford) manager (I had asked). My mom answered the phone, and when my manager had asked "Is Lindsay there?" my mom was like... "uhhhh I don't know?" Probably sounded sketchy as hell. I suck.
10:30am - Actually wake up. So looks like I won't be going to the 8:30 workout class. Call Lifetime, schedule a 12:45 massage. Okay!
11:00am - Go downstairs. Dad is home from work, sick. Sick with the infection I have now spread to 4 memebers of my family. Only the dog and the older brother who technically doesn't live here anymore haven't gotten it. Yet. Dad asks me to go pick up my brother from his friend's house (he's on spring break), then adds "Happy Birthday".
12:45pm - Massage. Maybe the highlight of my day? It was nice, but I didn't really like the girl who did it. She stood at the front of the spa (which, granted, is in my healthclub, so it's not exclusive or anything) gossiping and pseudo-fighting with one of her friends while I pre-paid for the massage. I was annoyed by her lack of professionalism, and annoyed by my annoyance. (This las sentance, this is my life.)
2:00pm - lunch at Potbellys. No, this was the highlight of my day. I ordered a sub and a milkshake and a soda. Total fatty. Browsed through real estate catalogs - the free ones at the front of the store - and got depressed.
3:00pm - Stopped at TJMaxx on my way home. WHY? That place sucks the life out of me. It's rattiness and smelliness and general disgustingness is just nasty. I spent over an hour of my twentyfour today in that useless store, walking out with only new kneehigh socks for work.
4:15pm - I don't really remember what I did between 4:15 and 6:45... somewhere in there I showered, because I was greasy from the massage, and I check my email (none) and browsed the blogs (mediocre updates). A little more of the suckiness.
6:45pm - My family discusses dinner. "What do you want me to make?" "I don't know." "Ask your dad." "Dad, what do you want for dinner?" "I don't know." "Well, should I go to Farmer Jacks?" "I don't know." I eventually phoned in an order to B-Dubs (new one opened in Ferndale). 18 wings (9 spicy garlic, 9 bbq, 2 sides of bleu cheese), 8 boneless (mild) and a grilled chicken salad. Drive there, took longer than I thought, parking was a bitch, I wanted to cry. It was fucking PACKED in there, I felt really ugly as I walked in and totally insecure walking through the huge crowd. I waited for over 10 minutes EVEN THOUGH I PHONED MY ORDER IN TWENTY MINUTES AGO.
7:45pm - Arrive home. What I actually received was 12 spicy garlic, 6 bbq, 8 boneless WITH NO SAUCE (Why Bother?), the salad, and NO BLEU CHEESE (No Really, Why Bother?) Icing on the cake, this was, to my bad mood. I can tell my mom is like "This is dinner?" and my mood is so sour and I've already cried the entire car ride home and my face is splotchy red and I'm trying to get my shit together. (Cry was not over food, I'm not that pathetic.)
10:00pm - Start to clean my room. ON MY BIRTHDAY. I'm such a tool. Take some mirror pictures of myself with my lame camera that is already broken (because what piece of technology do I own that is not doomed to break?) and feel totally disconnected to the monster I see in those pictures. I hate feeling this way.
10:25pm - Start this blog. I don't know if I actually intend to post it or not, it might be too much lame-ass, feeling-sorry-for-myself pathetic. My brother is on the computer, playing songs from Napolean Dynamite, talking to his BFF, and I catch a glimpse of what it's like to not feel like this. I snap out of it for a second. I remember that tomorrow's Wednesday (it feels like a Sunday to me because I was off work) so that offers some comfort.
11:35pm - I've now been chatting with some people on AOL (am I really 23 and still doing this??) and the ugliness of today has faded. Depression is tiring, I'm about to retire today in the log of days past. Tomorrow will be better, I promise.
Monday, March 28, 2005
Ha-ha! I just found a really funny away message I put up one night after coming home from the bar. It gave me a chuckle (chuckle!) and it reads:
anyway, I've been a total slacker on my blog, and the first quarter is almost over, so i better go to my quarterly update! (nerdery)
I'm playing hookey from work tomorrow, so expect a post, a long and rambling post. Maybe with pictures.
note to self: when getting dressed to go see a friend's friend's band play at the bar, make sure they aren't hosting an event for the DETROIT SINGLES CLUB on the same night, because then you won't choose to wear a skirt and a blazer with just a bra, because then you will look like a desperate 20-something when in fact you JUST WANTED TO GO SEE THE BAND AND HAVE A COCKTAIL not look for cock-slash-tail (dot dot dot)
anyway, I've been a total slacker on my blog, and the first quarter is almost over, so i better go to my quarterly update! (nerdery)
I'm playing hookey from work tomorrow, so expect a post, a long and rambling post. Maybe with pictures.
Wednesday, March 23, 2005
Thursday, March 17, 2005
Tuesday, March 8, 2005
Text Messages I Can't Bear to Erase:
"Just wait til you pee, it will be orgasmic."
"You have no idea how much my ass hates me right now."
"Drink wine, laugh often, live long."
"I have this text message saved in my phone do you remeber saying it lol?(the first part is me talking) Oh my god you are so funny "I bet he wants to put it in my butt" "
"Let's start chanting 'we want Jesse'"
"Watch out my outfits ridiculous"
"I caught you a delicious bass"
"PS, this is a text message from the toilet"
Ahhh, to be drunk and with a phone...
"Just wait til you pee, it will be orgasmic."
"You have no idea how much my ass hates me right now."
"Drink wine, laugh often, live long."
"I have this text message saved in my phone do you remeber saying it lol?(the first part is me talking) Oh my god you are so funny "I bet he wants to put it in my butt" "
"Let's start chanting 'we want Jesse'"
"Watch out my outfits ridiculous"
"I caught you a delicious bass"
"PS, this is a text message from the toilet"
Ahhh, to be drunk and with a phone...
Monday, March 7, 2005
Musings from the waiting room at the car service station:
-Must gather together a small bag of goodies and keep with me at all times, in case anyone from a news station or similar ever interviews me for the evening news. No, I was not interviewed for the evening news, nor do I watch said television program, but after watching the evening news (albeit on Mute) in the service waiting room, and seeing that woman in a horrible ponytail and chapped lips with no mascara on, I was struck with that possibility of that one day happening to me. High maintenance, I have never been. A prima-donna? Nope. But good lord, if I am ever on TV (Those Harsh Lights!) without so much as a trace of Chapstick (the black kind) or mascara (brown, but I'm not brand loyal), you can officially remove me from your phone book, Buddy-List, or "Girl I Wanna Screw" list. ;)
-If I ever were to be a news reporter, and tried to do an undercover-slash-hidden-camera style job wherein I leave a Fiver in my car in plain sight and see if the service guys try to steal it, I should not and will not conduct this story at Saturn of Southfield. Not that they are necessarily honest people (or otherwise), but the Manager will alert you of the money (In Plain Sight!) and instruct the removal of currency before you leave your keys. Foiled!
-I would call the hypothetical story "You think you know... but you have no idea. Diary of a Fiver." And then I would try and see if it is possible to affix a GPS to the bill and track the usage of the illicit goods, maybe get a miniscule little camera that shakily, and with a green tint to the picture, shows the service guy taking the bill, and you see a shot up his nose and then it goes black as he pockets it.
-Note to self: Check with MTV for copyrights on by-lines.
-Note to self #2: Get a life.
-Must gather together a small bag of goodies and keep with me at all times, in case anyone from a news station or similar ever interviews me for the evening news. No, I was not interviewed for the evening news, nor do I watch said television program, but after watching the evening news (albeit on Mute) in the service waiting room, and seeing that woman in a horrible ponytail and chapped lips with no mascara on, I was struck with that possibility of that one day happening to me. High maintenance, I have never been. A prima-donna? Nope. But good lord, if I am ever on TV (Those Harsh Lights!) without so much as a trace of Chapstick (the black kind) or mascara (brown, but I'm not brand loyal), you can officially remove me from your phone book, Buddy-List, or "Girl I Wanna Screw" list. ;)
-If I ever were to be a news reporter, and tried to do an undercover-slash-hidden-camera style job wherein I leave a Fiver in my car in plain sight and see if the service guys try to steal it, I should not and will not conduct this story at Saturn of Southfield. Not that they are necessarily honest people (or otherwise), but the Manager will alert you of the money (In Plain Sight!) and instruct the removal of currency before you leave your keys. Foiled!
-I would call the hypothetical story "You think you know... but you have no idea. Diary of a Fiver." And then I would try and see if it is possible to affix a GPS to the bill and track the usage of the illicit goods, maybe get a miniscule little camera that shakily, and with a green tint to the picture, shows the service guy taking the bill, and you see a shot up his nose and then it goes black as he pockets it.
-Note to self: Check with MTV for copyrights on by-lines.
-Note to self #2: Get a life.
Musings from the waiting room at the car service station:
-Must gather together a small bag of goodies and keep with me at all times, in case anyone from a news station or similar ever interviews me for the evening news. No, I was not interviewed for the evening news, nor do I watch said television program, but after watching the evening news (albeit on Mute) in the service waiting room, and seeing that woman in a horrible ponytail and chapped lips with no mascara on, I was struck with that possibility of that one day happening to me. High maintenance, I have never been. A prima-donna? Nope. But good lord, if I am ever on TV (Those Harsh Lights!) without so much as a trace of Chapstick (the black kind) or mascara (brown, I'm not brand loyal), you can officially remove me from your phone book, Buddy-List, or "Girl I Wanna Screw" list. ;)
-If I ever were to be a news reporter, and tried to do an undercover-slash-hidden-camera style job wherein I leave a Fiver in my car in plain sight and see if the service guys try to steal it, I should not and will not conduct this story at Saturn of Southfield. Not that they are necessarily honest people (or otherwise), but the Manager will alert you of the money (In Plain Sight!) and instruct the removal of currency before you leave your keys. Foiled!
-I would call the hypothetical story "You think you know... but you have no idea. Diary of a Fiver." And then I would try and see if it is possible to affix a GPS to the bill and track the usage of the illicit goods, maybe get a miniscule little camera that shakily, and with a green tint to the picture, shows the service guy taking the bill, and you see a shot up his nose and then it goes black as he pockets it.
-Note to self: Check with MTV for copyrights.
-Note to self #2: Get a life.
-Must gather together a small bag of goodies and keep with me at all times, in case anyone from a news station or similar ever interviews me for the evening news. No, I was not interviewed for the evening news, nor do I watch said television program, but after watching the evening news (albeit on Mute) in the service waiting room, and seeing that woman in a horrible ponytail and chapped lips with no mascara on, I was struck with that possibility of that one day happening to me. High maintenance, I have never been. A prima-donna? Nope. But good lord, if I am ever on TV (Those Harsh Lights!) without so much as a trace of Chapstick (the black kind) or mascara (brown, I'm not brand loyal), you can officially remove me from your phone book, Buddy-List, or "Girl I Wanna Screw" list. ;)
-If I ever were to be a news reporter, and tried to do an undercover-slash-hidden-camera style job wherein I leave a Fiver in my car in plain sight and see if the service guys try to steal it, I should not and will not conduct this story at Saturn of Southfield. Not that they are necessarily honest people (or otherwise), but the Manager will alert you of the money (In Plain Sight!) and instruct the removal of currency before you leave your keys. Foiled!
-I would call the hypothetical story "You think you know... but you have no idea. Diary of a Fiver." And then I would try and see if it is possible to affix a GPS to the bill and track the usage of the illicit goods, maybe get a miniscule little camera that shakily, and with a green tint to the picture, shows the service guy taking the bill, and you see a shot up his nose and then it goes black as he pockets it.
-Note to self: Check with MTV for copyrights.
-Note to self #2: Get a life.
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