jianantonic: (Seahorse)
Upon arriving at our resort, we were immediately handed strawberry daiquiris, which started a conversation about how "free" alcohol is very often watered down.

Mom: When we were in Hawaii, they gave us lots of free drinks, but it was so watered down there was barely any alcohol in any of it.

Me: When was this? When you were there last year on your cruise?

Dad: No, when we went in the 80's.

Me: You mean when Mom was 8 months pregnant with me?

Dad: Oh yeah, you were there!

Me: So you're complaining that there wasn't enough alcohol in the drinks you had while you were pregnant with me?

Mom: There wasn't!

Me: You didn't get enough alcohol to satisfy you WHILE YOU WERE PREGNANT WITH ME?

Mom: Oh stop it, you're fine.

Me: I wonder how much more successful I'd be in life if you hadn't had all those watered down cocktails in Hawaii...

I am going to milk the SHIT out of this. Lose at cards? Maybe I'd have won if it weren't for that pina colada Mom drank in March of 83. Forget a trivia answer? Maybe I'd know if it weren't for my mom living it up on her babymoon. Drop a terrible fart? Oh, sorry, my body's a little messed up because Mom drank when she was pregnant with me.
jianantonic: (Seahorse)

This is the phone call I just had:

Me: Good afternoon, [name of company]
Her: Hi, can you hear me?
Me: Yes.
Her: Okay, great. Wait, can you hear me?
Me: Yes...
Her: This is [name] from [company].
Me: Okay...?
Her: Can you hear me?
Me: YES.
Her: This is [name] from [company].
Me: Okay...
Her: {silence}
Me: What can I do for you?
Her: Can you hear me?
Me: YES I CAN HEAR YOU. WHAT DO YOU NEED?
Her: Oh can I talk to Rigo?

jianantonic: (Seahorse)
One of the pins inside the lock on our office door broke, and we needed the lock replaced. Building maintenance came by and put a whole new lock in -- all new mechanisms and even a different brand from the one we had previously -- but our old keys work in it. Makes me wonder how many doors in this town I can get into with my office key. Probably all of the ones in this complex and any others with the same property managers.
jianantonic: (Seahorse)
Hey, where was I?

It's been a crazy weekend. I've been all over the place and exhausted but I've had a great time. Some highlights...

Jen arrived late Thursday, and the two of us spent Friday running around downtown. First we went to a BodyPump class -- my first since the accident -- and then wandered around Portland and had food cart lunch. While we were eating in the park, we overheard a really upsetting conversation. This older man on a bike stopped right in front of us to take a phone call. He speaks some medical jargon and then goes on to say "NO! I will absolutely not ever hire someone with two last names, or a hyphenated last name. They are always high maintenance, and they usually come with two or three failed marriages. I will not endanger the care of a patient just to comply with some stupid non-discrimination law. Tell them we will pay them not to apply. We have a trust fund set up just for dealing with their lawsuits. I will not budge on this." We were both dumbfounded. How I wish I wish I wish he had revealed his name or where he worked. I wish I could expose to the world what I heard and what a piece of shit this asshole is. Seriously, fuck that guy. I'm still upset about it and it's been four days. BUT other than that, Jen and I had a lovely day downtown.

On Friday night, Other Jen arrived down from Seattle. We had our 5K on Saturday morning, followed by Oktoberfestivities at Oaks Park. I did not realize that dachshund racing was an Oktoberfest tradition, but apparently it is, and we got to watch some of that. It was really hilarious, and my desire to own a dachshund has really escalated. I've been wanting one for a while. Probably won't get one, but if I do, I'm going to name him something like John Thomas or Willy or something. Get it? It's a dick joke. A very long-running dick joke. Paul joined us for another food cart lunch, and then we hung out with Shanon and her kids in the afternoon. Sloane slept on my tummy and Jack was very sweet. I love them so much. We hosted games that evening, which turned out to be just game -- a marathon Cards Against Humanity. I won. I'm the best at being offensive. Obv.

Sunday we did another BodyPump class -- I felt fine after the last one and decided it would be okay to get back to my regular routine. I still used lighter weights, because I can feel that I am injured, but the injury doesn't bother me, if that makes sense. I still want to be smart about it, though. Anyway, Pump was good, then we did more food carts with Paul, and ice cream at Paul's house. Seattle Jen went home, and ABQ Jen and I watched Pirates of the Caribbean until bedtime for us.

This morning, Jen took me to my first RPM class. It's the Les Mills cycling/spin class, and HOLY MOTHERFUCKING SHITBALLS OUCH. I haven't ridden my bike in almost a year, because I suck, and so I'm out of cycling shape, and also do not have the crotch tolerance for the saddle. So even more than my muscles are sore from the workout, my nethers are like what did we do to deserve this? But I know that it only takes a few days back on the bike to build up the crotch callousses or whatever, and it was a really amazing workout, so I should probably try to keep going, maybe. Jen insists it will be good for running if I do a lot more cross training on the bike. Also? I sweat so much in that class. I'm sweatier than most dudes already, but that class was like 10x more than my normal amount of sweating. My entire shirt was soaked. Sexy. Smelled awesome, too.

After RPM, we came home to shower and change and then drove to the coast. I took her to Cannon Beach, and then we met up with Z and his folks for dinner in Seaside. We just got home and I'm exhausted and in bed already. I'll drop Jen off at the train to the airport on my way to the real estate office tomorrow, where I'm going through some more training and some one-on-one time with my principal broker. Yay for professional development and getting closer to my goals...

My sewing class starts tomorrow night, so between my real estate meetings and then, I'll probably nap all afternoon. I'm excited to start that, though :) I guess I should figure out where it is and if I need to bring anything...
jianantonic: (Seahorse)
I have some things to say about the Ray Rice/NFL story. Don't really know where to put these thoughts, so I'll put them here.

There is a big to-do over all the various facts and theories involved in this case. For those not following, here's a drive-by roundup:

Early this year, video emerged of Ravens player Ray Rice dragging his unconscious girlfriend out of an elevator, and it soon came out that she was unconscious because he hit her inside the elevator. The NFL handed down a 2-game suspension, which was met with outrage over the leniency of such. The league since instituted much harsher penalty for domestic violence. Shortly after this new policy was announced, the video from inside the elevator went public via TMZ. That's the video where you can actually see Rice hitting his girlfriend (now wife). The NFL suspended him indefinitely and the Ravens released him. His endorsement deals were dropped and a new scandal ensued -- the NFL claimed not to have seen the video of the actual assault until now. Anonymous sources say that's a lie and part of a coverup. Controversy escalates, and that's where we are now.

My thinking is, what the fuck does it matter if the NFL saw the elevator video before or not? Everyone knew what had happened. Rice admitted hitting her and knocking her out. The video isn't some smoking gun -- it's merely confirmation of what everyone already knew. So why take further action now, as if this is some kind of major twist?

I'm not saying the league should have just stuck with the two-game suspension and moved on -- I am fully encamped with those who say that was way too lenient. But what I am saying is this video should not be the game-changer here. It didn't change anything. It's not a surprise, it's not new news, it's not proof of something anyone was denying. But now the NFL has this huge PR crisis over a coverup, and I just don't understand why they would have covered this up anyway. Whether anyone saw that video before or not (and I believe they did, fwiw) DOES NOT MATTER. The facts of the incident are the same. Domestic violence isn't somehow less awful if we just don't see it. Fuck that attitude. Shame on anyone who thinks this video makes it "worse." It is what it is and always has been, and it's been awful from the start. 
jianantonic: (Seahorse)
I haven't been getting enough sleep this week, and the sleep I got last night was anything but restful. You see, I had the most unsettling dream I can remember having in my life. It was all kinds of uncomfortable, but also really funny, so I'll share.

I was staying at a resort with my whole family, and I was responsible for getting the girls to sleep at night. For a combination of reasons, the three of them bounced off the walls well into the next morning, and it was sun-up by the time I actually got to sleep. But it didn't last long, because nature's call woke me up. I groggily got out of bed and went to the nearest bathroom. I sat down and began the business of loaf-pinching when I realized I wasn't in a bathroom. I was in a den, and I was sitting not on a toilet but on a step stool. However, I was already past the point of no return. I decided the best course of action was to finish what I'd started and clean up after. But when it came time to clean up, I had nothing to use, since I wasn't actually in a bathroom. This is where the dream -- remember, this is a dream, not an account of something that actually happened -- took a turn toward even more uncomfortable territory.

I had to dispose of this...situation. I couldn't find a trash can anywhere. I was wearing pajama pants but no top, but I was panicking because people in the house were starting to wake up and I was about to get busted holding a pile of my own turds. So I ran outside looking for a place to dispose of my unsavory loot. I kept seeing things that looked like trash cans, but I would walk closer and they'd just be statues or some other non-trash can thing. The resort units basically took up all the space, so there were no bushes or woods where I could discretely get rid of my problem...so I just kept walking, topless, holding a paper bag of my own poo (I don't know where I got the bag, but at least I wasn't just carrying a pile of shit barehanded), through a resort village, looking for a trash can. People were coming outside and seeing me, and I tried to play it off as normal, but no one was buying it. The resort seemed to be populated exclusively by frat boys who were all very interested in why I was topless. I scurried through the area as quickly as I could, and eventually made my way to the pool area. Again, I had a mirage of a trash can, so I hustled down onto the deserted pool deck to make my deposit and then run back to my room and pretend like nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Only, it wasn't a trash can. Foiled again! Frustrated and at the end of my rope, I just tossed the shit into the sparkling pool and split, running like hell, holding my bare chest, and hoping no one would run forensic tests on the pool poo and trace it back to me and send me to prison for life. I was sure that every person who saw me knew exactly what I'd been up to. What other explanation is there for a topless woman running around a resort in PJ bottoms at dawn? God, it was so obvious, it was written all over my face...how could anyone NOT figure it out?

I was mortified, but did my best to hold my head high and act natural while I made my way back behind the closed doors of my own room.

/scene.

So. That was the most uncomfortable I've been in a long time. There are a lot of unanswered questions in this dream, obviously -- how can a grown human person get 3/4 of the way through a deuce before she realizes she's not actually on a toilet? Why was there no way of disposing said deuce in the toilet after the fact? Mysteries of the universe. Suffice it to say, I've rarely been more relieved to have my alarm snap me out of dreamland, even though I got at best 5 hours of sleep last night and could really use another 5 or more before I feel like a person again...but all I have to do is get through this day, then I have a massage after work and can happily crash when I get home in the early evening. Just a handful of hours from now...
jianantonic: (Seahorse)
I may have just punched myself in the chest while ripping off a piece of toilet paper with just a little too much vigor.
jianantonic: (Seahorse)
Someone keeps leaving religious tracts hidden in the lockers at my gym. Actually this has happened at both 24 Hour Fitness and at my work gym, so I guess it's some sort of tactic they're embracing now. Like, they know we won't read the thing if they hand it to us, but if they force us to accidentally look at it, it's like, "Haha! Gotcha! You're a christian now!"
jianantonic: (Seahorse)
Okay, this is not funny. But it is. It isn't. But it kind of is.

We got a claim today where a truck rear-ended a van. Upon researching the accident, our adjuster discovered that it wasn't just any van...it was a bus full of handicapped...wait for it...children.

I know, I know. It's not funny. But doesn't it sound like something that would happen in a Ben Stiller movie?

Seriously, I know it's not funny.
jianantonic: (Seahorse)
On a typical night, between the last thing I have to drink and the first thing I have to drink the next morning, I will get up to pee four or more times. I should probably have my prostate checked out.

I do not like getting old.
jianantonic: (Seahorse)

I'm doing much better today, thanks. Z and I had a nice discussion about yesterday and my meds have settled back into my system and things are good. So, changing gears...

In Bermuda, the top men's fashion is a pair of Bermuda shorts with high knee socks. I bought McKenzie a pair of pink knee socks, because of course I did. Then there was this:

Z: So you should do a Google Image search for "pink sock."
M: I'm scared.
Z: Oh come on.
M: Urban Dictionary says it's a prolapsed intestine caused by excessive anal plundering. Is that what you wanted me to find?
Z: hehehe
M: How did you know what that was?
Z: I know things!
M: Yes, but how did you know THAT?
Z: ...

jianantonic: (Seahorse)
I don't know why this came into my head just now, but it did.

When I was 13, I was babysitting a neighbor kid. She was four, and she was a fucking terror. I was trying to get her to cooperate in doing something, and she wouldn't, and she said she hated me and all that, and then she said she was going to get her mom's gun and shoot me because she hated me.

At the time, I was just like, "yeah, whatever, kid," but the fact is, her mom probably did have a gun, and that little fucker probably knew how to get to it, too. Maybe I should've said something to someone at the time. I wonder what became of that family. They moved away shortly after this.
jianantonic: (Seahorse)
I posted this status on my own Facebook yesterday, and it led to a more or less reasonable discussion. Then a friend shared it on his own wall, and this happened:
(LJ says the post is too large, so I had to paste it into notepad and just copy the words...head on over to FB if you'd prefer a cleaner version)

SOMEONE IS WRONG ON THE INTERNET )

So many comments I'm holding back. It's not worth engaging folks like this. But I so want to reply to her and comment on her half a brain -- and not an ounce more, clearly.
jianantonic: (Seahorse)

Yesterday on my evening walk to 7-11, a young man approached me. He said he thought I was someone else, but then he dove right into conversation, walking with me all the way to 7-11 and back. I was a little wigged out, but it was light out and there were people around, and when I said "This is my street, I have to go," he didn't follow me any further, so it was more an awkward situation than a dangerous one. Anyway, part of the conversation went like this:

Him: What color is your hair?
Me: It's a little bit purple.
Him: Is that Romanian?
...
Are you a Gypsy? Do you have any Gypsy secrets?
Me: Sorry...no...
Him: You're really feminine. Like a Romanian.

It should be noted that "really feminine," apparently is baggy sweats, messy hair, spinach in my teeth, and slurping down a Big Gulp of DDP.

I think "Like a Romanian" is going to become a meme though.

jianantonic: (Seahorse)
I'm not sure what I believe about afterlife and spirits and communication with the departed and all that, but it sure seems like Marma is looking out for me right now. I think about her a lot, but last night I spent a longer-than-usual amount of time just sort of meditating on how awesome she was. Then this morning, I got an email from my uncle, who has been the executor of her estate, saying that the last of her bank accounts is closed and settled and that I will be getting my share of it in the mail as soon as I sign a form and send it back. It's $2500. Basically the exact cost of a top-of-the-line washer/dryer combo. That said, I'm not buying a top-of-the-line combo, but the timing was great. She died in 1998! Most of the inheritance stuff was settled back then, but this one last account has taken forever for some reason.

In the paperwork that I had to sign, there is an itemized list of disbursements from Marma's estate. I was skimming it, and saw that under funeral expenses, the estate paid out all the usual stuff -- church, headstone, funeral home, organist -- but also $65 to Charlotteville Eye Associates and $3.98 to Hosiery Corp of America. Wtf? She was cremated before the funeral. I have no idea what these expenses are for or why they'd be in with the funeral stuff. I could ask my uncle, but for now it's more fun to just scratch my head and laugh about it. I mean, okay, maybe pantyhose were somehow needed, but why are we paying this panythose corporation directly and not, say, getting a pair at the drugstore? Mysteries of the universe...
I do remember that she'd had an eye exam right before she died -- she was bragging that when she went to renew her driver's license at age 90 that she could read all the lines without glasses, even though the DMV guy only wanted her to read the top line. Of course she read them all, because that's how she rolled. But anyway I'm not really sure how an eye clinic would have expenses involved with a cremation or funeral. Whatever. Not a big deal. Just weird.

Anyway, I'm shopping online for a new washer/dryer. The most important thing is that whatever I get comes with delivery and removal of the old one, because my laundry room is upstairs and EFF THAT. It seems there is a big price gap between the low-end and high-end stuff, with not much at all right in the middle. Combos I've looked at are either $2000+ or $899ish, and I'm not seeing anything in between. As nice as it would be to have a fancypants washer/dryer combo, I don't think I can justify spending an extra thousand bucks on it. I'm not sure the bigger units would fit, anyway. I have to be able to get it up the stairs and squeeze it into what is basically a closet for the laundry room. If you think there's a good reason I should shell out the extra cash for a top of the line vs. cheap model, please argue your case. I'll buy something tomorrow.
jianantonic: (Seahorse)
This is my OH SHIT face. One of many, actually...
OhShitShark
jianantonic: (Seahorse)
So here's a Facebook thing that just happened:
fbquestion

This is not a poll. It is a question with one answer, and that answer has been given. Why do additional people feel the need to chime in? I don't get this phenomenon. This happens all the time on Facebook, and other social media as well. Someone posts a question. Someone answers it completely. Then a bazillion other people also answer it, providing no new information. If people think reading comments is a waste of time, wouldn't repeating things that have already been said be even more of a waste?

Whatever, don't care really, just find this behavior amusing.
jianantonic: (Seahorse)

Now that I've been with my office for over a year, I'm eligible for the 401K, so our investment rep dude was here yesterday to set me up. He doesn't know I have a background in stock market analysis, so the first few minutes consisted of him giving me a remedial lesson on mutual funds. Then he just plowed straight into filling out my forms, and explained that since I'm young, I shouldn't be concerned with bonds, and here's the fund I think you'll want, so I'm just going to write this in here and you just sign right there and you're all set.

Wait a minute, dude. I see that this is your most popular fund and it's performed very well and all that, but what stocks are in it? He can't tell me off the top of his head so we look it up. It's like 10% oil stocks and 10% big pharma, among other things. Um, dude. No thanks. So I had him sign me up instead for a fund that's mostly tech and innovation-related. He was like "I'm glad you felt comfortable enough to speak up about that." Mmhmm, why didn't you ask me in the first place before you just wrote everything down without me opening my mouth?

I then asked if we could set it up as a Roth IRA, and his eyes bugged out a little bit, probably at the mere notion that I had a clue. He hemmed and hawed a bit and then said basically that I wouldn't want to do a Roth because certainly my husband's income puts us in too high a tax bracket for this to be smart for me. What? Dude, seriously, what? He didn't even ask what my husband's job was. All he knew was that I have a husband.

I was just flabbergasted by the whole experience. I mean I can understand that it's a reasonable assumption that your average 30-year-old part-time hourly employee doesn't know a lot about mutual funds and investing, but the combination of all the different ways he spoke down to me just left a horribly foul taste in my mouth. I so wanted to name drop Warren Buffett on his ass. "The last time I was playing bridge against Warren..." But it didn't come up.

jianantonic: (Seahorse)
You know when you've just finished eating a delicious croissant, and you're a little bit sad that it's all gone? And then you see a little flake of bread in your lap? And you so long for one more taste of its deliciousness, that you pick up the crumb and put it on your tongue? Yeah, don't do that. That crumb is your husband's earwax.
jianantonic: (Default)
Max and I sat down against a pair of old ladies in the first session, and one of them just stared at me for a long time, making kind of a mean face.  I smiled uncomfortably and she finally said "You're REALLY pretty!"  But she said it like she was mad at me about it.  I said thanks and laughed a little, and she kept staring at me...it was simultaneously one of the most normal and most abnormal compliments I've ever gotten at a bridge tournament.  We ended up playing against this woman several more times, and she was very nice each time, but always started the round by commenting on my appearance.  Thanks, I guess.

We played one round against a pair of novice men.  On our final board against them, we had a scientific but basic keycard auction to a making slam.  I was declarer and I made the slam.  Then after the hand, my LHO was so impressed (newbies tend to be impressed by slams) that he asked MAX for an autograph.  Now, Max is a great player and a wonderful partner and his autograph totally should be worth something...but I'm the one that played the hand, and he didn't ask me for shit!  Sheesh. 

One night back at our hotel, my phone rang from my parents' landline, kinda late at night for them.  When I answered, it was my dad, and I immediately began hyperventilating.  Here's the thing -- Dad doesn't talk on the phone unless he absolutely has to.  If he needs anything, he gets Mom to get the info, or he might email.  Maybe.  The only reason Dad ever calls is if he's got bad news.  My brothers say the only time they can remember Dad calling was when Marma died.  So when I heard his voice on the other line, I automatically assumed something had happened to Mom.  My dad talks so slowly, and his tone always sounds severe, so it was torture waiting for him to get to the point.  It maybe took him 60 seconds or so, but that was more than long enough for me to go through enough worst case scenarios to have a real panic attack.  When he finally got to the point, it was this:  he got a notice from one of my stocks that I never cashed a dividend check for $1.80, and I needed to fill out a form to get a check re-issued.  He was calling to see what I wanted to do about that.  It's funny now, because I totally did have a panic attack, and it was probably another half hour before my heartbeat returned to normal.  Over a buck eighty.  After we sorted that out, he went on to give me the play-by-play of the cold that's made its way through Charlottesville, describing in great detail his and my mother's use of a neti pot.  It's really funny the things my dad decides are storyworthy.  He gets chatty when he's on a manic upswing, but that's pretty rare, and all the rest of the time, he hardly talks at all, except to yell obscenities at the television.  It's just really funny the things he does decide to talk about when he's in the mood.  I remember last year he spent about an hour telling the story of buying and returning a pair of pants to JC Penney.  Plot twist:  he didn't have the receipt!  I guess I get my propensity to tell long, pointless stories from that side of my family... I get the tendency to repeat said stories multiple times from my mom, though :P

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