I love tater tots too!
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
Monday, April 10, 2006
I went to the auto show with DEB.
It seems that Honda is coming out with a new hatchback called a “Fit” in 2007.
Even stranger than me going to an auto show, or a car being named “Fit” is the fact that as part of the promotional literature for the Fit, Honda produced a small flip book. If you flip the pages one way you see the outside of the Fit, and a llama. If you flip it the other way you see the inside of the fit, sans llama.
So, I was flipping through the book, and at first glance the llama looked like a large (very large) dog with its head hanging out the back window (like they do.) But suddenly I realized it was not a dog and I said, “Hey, that’s a llama!”
The guy at the counter said, “Sure, you win a prize if you can tell me why the llama is in the Fit.”
I said, “Oh, well,” (in a matter of fact kind of tone) “I know.”
He said, “You do?” (I’m thinking he didn’t actually know himself.)
I said, “Sure, They are taking him to get sacrificed.”
(The guy looked mortified.)
He said, “Oh!” and “well!” and “Oh! I didn’t expect that.”
Heck, I don’t expect half the things that come out of my mouth. But to be honest I didn’t even say it for the (high) shock value that it generated. I’m sure this Fit guy and I were on two totally different wave lengths.
I was thinking the only time I’ve ever seen livestock in the back of a hatchback (what the . . .) was in Pakistan when the people were buying goats and sheep to fatten up before they sacrificed them in memory of Abraham’s willingness to sacrifice his son.
It took me a moment to figure out why he was so appalled by what I said.
Sacrifice.
It’s kind of a dirty word in these parts.
We don’t sacrifice. We don’t really know sacrifice. We know animal rights, but not spilt blood, sticky fur – warm freshly butchered flesh to offer in atonement or remembrance.
The word “sacrifice” for Christian America does not conjure up images of the very core of our religion, but instead dirty defiled imagery of satanic rites done in secret and in darkness.
It’s unfortunate, unfortunate that we are too lackadaisical a people to keep our sacred ideas and words out of the dark.
I got a Honda bracelet as my prize. Both bracelet and llama book will arrive in Japan in approximately 6-8 weeks. To PK with love.
It seems that Honda is coming out with a new hatchback called a “Fit” in 2007.
Even stranger than me going to an auto show, or a car being named “Fit” is the fact that as part of the promotional literature for the Fit, Honda produced a small flip book. If you flip the pages one way you see the outside of the Fit, and a llama. If you flip it the other way you see the inside of the fit, sans llama.
So, I was flipping through the book, and at first glance the llama looked like a large (very large) dog with its head hanging out the back window (like they do.) But suddenly I realized it was not a dog and I said, “Hey, that’s a llama!”
The guy at the counter said, “Sure, you win a prize if you can tell me why the llama is in the Fit.”
I said, “Oh, well,” (in a matter of fact kind of tone) “I know.”
He said, “You do?” (I’m thinking he didn’t actually know himself.)
I said, “Sure, They are taking him to get sacrificed.”
(The guy looked mortified.)
He said, “Oh!” and “well!” and “Oh! I didn’t expect that.”
Heck, I don’t expect half the things that come out of my mouth. But to be honest I didn’t even say it for the (high) shock value that it generated. I’m sure this Fit guy and I were on two totally different wave lengths.
I was thinking the only time I’ve ever seen livestock in the back of a hatchback (what the . . .) was in Pakistan when the people were buying goats and sheep to fatten up before they sacrificed them in memory of Abraham’s willingness to sacrifice his son.
It took me a moment to figure out why he was so appalled by what I said.
Sacrifice.
It’s kind of a dirty word in these parts.
We don’t sacrifice. We don’t really know sacrifice. We know animal rights, but not spilt blood, sticky fur – warm freshly butchered flesh to offer in atonement or remembrance.
The word “sacrifice” for Christian America does not conjure up images of the very core of our religion, but instead dirty defiled imagery of satanic rites done in secret and in darkness.
It’s unfortunate, unfortunate that we are too lackadaisical a people to keep our sacred ideas and words out of the dark.
I got a Honda bracelet as my prize. Both bracelet and llama book will arrive in Japan in approximately 6-8 weeks. To PK with love.
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
Miniature Pinscher,Dachshund Mix
Size: SmallAge: AdultSex: MaleID: SSMPR #000025
Notes: Look at that face! Doesn't it just speak to you? Tag is one of the sweetest fosters we've had the pleasure of caring for. He's truly a lovebug, always happy, enjoys his favorites like sleeping under the covers, naps, or lying in someone's lap. His tail never stops wagging. Also, he acts like a puppy even though he's an adult. No one knows what caused his teeth to be larger than average or a bit of an under bite, but it causes no problems for him. All his vaccinations are current and he is neutered. Tag is HW positive and must complete his treatment before going to his forever home. Please consider this little one. He's only about 9 lbs and very short at about 8 inches.
http://search.petfinder.com/petnote/displaypet.cgi?petid=5569060
I would name him "Count" and he would be Buzz's
bestest friend . . .
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
Speaking of nervous subconsciously, I had a dream a while back that I'm thinking was a anxiety dream.
I never get the normal anxiety dreams, teeth falling out, or showing up to school or work naked . . . No I get this business:
I was riding my motorcycle down I-30 (In northern Pakistan of course) when I noticed that the road was getting worse and worse. There was some sort of construction happening. Suddenly the road ended in a corn field. There were construction workers around so I asked one of them:
"How can I get to the other side of the road?"
He said, "You can go through the field." (Duh!) "or you can go around through the village."
I decided to go through the village. Once I got to the village I realized that it was getting dark, so I decided to stop for the night. I got a hotel room (with the help of the same guy who helped me at the end of the road.). I went to my room and looked in the mirror.
I saw that my gums were swollen, very swollen. It looked like I had a golf ball or something in my mouth!
I went back down to the lobby and told (the same) guy that I needed to see a pharmacist!
He said, "Spit that thing out!"
I said, "I can't! It's my gums!"
But then I gagged because the swollen part was so big.
I turned my head and spit out a huge hunk of my swollen gums.
It was gross! But I spit two more times emitting liquid pink gums.
I was freaked out and I thought I had lost all my teeth, but when I felt for them, they were (strangely) still there.
What does it mean?
I'm a freak, that's what.
I never get the normal anxiety dreams, teeth falling out, or showing up to school or work naked . . . No I get this business:
I was riding my motorcycle down I-30 (In northern Pakistan of course) when I noticed that the road was getting worse and worse. There was some sort of construction happening. Suddenly the road ended in a corn field. There were construction workers around so I asked one of them:
"How can I get to the other side of the road?"
He said, "You can go through the field." (Duh!) "or you can go around through the village."
I decided to go through the village. Once I got to the village I realized that it was getting dark, so I decided to stop for the night. I got a hotel room (with the help of the same guy who helped me at the end of the road.). I went to my room and looked in the mirror.
I saw that my gums were swollen, very swollen. It looked like I had a golf ball or something in my mouth!
I went back down to the lobby and told (the same) guy that I needed to see a pharmacist!
He said, "Spit that thing out!"
I said, "I can't! It's my gums!"
But then I gagged because the swollen part was so big.
I turned my head and spit out a huge hunk of my swollen gums.
It was gross! But I spit two more times emitting liquid pink gums.
I was freaked out and I thought I had lost all my teeth, but when I felt for them, they were (strangely) still there.
What does it mean?
I'm a freak, that's what.
To dream that you are gagging, denotes that you are not able to express yourself in how you really feel about a situation. Alternatively, this dream may forewarn that you need to keep quiet before you put your foot in your mouth.
can't find gumms.
I was itchy last week. I just woke up on Sunday morning and everything from my lips to my toes was itchy. The more it itched, the worse it got. First I was just itchy. Then I was itchy with red bumps, then I was itchy with red bumps and scratches all over myself.
I went to the drug store and talked to the pharmacist. She told me I was having an allergic reaction. "What did you eat?" "Did you change your laundry detergent?" "Did you go outside?"
I ate asparagus and used pink shower soap.
I would have gladly blamed it all on the soap, but I didn't use it again and I was still itchy 6 days later.
Damn.
My coworker suggested I have a nervous subconscious.
Quite possible.
I went to the drug store and talked to the pharmacist. She told me I was having an allergic reaction. "What did you eat?" "Did you change your laundry detergent?" "Did you go outside?"
I ate asparagus and used pink shower soap.
I would have gladly blamed it all on the soap, but I didn't use it again and I was still itchy 6 days later.
Damn.
My coworker suggested I have a nervous subconscious.
Quite possible.
A humorous aphorism attributed to E.B. White summarizes these distinctions:
To foreigners, a Yankee is an American.
To Americans, a Yankee is a Northerner.
To Easterners, a Yankee is a New Englander.
To New Englanders, a Yankee is a Vermonter.
And in Vermont, a Yankee is somebody who eats pie for breakfast.
In Japan the term yank? is used to refer to a youth subculture of bleached blondes who are generally regarded as delinquents by older generations; general slang for American is amek?.
see: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yankee
To foreigners, a Yankee is an American.
To Americans, a Yankee is a Northerner.
To Easterners, a Yankee is a New Englander.
To New Englanders, a Yankee is a Vermonter.
And in Vermont, a Yankee is somebody who eats pie for breakfast.
In Japan the term yank? is used to refer to a youth subculture of bleached blondes who are generally regarded as delinquents by older generations; general slang for American is amek?.
see: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yankee
Friday, March 17, 2006
You're a Wavy BBQ Potato Chip
Which Potato Chip Are You?
Brought to you by Tickle
I thought I'd be more of a sour cream and onion kind of gal.
My coworker is Boisterous (let’s say) and high tempered (let’s say.) Some unknown (to me) incident was being discussed when I came in this morning. Apparently some faux pas was made by McDonald’s. (I’m sure she’ll never go back until tomorrow.)
Co-worker B was making suggestions about what McD’s could have done to ameliorate the situation.
Co-worker A was fuming and refusing any consolation on the matter.
CWA turned to me and said, “She had some problems with McDonald’s this morning …”
CWB turned into an angry harpy and said, “Don’t talk about me! Don’t talk about me behind my back! I hate it when people talk about me behind my back when I can hear them.”
(Okay, so in a literal sense we were talking behind her back, but in a broader sense of the phrase, can you really talk about someone “behind their back” when they can hear you?)
CWA: “Don’t be angry! I’m just saying what happened!”
CWB: “I’ll be angry if I want to be!”
CWA: “You don’t have to be so loud and angry, this is an office, and everyone can hear you.”
CWB: “I’ll be angry! I’ll be angry in this little space right here! I’ll be angry if I want to!”
This was the scene that greets me after a long and (I suspect unsuccessful) interview last night, after a disagreement with my KF, knowing that today I am the one who has to deal with all the angry customers calling to demand to know why we at this analytical lab are not in charge of the US postal service. Not to mention all the mistakes in the world that actually have anything to at all to do with us.
I couldn’t take it any more.
So I said, “OKAY!!, Nobody else wants you to be angry in this little space so stop it!”
CWB: “I am angry.”
Me: “Fine! Be angry quietly!”
CWB: “I Will!”
Me: “Good!”
So I’ve been sitting here doing lots of nothing ever since.
CWB been looking for other people to answer her questions, but I’m the only one who knows the answers, so after a few hours she gave in and asked me something.
I’m over it. She’s not.
Co-worker B was making suggestions about what McD’s could have done to ameliorate the situation.
Co-worker A was fuming and refusing any consolation on the matter.
CWA turned to me and said, “She had some problems with McDonald’s this morning …”
CWB turned into an angry harpy and said, “Don’t talk about me! Don’t talk about me behind my back! I hate it when people talk about me behind my back when I can hear them.”
(Okay, so in a literal sense we were talking behind her back, but in a broader sense of the phrase, can you really talk about someone “behind their back” when they can hear you?)
CWA: “Don’t be angry! I’m just saying what happened!”
CWB: “I’ll be angry if I want to be!”
CWA: “You don’t have to be so loud and angry, this is an office, and everyone can hear you.”
CWB: “I’ll be angry! I’ll be angry in this little space right here! I’ll be angry if I want to!”
This was the scene that greets me after a long and (I suspect unsuccessful) interview last night, after a disagreement with my KF, knowing that today I am the one who has to deal with all the angry customers calling to demand to know why we at this analytical lab are not in charge of the US postal service. Not to mention all the mistakes in the world that actually have anything to at all to do with us.
I couldn’t take it any more.
So I said, “OKAY!!, Nobody else wants you to be angry in this little space so stop it!”
CWB: “I am angry.”
Me: “Fine! Be angry quietly!”
CWB: “I Will!”
Me: “Good!”
So I’ve been sitting here doing lots of nothing ever since.
CWB been looking for other people to answer her questions, but I’m the only one who knows the answers, so after a few hours she gave in and asked me something.
I’m over it. She’s not.
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
I found out (suddenly) last week that I am a GREAT aunt. Not just aunt, but GREAT. I would like to remind World Wide Web users that it is unseemly to poke fun at old people such as GREAT aunts, especially concerning their ages. With that in mind, I respectfully submit a photo of my GREAT nephew.
okay maybe later, I can't get it to down load
okay maybe later, I can't get it to down load
As a follow up, I wrote but didn't publish that post a few days ago. I had my second interview with MS India last night and I'm scheduled for my third interview tomorrow.
Some awkward moments in the second interview:
He says: "Okay, we're going to role play now."
I'm thinking: "Role Play?! I was not anticipating this! This is not happening! This is not happening!"
I say: "Oh, okay!"
He says: "Pretend I'm a student and if I say anything wrong, you just correct me."
"When I should call you?"
Me: "Uhhhh . . . ummm . . . Well . . . "
Him: "Should it be not be inverted?"
(That just confused me . . . Was it inverted?! No! What's happening?!)
I'm thinking: Pass! Pass! Next question!
By the end of the role playing I was getting better at it, but I pretty much sucked it up on that part of the interview.
(Imagining role plays in other interview situations . . . Okay, you're a veterinarian, and I'm a sick kitty, I come in and say "Meow, Meeeee-ow Me-ooooo!" "What do you do?"
Focus!
He asked me where I was. I said, "Arlington, TX. It's between Dallas and Ft. Worth."
He said, "Oh, sure. Go Rangers."
Me: "yeah."
He asked, "Have you heard anything about Microsoft in the news lately?"
I'm thinking: "Like I watch the news."
I say: "No, not lately."
I wonder if anyone in India is reading this right now.
Hi! I love your country!
I want a job there!
Can Buzz come?
Some awkward moments in the second interview:
He says: "Okay, we're going to role play now."
I'm thinking: "Role Play?! I was not anticipating this! This is not happening! This is not happening!"
I say: "Oh, okay!"
He says: "Pretend I'm a student and if I say anything wrong, you just correct me."
"When I should call you?"
Me: "Uhhhh . . . ummm . . . Well . . . "
Him: "Should it be not be inverted?"
(That just confused me . . . Was it inverted?! No! What's happening?!)
I'm thinking: Pass! Pass! Next question!
By the end of the role playing I was getting better at it, but I pretty much sucked it up on that part of the interview.
(Imagining role plays in other interview situations . . . Okay, you're a veterinarian, and I'm a sick kitty, I come in and say "Meow, Meeeee-ow Me-ooooo!" "What do you do?"
Focus!
He asked me where I was. I said, "Arlington, TX. It's between Dallas and Ft. Worth."
He said, "Oh, sure. Go Rangers."
Me: "yeah."
He asked, "Have you heard anything about Microsoft in the news lately?"
I'm thinking: "Like I watch the news."
I say: "No, not lately."
I wonder if anyone in India is reading this right now.
Hi! I love your country!
I want a job there!
Can Buzz come?
I got soul, but I’m not a soldier. I got soul, but I’m not a soldier. I got soul, but I’m not a soldier. I got soul, but I’m not a soldier. I got soul, but I’m not a soldier.
I have an interview tomorrow night. This is my second interview with this company. To be honest I didn’t even know what I was interviewing for at the beginning of my first interview. I found this cool sounding job in India . . . Bangalore. I thought I’d feel it out. That was weeks ago. I got an email last week saying they wanted to call me for an interview.
Cool, I’m chatting with a nice sounding lady, when it finally dawns on me what I’m interviewing for. Microsoft India wants American language trainers to help their Indian (fluent in English) engineers “talk American.”
Awesome.
I got soul, but I’m not a soldier. I got soul, but I’m not a soldier. I got soul, but I’m not a soldier. I got soul, but I’m not a soldier. I got soul, but I’m not a soldier.
The Killers
I have an interview tomorrow night. This is my second interview with this company. To be honest I didn’t even know what I was interviewing for at the beginning of my first interview. I found this cool sounding job in India . . . Bangalore. I thought I’d feel it out. That was weeks ago. I got an email last week saying they wanted to call me for an interview.
Cool, I’m chatting with a nice sounding lady, when it finally dawns on me what I’m interviewing for. Microsoft India wants American language trainers to help their Indian (fluent in English) engineers “talk American.”
Awesome.
I got soul, but I’m not a soldier. I got soul, but I’m not a soldier. I got soul, but I’m not a soldier. I got soul, but I’m not a soldier. I got soul, but I’m not a soldier.
The Killers
Thursday, March 02, 2006
Saturday, February 25, 2006
Travel story alert! (eventually I'll get all this out of my system)
My first goal in Paris was to find the office of tourism. I thought that was a good place to start and there it was, plain as day on my map on the corner of the on the Champs Elysées and the Arc de Triomphe. So . . . I left the hotel, walked up to the bus/metro stop and took a look around . . . "Surely I can find my way back to the hotel from here" thought I, and I went on the bus to the Arc de Triomphe on the Champs Elysees (and the tourist office which was just across the street.)
That was one of the most hair raising bus rides I've ever been on . . . and that's saying something because I've been in some interesting places. The bus driver took an accordion style (double long) bus down an alley with a moving truck on one side and a delivery truck on the other side. I wouldn't have even tried to get my car through that little space. But this just goes to prove my point, "There is always room for a bus."
I got to the Charles de Gaulle-Etoile and pointed myself toward the Arc de Triomphe.
"Yeah!Napoleonn!" it seemed to say.
I gave it a look or two and said to myself, "Self, first the office of tourism." Myself agreed and we turned down the Champs Elysees. I looked left, I looked right, I looked high and low, I looked way down the street, several blocks but I couldn't find it. I know those tourist maps aren't drawn to scale, but it was obviously right there on the corner!
No biggie, I thought, it's okay to spend an hour or so walking along one of the most famous streets in the world. As I went along, I saw a funny sign and took a picture (like I do.) Some brown man gave me a funny look. I thought to myself, "I'm in Paris, I'll never see this guy again." I gave him a funny look back.
I went in a few stores, wandered around a few more minutes and hmmmm . . . there he was again. He said, "Do you speak English?"
I said, "Yes."
We went through the "What's your name, where are you from, I'm from . . . do you like it here blah, blah."
Finally he said, "What are you doing?"
I said, "I'm looking for the tourism office.
He said, "I will show you." So he pointed me back toward the corner of the Arc de Triomphe. Well, maybe I missed it. I went back.
I could not find it! Eventually I just gave up and asked someone in the bank where it seemed the tourism office should be.
She said, "It has, uh, move."
She gave me the address and the Metro line. Time to tackle the Metro.
I found the Metro, I went down and remembered that I wanted to buy an orange card. I found a machine, I bought a card it was a tiny 1" by 3" orange card, but then I was confused. Did I need a picture (as the tour book said) or did I just go through the turn style? Would it give me my ticket back? What if I lost it? Why was it so tiny? How did these Frenchies do it?
I stood there looking confused for a few minutes (just for good measure) when here comes the same guy from the sign incident. "Did you find the tourism office?" I explained it had moved, I had a ticket but I didn't know what to do next. He took charge of the situation. He took me to the counter, got me a little plastic holder for my ticket, a few maps and then he gave me his card, with his phone number. He told me he was Pakistani, he owned an Indian restaurantt (I'm guessing it's really hard to sell people on the idea that Pakistani and Indian food are pretty much the same.) He told me I should come by for a meal. (Chalk one more up for Shannon and the brown men.)
I said, 'Thank you" outloud and "probably not" in my head and started walking through the turn style and down the tunnel toward my train.
He called me, "Excuse me! Miss! You are going the wrong way!"
Dang it! Was I ever going to get away from this guy?!
I waved, "Thanks" and turned around to to go to the next tunnel.
He was a really nice guy. He didn't touch me or ooggle and google me like some brown guys try to do, but it is a little unnerving to be alone in a big, strange city and feel like you are being followed by a stranger.
I found the train, got off at the correct station and couldn't figure out how to get out. Everywhere I looked it seemed to say "Exit" but you had to put your ticket in so it also seemed to say, "Exit to another train" in Shannon language. I didn't want another train! I wanted outside!
I gave in and put my ticket in the turn style to get out. And that's how it's done in Paris. You have to prove you paid to get in and you have to prove it again to get out.
The address was 11 rue de whatever. I found the rue, I found 11 I went in. They said, "No, it is 11, it is down" and pointed. I did that three times. I swear they were all 11s! There must be some secret number code in Paris. The whole city block seemed to be 11!
By the time I found the office of tourism I was all out of the mood. I didn't even care anymore.
I looked around a few minutes found no new information for my trouble and left.
On the map, the Seine River looked close. I decided to walk on down to check it out. It was not as close as it looked on the map. (Naturally, but another day on what happened in the Jardin des Tuileries.)
If you've ever dreamed of seeing soy sause represented as a gay superhero:
http://yoga.at.infoseek.co.jp/flash/kikkomaso_e2.swf
http://yoga.at.infoseek.co.jp/flash/kikkomaso_e2.swf
Wednesday, February 22, 2006
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