Count me out

If all of the US Census workers are like the one that came to interview us on Thursday night....well, then, I think they should all just sit down and stop now, because AIN'T NO GOOD GONNA COME OF THIS.

We got selected for the special part of the Census, the part where besides just counting you and getting your ethnicity you get asked all sorts of socio-economic questions about the prior year. The point is that they follow-up with you a year or two later to watch how the picture evolves. We represented 2,500 households. So I'll just say now, please discount 1 out of every 2,500 people when the data actually comes out because ours will be all wrong.

First, the guy was hardly computer literate, and the whole thing is done by computers. He asks, we answer, he enters it on the computer, next questions please. Except he was having a really hard time entering it on the computer. There was one point where we sat in silence for over twenty minutes because he couldn't figure out how to get it to go to the next questions. That's a really good sign, no?

Then there was the part where he kept entering the wrong information. Like the part where he entered Edgar's mother's name as 'Diaz.' Let's think, Census guy. Have you ever met any woman by the name of 'Diaz'? Or any man, for that matter. We had clearly told him that her name was Elena, then he clearly spelled out her last name, of which 'Diaz' is only a part of it. But then he kept asking questions like "Did Diaz work for pay in 2009?" and "Where was Diaz born?" And it wasn't like he was just calling her by her last name (because just Diaz isn't her last name) because he correctly called Edgar's dad Jose the entire time with all of his questions about him.

Then there was the part where he couldn't keep our assets separate. The interview questions aren't structured well, or at least he wasn't very good at asking them, but he would ask a question that would just pertain to Edgar but look at us like he expected the answer to be for both of us. The questions were asking about our assets and our debts, and when he was asking about our cars, to Edgar, I clearly told the guy "The cars are not in his name. Do you still want the information? Because they're not his so they're not his assets." He was all, oh, only the stuff in his name, and so we were like no cars for Edgar, but then because we had already mentioned the cars he wanted it then. And we were all "These aren't Edgar's." And then he took it anyways. And the same when it got to my part of the interview. Because I was like "You already counted the cars for him. It's not a joint asset, they're individual." So he took them again. So according to the US Census we have four cars. Same with our savings account (my name only). Same with our credit card debts (our cards are individual). So basically, EVERYTHING WAS WRONG.

The packet of information he gave us included a copy of a letter from Congress to the President in 2007 urging him to not cut funding for this part of the Census because it's vital for them to get a good understanding of the economic picture in the country. But I have to say, if all of the Census workers were like this guy, and by 'like this guy' I mean that they're all idiots, then I might have to retroactively agree with Bush on this one, because IT'S A BIG FUCKING WASTE OF TIME AND MONEY.

I live in Long Beach, I can learn how to throw down

I think that a parking lot war is about to begin at work. I feel it in my bones.

I've written before about the unwritten rules of parking etiquette at work. The jist of the notion is that most people, even when not assigned a parking spot, find a comfortable spot that they like to park in every day when they go to work and then park in said space every day. It's a habit. A routine action. All of my co-workers do it. Tell me who you're looking for, and I will tell you what spot they park in. There are tons of other cars in the lot that I don't know who their drivers are, but I know that they park in the same spot every day.

But, BUT, there is some jackass that is totally messing up my parking routine. I have been parking in the same spot for six months. When I first started working this job, I would bounce around the parking lot, trying out a new spot every day until I found the one that worked for me. And once I found it, I stuck with it, and I park there all the time. I didn't steal anyone else's spot. There's nothing special about this parking spot. But that is not the point. Who can say why people choose to park in the same spot every day? I don't know, it must be a chemical thing. You don't park in your neighbor's garage, do you?

For the past two weeks, there has been some loser in an old-model silver Honda CRV that has been trying to take my spot. And every day that they don't get it, they park in the spot on the driver's side of my car. And every time they do that, they keep moving further and further across the double white line separating the parking spaces making it harder and harder every day for me to get in my car. It's as if they're taunting me, saying "How long you gonna take it, huh? Give me the damn spot now and this all can be over!"

I WILL NOT TAKE THIS PARKING SPOT BULLYING! I wish I knew who it was. It's not one of my co-workers, but we are in a fairly small office suite in a four story building. And it irks me as I sit at my desk every day that somewhere in that same building is a motherfucker that doesn't understand parking spot etiquette.

STOP TRYING TO STEAL MY SPACE LEST MY KEYS MAGICALLY SCRAPE YOUR DOOR.

Skate to the heart

Sometimes, the universe makes me laugh. Because I'm the type of person that takes pleasure in seeing people get what's coming to them. Does that make me a bad person? No. THAT MAKES ME ENTERTAINED.

Take, for example, this video:



Arrogant jackass, no?

Now read this article:

Blunder costs skater a gold

The universe just PWNED you. And I laughed.

Observations

1. Why do people who ride bicycles insist on riding them in the street when there is a perfectly good sidewalk right next to it? I mean, I comend you for doing your part to ease traffic congestion and be green, or to lead a healthier lifestyle by getting more exercise, or for finding a cheaper alternative after your car got repo-ed, but seriously.....GET OUT OF MY WAY.

2. Someone in my apartment building is unabashedly smoking the sticky-icky green stuff every day. Whenever I approach the buildling from the parking garage I'm all WHOA. CONTACT BUZZ.

Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah....Iran

I've mentioned before that when I was in high school I was a part of the institution so lovingly known as show choir. Glee it was not. We had competitions every year in the winter, and if there was one thing that you absolutely did not forget to bring to competitions, it was this: BIG HAIR.

I have very disagreeable hair. I have a ton of hair, but it's very fine in texture, and therefore very limp. It won't hold style, and it is generally content to lie flat against my head with no volume whatsoever. I've tried all the gels, all the mousses, all the different hairbrushes, but it's all for nothing. FLAT HAIR. Not big hair.

This lack of big hair therefore required some serious attention going into these competitions. While the other girls could all slap some hot rollers in their hair an hour before going on stage, apply a generous amount of hairspray, and then be good to go for both performances in the general round and then in the finals, I had no such luck. Competition time required that I borrow perm rollers from my cousin that owned her own hair salon and weigh my head down with said rollers for over 12 hours.

It would work like this: Competitions were on Saturdays. On Fridays after school, we would have a several-hours-long rehearsal, then run through our program for friends and families that came to watch. We would all eat dinner together, and then everyone would go home to get some rest before getting up at the ass crack of dawn the next morning to head off to the competition. After parting ways for the evening, I would go home, take a shower, and then roll my wet hair up into those perm rollers. And I had really long hair, so that was A WHOLE HELL OF A LOT OF PERM ROLLERS. My friend Jessica would often come over to help me get my head all done up.

During my senior year in high school, the Winter Olympics were held in Salt Lake City. Jessica and I were working on my hair while we watched the opening ceremonies one Friday evening. If you watched the opening ceremonies in Vancouver this weekend, you may have noticed that it is tradition that the country's names are read during the March of Nations first in French and then in English. And you may have also noticed that while some names are very similar in both French and English that some are wildly different. And while watching that, I had a flashback to that night during my senior year, hair full of perm rollers, watching TV with Jessica, and that announcer's voice saying "Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah.....Iran."

It's Iran. Two syllables. And it was blah blah blah blah blah blah blah in French. COME ON, FRENCH PEOPLE, HOW COMPLICATED IS THIS?

Jessica and I laughed for about ten minutes straight that night at the absurdity of the fact that the name for Iran in French was so ridiculously long. And I know it's totally silly, and that you totally had to be there, but you know those moments? The moments that eight years later you stll remember and laugh at? Those are the best. Thanks, Olympics.

And just as a side note: my hair was MAGNIFICENT.

Up in the air

Edgar and I made the decision a few weeks ago that we would fly to Indiana this year for Christmas. I saw my parents at Thanksgiving last year, but other than that, I haven't seen any of my family, with the exception of my aunt, uncle, and cousin that live here in California, since Edgar and I got married in September 2008. So by the time we get out there for Christmas 2010 it will have been over 2 years since the last time I saw my brother, my sister, my two adorable nieces, and my dogs. Yes, even though I haven't lived with my parents for five years, I still consider their dogs to be my dogs.

Except now, I'm just concerned about even getting to Indiana in the first place. Flight information recently became available for the dates that we are going to be flying, and I'm convinced that the universe is trying to kill us. There is ONE non-stop flight between LAX and the Indianapolis airport on the dates in questions. That is a red-eye. I've taken that flight before. The memory of the screaming children and the busted air-conditioning is enough to make me swear off night flights for the rest of my life. Except that every single other one-stop flight has a layover in either Chicago (and who the hell would ever intentionally go anywhere near the airport in Chicago at Christmas time without a gun to their head) or Cleveland (also risking lots of winter storms and frightening delays). But the worst part, the ABSOLUTE WORST PART, is that every connecting flight is on either a tiny Embraer plane or on a Turbo-prop.

That's right, a plane with PROPELLERS.

I guess I should probably take a moment here to say that I am terrified of flying. I don't know why. I never used to be. But as I've gotten older, the excitement of flying just went away and now I'm just really concerned with the possibility of the plane that I'm on just falling out of the sky.

I know that I'm being unreasonable. I know that there are laws of physics that keep the thing in the air. So I shouldn't be worried. Because laws are unbreakable, RIGHT? Oh, except all of those times when they are broken, so you might as well call your laws of physics "Oh, that physics thing that my great-uncle Albert kept talking about, but we all thought he was crazy because of his wacky hair" thing.

So, you can imagine the heavy knot of fear that fills up my stomach whenever I look at airfares and see that the only way to get to my family is by strapping myself into a tiny little death tube with 36 other people and hoping that a slight gust of wind doesn't spell t-h-e e-n-d for me. The flights between Chicago and Indianapolis and Cleveland and Indianapolis are so short that they are essentially comprised of just the take off followed by "we'll shortly be beginning our descent into Indianapolis" but that does nothing to allay my fears. Because I might be on a plane with PROPELLERS. That's right, PROPELLERS. The exact same model of plan that crashed in New York last year because the cold, icy weather was just too much for it and the pilot didn't know how to respond to it's safety features in the event of a stalled engine. WITH PROPELLERS.

And even if there weren't propellers, there would still be Chicago, and the fact that the hour and half layover that most of these flights offered would not be nearly enough since it's pretty much impossible to catch a connecting flight out of that airport on time during the holiday rush.

So the universe either wants me to die or for Edgar and I to spend Christmas alone with the cat. Not fair.

Smog Check This

Trying to take initiative last night to get my shit done and not wait until the last minute for everything, I finally got around to opening the registration renewal form for my Dodge Neon last night. It's not due until the beginning of March, but I wanted to be responsible and do the right thing. Also known as not waiting until the week before it's due and then being forced to go the DMV in order to get my new tag in time.

So there I am, responsibly writing my check, la la la la la, putting it in an envelope with my change of address information filled in, licking the envelope, adding a stamp, la la la la la, look at me being a responsible adult, when I unfold another insert that had been sent with it. THIS page said that I had to submit a Smog Check Certification this year.

Um, what?

When I registered this car in California two years ago, I had a Smog Check certification done the day before I went to the DMV, because I had been told by everyone that I knew to have it done before I went because I would need it and they would require it. And so I was at the DMV, DOING THE RESPONSIBLE THING AND REGISTERING MY CAR, and I was all "Hi, DMV lady, here's my Smog Check Certification," and she was all "OH, I DON'T NEED THAT." The Smog Check Certification that I had spent over $60 bucks on the day before, she DID NOT NEED IT.

And now, all of a sudden, two years later, they're all "Oh, oops, we need a Smog Check Certification!" GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER, YOU CALIFORNIA DMV MOTHERFUCKERS.

Because I'm pretty sure that my two year old Smog Check Certification will no longer be accepted, even though those things are good for like five years, and it is all their fault. NOT MINE, THEIRS! I've said it before, and I'll say it again, I don't care how cliched it is: I hate the DMV.

Sad face

Dear Indianapolis Colts,

Thanks for losing yesterday and ruining my Sunday. Not even the commercials were funny this year, so your loss compounded on top of that equals WORST SUPER BOWL SUNDAY EVER.

Love,

A Really Really Really Really Times Infinity Disappointed Fan

Shut up, gato

Ever since the friend that was staying with Edgar and I moved out with his cat, I think that Fiyero has been feeling lonely being in the apartment all day by himself. He's just not used to living alone anymore. When I first got him in October of 2006, I lived with roommates; pets outnumbered humans in the house, two cats and two dogs against three adults. Edgar moved in May of 2007 to finally even the score. So that was the life for Fiyero until September of 2007, when Edgar and I moved out into our own place. So the cat knows how to be alone. He had to find ways to amuse himself without the aid of others for well over a year, until December of 2008 when we had to move in with Edgar's parents.

Living with Grandma and Grandpa was a totally different experience. His dad might as well have built an altar in his honor and sacrificed mice at his feet what with all of the love and adoration that he gave that cat. His mom was home with him during the day once Edgar and I were back at work, and she would spend all day talking to him.

When we moved back out on our own in September of 2009, Fiyero had two months by himself again before our friend moved in to stay with us. Now after three months of having attention all day, he's back by himself, and HE IS PISSED. Every day when I get home he spends about ten minutes following me everywhere I go and meowing at the top of his lungs as if to say "YOU! WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN ALL DAY?! DO YOU KNOW HOW LONELY I AM WHEN I HAVE TO SLEEP ALL BY MYSELF?!" Because that's all he does during the day. Sleep. I've seen it. He spends all afternoon sleeping, regardless of whether anybody is home or not. Then he gets all riled up around 5:00, then spends the rest of the evening being all chilled out and cat-nappy, and then as soon as he sees you wash your face and pick up your toothbrush he's all THE CREEPY NEIGHBOR JUST GAVE ME CRACK AND I LIKED IT AND LET'S RUN AND PLAY AND JUMP AND MEOW!

So I don't understand why he's just so pissed off (because you can tell he's all pissed off) whenever we come home from work, because it's not like he did anything all day that required the presence of another person. If I would have been home, he would have ignored me.

I guess this is preparing me for parenthood, right?

Spotted among us

There was a car in front of me on the way to work today with a license place that said "AWSM GOD." Their tags were expired.

For being so righteous, LOOK WHERE THAT GOT YOU, BUDDY.

Make that six

My boss's daughter is in Girl Scouts, and THANK GOD FOR THAT, because I really thought this year I was going to have to go without Samoas. But now I'll be ok.

So on Monday I signed up for five boxes. At $4 a pop. Since when were Girl Scout cookies $4? I remember when I was a kid peddling my wares like the sugary crack that it is that it was only like $2.50 a box. WHAT IS THE WORLD COMING TO? But anyways, five boxes. Two Samoas, two Thin Mints, and one Lemon Chalets. And I'm thinking "Wow, awesome, we're getting Girl Scout cookies, we're set to go."

So I get home and tell Edgar in all my excitement about the coming Girl Scout cookie goodness, and what is his response?

"But what about the peanut butter ones?" *sad face*

Now this is all kind of shocking to me because I've been with this man for three years and I had no idea that he liked peanut butter cookies. Those are things you're supposed to know, right? Like allergies (green beans) and favorite TV shows (Seinfeld) and how did he get that scar on his leg (you don't want to know)? Apparently I fail in the delicious cookie department.

So I'm all The Tagalongs? You want a box of Tagalongs?

And he's like "Um, I don't know."

"Tagalongs. They're the peanut butter ones, with the chocolate."

"No, they don't have chocolate."

"Um, yes, I was a Girl Scout. I know these things. Tagalongs have peanut butter on the inside and chocolate on the outside."

*sigh* "Forget it then. I don't know."

*lightbulb* "Do-Si-Dos?"

You would have that it was Christmas with the excited look on his face and the joyous exclamation of "Yes!" that went with it.

God, I love that man.

Flash

I'm bad. I know. How long has it been? Way to long, if you ask me. And if you're reading this, it implies that you're asking and/or wanted to know. Because why else would you be reading this?

Since it's been so long, I'm not going to spend a bunch of time going over the minute details of life over the last few weeks, just to say that it's been crazy busy and to give some talking points.

1. I love the $1 bookstore down the street.

2. At work we're in our "busy time" so I've been, you know, busy.

3. THE COLTS ARE GOING TO THE SUPER BOWL, MOTHAFUCKAS!

4. Our friend that's been staying with us moved out this week.

5. Edgar and I were thinking on it and realized that since we got married in September of 2008 we've only lived on our own as just the two of us (plus the cat) for four months. That's only four months of our married life with privacy.

6. I think we're going to have to institute an all naked, all the time policy for a few weeks (see #5).

7. I think I'm going to have to see Avatar, as much as I really don't want to.

8. I've finished 6 books so far in 2010. Go me. Yay for literacy.

9. Did I mention the Colts were going to the Super Bowl?

10. Hummus from George's Greek Cafe is like manna from heaven. I'm not really sure what manna is, but I think it involves food, so I'm sticking with my simile.