Wednesday, November 14, 2007

Here I am!

In case you're interested, I'm
Here now.

Thursday, March 22, 2007

SNAIL INVASION, or, What I Do When I Should Be Packing.

This is the snail that invaded my house.
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Donovan thought about eating it.
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Then Donovan thought, "Hmm. Maybe I will befriend it with my quick wit."
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Yay! It worked!
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Thursday, February 08, 2007

Not dead!

Ok, guys, I’m sorry, ok? I know I made you think I was dead. Clearly, I am not dead. But I am busy. I just finished my first term of school, we’re apartment hunting again, I’m trying to get all my stuff in order and….it’s just hectic, you know? So I’m going to take a page out of Doxie’s book and just give you some silly emails to read.

From: Last Name, Kathleen [mailto:Kate’s Email]
Sent: Thursday, February 08, 2007 9:57 AM
To: Last Name, NikolasSubject: RE:

Do you think Batman could beat me up?

From: Last Name, Nikolas [mailto:Nik’s Email]
Sent: Thursday, February 08, 2007 9:57 AM
To: Last Name, Kathleen
Subject: RE:

Why would he?

From: Last Name, Kathleen [mailto:Kate’s Email]
Sent: Thursday, February 08, 2007 9:57 AM
To: Last Name, Nikolas
Subject: RE:

Probably cuz I ripped his cape or something.

From: Last Name, Nikolas [mailto:Nik’s Email]
Sent: Thursday, February 08, 2007 9:58 AM
To: Last Name, Kathleen
Subject: RE:

Why would you do that?

From: Last Name, Kathleen [mailto:Kate’s Email]
Sent: Thursday, February 08, 2007 9:58 AM
To: Last Name, Nikolas
Subject: RE:

Not on purpose! Just cuz..you know. I'm clumsy.

From: Last Name, Nikolas [mailto:Nik’s Email]
Sent: Thursday, February 08, 2007 9:59 AM
To: Last Name, Kathleen
Subject: RE:

Why are you interacting with Batman?

From: Last Name, Kathleen [mailto:Kate’s Email]
Sent: Thursday, February 08, 2007 9:59 AM
To: Last Name, Nikolas
Subject: RE:

I think he'd be a good influence on me.

From: Last Name, Nikolas [mailto:Nik’s Email]
Sent: Thursday, February 08, 2007 10:02 AM
To: Last Name, Kathleen
Subject: RE:

He kills people.

From: Last Name, Kathleen [mailto:Kate’s Email]
Sent: Thursday, February 08, 2007 10:03 AM
To: Last Name, Nikolas
Subject: RE:

Only bad guys. Are you jealous? Is that what this is? Do you feel threatened by Batman?

From: Last Name, Nikolas [mailto:Nik’s Email]
Sent: Thursday, February 08, 2007 10:03 AM
To: Last Name, Kathleen
Subject: RE:

I'd throw Batman in a chimora.

From: Last Name, Kathleen [mailto:Kate’s Email]
Sent: Thursday, February 08, 2007 10:05 AM
To: Last Name, Nikolas
Subject: RE:

DUDE. I THINK YOU'RE JEALOUS OF BATMAN. Are you afraid I'll be enticed by his suave demeanor? By his devil-may-care attitude? Do you think the BatMobile might draw me to him like an eightball draws a hooker to a congressman?

-Then THERE WAS FIRE!-


From: Last Name, Kathleen [mailto:Kate’s Email]
Sent: Thursday, February 08, 2007 10:09 AM
To: Last Name, Nikolas
Subject: RE:

Fire alarm went off. Then it stopped. Now the township siren is going off.

From: Last Name, Nikolas [mailto:Nik’s Email]
Sent: Thursday, February 08, 2007 10:10 AM
To: Last Name, Kathleen
Subject: RE:

Where's your Batman now, Ramses?

From: Last Name, Kathleen [mailto:Kate’s Email]
Sent: Thursday, February 08, 2007 10:10 AM
To: Last Name, Nikolas
Subject: RE:

He's coming. He's just not sure if it's a false alarm or not.

From: Last Name, Nikolas [mailto:Nik’s Email]
Sent: Thursday, February 08, 2007 10:11 AM
To: Last Name, Kathleen
Subject: RE:

Doubtful. He's scared.

From: Last Name, Kathleen [mailto:Kate’s Email]
Sent: Thursday, February 08, 2007 10:11 AM
To: Last Name, Nikolas
Subject: RE:

No way dude, the only thing Batman is scared of Robin talking to a trusted adult.



So yeah. Good times, all around. And earlier in the week I had a nervous breakdown, but hey, I’m totally ok now!

We’re seeing four apartments between today and Saturday….favoring the one on Saturday. I’ll ya’ll know how it goes!

Bye bye!

Friday, January 05, 2007

Staple Curse Awards! (see what happens when you don't use punctuation??)

Oh, guys. Today is one of those days. You know those days where, if you're a Normal Person, you give a little sigh and go back to bed, figuring you can cut your losses? Well I'm not a Normal Person. I'm one of those people that just sort of..keeps going. Plodding on rather absentmindedly, not for all the world caring that I may be killing people, simply by walking past them.

Guys, I've got the curse today. And the curse wants to take me down. Possibly I watched too many scary movies...possibly the Ring girl and the little girl from Amityville Horror have colluded to kill me. Unfortunately for them, I am too mulishly resilient to be severely hurt or deterred by silly little things like Killer Staples or Flying StapLERs.

First of all..I should probably illustrate for you the kind of mood I am. It is...an odd mood. It is also one of those moods that you REALLY hope you're in when you have the Curse, because it's almost impossible to really upset you when you're in this mood. Here is a brief example - tomorrow is my spa day. I've been sending emails to my best friend all day about it, and they look like this -

From: 'Kathleen'
Sent: Friday, January 05, 2007 1:38 PMTo: 'Tara' Subject: RE: WHY DO YOU BUILD ME UP
I know dude....I'm so freaking excited. Everytime I think to myself "hmm tomorrow is saturday" it's like this -"Hmm. Tomorrow. Tomorrow is Saturday. Wait. .... Tomorrow. Is. Saturday. Saturday..um.....OMG SPA RELAX DAY OF KATE AND TARA FUN OMG OMG OMG SCALP TREATMENT WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE" and all that happens in my head in about .09808 seconds and the synapses in my brain start firing and probably my head will just explode by tomorrow.


You see, guys? I'm weird today. Which is good, because it was probably that Weird Shield I have that protected me from the Curse.

Get ready to be scared. Seriously.

Here are the things the Curse did to me today.

- Made me break my monitor with my stapler. There I was, minding my own business, reaching for my pretty, shiny, fancy, heavy stapler when BAM! It just went FLYING out of my hand and INTO my monitor. ALL BY ITSELF.
What sucks about this, is that at my work, we don't have those big hunkin crappy monitors. Nooooo. We have the abagazillion dollar flat screen LCD monitors. That are now broken. Accounting and IT probably hate me now. I tried to tell them it was the Curse, but they were skeptical.

- Made me staple myself to my desk with said stapler. I have no idea how this happened. Like, noooo idea. The Curse is getting creative I suppose. Because one second, I'm stapling a pretty report together, and the next...I can't move. Because my sleeve. Is stapled. To my desk. My desk is not soft guys, it's that hard formica-esque thick plastic stuff that nuclear bombs can't hurt...how did a STAPLE penetrate it??? I tried to pull, but it was jammed something fierce. So then I tried a staple remover. Possibly I hurt myself with that, but no comment. So then I was forced to ask for help. Again, I TRIED to tell them about the Curse. They recommended therapy.

- Made me fall off my chair. Not like..I went to get up and I fell. Or I spun too fast on my fancy, swivel chair and fell. Like...I just..fell. One second I was sitting, next I was on floor. There is no in between for this, I swear. Like: 1:17:12 p.m. Sitting. Typing! 1:17:12.5 p.m. on floor, weeping slightly.

- Made me break the phone. Someone was calling me, ok? So I answered. And it was no one. So I said "Que?" For you non-spanish speakin folk out there, that's Spanish for "Who is this and why do you bother me so while I"m just trying to order an inspection for this here strip club?" But they must not have spoken Spanish, and they hung up. So then it rang again. I tried German this time. Still no answer. And on and on until I ran out of languages, and I can say "what" in like...a lot of languages, people! So finally, I just slammed the phone down really hard, because they were interrupting me, and I just wanted to be DONE with this inspection for Ursula's Teat already, OK?! And, possibly, the phone did not like this. The phone said, "OW! YOU HURT ME YOU FLUENT IN SPANISH BEAUTIFUL LOSER. NOW I SHALL DIE SO I.T. WILL HATE YOU MORE." And it died. It just..went...all dead-like. So I called IT from my neighbor's desk. I told them about the mysterious prank caller.

They said - "Don't you read your email? We sent out a company wide email about an hour ago to turn the ringers off on all phones because we're testing the voice over IP lines and they would be ringing periodically."
I said - "Oh. Well. Sorry bout that. That phone sucked anyway, it was really staticky."
They said - "That's not a regular phone. It's a Voice over IP computer."
I said - "Um. Cool. Whatever. When can I get a new one?"
They said - "After you explain to _____ why you disregarded a company email and broke a $400 phone."
I said - "Oh. Hmm. Ok, so can you do that for me?"
They said - "No."
I said - "...Ok. Well. I don't really need a phone. BYE!"


- Spilled iced tea all over my white turtleneck with ripped sleeve (see above.)




So possibly for sure I am Cursed. Don't come near me or you might die! Or get stapled! Or perhaps maybe you'll just get a chance to laugh really, really hard. Cuz I haven't hurt myself or gotten yelled at in like 15 minutes, so I'm probably due.



And now that I've entertained you with stories that will most definitely become a part of the "Stories How I Am Dumb" collection, I have a few requests.

#1. Lurkers, can you come out and play? Just for a little bit, pleaaase? Apparently there are some lurky-lurkerers around, I would just like them to stop in and say Hi so I know they are reading. You don't have to comment regularly, just pop in once in a while! PLEASE?

#2. Please go nominate some people for the Bloggie Awards ( 2007.bloggie.com ), ok? If you'd like some suggestions, I'd recommend -

Miss Doxie, of www.missdoxie.com, for either Most Humorous, Blog of the Year, Best Writing in a Blog. Pretty much Doxie rocks..very cool, very funny.

Norman, of www.iamnorman.blogspot.com, for Most Humorous.

Subserviant Worker of www.widelawns.blogspot.com, for Best Kept Secret

Waiter of www.waiterrant.net, or Debra of barmaidblog.livejournal.com, both for Best Writing in a Blog.

So go vote guys! It's a pity there's not a Most Stupid and Pointless Words to Ever Leak From Someone's Computer Even Worse Than That Andy Milonakis Rap Video From About 1999 in a Blog award, or else I'd totally bribe you to nominate me.

See ya!

Tuesday, September 26, 2006

I am the product of too many cocktails at a company christmas party, my mother's apparent inability to unlock the door to her house, and my father's philandering ways.

My mom was a single Irish party-girl, and my father was a Filipino immigrant with a wife and two and a half (one on the way) children back home in the islands.

Their one-night tryst resulted in my existence. My mother discovered she was pregnant, told my father, and he hotfooted it back to the Phillipines without a backward glance.

20 years later, here I am. A disgustingly insecure mess of a female, with all sorts of self esteem issues and prior traumas, which I attribute entirely to the absent father syndrome. Daddy didn't love me, why would anyone else?

...Total exagerration. I'm pretty fucked up, but not quite THAT bad, and there are plenty of contributing factors to my insanity. But in all honesty, the deadbeat Dad thing does have a lot to do with it, and I struggled for years to get past it.

In 2001 I paid an astronomical amount of money for one of those internet people search things to find it. It returned to me several addresses and a phone number. The phone number was disconnected, so I wrote a letter to the last known address. It went unreturned, and unresponded to.

I put him as far out of mind as I could. And by that I mean I only thought about him twice a day instead of four times.

This past summer, in the middle of my work day, I bought a similar background report. Same addresses. Different phone number. I called. On a whim. A woman answered. I asked for him. She told me he was still sleeping. I hung up on her and cried at my desk for twenty minutes.

I called my house about 7 times trying to get a hold of Martyr Mom. I spend most of my waking hours avoiding her, but that day, she was the only person I wanted to talk to. The little girl inside me was screaming I WANT MY MOMMY! To her credit, Martyr Mom was uncharacteristically sane and supportive that day. She told me to call back. Boyfriend told me to call back. Friends told me to call back. I called back.

"Is ___ there?"
"Hang on."
"Ok."
Dad comes on the line.
"Hello?"
"Is this ___? ___? that used to work with ____ _____ (my mom)?"
"Yes, who is this?"
His accent is almost indistinguishable, but his english is perfect.
"I'm her daughter. I'm your daughter."
-click-

...No, he didn't hang up on me. MY STUPID CELL PHONE DIED. DIED RIGHT THEN AND THERE DURING THE MOST IMPORTANT CONVERSATION OF MY ENTIRE FREAKING LIFE!

Sobbing, I borrowed the phone of a Russian girl I'm friendly with at work. I dialed back, and he answered again. I again explained who I was, and how I came to exist.

The thickest, most painful, anxiety-ridden silence I've ever suffered in my life ensued. A thoughtful hmming buzzed through the phone. And then, a deep breath, as if a scathing, hateful dialogue was about to be unleashed.

"Really. Well...How are you? How old are you? When's your birthday? You have a baby? How old is he? What's his name? How are you? Are you married? How was your life?"

Through hysterical tears I answered all his questions, and then agreed to hang up and email him pictures of myself and my son.

Over the weekend it was agreed that a DNA test was in order. He suggested that since my birthday was coming, I come out to L.A. to meet, visit, and do the test. I told him I couldn't come for my birthday, no way could I get the money together in time. He offered to split the expenses. I said fine. We made plans. A week later, he bought the ticket outright, and told me not to worry about it.

My mother's family (Martyr Mom and cousin aside) told me not to go. That it's not fair that I had to go all the way out there. I shut them up with a "Uh, HELLO? Free trip to Los Angeles? I'd do that for a freaking poptart, let alone a whole new family."

So I went.

I got off the plane at LAX and right then and there decided that no, no no this trip was NOT a good idea and I WANNA GO HOME. But alas, a trip across the country is not quite a trip to McDonald's, where you can change your mind at the last second with a simple "Hmm. No, don't feel like cheeseburgers today." I couldn't exactly say "You know what? I don't really feel like getting a dad right now. Maybe tomorrow."

So I ventured to baggage claim, our designated meeting spot.

He was there, with a trolley for my bags, and a sign bearing my name. He hugged me. Asked about my flight. Yadda yadda. He was nice, polite, friendly. He likes people and he likes asking questions. We chatted as we went sightseeing.

I liked him and felt comfortable with him. Overall though, I was entirely impressed. Not that he wasn't nice or perfectly polite or warm or anything...just. I don't know. It wasn't as excited as I thought. That night, I met several of my cousins, their husbands and wives, and their children. I melted right in. They were warm, and loud, and welcoming. They talked with me and around me and over me as if I'd been there the last twenty years. I looked like them. They yelled at me for being too skinny. I loved them. They already loved me.

The next day My father took me and two of my male cousins to Six Flags. We had an amazingly fun time, and I got really close with both of my cousins. That night I went to see some of my Irish family that's out in California. I got drunk, had fun, but was anxious to return to my father's family. We spent the day at my aunt's house. I met so many people I'm still having trouble keeping names and faces straight. I sang karaoke for two hours with my youngest aunt, who has Down's Syndrome. My cousin's bought me birthday presents and took me bowling. By the time I left on Saturday night, I felt the need to have a good long cry.

My father intimated that he knew the DNA test would come back positive. He told me a little about how he was raised without HIS parents, and how he left his other 3 daughters in the Phillipines with their mother. He seemed sad and remorseful. I was sad and introspective. I was happy. I was angry. I felt more emotions than I knew I was capable of, and let's face it, I'm a hyperemotional person, so that's saying a lot.

On the flight home, ascending over Los Angeles, I felt a vague sense of loss. I felt more at home in California than I ever have in my city. I would miss it, and the wheels were turning in my head with plans to return.

A week passed. The DNA test came back positive.

I spoke to two of my sisters. I love them. I want them here, and we're looking into VISA sponsorship to get them here. I keep missing my middle sister, the time difference makes it rough.

I email my Dad. He emails me back when he has time. I call him on occassion. He makes time to talk to me. I miss my aunts and uncles. I make fun of my cousins about the Raiders sucking. Big time.

I don't feel that much different. I sort of hoped it would be this automatic thing where suddenly I'm normal and healthy and don't have crazy absent parent issues. Hah, didn't exactly go down like that. But it's sort of like I was a puzzle with a bunch of pieces missing. Now I found the pieces, and I'm working on the glue to stick 'em all back together. It sounds cliched, but it's true.

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