worth it.

Greg Brady wears Eddie Bauer

2006-10-16T20:00:00.000-07:00

This weekend Tom and I went back to New York for a whirlwind weekend of marriages and whatnots. After my friend Nancy's wedding (yes, it was fantastic, congrats etc.) we checked out some places for our own and were shuttled off to JFK airport.

Fighting off a cold and a wicked hangover, I tucked myself into a corner of the JetBlue terminal and watched the remake of Amityville Horror on my ipod. Slightly distracted and looking at the Mets game I asked tom "Seriously, that's Greg Brady right?"

Standing near the desk in front of gate 5 ready to board a late night flight to Phoenix was this man. Well okay, add on about 15 years, a pair of wire-rimmed glasses and a full on Eddie Bauer outfit. Okay, great, here is a complete B (maybe C) list celebrity hanging out at the airport on a Sunday evening. What the hell am I supposed to do with this except stare?

About 40 minutes later we were still sitting at the gate because airline transportation as a whole hates my guts and refuses to let me get back to Ohio despite the fact that I am ill, hungover, and tired as all hell. Barry, as I imagine he would tell me to call him if I actually talked to him, deplanes the aircraft along with the rest of the flyers and stands in front of me and steals my plane out from underneath my nose. (The Phoenix flight had to change planes therefore took the next available one, which was MINE, leaving myself and about 100 other people to wait another hour just to get back to crappy Columbus. so not worthit.)

None of this has a point really except for the fact that I got to stare at Greg Brady for a while and realized that he wears glasses, reads books purchased at the airport giftshop and has an affinity for natural fiber sweaters in really boring colors. He's not that tall, he is really not that cool, and it makes me really sad to realize that you can be on a television show for so many years that is such a popular culture reference, and then have to take a $49 red-eye flight on JetBlue while standing like cattle with other fliers. Only to get on the plane, plug in your headphones and have about eighty percent of the other passengers end up watching re-runs of the Brady Show on TV Land and keep glancing up towards your seat wondering what the hell happened. I cry a little tear for you Mr. Barry Williams.

I also realized that I will only ever see B or lower list celebrities in New York. Greg Brady now joins the ranks of Ted Danson, Corky (from Life Goes On), the little boy from Third Rock from the Sun on my personal list of celebrity sightings in New York. Next week, I'll inform you all of my run in with Eltan (the brother-in-law figure on the Cosby Show. You know, not the one in the Navy but the one that married Sondra and opened up a camping equipment and supply store? Yea, him. ) and our extended conversation on traditional architecture in Brooklyn.

Crappiest Blogger EVER

2006-10-09T20:18:00.000-07:00

Yea, I suck at writing regularly. But my little timeline looked so sad without the month of October that I thought I would remind you all of how much I suck by writing a post filled with absolute nothingness. Not even ridiculous stories of tiny towns in one of my two places of (former) residence. Shocking, I know!

So I understand if you all hate me, we've all been there... I mean in hating people, not me specifically cause I'm wonderful. They don't hand out these little blogger accounts to just anyone you know. Okay, they do, and I was too lazy to even set up one myself, but you get the point.

Perhaps funny dramatic things will start happening to me again. I'm going to New York for a friend's wedding this weekend and just think of all the hilarity and cynicism that it can possibly be spawned! Wait, that would make me sad. It's supposed to be touching and sweet and filled with drunken revelery. (Maybe I have a really screwed vision of what a wedding is supposed to be since I can assure you that my own will fill probably only the last of those three details. Drunk? Check.)

All the same, don't give up hope. My bout of laziness and inspidness will come to an end, eventually.

Screech never was and never will be sexy

2006-09-28T10:32:00.000-07:00

Dear Mr. Dustin Diamond,

Releasing your own sex tape will not get you more jobs. In fact, the thought alone repulses me. Mr. Belding would be one thing, but Screech? Eww, that's just gross. blegh.

Sincerely,
Vicky

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dear God,

Please fire Dustin Diamond from life so he cant make anymore gross and pointless mvideos in a pathetic attempt to revive his nearly non-existent acting career.

Thanks,
Your friend,
Vicky

There's No Place Like Home

2006-09-27T18:17:00.000-07:00

Steal to Gamble, Awesomeness!

When I read a little story like this it warms my heart so much. It makes moving to the Midwest a bit less of a struggle in my brain when I realize how moronic people can be back home in Long Island.

Seriously, if you are going to steal $2 million dollars, buy puppies and diamonds*, not scratch off lottery tickets dumbass.

*or save your money, but I like the idea of cute puppies bounding over a field of glistening gems, which invariably would end up cutting and scarring their tiny puppy paws with the sharp edges. Then the puppy blood would be spilled over the gems and semi-precious stones and the puppies might get weak and fall over and die.** But that is the only reason why this is not a good idea. only.

**Puppies should stay away from fields of gems and diamonds.

Don't even read me because I'm neither entertaining nor amusing

2006-09-15T10:03:00.000-07:00

Today when I was sorting through my virtual electronic junk mail, I came across one piece that caught my eye. There was standing before me, the best name ever to be created by man. Now I am left with not other option but to adopt a child, or at the very least a dog or something, just so I can put this name into action immediately.

Juan Bacon.

Juan is fine, great in fact. Bacon from the likes of Francis, or Kevin. But put them together? Perhaps it was the mind-numbing work-induced boredom talking, but it was fantastic. okay, its not funny at all, shut up.

P.S.
If your name is Juan Bacon please let me know cause I'd like to you know, shake your hand, be pen pals and have your babies.

I told you so

2006-09-12T08:07:00.000-07:00

Vicky calls out Manta Rays for being dumb animals just before one of its comrades goes and spears the somewhat innocent Steve Irwin.

Did I not tell you how wrong these animals are?

Yep, just honing my psychic powers, I'll let you know when another creepy ass animal will kill a quasi-celebrity in a freak accident, don't you worry.

Homesick, but not Really...

2006-08-25T06:34:00.000-07:00

Get These Ninjas Out of Here

I am not sure what I love more:

The fact that a realtively legitimate publication* would report on such a ridiculous story
or
My pride in the fact that amusing crazy crap like this happens on Long Island as opposed to the cornucopia of rapes, murders and major crimes taking place in my new hometown.

Columbus, OH: A person sets fire to a home as a family of 6 sleep soundly inside resultuing in a six-count homocide.
Long Island, NY: A man quotes Star Wars as cops encircle his house and requests that ninjas leave his property resulting in none harmed.

*It is questionable if the New York Post is considered a legitmate publication. People refer to it as a newspaper, though I think that's only because "gossip rag based somewhat in reality" doesn't really roll off the tongue.

"Whitney Houston is like the black Michael Jackson"

2006-08-22T16:30:00.000-07:00

...So says my boyfriend/fiance.

This is just one of the many reasons that I love him. It's not his lack of popular culture knowledge that caused him to say it (that is why he thought briefly that Ashton Kutcher was a woman but thats a different story all together) but the fact that his mind works just a little, well, differently.

And no, Whitney does not enter our regular conversations though in light of the recent affairs, it was a topic to be discussed.

Osama and Whitney sitting in a tree K-I-S-S-I-N-G

Ohio = TGFRM (too good for real movies)

2006-08-17T12:15:00.000-07:00

You know what sucks? Leaving one of the two major cities where every single movie premieres and moving to a state that is not showing a movie released in JULY!

Little Miss Sunshine. Steve Carrell, excellent reviews, goodness all around. So I figure, hmmm, I should check it out at my local cinema. Clickity click click, put in my zip and NOTHING. I think someone needs to let these Hollywood actors know that Columbus, OH does indeed like fine films but instead movies such as "RV" with my new-again-drug fiend Robin Williams.

I guess you get spoiled living in a city like New York that has you know, like everything? You fall over museums, galleries, awesome music shows, and quirky little performances and and and! But the problem is, your rent is so jacked, your drinks cost so much, you really don't have the cash to take advantage of all the awesomeness that you are tripping over every day on your walk to work. You're so freaking tired from working fifty-plus hours a week that the last thing you would want to do is schlep out to an overcrowded theater. So instead you pretend that it would be fine to live without it all, and hell, save a bunch on rent and move to the Midwest! (Okay, that last part is just what I did and admittedly I did have other reasons for such, but come on!)

Sigh, I suppose I will have to wait to enjoy a nice evening at the theatre where I will ingest many mind-altering drugs to sit through a showing of Snakes on a Plane. Cause god knows, if we Midwesterners like anything it is reptiles on various forms of aeronautical transportation.

I cannot spell your city.

2006-08-13T14:10:00.000-07:00

Apparently I only like to complain about things and since my life has been just peachy (harharhar, i tell you Jokes!) I haven't written in a while (with exception to yesterday, but I refer to the glaring month off from writing). But today at my spectacular job I learned me up on some neat topics and items such as:

White Herons
Thai culture
Pete Seeger
Thiruvananthapuram.

Sorry but that is just ridonculous. Seriously, that has got to be the worst city name of all time. I was trying to google it but by the time I finished typing "...thapuram" I had an epileptic seizure from the incosistent alternation of letters and consonants. Apparently this capital cities' former name, Trivandrum, was just too plain. Kerala must think they are some sort of big fancy country that deserves an equally extravagant name. Granted, I am American and I speak me some English, therefore I expect everyone else to cater to my language. However, I find this to still be a disturbingly long city name with an equally unlikely spelling. I imagine it is pronounced like the rhythmic chant in the song "Little Drummer Boy". Rumpapapum versus Thiruvananthapurm. See, its like the same freaking thing.

Dear Former state of Trivandrum,

Are you effing kidding me?

Love,
Your Friend,
Vicky
xoxox

Dollar Tree

2006-08-09T15:08:00.000-07:00

I had to pick up a few frames today and thought that a dollar store would be a great place to start. I love bargains, I love the idea that no matter what you pick up in the entire store, you can be certain that it will cost exactly $1.00 (and be worth about half of that.) So after burning a homemade pizza, I got in the car and went to Dollar Tree.

What a treasure trove of useless crap! After getting my frames I walked around a bit figuring I could use a few other things. In the "paper goods" aisle a woman stood in beside of her shopping cart with her little kid tucked in the front seat. The kid was eating a McDonald's hamburger (identified by scent alone, cause I roll that way) and proceeds to shove it in his mother's face. Well, she obviously has raised this kid and knows his likes and dislikes, because without a word, she picks off the two measly pickles. And then... she throws them on the floor. The carpeted floor. Of a store. That she does not own. Ummm yea, I'm going to ignore that, look at your calendars from 2005 and be on my way.

Tra la la la, up to the counter to pay for my stuff and there is a woman with another kid also eating fast food. hmmm, interesting correlation perhaps? The second, unrelated brat proceeds to dump his french fries on the carpet and the mother does not even flinch. So I do what every other passive aggressive bystander would do... I looked around with wide eyes and the accusatory expression "Uh this lady's kid is fucking your store up... Does anyone want to say something?" Answer: nope.

Okay, so your kids a slob and you don't care. But when the woman was prompted to input her pin code for the debit card she was using, she proceeded to look at her card dumbly, and then attempt to enter the sixteen digit code on the front of the credit card. Welcome to America. Enjoy your stay in the 21st century. If you actually have a checking account I would imagine that you should be educated enough to figure out how this little piece of plastic works. I mean even my grandmother who refers to credit cards as "charge plates" knows how to wield a bank card.

Sigh.

I leave the store and enter the Disneyland that is my brain thinking little Vicky thoughts to myself... "Hmm, I wonder if we need Windex I should really do laundry My feet feel funny I like the color Green" while walking between the cars in the parking lot. Then it happened.

(I should preface this next bit by saying I have never ever ever been afraid of dogs nor animals without wings and fangs for the most part.)

One of the largest Doberman/Pitbull mixes known to man simultaneously starts barking and proceeds to throw its entire body at the window of the car beside me. It's a harsh way to enter back into reality so I literally bit one and fell onto my ass beside the car with Cujo inside of it. When I frantically got up, with the demonic beast still ferociously barking and slamming its 150+ pound body at the door I realized that there was a crack in the window.

Hmmm, vicious attack dog trying to eat me + broken window = me running, nay dodging and weaving through the series of parked cars while also attempting to get my keys out. When I finally made it back into the safety of my car I realized that this dog, this beast could very well be hunting me down and I better hightail it out of there.

I can't even begin to address the issue of bringing a dog, bred for guard-dog purposes, to a store and then shutting it up in a car in the heat. But I can address the purpose that if I was witness to the entire scene I would have been shocked and more than amused.

All in all, a traumatic view of another side of life, but damn did I get me some cheap picture frames.

Give Me a Break...

2006-07-20T20:23:00.000-07:00

Seriously.

I've known about the existence of manta rays for several years but it was this very morning where I began to ponder how fucking insane they are. I also realized that my fear of fish out of water has extended to creepy underwater animals with no purpose in life besides being gross/creepy.*

Hi. You are not a fish. You are not an animal. You are a big freakish dinosaur-themed kite. Hey Manta Ray, you have horns. (sorry "cephalic fins.") You know that's creepy right?

How on earth do things like Black Rhinoceroseseses become extinct but this Frisbee water creature is still alive? Just weird.

*I know that most animals have no purpose in life, but come on, you ugly mo-fo's should just wash onto a beach and die because you creep me out and are not tasty.

Odd Man Out

2006-07-18T20:17:00.000-07:00

If a friend was in a cult, and they were inviting all these other people to be a part of it, would you be offended if they did not ask you to join their cultish group?

Well my answer, is hell yes.

Why am I not good enough for your cult? Do you not think that I have a hole somewhere in my life that cult leaders and people looking to take advantage of me can exploit and fill with rhetoric and tantalizing cult activities? I do, i swear! I can be manipulated!! Why won't you invite me into your cult.

Granted, I am not direct friends with cult members, but I just think it would be nice to at least OFFER to take me to a cult meeting now and again as opposed to just focusing on my bfff (boyfriend, friend, fiance). He is the opposite of what you want for a cult. I shouldn't be complaining about this because I guess a bad cult member candidate does in some ways make him a better partner. Maybe.

All the same, what the hell, I want acceptance by a group of people who demand money and life devotion in return for a false friendship and sense of hope.

Sigh.

Discuss

2006-07-05T09:40:00.000-07:00

Big Thanks to Korin for being the first to show her TRUE support of our team by designing some additional options for our fine gear. The rest of you, if you don't care what kind of uniform you are wearing in the WORLD OLYMPIC GAMES, well, I cannot help you then. I might even have to reconsider your membership on this team.

Any other suggestions for fine Team Vicky Swiffer officially licensed gear? And by officially licensed I mean "waiting to get sued by Proctor and Gamble" tshirts.

Curling Update 2006

2006-06-29T20:12:00.000-07:00

While I have yet to receive any word back from the kind folks at Proctor and Gamble about my bid to have corporate sponsorship for my curling team, I did receive a vision.

Personally I think it screams "Domestic slaves with handy disposable cleaning products that want to participate in Olympic sports." Or something like that.

I am not completely sold on the design, so I am opening up this forum and accepting all applications for original jersey designs for Team Vicky/Swiffer, USA Olympic Curling Team Hopefuls 2012. If your design is chosen I will totally buy you a drink and give you a high-five.

Go Team!

Spelling Errors and Typos

2006-06-26T14:24:00.000-07:00

I love how I spent the last forty minutes at work correcting a typo that cropped up in several different files I was working on throughout the day.

These are not poopies.

They are poppies.

An Olympian is YOU!

2006-06-23T08:11:00.000-07:00

Today I am committing myself to become an Olympian athlete.

I have no intentions of trivialize those individuals that train for their entire lives, though that does seem like my style. Those rare specimens of human physicality who blow my mind with their physical grace and prowress are a different breed with whom I never will compete. That is why I would look into a sport more for people like me. I am built for comfort not speed, my brain is relatively more toned than my hamstrings. Therefore, the only logical sport to act as my foray into international sports competitions would be what is called "chess on ice." That's right, the sport that is storming some nation, CURLING!

Curling is that sport where people slide smooth granite stones down an alley of ice while their drunk friends sweep away invisible things apparently fucking up the game and whoever gets closest wins. or something like that. Its like bowling or bocce ball, but MORE AWESOME!

I've been known to get a bit OCD about cleanliness and this has lead me to own a wide variety of brooms, mops, swiffer-like products etc. Therefore I would be in the position of sweeping. Then again, being a pitcher for six years in fast-pitch softball might be a good foundation to be the "deliverer of the rock", the Thrower. Either way, I think I could rock the sport and bring it the glory and fame that has been given to Olympic sports like ice dancing and ballroom dancing. True athletes.

So, I will start training this evening when I whip out my wet swiffer and frantically start cleaning my floors. I am placing an open call to all you wanna-be Olympians to join my team.

Oh yea, I also want to be in the Olympics so I can perform in a stadium that looks a bit like.... well. figure it out.

Setting: Work Bathroom

2006-06-15T11:40:00.000-07:00

I visit the restrooms at work for many many reasons, but making new friends is not one of them.

Most of you probably know that my job is a bit repetitive and could be likened to studying for an episode of Jeopardy only the money is not nearly as good. Therefore, when I am productive, my brain is chock full of random information spilling out at a rate that is just astonishing. This influx of trivial information leaves very little room for other things so I can tend to float around the office like the super genius zombie that I am. My zen-like state of super knowledge influx was broken in the most harsh manner today.

One of the reasons I "visit" the bathroom at work is to get away from my desk. Since I quit smoking and I pack my lunch everyday I find it hard to come up with a "legitimate" reason for me to leave my desk. So sometimes I will go sit in the bathroom (on a nice little chair that is not a toilet) and take a nap till I hear the first door open.

Other times I stand up from my desk and go for a lil walk in the building to make sure that my legs have not begun to atrophy and of course the bathroom is an apt destination as it is the furthest point from my desk on the same floor.

Now and again I get something in my eye and need to go fish it out in a room with mirrors and flourescent lighting. Thats not funny or odd, just the basic truth.

And on rare occassions, I will visit the facilities at work because I actually have to pee (and pee alone)

Today was such an ocassion. Since I stopped drinking coffee every morning I've taken a liking to tea. a lot of tea. I feel like if I put three teabags in one cup it will be like a cup of coffee. Just in case you are wondering, it's not. at all. All the same, I had to pee so I go in and do my business (which is the business of ridding myself of all that tea) and when I walk out of the stall a woman exits behind me. I go to wash my hands and then she literally screams at me "HIII. How are YOU?!". (Emphasis on the "You" in reference to me... as if I had just asked how how SHE was doing only moments earlier.) I was so thrown off I looked at her with a faceful of "wtf? omg, fo realz?" She paused for a moment and shouted (a step below screaming) "Great! Great!! GREAT!!!"

Now since my brain is addled with information about Sal Mineo, ancient Greek theatrical masks and flamingos...in that order... I was unable to muster up a response so I just stared at her and shook my head gently as to say "what, no, no I don't think so." In turn, the crazy lady proceeds to get wide eyed and somewhat offended as if my silent response was the one reaction that was unacceptable.

"Hmph, fine" was her only response as she stormed out.

Seriously, you sneak up behind someone in a public bathroom, yell nice things then get all pissy when the recipient of the screamed hello does not know how to react?The entire event was odd and it forced me to rethink my stance on public bathrooms as a whole. If anyone has an appropriate suggestion for the proper way to respond to such a thing, get all Emily Post on my ass and let me know.

Freaking weirdo.

I don't know why I did it....

2006-06-12T09:21:00.000-07:00

I had a brief and intensely intimate relationship with the song "Message in a Bottle" by The Police. It was one of those relationships where one minute you are talking to this really awesome guy at a bar, getting buzzed, flirting and planning your wedding, then BAM! Its 4 years later, you are miserable, chained to this jerk of a boyfriend and planning his death every time he opens his mouth. Kinda like that.

The song came on the radio and I rediscovered how amazing the Police were... "Wow this song rocks!" and then it stayed in my head for the rest of the day as I would randomly shout out "SENDING OUT AN S.O.S" while at work. Amusing right? So I go to bed with sweet dreams of Sting and wake up the next morning and the odd thing, the song was still stuck in my head. This vicious cycle of lyrical tourettes and mind control continued for one FULL WEEK. In reality that is a disgustingly long time for me to be committed to anything, let alone a Top 40 song.

I've been known to exaggerate now and again, some may even call me dramatic, shockin as it may be. However, this was a complete and full week of sheer insanity. Once the song was removed from the deep dark corners of my brain I made the effort to change the radio station if it came on, avoid places known to play this very song (such as malls, dentists, and any place that plays music where you would spend money.)

So what possessed me last night to load the song onto my ipod and hide it in the middle of my work playlist? Now it's jumped out of no where and bit my fucking face off with syncopated rhythms and its faux-reggae beat. Why did I sabotage my years of sobriety from this song?

I would suggest that any officials from a secret government agency currently reading this blog should study this song and find out why it is so damn catchy and infectious and then harness that sting-a-riffic power into some sort of brainwashing campaign to make us zombies. Yea, that would totally make this worth it. only not. I hate you Sting.

Damn you Google

2006-06-03T22:29:00.000-07:00

After spending a full day at work Googling my former classmates, friends, employers and (you guessed it) ex-boyfriends I have realized a few things.

-Just because your name does not come up on Google does not mean you have not accomplished anything.

-Some people have radically changed and others have not; and it is not always who you suspected on either side.

-You can essentially relive your life via search engines, college newspaper articles and myspace accounts.

-If I have to google you to find out what you are doing, I probably have no desire to actually know what you are doing. There are exceptions, however, for the most part, I am quite content with the people I know and speak with today so maybe I should stop googling the rest of you.

-Using "google" as a verb irritates me, even when I do it.

Now Entering Crazyland...

2006-05-30T05:43:00.000-07:00

I can't even try to be coy/witty/amusing or anything of the sorts because well, I've been blissed out for the last 4 days and am still trying to recover from a raucous and sleep deprived weekend in New York.

I'm engaged, happily so, and cannot believe whats going on but all in a very good capacity. So there. That's the news and I'm psyched!

It's not Me, It's You...

2006-05-25T08:36:00.000-07:00

I have recently admitted to not liking Mitch Hedberg and an old friend pointed out that she cannot believe that I don't like him. I can hardly believe it myself.

For those who are uninformed Mitch Hedberg was an American stand-up comic with a deadpan delivery, dashing good looks and a fatal addiction to drugs.

By all technicalities I should love him! But I don't.

Maybe it's because I feel bad for Steven Wright all ugly and old being pushed out of the way by this younger more attractive man who did the same comedy, and actually a bit better that Mr. Wright. Wait, I don't like Steven Wright either.

I suppose it's because Hedberg's stuff works so much better when read as opposed to heard. Written humor versus Spoken humor. So after shoving my face full of all the Mitch Hedberg I could stand after the last episode of American Idol (another post another day) and I can say that yes, his material is funny, nay HOOLARIOUS! But I still don't like him; no explanation, no reasoning, just pure and unadulterated randomness.

Sorry.

I Hate Your Guts, Goodbye.

2006-05-21T21:15:00.000-07:00

Back in the day, when you broke up with someone or ended a friendship, all you did was have a fight, shit talk them, and avoid the places where you knew they would be. Now, with the advent of technology, it is so much easier to get rid of a bad relationship in your life, all you have to do is press "DELETE."

You delete them from your Friendster (if you are old school) or your MySpace (if you are a hipster) account. Delete them from the instant messenger buddy list, email address book, and delete the bookmark for their lame livejournal or blog. And that's it. The person's existence is not erased from your life, but it is a symbolic gesture of your independence or some crap like that.

However, I personally prefer the symbolic gestures of making out with his best friend in the bar as he watches on from across the room. I think it's time that we stop declaring our independence via the delete button and go back to the old way of being self-absorbed jerks.

We're Going to Hollywood

2006-05-17T20:02:00.000-07:00

David Hasselhoff + talking cars named Kit + Hollywood ingenuity = BEST MOVIE EVER!

Yes, they are indeed making a movie based on the 1980s smash hit "Knight Rider." Four Glorious years in the early eighties were filled with all the car-driven futuristic adventures I could handle, and now, I will be able to forever relive those dreams through a real life motion picture.

Home Sweet Home

2006-05-15T18:12:00.000-07:00

I've officially been living in Ohio for a full year. It's almost what I expected and I am almost not missing New York still.

During my last 365 here I have learned that there is some sort of regional pride that starts in this general area; it is what I deem the "Midwest Conspiracy Theory" (MCT) and its members. These individuals know a sick amount of information about towns, populations, geography, statistics, famous denizens as the list goes on and on.

At first I thought that I could be an interloper, get the inside scoop and report back to homebase with the information I gathered on these "odd" Midwesterners. I would be perpetually able to laugh and mock this melange of cowboys, Amish and OSU jocks. But now I understand that there is something that goes a bit deeper than I had previously thought.

It's the same pride that makes any New Yorker and New Yorker for life. Just because your zip code changes and the state moves somewhat westward, you are always from the same place. And after a full, entire, big whole year in Ohio, I think that is a very comforting thought.

I am a Bad Bad Person

2006-05-12T09:03:00.000-07:00

As I was walking into work today I was probably touching my own boobs or something. equally private yet disturbing to others (cause, well that's what I do when I am running late and essentially dressing myself while walking through the lobby of work) I know this because a woman gave me a nasty look.

I was shocked into reality and glowered back at her dirty look, but she obviously had a few years on me and won the battle of "IM STARING AT YOU !!" So, I hung my head in shame and jumped in the elevator hoping to rid myself of this devastating loss.

After about 13 cups of coffee this morning I went to the bathroom and did what we do in bathrooms. As I go to wash my hands I see the Judgmental Staring Freak (to be referred to as JSF henceforth) exit a stall. She's all chatty and happy talking with her friend as the friend exits the bathroom. This is when I see that JSF's skirt is tucked into her pantyhose. Like a lot. Like you would have to be shoving it in there and be TRYING to get it that tucked in.

So I smiled and left without saying a word.

Car Wash Nightmares

2006-05-11T18:41:00.000-07:00

Car washes cause an internal battle within my soul (though it is safe to say that the disco song of the same namesake is infectiously good).

My OCD likes the idea of industrial brushes scrubbing the dirt off my lil burnt station wagon.

However, my anxiety does NOT like the feeling of being on a conveyor belt with water jets so strong they seem like they will break a window and hot oozing wax, meant to get my car shiny, will burn out my eyes as my car keeps moving along the belt because I forgot to put it into NEUTRAL and will smash into the doors waiting at the end though I will be too far away from the water jets for the burning flames on my car to be extinguished and I will await in a fiery furnace till the next fool drives his car to the death trap that the rest of you call a drive-through car wash.

and I wonder why my car is a pale shade of dirty...

Sunday School Dropout

2006-05-09T20:29:00.000-07:00

While I am not extremely "religious" per se, I find myself falling into that catch-all category of "spiritual." How commitment-phobic of me!

I am not sure you could expect too much more from a girl, who at the age of 10 deemed it necessary to withdraw herself from Sunday School classes at St. Nicholas Church in Flushing, Queens. Part of it was the unreasonable amount of boredom that was the result of hours of Sunday School. (Greek Orthodox church services are long, I usually recommend packing a light snack and juicebox just in case.) The other reason I decided to beg my very religious mother to drop out of Sunday School was the fact that I was expected to remember a page long prayer in Greek. That would be fine, IF I spoke Greek. Or could read the Greek alphabet. But I can't and I couldn't so the only logical option was saying "Catch you Later God!" and running away in my white patent leather church shoes.

So I wonder, Could I go back to Sunday School ala Billy Madison and finally graduate? Maybe I could interest Telestar or another Christian network in extending their programming to include reality television

Oh What Pretty Eyes You Have!!

2006-05-08T16:33:00.000-07:00

Apparently if you wear purple eyeshadow, and have obscenely round eyeballs and long eyelashes like myself, you run an extremely high risk of looking like a Muppet.

Thankfully, I do not have Jim Henson's hand stuck up my ass.

...Or do I? dun, dun, DUNNN!!!

Birfday in the South

2006-05-07T11:31:00.000-07:00

Friday was my 25th birfday and I was kidnapped by Tomtom for a surprise weekend.

I am not sure if it is considered kidnapping if you know the kidnapper. Or if you live with him. And go willingly...

We ended up seeing a favorite band of mine in Nashville. Yes, Tennessee. Nashville, Tennessee. I will keep my comments to myself though I can say I had an amazing time doing absolutely nothing and dreaming of big, perfect bouffant hair and cowboy boots.

So after a blissful weekend of Hotel living in Music City, we returned to Columbus, OH only to realize that we forgot where we had parked our car.

Walking around a parking lot till blisters form beneath your Pumas and you shoulder bag starts giving you scoliosis is a nice way to return to reality.... Only the exact opposite.

All the same, happy birfday to me and yay for Mexico kicking France's ass!

p.s. thank you boyfriend.

Water Fountains

2006-05-01T19:03:00.000-07:00

I forgot my water bottle at home today, and I was forced to decide between drinking a full pot of coffee throughout the day or breaking down and using the public water fountain in the hallway of my office.

The last time I used a water fountain I was most likely between 12 and 14 years old. Perhaps that is the age where my raging OCD and hypochondria began to set in because as of yesterday, the idea of drinking out of a water fountain was just plain out of the question. The germs, OH the germs!

Lemme suck the water from this little machine where eighty other people, with hygiene that is questionable as best, open their gnarly mouths and suck down the same water. Its just wrong, I don't drink out of sink faucets, and that is what a water fountain is: a glorified bathroom spigot.

While I actually drank the water, I felt gross and dirty. But not nearly as much so as if I were to continue drink my 12+ cups of coffee, maybe. So now, the next cold, blemish or any deviance from perfect health will most likely be attributed to my three sips from this haven of grossness.

Ugh, just plain ugh

2006-04-24T17:38:00.000-07:00

1 cancelled flight in New York
1 missed connection in Pittsburgh
3 tiny plastic four ounce cups of Sprite
4 major airports
4 metropolitan cities
11 hours to travel only 550 miles

What can you learn from this?

My Monday sucked so much harder than yours did
Never ever fly US Airways unless you have plans on touring airports of several shitty cities

Double the Easter, Double my Pleasure

2006-04-18T16:10:00.000-07:00

Eastern orthodox easter is typically a different day from what my family refers to as "American Easter." This year it falls on the following sunday from "regular" easter and Yes, we have been known to have our easter as late as a full month later (mmmm hardboiled eggs hidden in your lawn in August). While one might think its about a different calendar system or time-relationships, its not. Its about getting your leftovers for cheap. real cheap. 50% off cadbury swag and that irritating green plastic grass? Pshaw, they are paying us to haul it away! Paas? do not even get me started on that conspiracy.

But then our day finally rolls around, and with a leg of lamb, all of your holiday offcasts, and a sick day from work, we dig in and do it up right.

I know its wrong to use the death of Jesus Christ to my advantage, but ... well I have no response, its just wrong

It's like Eating Cigarettes...

2006-04-17T18:36:00.000-07:00

...only nothing like that at all. Yes, I have abandoned my delightful sticks of joy for faux-flavorful gum that hurts my mouth and makes me giddy.

Four days ago I walked into Walgreens for a pack of cigarettes and saline solution, but somehow I walk out with the ghetto-brand Nicorette (50 pieces) and self tanner.

The gum tastes minty, if mint tastes a lil bit like vomit and toothpaste. I do recognize that I have no right to talk about the taste of anything considering I smoke cigarettes and eat hot dogs.

So my entire weekend was spent not smoking and turning my skin a summery shade of orange.

Martinis and Martians

2006-04-11T18:39:00.000-07:00

Recipes:
1 ounce Grape Flavor-Aid
1 tbsp Cyanide
1 handful of Valium

1 cup of Phenobarbiturate
2 cups Applesauce
7 ounces Vodka

These two lethal cocktails were invented by the finest leaders of cults, such as Marshall "Do" Applewhite, to be used for mass suicides. While I do not condone mass suicides like Jonestown, I have to admit that I think Jim Jones is a pussy. Valium and Kool-aid? That's certainly not a massive cult following, that's a typical Tuesday afternoon in junior high.

Applesauce vodka and barbituates? Come on!! I mean, the least you could do is throw in something a bit more intimidating and memorable than mashed apples and Russia's finest export. I mean these people had to wait all this time for their UFH (unidentified flying hoopty) behind the Halle-Bop comet and all they get is a glorified snack pack?

While this really does not enrich my life it has gotten my creative juices flowing for my next cocktail party. Hopefully you have learned that if you are going to start a cult, first, email me the details (I'll be seriously offended if I am not invited) and then PLEASE get a bit more creative with your final happy hour. The last thing we need is good cults getting bad reputations.

Television is way cheaper than therapy

2006-04-09T20:02:00.000-07:00

While some people frown upon reality tv, or think that the entire medium is a waste of time, i fully embrace all that my Memorex MT2024 has to offer.

Television serves as a reminder to why your life truly does not suck as much as you previously thought. Just watch a few minutes of "Elimidate" and you wil realize that your crappy dumb boyfriend is so much better than the dude on a party bus with three drunk sluts wearing bikinis and having make-out contests. At least you aren't as dumb as that person on 'Millionaire' who doesn't know "Y" is indeed a vowel, on ocassion ... aren't you already feeling better about your life?

No, television is not an accurate portrayal of real life, but sometimes, after a full day or week of reality, the last thing I am looking for is a full dose of depressing harsh reality. I am looking to stare, laugh, stare some more and then shut of the television set with a firm sense that I rock more than most.

Hi, My name is Vicky and I'm a ...

2006-04-06T18:53:00.000-07:00

Blogger?

Have I really joined the 21st century of sharing my random thoughts with equally random people? Thank god for the interweb.

Now if I could just cue the Doogie Howser theme song for each time I typed, I'd be all set.

Who's the bestest bf ever?

2006-04-06T09:51:00.000-07:00

oh yeah, tom is the best boyfriend ever, cuz he did this for me and it only took, like, 40 days and 40 nights. or maybe 40 seconds.