Thursday, May 29, 2008

two vignettes and a puppy

While procrastinating last weekend, I posted a couple of things on Craigslist that I've been meaning to sell, including my electric guitar — which I sold last night for a decent price to the first person who came to look at it, a very nice dude with huge arms. I even remembered where my amp and my cables were so he could test it. Good job Craigslist, good job Piehat.

However, there was also another guy who was interested in it. This guy initially wrote to me, after I'd already set up a time for the first guy to see the guitar, using text-speak and confusing commas with periods (seriously, he used commas as an ellipsis more than once, to the extent that I think it must just be his schtick, and yes I am a snob and this did prejudice me against him). I sent him a one-sentence email telling him I had someone coming over in the evening but I'd let him know if the sale fell through. It didn't, so I just deleted his email. Then he sent a second hysterical email, saying he was flying into Santa Barbara today and he wanted to know what happened and including two (2) of his phone numbers so that I could call him and tell him. Yeeeeeah. I sent another one-sentence reply telling him it had sold. His response was:
"thanks for the email,,,,,at least i deserve a pic from amanda right?lol"
I figured he was right — after all of that hard work he did hitting the ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, key. So I sent him this one. (NSFW, not that anyone reading this checks their email at work. But seriously. Don't do it. Shosh, I think you might not want to look at that one at all.)

No response yet.

* * *

In other news, a doctor told me this morning that because I have the specific kind of migraines I have, I never should have been prescribed birth control pills in the first place, because my risk for a stroke is significantly increased. If only the doctors at Sansum who prescribed me birth control pills six different times had said the same thing, even once, I would be a much happier person right now. Instead, I get to go see a second doctor next week to find out whether he thinks it's better for me to risk having a stroke or be so depressed I can't function in the world. Awesome, right?

But hey, look, it's a puppy!

And please, for the love of god, do not forget whistle dog.

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Sunday, May 25, 2008

bagging, right?

I present you with the following quote from this morning's teabag wrapper:
"As long as it's hot and wet and
goes down the right way,
that's all that matters."
The Dutchess [sic] of York on tea-
Note the hyphen after "tea." I suspect they left a word out there. Or maybe "tea" just means something different in England — which, now that I think about it, would sure explain why they're so batty about it.

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Monday, May 19, 2008


I just found out that at the end of this week my department at work is moving (within the building) back to the space it was in a year ago. Only this time, the CEO and his Renfield are going to be in there with us. Fitting both CEO and Renfield into the area means our department has to be split up, so one member will be downstairs now, but never mind that, because that's just the beginning of the mind-bogglingly bad organization.

The CEO being there means my department manager doesn't get an office, because the CEO takes the only one there. (And it goes without saying that I will no longer have an office, like I do now.) So my boss gets the biggest, nicest desk, with the most window exposure, which is fine; it used to be my old desk, before the company decided it didn't like me and screwed me several times over, but she's my boss and she can have it.

Then Renfield gets the next best desk, also next to a window, because of course he got to pick ahead of the rest of us, since he's a hard-core sexist knob. (Seriously, he recently told one of my co-workers, in so many words, that he thinks women should be subject to men because the Bible says so. He's also utterly incompetent, which is why he's been made the CEO's valet, because god knows they can't fire incompetent fuckwads around here if they're male.) Renfield's new desk happens to be the one farthest from the CEO's new office, which means that the two of them will be shouting back and forth to each other across my and my co-worker's heads. As for me, I will be sitting at the desk immediately outside the CEO's office — I'm only part-time now, because the CEO decided to try to fire me a few months ago and only half-succeeded, so I get the shittiest desk. It is the shittiest desk not least because my computer screen will be clearly visible to three of the four people in the area at all times, including the CEO, which means no more blog reading for me.

And last but not least, the CEO is an enormous mountain of a man who is always hot and likes to set the thermostat to 67 degrees. I am always cold and would be very happy most days with the it set to 77. The situation won't be helped by the fact that the CEO's new office is so badly-ventilated that every time the heat is turned on it's like a sauna in there within five minutes. So there will be constant thermostat conflict, which I will lose every goddamned time, because obviously it's not as important for me to be physically comfortable as it is for the CEO to be physically comfortable, and therefore any compromise is out of the question.

Swear words.

P.S.: To compensate you for reading all that, here is a picture of a baby wombat named Sid Vicious.

And did you know that echidnas have backward-facing rear feet? What the fuck, seriously.

Saturday, May 17, 2008


Pro: I saw a really cute puppy.

Con: I lost the essay contest I entered, and it looks like the asshole guy in my English class won. This is the guy who proclaims loudly before every class except the ones discussing the canonic, homosocial male poets how terrible the reading was, and who once responded to a female classmate who said that as a feminist she really wants to like Jane Austen but she just doesn't get it by proclaiming that his girlfriend is always telling him about how she doesn't like any female writers or artists at all — implying that he doesn't either, but it's okay because he has permission from his girlfriend. So 22 year old sexist assholes who don't even like literature are apparently smarter than me now.

Well, fuck them all anyway. Except the puppy, I guess.

Friday, May 09, 2008


Who wants to buy me a trip to Spain this summer?