Because this is ridiculous, not because I care

Dear "Aaron's" Furniture Store:

I am assuming you are a furniture store, based on the content of the ad I found hanging on my door handle a few days ago. I don't know why you thought putting those up around here was a good idea; yes we're married college students, but we're married college students. What makes you think we have the money to be spending on entire, brand-new living rooms sets, no matter how much they're on sale? But fine, whatever, I understand that in order to make money you need people to know about you, and I admit I'd never heard of you until now, so good job, it worked, and I threw that ad in the recycling first chance I got.

This is not the body of my complaint.

My real beef is with whoever was delivering the dang things, because they apparently found it funny/easier/whatever to leave 10 or 15 extra ads under my door mat. WHAT. THE. HECK. I don't even know what to think about that. I'm pretty sure the blame rests entirely on whatever available teenager you roped into delivering these things; it's not like you would have instructed them to do this. (You didn't, did you?) And I know I live on the third floor, and I know that when it's a hot summer day you get lazy, but COME ON. Is it really that hard to just carry the extras back to the trash can or the Aaron's office or whatever? I'm not even mad. It's no skin off my back to dump them in the recycling with the original one. I'm just puzzled and saddened to find that there are people lazy/irresponsible/whatever enough to leave their problem under some stranger's doormat. Also, I actually am annoyed at having to throw them out. Not that it's that much extra work, but it's the principle of the thing!

Anyway, Aaron's, I'm glad you put your contact information directly on the ad, because I think you should be made aware that whoever you're paying $.50 an hour to deliver these things is not earning their paycheck.

Sincerely,

Me

P.S. Dear Readers, do you think I should really contact them about it? I'm really not that angry about it. I think it's kind of funny, actually. And I don't want to waste my time and energy complaining about something that not only doesn't matter in the long run, but that really doesn't matter to me right here and now.

P.P.S. Kristina, don't worry, this hasn't put me off all Aarons. Just the ones with furniture stores named after them.

Unemployment continued....

My job interview was today. I am optimistic. Well, about the interview part, anyway. I'm starting to have doubts about whether I really want the job at all, despite how pleasant a work atmosphere it seemed to have. For one thing, it might not even be full-time, which would kind of be a deal-breaker because, for the second thing, it's an hour's drive away. This is problem not just for the gas money and wear-and-tear on the car (which is a BIG problem) but also because, as I found out on the way home, I get terribly carsick. We had to stop at Wal-Mart for some Pepto Bismol because I wasn't sure I could make it the rest of the way home without throwing up. I just can't see coming into work every morning and making a mad dash for the bathroom being a good thing. This is mostly jest; if I did get the job, I know for a fact that my body, with its amazing powers of adaptability, would soon acclimate itself and I wouldn't get so sick. Also, I wouldn't be turning around and going home again as fast as I did today. But still. Those first few days would be murder. I'd be chewing on Pepto Bismol like candy. Which it almost tasted like. Did you know it comes in peppermint-flavored chewable tablets now? I do. Boy, do I.

Wry Like Me?

So I've been watching this TV show called Dead Like Me. It's quite funny, in the dark, sarcastic humor kind of way. Kind of like the MTV cartoon Daria, in that respect, only a little further over into the darkness.

Anyway, this isn't a TV show review. I was just thinking about how much I like the main character, an 18-year-old girl who now has to reap the souls of the dead because she was hit by a flaming toilet seat which had fallen from the Soviet Space Station. She is now known as Toilet Seat Girl. And while I'm glad I don't have such an unfortunate nickname, I do like her apathetic, sarcastic, wry attitude. I wish I could be like that, sometimes.

And at least she has a job, even if it is soul-killing. Ha.

(I have an interview next week; wish me luck!)

Unemployment

I has it.

Any ideas on how to get rid of it?

Also, this blog is kind of outdated. Like, I don't even work in a library anymore. So either I have to rename this blog or get a new one. And I don't want to get a new one.

So, what should my new blog name be?

The Good Ship Hell's Bees Lay Loose?

The Good Ship Have Buns, Lettuce and Lentils?

The Good Ship what the heck am I even doing with my life?

Aiyiyi.

Procrastination

...does wonders for a blog.

I am technically supposed to be working on homework while the husband is not here to distract me, but I am instead blogging, reading other people's blogs, and listening to Peter and the Wolf narrated by none other than David Bowie! Nice, eh? I'm also wondering what I'm going to do for NaNoWriMo, and if I'm really crazy enough to actually sit down November 1st having no prior idea of what I'm to write. Which is one of the options. But I'm definitely buying the t-shirt. Actually, the t-shirt I'm buying first is technically my reward for winning last year. Then I'll need to buy a t-shirt for winning this year. You know, if I do. But I might not get around to that until next year.

Maybe I Should Get a Bigger Ring...

Last Saturday I was in Barnes and Noble, minding my own business, kind of checking out the relationships section, which, in this store, is right next to the sex books. This guy comes into the isle, and is a little too close to my personal space, so I scooch over a bit to give myself some more room, and (red flag! red flag!) he moves over too. I move over again, a little more this time, and he moves right with me, keeping the same distance between us. Okay, now I'm a little weirded out, but I keep studiously avoiding eye contact (I don't even know what the guy looked like, I was avoiding eye contact THAT MUCH) and think about leaving to go find my husband. Before I can, though, the guy says, "Find anything good?"

Short aside: when I'm by myself, I often imagine different dangerous scenarios, just to keep me on my toes. What if that guy walking toward me down the hall suddenly tries to grab me? I'll elbow him in the gut and kick him in the crotch. Okay, what if that guy tries something...? And so on. And just before this guy came into the isle I'd been wondering what I would do if someone said something inappropriate to me regarding those very pink books.

So, this is what was running through my head when he says, "Find anything good?" I had imagined a snappy comeback, something like, "Just who do you think you are, stupid?" or even just flashing my ring (because, to be fair, it was on the other side of me out of his sight). But in the second after he said it, while my breath was still caught in my throat, I just decided to be rude, and I walked away without saying anything, without looking at him, as though I hadn't even heard him.

Now my brain turns back on and I starting screaming to myself, "Oh my gosh, what the heck, I just got harassed in the sex isle, I think I'm gonna die, WHERE IS MY HUSBAND?" I found him soon after, and told him what happened. We escaped to the manga section and I didn't leave his side for the rest of the trip. He was outraged on my behalf, but in the end, when I'd calmed down a little, I had to admit that probably the guy was just very socially awkward, or possibly looking for a one night stand, and not actively trying to harass married women. I came to this opinion because I think that this guy (who I did not get a good look at) may have been the same guy who, right before this, rushed into the isle, slammed a book onto the shelf, and rushed away. (The book was something like "How to Make Love to a Woman" or something.) I can just image him thinking desperately of something to say, and I feel bad that this was all he could come up with.

But not bad enough to dignify him with a response.

Fear is the soul killer

I think I'm afraid of success. Afraid of climbing up too high on my potential and falling off. Afraid of being more visible and therefore more subject to laughter and scorn. Afraid of giving it my all and my all not being enough. Being anonymous is easier. It's comfortable. It's the known. When will I finally work up the courage to put my full effort behind something? To work hard and get past initial failures and succeed? When will I stop being afraid?

If you give a mouse a cookie... it will eat it and infest your house.

So the other night I saw a ballet version of Romeo and Juliet. There was this really touching scene when Romeo realizes Juliet is dead, and he takes her limp body and tries to dance with it. It was done really well (she did sort of help him a little, but it wasn’t distracting at all) and it was very moving. But of course it made me think of necrophilia (Despite the fact that I didn't want to think about necrophilia, cuz, ew). Which of course meant I had to look up the Wikipedia article on it, which of course lead me to the article on praying mantises, which of course meant that I was clicking around Wikipedia for hours, which of course meant that eventually I ended up at the article for Romeo and Juliet. Of course.

Take that Felicia Bond! Speaking of which, I’m going to go make some cookies now.

(Okay, okay, that’s not how it actually went down, but honestly, would you have been surprised if it had?)

Zzzzzzzzzz.....

Apparently I have mono, which I was pretty sure I did. The doctor didn’t think so, but when the test results came back he said, “Well, it looks like your instincts were correct.”

Sometimes I hate being right.