Sometimes Life is Like a Mariachi Band Stranded on the Side of the Road
I was driving once, and I saw a mariachi band stranded on the side of the road. It was four hispanic guys dressed in full mariachi garb, head to toe. They were standing around an older car that was haphazardly pulled over to the side of the road, still semi-blocking traffic in one lane, but mostly out of the way. It looked like the car had conked out on them, and they'd just managed to ease it halfway into a parking lot before it completely gave out.

What was odd about them, besides the fact that they were a mariachi band stranded on the side of the road, was that they were all kicking the tires of the car. I mean, with much gusto, they kicked. Aside from the sad fact that it seemed their car was not getting them where they needed to be, it was quite humorous to witness. They were very clearly angry at the car, and apparently they decided the best thing to do was just to kick it. I'm not sure what they hoped to accomplish by the kicking. And I don't think they realized how odd the whole show was for passersby to see, or the attention they were attracting. The car didn't move, and naturally it didn't magically start running again. But as I passed by, along with lots and lots of other cars, there they continued to kick in frustration. And that's the last I saw of it.

Not that it's anything deep, but sometimes in life I just feel like getting out and kicking the tires for awhile, til I feel better. Then I remember I'm wearing my mariachi gear, and it's silly to put on such an odd display for so many people. But then, I don't care. I just need to kick the tires for awhile. In my own way. No matter what other people think as they pass by.

And that's okay.

C.T.

Carmen for President
Seriously, why should she stop at Miss American Idol 2003? She clearly can't be stopped, so she should just keep going until she rules the universe.

Most of what I predicted for last night's show happened. Except that Kimberly Caldwell was booted, in lieu of Joshua. And Kimberly Locke was spared the bottom three. Deservedly.

I totally saw Ruben toss Clay, and Carmen could hardly wait to bust out her tiara and sash. Not only did Trenyce steal Ryan's hairpiece, she stole a small child from the third row. I saw the whole thing. The kid must have been wearing Old Navy.

And did anyone else see Kimberly C. kiss Carmen? There may be some truth to that whole K.C. as drag queen rumor from awhile back. . .

I'm dumbfounded about Carmen. I mean, I knew she would not get kicked off last night, but it still makes no sense that she should still be on the show. I think the only thing that could hurt her at this point is if her head just simply fell off and it was replaced by the top of a wooden totem pole. And that would only hurt her because the effect of her hypnotic eyes and warbling vocal tones o' mind control would be replaced by an immobile and silent wooden head, causing her to soon lose power over the 21 million homeless people voting using the free cell phones she bought them.

Can next week's show be a death metal theme? Perhaps some gangsta rap? I'd love to see Carmen sing her way out of that, complete with the gold lame pants.

C.T.

UPS Warning
This is a public service announcement. Apparently there is a rogue UPS delivery person on the loose, holding packages of Barney merchandise hostage, for no apparent reason. I knew I should never have lifted my Barney Boycott.

I arrived home after work on Friday to see a note from Mr. UPS saying he'd attempted to deliver the item I ordered from Barney World for my cousin's kiddo. Since I wasn't there to receive the package he would try again on Monday before 5:00. Usually UPS leaves packages at my apartment office when I'm not there to greet them. Upon closer inspection of the note, the box was checked for 'signature required'. This was odd, since I didn't request a signature confirmation when I paid for shipping. But I guess I can't blame the guy for wanting my autograph.

So, Monday when I left for work, I signed the back of the note, which authorizes delivery of the package. I left the note on my door with a message to leave the package at the apartment office, since I knew I wouldn't make it home before 5:00. However, when I arrived home, I found another note on my door saying the office was closed, and that Mr. UPS would try to deliver again on Tuesday after 5:00. Again, I thought this was odd since the office is always open during the day, so if he truly came before 5:00, as his note specified, he would have been able to leave the package at the office. I began to suspect Mr. UPS was playing a game with me and my Barney package. I was seriously not in the mood to be hassled by Barney, or UPS.

Tuesday, I again left a note on my door, signing the back of the slip in the appropriate spot, and leaving instructions to just leave the package in front of my door. The office would be closed if he came after 5:00, and I was not sure when I'd make it home for the evening. I doubted anyone would steal it, and even if they did, they'd be sorely disappointed to receive a Barney hat for their efforts of climbing three flights of stairs. And I'd be out ten bucks. No big deal.

I arrived home late Tuesday evening to find yet another note, and still no package. The note said this had been the final delivery attempt, and left instructions on how to get my package, or it would be sent back to Barney world. I was furious! Can Mr. UPS not read my handwriting? Why can't he just leave the dang package!!! I'd ordered one simple little thing, in an attempt to do something nice for this kiddo, and now it was turning into a major hassle. Time was growing short. I would be seeing the kiddo in a few days, and if I didn't get the hat before then, the hat would have to live in my house for awhile. That was something I did not want. No Barney en la casa.

I called UPS to get to the bottom of the situation. This was no simple task. I found you have to go through about a million questions and punch in a gazillion numbers and speak a bazillion spoken responses, and even do a strange jig (which again I thought was odd), to finally get to a real live person. By the time I made it through the phone gauntlet, I was a wee bit frustrated with UPS.

I explained the situation to the poor girl who was unlucky enough to draw my call. She started to let me know my options to pick up my package. PICK UP??? Um, no. I paid to have the thing delivered, because it is convenient. If I have to pick it up, I want my $3.95 back. Besides, if I wanted to pick something up, I would have forced myself to go to Toys R Us and sift through the kids and the Barney mess there. Now that I am running short on time, I certainly do not have time to find this mysterious UPS package holding location, and retrieve my package. It had already been to my house three times. It was not my fault it was not allowed to stay here. It can certainly find it's way back to me without me having to chase it down.

I asked for another option. She said they could re-deliver again in two days. Two days? What is that? It was supposed to be here last Friday, so why do we now need to give it a day off? Besides, there was still the whole mysterious signature issue. I would still likely not be here during the day in two days to give a signature, and since Mr. UPS seems unable to make it to the office or to leave the package alone at my door, we would run into the same problem in two days. The girl offered to redirect it to another location. So I very clearly spelled out the location of my place of employment for redelivery in two days. She assured me that anyone at my office can sign for the package, but if no one is available when Mr. UPS arrives, the package will go back to Barney World.

By the way, about that signature thing? I asked her. I explained that I did not request a signature confirmation, so I was very confused as to why my signature was required to deliver the package. She said signatures are requested by the shipper, even though she couldn't check to see if Barney World had in fact requested my signature. And even if I sign the slip of paper the driver does not have the authority to override the shipper's instructions. Bottom line, without a signature from me or someone accepting the package on my behalf, I ain't getting that package. It still didn't make sense to me, but I finally turned the girl loose and hung up the phone.

This was all sounding very strange to me. Why would Barney World request a signature on something, a cheap something, without telling the customer so arrangements can be made to supply a signature of some sort? It's not like I'd ordered Barney himself to be delivered to my door. You can bet I'd not sign for him, either. I'd leave him in that box and let him ride around in the UPS truck til they send him back from whence he came.

I decided to contact Barney World customer service and let them know of my dissatisfaction. I wanted to get to the bottom of this signature situation. I knew no good would come from breaking the Barney Boycott. But I did it, and now I was paying for it.

Barney World very promptly emailed me back in response to my complaint about the three delivery attempts and the signature request issue. They said it is the discretion of the UPS driver to require a signature, and that Barney World does not require a signature unless the customer requests it. Wha-huh? Do they think I'm as easy to fool as the toddlers who fall in love with a huge purple dinosaur? It makes no sense that UPS drivers can just drive around, adding signature requests to any packages at their own discretion, holding merchandise hostage until they get the appropriate autograph. And since I didn't require the signature, why would Barney World decide to require one on a $10 hat?

Barney World accepted no responsibility for the problem, but hoped I worked everything out with UPS so that I can soon enjoy my Barney product. Likewise, UPS accepted no responsibility for the problem, but really didn't care if I enjoyed my Barney product or not.

So I'm here to warn you that there apparently is a rogue UPS driver on the loose, requesting signatures on Barney merchandise at his whim. He apparently likes to attempt to deliver a package several times for several days, finding no obstacle in repeatedly climbing flights of stairs in carrying out his master plan. It's likely a conspiracy between Barney World and UPS. In fact, I don't even think Barney is real. Or UPS, for that matter.

You can bet I'll be watching out the window all day tomorrow, alerting all staff to be on the lookout for Mr. UPS and that dang Barney package. They will have strict instructions to sign for anything delivered here tomorrow, no matter who delivers it or what it is. The kiddo will get that hat on time, and he will like it . . .

C.T.

I Wish I Knew How To . . .
Sometimes I hear words and I know what they mean. But I wonder what the words really mean in a literal sense. Like . . .

Saunter - Does anyone actually do this? I see walking, even strolling. But what makes it a saunter?

Gesticulate - Is there a difference between gesturing, and gesticulating? If so, teach me.

Postulate - There is arguing and making demands and asserting truth and assuming. But I would love to really let loose and postulate.

Lollygag - I can waste time like nobody's business. When is it truly a lollygag?

Putter - I hear of people puttering around. But what makes an effective putter?

Mandate - I can tell people what to do and make up rules and whatnot. I want to take that to the next level.

Bask - . . . in something. I enjoy warmth and sunshine, typically associated with basking. But how do I go from just enjoying, to actually basking?

Emulate - I can imitate and aspire to be, fairly accurately and without much difficulty. I just need to know how to tweak that into emulation.

Stifle - I can interrupt and suppress, even smother. But stifling seems a little trickier.

I don't intend to master all these things at once. Just eventually.

C.T.

Idol-a-Tree
After last night's performance, it was proven once again that there are a few bad apples still remaining on the show. Apples grow on trees, hanging on for dear life til they fall, either because they can't hold on any longer, or because someone shakes the tree. No rhyme or reason. I see this contest situation now as Idol-a-Tree. We just don't know when these bad apples will finally fall.

In a perfect world, America would vote based on performance, and Carmen should definitely be going home tonight. Even Smokey Robinson couldn't muster up anything kind to say to our poor young pitch-challenged contestant. She somehow manages to get worse every week. But since we know Carmen has bought 21 million AT&T cell phones and given them away to homeless people in exchange for them voting for her as many times as possible within the two hour voting window, we can almost count on her sticking around for at least another week. 21 million homeless people with cell phones can be very dangerous.

As I watched the show last night with ears and eyes that can hear and see, I saw that there are clearly two levels of talent in this competition. On one level you have Clay, Ruben, and Kimberly Locke, who continue to perform at a high standard every week. They may not always be perfect, but they are serious about winning and they come on stage to deliver a performance. On the lower level you have Carmen, Trenyce, and Kimberly Caldwell who seem to not be aware that people can hear and see them. They perform as though they are singing into the bottom end of a tennis racquet or a hairbrush in front of the mirror in their own bedroom, in stolen Old Navy underwear. Cheesy, loud, and worthy of many, many jokes at their expense. Joshua lives in the floor between the levels. Sometimes my ears can stand him, other times, not so much.

So I predict for tonight that the bottom three will be Kimberly C., Carmen, and Kimberly Locke, only because America seems to forget to vote for KL, and she keeps ending up in the bottom three. But in a surprise twist, still sitting on the couch thinking he is safe, Joshua will be booted from the show because he's worn out his welcome as America's favorite Marine. Kimberly C. will cry so much it will turn into a kicking, screaming tantrum on the Idol seal in the middle of the stage, before she realizes she's not going home. Kimberly Locke will stand perfectly still, hoping America continues to not notice her as a target for next week if she pretends she's a statue. Trenyce will steal Ryan Seacrest's hairpiece. Ruben will toss Clay into the air in a triumphant juggling attempt. And Carmen will take a victory lap around the stage wearing her Prom Queen tiara and a sash that says 'Miss American Idol 2003'.

C.T.

Bruise Conundrum
Why do bruises on a banana make that part of the banana taste different than the non-bruised part?

If someone took a bite out of me, would the big bruise on my leg taste different than the non-bruised part of my leg?

If you know, I'm interested. I don't want to find out the hard way.

C.T.

Why didn't talking cars catch on?
The only true Knight Rider is Hasselhoff. But somehow I don't think he'll be able to pull it off this time while sporting Baywatch swim trunks.

Who will take his place driving the fabulous K.I.T.T.?

C.T.

Automobiles My Jeep Could Beat up in a Fight
I drive a Jeep Liberty. It is a fabulous automobile. Since I've been driving it, I've contracted a Jeep attitude. Consequently, lately I've noticed quite a few autos that would definitely lose in a fight with my Jeep. Here are a few:

1. Toyota Echo - Quite possibly the world's poorest excuse for a car. It just shouldn't exist. This would be no contest for the Jeep, or actually any other car on the road. But it deserves to be at the top of the throw down list to make the point that it needs to go.
2. Honda Element - This is new from Honda, and is sorely asking my Jeep to kick it's arse.
3. Kia anything - All Kias bow to the power of the Jeep.
4. Nissan Xterra and Ford Escape - These are in the same category because they are equal in the amount of effort it would take to beat up these two SUVs. The Jeep is heavier than both the Xterra and the Escape, and therefore would win by shear muscle strength. Plus, the Jeep is just plain cooler.
5. Any automobile made before 1990 - Age is the factor here. My young, agile Jeep would have no problem out maneuvering an older vehicle.

The list will continue . . .

C.T.

Things I . . .
Dislike:
The last sip of Coke, because I know it will be a whole day until I'm allowed to have another Coke.

Coming to work the day after a fresh haircut, because the new 'do' will attract the attention of all the homeless men here. Some who feel led to pay too many compliments about it, and some who are literally distraught because they prefer my longer locks.

Hearing the fourth snooze alarm, because that means I absolutely have to get up for work.

Turning that last corner before I get to my office building, because I know I'm just at the start of another long day at my deplorable place of employment.

Doing actual work at work.

Buying fresh fruit and vegetables, because there is always the possibility of picking bad fruit or veggies, but I won't know til I get home and bite into it.

Filling up the Jeep at a gas station that is unfamiliar.

Softball games that are rained out.

The UPS man who refuses to leave the package on my door or at the apartment office, forcing me to wait for days to get the package or to make other arrangements to pick it up.

Like:
The first sip of Coke, because I then have a whole entire Coke ahead of me to enjoy.

Getting a haircut and highlights, because it always feels great to have freshly shorn locks that do what they are supposed to do, regardless of how many homeless men I attract.

Not hearing any alarms and not having to go to work, because it's Saturday.

Escaping out the front door, hopping into the Jeep, and getting the heck out of the parking lot as fast as I can after a long day at my deplorable place of employment.

'Working' while at work.

Eating fresh fruit and veggies because I chose good ones that are quite yummy.

Pushing the gas tank past 'E' so I can make it to the gas station I know by my house.

Playing softball every week, even when we lose.

Finally getting my package from UPS, so that I don't have to track down the UPS man and deliver a kick to his ribs.

C.T.

Garage Sale Musings
I participated in a garage sale with some friends over the weekend. It's the first one I've ever done, outside of our family garage sales when I was a kid. We all bring our junk to one house, then watch the garage sale madness throughout the day. I found myself this year going through a wide range of emotions as a result of this garage sale. It's just a garage sale, you might say. How emotional could that be? And you'd be right to point out the obvious. Still, during the event I found much humor, some sadness, and then anger.

Humor, because garage sale patrons are just extremely amusing to watch. They come with the intent to get as much of your crap for as little money as possible. They arrive before it's even light outside, looking for great early bird deals on the stuff you don't want anymore. They swarm in droves, pouring out of cars and vans with a mission to drive away with a fabulous treasure, for which they paid as little as possible. You watch as people examine stuff that's been the butt of many a joke in your own household, and it's just flat out funny when someone else takes home the candle holder, or strange glowing orb toy, or ugly shirt you've made fun of all day. Everything is already priced at ridiculously low prices, yet these shoppers are determined to negotiate down to even less. They look at the price stickers in disbelief, yet they have to have whatever it is. Do they really have a need for an antique plate that matches nothing they own? No. But it is certainly over-priced at $13.00, and they'll make sure you know that before they buy it for $8.00.

Sadness, because I have to part with sentimental items that leave with people I don't know. I will never see these items again. Not that I ever use these items anymore, or that they mean a lot to me, necessarily. But it had meaning at some point, even if it was useless or unwanted from the beginning. There's always a story that goes with it. It's likely someone gave this stuff to me for some reason or occassion. Or it was handed down as 'apartment furniture' from my parents' home to mine, when I first started living on my own. It's family stuff that's been around for years, and reminds me of happier times and family times. Memories wrapped up in the comfort of seeing something that's simply been around for a good part of my life, even though it long since stopped being something I need or use. It's tough making a decision to let some things go, and I feel silly about being so attached to certain things. I didn't even know I was so attached until I pulled it out of a closet, placed a price sticker on it, and realized it would be gone in the morning. That annoying, ugly, trick gold lamp that comes apart in the middle when you pick it up has been the scourge of my family for years. We complained and joked about it every time we'd move it. My parents bestowed it upon me to get it out of their house. But seeing someone else cart it off was like letting another small chunk of a life I once had ride off with strangers who don't know the lamp or it's place in my history. I hope it goes to a good home.

Anger, because I suck at garage sale. How hard is it to sell cheap junk to people who are specifically looking for cheap junk? Apparently, it's harder for me than it should be, and I'm just not good at it. Pricing all of my items and assuming that everything will sell, I anticipate an amount that would be a good profit for the day, figuring in a generous bargaining loss. I had three tables to sell, as well as a couple other good items. It was quality junk that I thought for sure would do well mixed in with all the other junk and clothes.

So, how much did I make? $28.00. WAY off my mark.

I'm still not quite sure how that happened. How did I end up getting the completely wrong end of the deal on my quality junk! I'd been waiting for a year to sell these tables, needing to get them out of my way to make room for new living room stuff. My goal was to make enough money to help a bit with the cost of new stuff. That plan totally backfired.

The only conclusion I can come to is that I just suck at garage sale. I mean, my friends are selling things left and right, raking in hundreds of dollars. They even sold an opened, not even half full bag of charcoal for $1.00. You can buy a whole bag of new charcoal at the store for close to a dollar. And who wakes up on a Saturday morning before it's even light outside and says, "Hmmm, I hope I find a few pieces of charcoal at a garage sale today." How did that sell?!?! I couldn't sell any of my stuff for full price, or even close to half price! And much of it went to the 'please take this free stuff' junk pile on the curb by the end of the day. It was good stuff! Way better than a few briquettes of charcoal. . .

All in all, it was an experience. Financially, it wasn't worth my time. But I will learn from the experience and know that next time I will likely make more money chopping up my tables and selling them as firewood. Firewood, with a story. . .

C.T.

The Random Ads
I've been amused lately watching the random 'content driven' ads in the banner at the top of my page here. Apparently the banner picks up words in the blogs to find ads that relate to the content of the blogs. For awhile, it was stuck advertising places to buy scrubs. I guess it was fascinated with my blog detailing my wish that I could wear scrubs to work everyday. (my archived permalinks aren't working lately, or I'd link directly to my fine literary work about scrubs on 3/19, scroll down the page)

Now the banner is promoting links to grief and loss recovery and broken hearts and whatnot. I even saw an ad here earlier today advertising caskets and urns. That'll teach me to write about death, huh. I mean, I wasn't aware that the urn business really needed to be advertised. Seems like they've pretty much got the entire world population as a customer at some point. But I guess if I was in the market for a good urn, it would be helpful to have an ad for it magically appearing at the top of my page. However, since I'm okay for now in the urn department, I'll wait for a better ad to come along.

Please don't feel obligated to buy an urn from the link above on my account. You may want to also wait til something really fun is advertised above, based on words found in my blog.

Monkey doodle wishing for a pickle roasted hopscotch basket of marbled candied yams, with a helicopter swarming near Africanized killer bees wielding jackhammers in the balmy rainforest of Brazil, near a Krispy Kreme on the southside of North Hollywood, in the apricot scented candleshop by my mom's Harley Davidson museum arboretum. Bananas, she said. I need more bananas, topped with banana flavored ice cream, traveling by banana boat, near the banana trees in the banana district of Bananatown. Keeping the aardvark inside the station wagon, the pole vaulter ran over the vintage television showing the way to pour milk without splitting the atom, in a flowerpot. Gardening is the loophole of rocket science, often misread as a traveling shoe in the ocean.

Challenge extended to the banner . . .

C.T.

I Hate Neighbors
Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood is a total farce. That kind of neighborhood with good, friendly, considerate neighbors just doesn't exist in reality.

I hate apartment life, and I'm trying desperately and as quickly as possible to get out of apartments once and for all. Apartments are just a horrible living arrangement. Community living with people you don't know, and likely don't like, and would probably never talk to or come in contact with if you didn't live a few feet away from them, separated only by a thin wall and whatever lives between the walls. I don't like to be around people I know and do like that much, much less people I don't know and definitely don't like.

I didn't think my apartments were this bad when I moved in, but they were cleverly disguised as decent apartments. They fooled me for awhile, but now I'm on to them. It's a horrible place to live. Not so horrible as, say, the apartments where my car was stolen while sitting right out in front of my door. But these apartments are a close second to that situation.

I live on the third floor of a three story building, which I thought was the best option. I still think it is, but there are some disadvantages. The biggest disadvantage being that I can't climb any higher to get further away from all the people who live around me.

When I first moved in, the building was mostly empty, and that was great. Nice and quiet. No loud neighbors, and no smoking neighbors. My two neighbor pet peeves. Well. . . and naked neighbors. But I didn't realize that should be a peeve until it happened last summer. It's something I've tried to block out of my memory, so we'll not go there now. But overall, it was peaceful, and I was pleased. The neighbor below me created some minor noise issues. I'd never met anyone who blasts NPR at enormously loud decibels straight through the night. But he did, so that meant I had to listen to it, too. He was nice and we talked about it, and he tried to adjust the volume, but soon moved out anyway. Quiet followed. All was well.

Then, people started moving in around me. A girl moved in below me, to take the place of NPR Boy. She was quiet for awhile. Then I discovered when the boyfriend and other friends came to visit, it was time to get their loud funky music groove on. I'm used to hearing loud music from time to time, and I can be patient with it as long as it's not keeping me awake at night. But these people are really creative with it, and into the wee hours of the morning. They play it up really loud for maybe five seconds at a time. Just long enough to be really annoying and get you up to either go down and yell at them, or to find the phone to call security. Then they get quiet for a few seconds and you think it's over. But just as you relax, they fire it up again, and they do this for hours. When you call security, they're quiet. So, security thinks I'm bluffing and they get annoyed that they visited a seemingly quiet apartment. When security leaves, the neighbors resume the funky groove, this time extra loud, just to show me they know I called security and that they fooled the Apartment Cops. These neighbors are not nice people. The loud noise and jerky attitude put them on my List.

Then, a couple moved into the apartment right next to me. Remember, I am a hermit. So I'm not particularly fond of new people, and I almost never approach people I don't know to introduce myself or make contact. For awhile I was able to avoid them, but one day the guy introduced himself. The thing they have going for them is that they are nice. Well, I assume they both are. I've never met the wife. But their downfall is that they smoke. A lot. Right in front of my door. The smoking itself is not the downfall. Smoke if you want to. I don't care. The downfall is their smoking location. Since I'm allergic to it and I've got the asthma thing going for me, I'd prefer the smoking not to take place in front of my door, or to come in through my door, since smoke triggers not being able to, well, breathe. The smoking put them on my List.

Next, people behind me, and also behind and below me moved in. I share a wall and some floor with them. I soon found they also smoke, and that smoke oozes through the very thin walls and connected air vents. So, now I have smoke coming in the front door, as well as from behind me and below me. I'm surrounded. And suffocating. For someone who never smokes, and could possibly die from smoking one cigarrette, my whole apartment smells as though I'm a human smoking machine. There's nowhere in my home where I can escape the smoke. I'm literally being smoked out of my own home. The oozing smoke put these neighbors on my List. And me and my hermitage are now surrounded by neighbors I dislike.

As if that wasn't enough smoke, my friendly next door neighbor added a small BBQ grill to his smoking repetoire. He waited a few months to introduce this to the mix, but once he noticed the neighbors in the building across the sidewalk smoking meat in their smoker all the time, he decided he needed to join in that fun. Now, don't get me wrong. I don't have a problem with BBQ. I love BBQ. I don't love it, however, right in front of my door, with the rest of the smoke, oozing into my apartment and contaminating my lungs.

He'd busted out the BBQ a few times, near enough to my front door so that the smoke gently wafted in around and through the door, making my apartment aroma that of BBQ. It's a great outdoor smell, from a ways away. I love the smell of a good BBQ, outside. But when the smell and smoke come blasting through my apartment while I'm trying to, um, breathe, it is not so much a good thing. It's a bad thing. However, I could see that he was genuniely trying to split the difference between his front door and my front door, so I didn't say anything about it the first time or two. I decided to cut him some slack, since he is, in fact, a nice man.

But the other day I came home to see a roaring fire right in front of my door. At this point I was thankful I am non-fat, and that I am quite agile (although not exactly graceful) because I had to tiptoe and shimmy my way around the open pit of flames just to get to my front door. I assumed he wasn't trying to set me on fire, but if he was he certainly had a good set up for it. I was carrying grocery bags and a purse, and I was wearing work clothes and shoes. It was quite a task to maneuver around this nearly Olympic Flame, making sure I didn't catch on fire. Not only that, but the neighbor was across the sidewalk visiting with the Meat Smoker Neighbors, and not even attending his giant pillar of fire. 'Safety First', my favorite universal motto, was being seriously ignored.

He looked up, noticed I was trying to make my way around the inferno, and very nicely called up to me saying, "That's not in your way, is it?" After making sure none of my limbs were singed or charred, I decided it was time to make a simple request. I politely called back that it was okay for now, but if next time he could move the BBQ down the steps to the lower landing, away from my door and other doors, that would be great. I explained that the smoke comes right in my door, and that's not a good thing. Of course, there's also the whole Gauntlet of Fire thing, too. I prefer my obstacle courses with much less scorch potential. But I didn't mention that right then.

I didn't want to totally discourage his BBQ. I am pro-BBQ. But I figured it was a simple request that was really a result of my health concerns related to smoke inhalation. Because otherwise it would totally be a great idea to BBQ right in front of someone's door, in a fully occupied apartment building, with the wind swirling around the landing, while not watching the flames nearly reaching the ceiling of the breezeway. Nope, no risk of danger there . . .

I hate neighbors. I think I have a good case for that. And fortunately plenty of renter's insurance for the day the BBQ goes bad.

Of course, if Mr. BBQ ever offered me any of the good smelling items cooked on his BBQ o' Death that's been stationed outside my door, he could possibly move to a lower place on my Neighbor List o' Doom. . .

C.T.

Drink Cooler Update
My place of employment seriously wigs me out most days. This week has been no exception. If you'll remember my drink cooler debacle, you will understand my quandry for this week.

I wandered down to the drink cooler today to find it stocked, to the top. But, not with drinks haphazardly strewn about in a chaotic fashion, as usual. Instead I found the cans removed from the plastic rings, stacked neatly according to flavor, with a well-balanced selection of each softdrink.

Ladies and gentleman, I was shocked. This is the first time I have ever seen the cooler look this way, without doing it myself. Who is this mystery person that suddenly discovered how to properly arrange a drink cooler? Is this a trick, a ploy, a challenge of some sort? I fear someone is messing with me. The whole thing has made me very uncomfortable.

I thought I would be happy with a tidy, well-stocked cooler at the hands of someone other than myself. But now I am more unsettled than ever, and seriously wigged out. I do not speak of my cooler concerns here at work, because I had come to the conclusion that it was a lost cause. It was easier to handle the chore myself. But someone here has apparently gotten into my head and is now taunting me with the non-in-shambles drink cooler.

Or perhaps the cooler has learned how to neatly stock itself? That is the more likely scenario.

The orderly drink cooler is certainly a sign of the apocolypse. I feel doomed.

C.T.

Song Lyrics Gone Wrong
If you'll remember my ability to not know the words to any song ever, I just remembered an example of how fun my interpretation of song lyrics can be.

Song: Love Shack, by the B-52's
Actual line from the song: "Wearing next to nothing 'cuz it's hot as an oven."
What the Tyrant hears and remembers: "Wearing next to oven 'cuz it's hard as in nubbin."

"Nubbin" obviously being Chandler's superfluous third nipple from the early seasons of Friends.

See how fun?

C.T.

Is Softball a Sport?
The out of doors during spring and summer might just be my favorite place to be. I love just about any excuse to be outside. Well . . . except public flogging. I don't think I'd like that. But just about anything else taking me outside, I'm likely to enjoy it.

I also love playing softball. It's softball season again, and I'm very excited about it. I've been on the same softball team now for about two years, which equals about eight-ish seasons. I have a standing place on the team as starting Second Base Girl. I haven't missed a game (I don't think) in those two years. Once I commit to a team effort, I am totally there. It's been a great team. We play in a city league. We even won first place . . . once. Yep, once. Mostly we just have fun, and occasionally we play well, and occasionally the other teams are worse than we are.

But, is softball really a sport? Is it even exercise? It's got to be one of the lowest activity 'sports' in existence. Mind you, I don't play to get exercise. I just enjoy it. But still, I question the 'exercise' value of softball.

You get up to bat every ten people or so. Which means you spend a good portion of the game sitting, drinking water (or beer depending on which league you're in), watching minimal activity on the field, chatting with friends, and yelling at the umps for bad calls. Chances are you may not even hit during any given inning, depending on how strong your team mates can hit and keep things going. When you do get up to bat every once in awhile, and actually get a hit, you run a few feet and then take a break til the next person hits well enough to make you run a few more feet. Once you make it around the bases, you take a break back on the bench til it's time to do something else.

Even if you're up to bat, you can get away with not hitting, and not running. You can actually walk, if you wait it out long enough. They tell you to walk, and you drop your bat and wander over to first base. If you're out of breath, you walked too fast.

When you're in the field, you only have to move if the ball comes near you. You've got 9 other people out there chasing down the ball with you, so unless it comes pretty close to you, you get to stand and watch the ball move around the field without making any effort on your part. Being at second base, I get a good bit of activity. But still, I'm not exactly tired after a round of fielding and watching my team try to play defense. In fact, I think we get more exercise running after balls we missed and falling over ourselves in the process. Compared to say, running a marathon, or biking around the lake, a few minutes spent chasing a ball on the softball field is not a ton of exercise. In fact, I usually end a game of softball warmed up and ready for something more.

While softball does require you to wear athletic shoes and shorts, and you will likely sweat a bit and run and throw and hit and whatnot, to consider it exercise may be a bit of a leap. It's fun, and good activity. But let's not kid ourselves into thinking we got a great workout from a game of softball. I get more exercise walking from my car to the field. Sure, there's a ball and a team and rules and points and a winner. But let's not get too caught up in considering it a true sport, since even non-sports inclined people can alternately sit and wander a field for about an hour, to be considered 'playing' softball.

Is softball a sport, or even a true form of exercise? We may never know. But I think it's safe to say the point of softball is not the exercise. It's just a good excuse to be out of doors, without being publicly flogged.

C.T.

Idol Wha-huh???
Ok, stop. Hold the phone, since apparently all America did was hold the phone and stare it when it was time to vote in such a way so that Carmen would be gone right now. What the heck happened last night? Not only is Carmen still with us, SHE DIDN'T EVEN MAKE THE BOTTOM THREE!! I question the voting accuracy of combining the votes from last week with this week, because this week totally didn't match last week, and I find that hard to believe. Something fishy is going on, and it's making a mockery of the Blog Alliance. America, do you realize what you've done? Forget the longterm plan of the Alliance. We now have to listen to Carmen for another week.

How did this happen? Does Carmen's daddy own American Idol or something? Has she formed a secret pact with Julia Demato, who may have been the sacrificial lamb of this dastardly duo, to somehow secure more votes than she deserves? Does most of America not have ears to hear the completely awful Carmen performance this week, and every other week? Come on! She was begging to be booted from the show! She wants to be home in time for prom, people! Did you see her face when Rickey was announced into the bottom three? She knew she was going home last night, and quite obviously couldn't believe it herself that she got to stay on that dang couch.

Hmmmm. Maybe we should be evaluating the seating arrangement on the couch each week. The couch could be behind the whole thing. . .

Ok, and then what was with the Ruben dreaming of multiple Carmens music video? Seriously, Idol has to be taunting us. They threw it in our face that Carmen gets to stay another week by cloning her in that ridiculous video. Poor Ruben. Carmens everywhere he looked. Couldn't escape her. I'm beginning to know what that feels like. . .

Well, I'm quite shaken up by this. I wasn't particularly sad to see Ricky go, but it wasn't his time, yet. Sorry, Hercules. However, this is a minor setback. Clearly, the initiative is still to remove Carmen post haste. America, could you really live with yourself if Carmen became the next American Idol? Have you completely lost your mind? No more messing around. Obviously she has a few tricks up her sleeve, so we need to get serious. She must be using something hypnotic, I'd imagine. She's not going without a fight. So, we're going to have to play dirty now.

Obviously the most effective way to get people off this show is to reveal their hidden past of porn or criminal activity. Surely Carmen has a dark secret lurking somewhere. She's way too innocent to actually be so innocent. Has she killed anyone? Embezzled from the cheerleader fundraising stash? Vandalized a national monument? Was she caught drunk underage and topless at Mardi Gras? Did she steal the Old Navy clothes from Trenyce after Trenyce stole them from Old Navy? Perhaps she used to be a man? (Carmen for a girl's name? I don't think so.) Come on, America. Start researching. I need a mug shot with Carmen's name on it right now.

The night was not a total loss. I did discover my new career: American Idol Dancer. They were just too cool for words, and were the best part of Kelly Clarkson's performance. I do like Kelly, but it's all about the song choice, people. That song wasn't it.

Well, I'm exhausted and emotionally distraught. I will take some time to regroup, then forge ahead.

C.T.

Possibly the Most Painful Place to be Sunburned
I biked 47 miles on Sunday. It's the farthest I've ever biked in one day. It was quite an accomplishment, especially since it was so windy that I'm pretty sure I was being pushed backwards, lacking forward momentum, for at least half of the 5 laps around the lake, resembling the mean old lady who turns into the Wicked Witch at the beginning of The Wizard of Oz, except without the black robe and pointy hat.

I've been sunburned just about everywhere the sun could possibly tastefully hit on a human body. I'm fair skinned with blue eyes, so chances are if I'm outside and the sun exists, I'll get sunburned a bit. Unfortunately for my sensitive skin, I love being out in the sun. Most of my childhood captured on film is evidence of my sister and I versus our enemy, the sun. We were pretty much always pink, yet still smiling and apparently oblivious to the fact that sunburn = bad. I'm sure I don't have to worry anymore about contracting skin cancer. If I don't already have it, I'd be very, very surprised.

After biking 47 miles this weekend, and forgetting my sunscreen before getting started, I discovered what is likely the most painful place on the human body to be sunburned. After three hours sitting hunched over my handlebars, I arrived home and caught a glimpse of an odd sunburn in the mirror. The gap between the bottom of my tank top and the top of my shorts left a strip of bare skin on my back aimed right at the sun for three straight hours, and was consequently very, very pink.

Two days later, the rest of my sunburned shoulders, arms, and legs have mellowed out a bit. But this spot on the small of my back is still uber pink, and extremely painful. It's a horrible location for such a severe burn. It hits the chair and car seat when I sit. If I lay on my back or side in bed or on the couch, it gets scratched by the fabric surface. Clothing, well, just plain hurts. Yet, I'm forced to be clothed during the day. Torture . . .

I think I'll not forget the sunscreen this weekend. Or at least try to burn a different section, to even things out.

C.T.

What I've Learned From Cher
I happened to catch a bit of Cher's Farewell Concert on TV last night. Not intentionally, but it happened. Let me go ahead and say now that I am not a Cher fan. I've never owned, do not currently own, and likely will never own any of her music. She's a part of music history with some fun, catchy tunes to her credit. I give her props for that. But even not being a fan, and aside from the fact that her tour bus must have hit the Cirque de Soleil tour bus on the way to the concert and they all rolled in together to perform for the big show, I have to say that I liked what I saw of Cher last night. Here's why.

She loves what she does. She has a great time on stage. Granted, she's quitting. My first clue to this was the title of the show, Cher's Farewell Concert. But watching her perform, I saw someone who really loves what she does. I want that.

To be able to get up in front of people with such ease and comfort. To have confidence in who you are and what you bring to the table. To have that much creativity and the freedom to express it so vividly. To have that much influence on the history of something. To be excited about doing that for 40 years. To enjoy the people you are with everyday. To have fun and know that what you do is where you are supposed to be. That's what I want.

And to look that good at whatever age she is now. Except without all the wigs and headgear. Does she actually have her own hair? I fear she may be bald under there.

I don't want that. I want my own hair. Plus all the other good stuff I mentioned.

C.T.

Idol Thoughts
Ok, so I missed the first half of the show last night, due to working later than I expected. I know, I know. That's no excuse. Nevertheless, it happened. It won't happen again.

But, I feel confident that what I did see of the show is perfectly aligned with the plan of the Blog Alliance. Here are my thoughts.

1. I made it just in time to see Josh. While I'm still not a fan of his anymore, he was much better than last week, back to singing a song better suited for him. It's all about the song choice, people. As if Paula and Randy haven't said that enough. So, Josh is off of my list for now. Or at least postponed for a bit.

2. Ruben! Finally did away with the 205 attire! I was so happy! He sang great, looked great. This dude could (and should) take the whole competition. See my fellow alliance member's blog for my exact thoughts on Ruben's attire. Remember, never doubt the power of the Blog Alliance. When we agree, we are very persuasive.

3. Trenyce is now on my list again. I did not enjoy her performance, and now that I've seen the mug shots of her crime spree through Old Navy, I can't get that picture out of my head. Does Old Navy make prison wear?

4. Carmen did not disappoint. In fact, she made this phase of the competition entirely too easy for America, as long as America was paying attention. She must have known she is next to go on the Alliance's plan of elimination, because she was at her absolute worst. The only other thing I could have asked for would have been to see her cry on stage after hearing all four judges totally diss her. Blondie? No one but Blondie is cool enough to pull off 'Call Me'. In fact, we played it in college basketball band, and we so should have been shot on the spot for tainting the tune with our lame-o arrangement. Carmen, start packing. You're heading home tonight.

5. Julia came back, this time masquerading as an audience member. Apparently she kept singing during the commercials, til someone kicked her in the teeth. I gave strict instructions to security to not let her in the building again, under any circumstances. Actually I had security escort her from the country, to a remote island near Antarctica. Penguins don't seem to mind her. But apparently she came in last night saying she was Jewel back for more Idol fun, and that fooled security. Did her hair salon job not want her back after she sucked for too many weeks on Idol? I wouldn't want her back, either. In fact, I've made it clear that don't ever want her back. I'd better not see her mug on camera at Idol again. I don't want to have to go all ninja on her sorry arse.

I only caught the other performances in the brief re-cap. But I think I saw enough to predict that the bottom three will be Carmen, Kimberly C., and Trenyce. Carmen will get the boot. Kimberly will cry off more mascara. And Trenyce will steal Paula's outfit from last night, even though it didn't come from Old Navy.

The Alliance has spoken.

C.T.

I Can't Quite Vomit Fast Enough . . .
Is it a requirement this season for everone on American Idol to be a complete weirdo, and not in a good way? Did anyone else see this? Why will this ad make me support PETA? Eeeyewwww.

I'm just glad Ruben didn't get voted off first. No offense to Ruben because I love his singing. But apparently the first one off had to do the nude pose thing, and even though I'm sick of the 205 attire, I think I'd be sicker to see him posing completely without it.

Let's review real quick. What is our initiative for tonight? Carmen goes home tomorrow. Remember it and make it happen.

C.T.

I Hate Barney
I haven't just discovered that I hate Barney. I've experienced this hatred for many years now. But for the record, I need to re-state that I loathe the purple beast named Barney. Why re-state this? Because I've just violated my long-standing Barney Boycott.

My cousin has a three year old son. I absolutely adore this kid. He is without question the cutest, most adorable, absolutely perfect three year old on the planet. Well . . . almost perfect. He has one major flaw. He loves Barney. And when I say 'love', I mean lives, breathes, and is all things Barney.

I've never seen a kid so nuts for Barney. He has all the videos, so whenever it's movie time you know your options are Barney, Barney, or Barney. He sings along. He dances. He plays along and acts out the videos. Spending time with him, or in his vicinity always results in leaving with that stupid Barney song stuck in your head for hours afterwards.

I tried to entice him away from Barney. I decided by the age of three he should be learning and experiencing things outside of Barney world. For his birthday I sent him a non-Barney toy, because I do not, under any circumstance, spend my hard earned money on Barney knick-knacks or paraphernalia. I searched long and hard and found these really great blocks, kinda like giant Legos, only slightly different. They come in a special storage bag for neatly putting away the blocks, and they are dishwasher safe. A mother's dream! I knew these blocks would be a hit for the kiddo, as well as for my cousin and his wife.

So, what does he do with the blocks? He builds a castle for Barney, because Barney lives in a castle. Duh. Apparently Barney cannot be defeated. Once he has a hold on a youngster, he just doesn't let go.

I will be visiting the youngster for Easter, and I decided to bring him a treat. I asked my mom for suggestions. I've racked my brain. I can think of nothing that will top a Barney something-or-other. So, I caved. I broke the Barney Boycott. I bought him a hat with Barney and Friends right smack on the front in the middle. Why did I choose this hat? Because Barney wears a crown in his castle. And up until now, the kiddo has been wearing a plastic tupperware bowl on his head, insisting that it is a crown just like Barney's.

If he's going to be obsessed with Barney, he should at least be dressed properly. No relative of mine needs to wear a bowl for a crown.

I hate Barney . . .

C.T.

Beware, The Ice Cream Man
I know the Ice Cream Man is something that kids look forward to with great anticipation every summer. But after seeing many dueling Ice Cream Men lately out in full force, now that the weather is warmer and kids are out playing, I've made a startling observation. Why are ice cream trucks the absolute most scariest vehicles on four wheels? Without exception, they are the creepiest automobiles alive.

I don't go near the ice cream man in an ice cream van as an adult. The Man and the Van, all too scary, if you ask me. So you can bet I'd never send a kid over there, either. Not with all the scary TV shows about children disappearing coincidently as a psycho ice cream man roams a neighborhood, luring children to his van with that horrible song playing over and over. Yes, not only are the trucks and vendors scary on their own, but television has ruined the whole ice cream man experience for me.

If the intent is to be fun and pleasing to kids, shouldn't the vans be cute? Shouldn't they play a less creepy song than that steel drum-sounding, hauntingly awful rendition of 'Pop Goes the Weasel'? Shouldn't ice cream trucks and vans and the vendors be appealing to kids, and not frightening to the parents who let their children purchase frozen treats from them? Why are grown men typically ice cream sellers, anyway? And usually creepy men at that. It just doesn't seem right.

Why can't they drive around in cute, new, brightly colored VW Eurovans, playing Britney Spears, or N*Sync, or something less creepy (albeit still annoying) to send out the Ice Cream Man signal? I'm thinking a cooler, Hip-Hop themed van and vendor would sell much better, and not send fear into the souls of parents everywhere as they let their kids chase after the ice cream van making its round through the neighborhood.

Unless they revamp the whole Ice Cream Man/Truck industry, my future kids will never experience the tradition of the Ice Cream Man. In fact, we may live somewhere really cold all year round, just to be safe.

C.T.

I Don't Know the Words
This came up in the comments to an earlier blog, but was reinforced to me over the weekend. I hereby admit that I don't know the words to any song. Ever.

I know lots of songs. I can recognize them when I hear them. But I have no idea who sings any song, or the name of the song, or the lyrics. Any lyrics I do know are likely wrong. (ie: 'pour some shook up Ramen' = 'pour some sugar on me'; thank you T-Mobile)

I tend to hear the music over the words, so again I can totally recognize a song when I hear it. But I couldn't tell you what it is when I hear it. I just know that it's a song I should know.

I can hum the tunes, or sing a bass line, or catch the drum part. But I would fail miserably at any song naming or lyric reciting contest. The words just don't stick in my brain. I know I am very, very lame.

It does, however, make for interesting interpretations of lyrics. And often the feeling of being a total loser while all my friends sing along to the great classics, word for word, while I can only smile and nod. I'm sure I technically have an illness of some sort. I don't know what it is, but I blame an illness, whatever it is.

I also can't dance, but that's a whole other issue.

C.T.

World's Most Consistent Conversation Killer
It almost never fails. I can kill a conversation and scare just about anyone off, any time, any place. I don't talk about it that often anymore, but it still comes up at times because it's a big part of my life. In fact, there are people who know me now who don't know that I had a sister, or that I lost a sister, or what I've been through over the past almost four years. But whenever I write or talk about something involving death, grief in general, or the loss of my sister, I'm often rewarded with silence, awkwardness, and general stares and lack of response. People just don't know what to do with that. Especially when they are used to someone being funny and seemingly far less sensitive. I think people are surprised when funny people have a painful side to express. Even if it's as simple as something that comes up in the get-to-know-you, "Hey, do you have any brothers or sisters?" "Well, yes I did. But . . . " You'd be surprised how often that happens, and how quickly that conversation ends and I find myself standing alone.

I've run off a lot of people in my life over the past few years. Much of it likely somehow related to them not enjoying knowing someone dealing with the pain of grief. For awhile, you're a novelty. The sad friend or loved one that people want to help and fix. People flock around you, some even really making a stand to stick with you through the tough stuff. You latch onto that because it definitely helps to have people around, showing that they care. You don't know what else to do, so when someone offers to be there and hold your hand a bit, you take it and you cherish it. It's brave of them to offer, and brave of you to accept it. You need people you trust to lean on, someone steady in your world that has just been severely and tragically rocked. But I think people actually think they can fix the grief for you just by being there and listening, and they are disappointed when you don't snap out of it sooner. Or when you act in ways that aren't especially nice. Or when you aren't able to return the favor of 'being there' quite yet. When they realize it'll be awhile before you resemble a human being again, they get discouraged and move on to things less depressing.

You feel like people value you past being entertained, because they make efforts to be there when you are not laughing, and even crying. This gives you courage to talk about the most painful parts and cry about it with the friends who take the time to listen. The few people that really step up and care for you when you're at your worst, you really come to depend on them because they make it easy and safe, when everything else at that time is scary and difficult. It helps tremendously for someone to want to know you in the darkest times of grief, when it's frightening and uncertain and embarrassing, and you don't know who to turn to or what to do with what you're feeling. The ones who reach out, you really feel like they care. They probably truly do. They probably truly want you to heal and be happy again, and not just funny-happy. But when you really open up about the true affects of grief, and they start to see it's not a quick fix or simple solution to make you funny again, they begin to trickle away, needing some air after all the doom and gloom.

I can't say that I blame them. And maybe it's too much to expect people will stay invested for the duration of healing. It's time consuming to be that friend to someone in pain, and not fun. It's a committment. It's tough for them to stomach, to watch a friend grieve, and to deal with the affects of being the friend who is there by your side. I can understand the non-appeal of that. It's not a glorious job to volunteer to undertake, by any means. But they don't know the half of the situation and what's hard about it. And I don't think they understand the effects of what it does when they decide they've had enough and they leave a friend in pain. I can understand not wanting to be involved as a helper anymore after awhile, but when they leave I have to deal with the hurt of their rejection and absence in addition to the hard stuff I'm already dealing with.

It's hard and likely mostly unrewarding to deal with grief that isn't your own. But I'd say it's a bit tougher to deal with the death of a loved one, and feel like you have to do that alone as you watch the people you consider your 'rocks' fall away around you. As you watch them go, you begin to feel like a burden, like the sad friend that isn't a novelty anymore. Just a drag, because you aren't 'fixed', yet. You wonder what friends are for and why they don't stick when you really need them. Admittedly grief brings out behavior that isn't pleasant for others to be around. I've done a lot that I'm not proud of, in dealing with my grief. But on top of the grief, it becomes tougher to deal with all of it when you also experience the loss of friends who can't commit for the long haul when you really, truly need them in the middle of the worst times. You feel like you're losing everyone, starting with the death that began the whole twisted turn of events. You wonder if anyone will be left when you begin to feel whole again.

It's not like I asked for this. I feel punished by it everyday. People leave because of who I am now, what I've become, how I act differently than before, yet it wasn't my choice, and I can't go back. I don't get to say "Enough!" and move onto something else when I'm sick of it. I was sick of it a long time ago. Yet the suffering goes beyond just missing her and having to completely re-learn who I am now and how to go on minus this person I knew and loved for 21 years. Once I deal with just that part of it, I'm still forced to deal with it everyday as I come into contact with new people who are just beginning to know me during and post-grieving. Or when I think about and miss the people who were once my best friends, but who now seem to prefer not to be involved with me much, since I got sad and harder to be around than when I was fun and easy to care about. I feel like I've disappointed everyone because I can't be who they liked before. It's just not who I am anymore, although not by choice. And it seems there's not much I can do to help them see me as someone besides the sad friend they once knew. I'm actually not so bad now. Just not quite the same as before.

Losing someone becomes a part of your personal profile, much like a criminal record, I'd imagine. It's something that affects you everyday for the rest of your life, in ways that you'd never know until they happen. You can't shake it, you can't avoid it. You have to learn how to remake your life so that you can deal with it and still be happy, successful, and not bittered by it. You have to resign to accepting that you are not who you were, and that it will take some serious work and help to be someone who can carry on now. It takes a lot of prayer and faith. But even with all of that, one of the hardest parts is dealing with the people, coming and going. You want relationships, but you are unsure of people, old and new. Your confidence is gone, because you are unsure of who you are now and how to be with others. You feel like your reputation preceeds you as the 'freaky' girl with the dead sister, or the girl who 'used to' be fun til her sister died. You're certain the friends who left you during the worst times probably don't want you back now, and even if they do you don't know which 'you' they'd want. You're not sure who to trust. You never know how people will react to something you say or do now, and you always hope the people you call friends and family will react better than the ones who don't know you. Each reaction from anyone, good or bad, leaves a mark. Although it seems to hurt more from the friends and family you'd expect to see you through the grief, and love you more than just react. Not to say that everyone has left me. I've got some keepers. But many have wandered off and created space, including many of the ones that really mattered to me. It's unfortunate that the things we deal with in life end up driving away the people we wish we could hold close when it matters.

It's much easier to read, write, and talk funny stuff. It's easy for me to be funny. I prefer to be funny and silly. Some of my funniest times truly come in the midst of pain, because that's the first place I go: the easy fun place. I've got plenty of fans and friends when I'm an entertainer, keeping people laughing and the circumstances light, fun, and simple. It's when people become afraid of what the 'sad' girl might do or say that they get skittish and keep their distance.

Sometimes, life isn't easy, or funny. Yet I still have things to say and write and talk about. Things that are valuable in knowing me, besides my ability to entertain. Writing about the fun stuff is really fun for me, and I love that. I'm truly a quirky person at heart. But the real beauty I find in expressing things through words is describing myself and what I've learned in life, past the funny part. I haven't lost the funny stuff people enjoy. I think people fear that when the funny stuff takes a break for awhile, it won't come back, and in its place will be an angry, sad, bitter person who sucks the life out of everyone. For me, the funny is not gone. It takes a break sometimes, but I will always be a funny person. When the funny is hard to see sometimes, it's likely because I've gained some perspective on top of it. And even some joy that I didn't have before.

What I write and talk about may not always be funny, but it's valuable. Even if I'm rewarded with silence and stares and uncertainty, with few people left interested in hearing what I have to say or in knowing me now, I find great fulfillment in writing and talking about it. It's tough sometimes, but it's nice, too. The value I find in writing about the un-funny is that I've learned through it, I've overcome the messiness that allowed me to come to a deeper understanding of something, and I appreciate parts of life that can't always be found in funny. I've still got a lot to work through, and probably always will. But I've reached a better place, where I even find the healing and happiness that people once desired for me at the start of my grief, even though many of them aren't around much to share in that with me now. I can breathe a bit again, and turn my experiences into words for people to read, and that's nice for me. That's a huge accomplishment. Hopefully I can express what I've learned and found in words that communicate the value in it. Even if it isn't as fun to read or hear as the fun stuff.

C.T.

Say a Little Prayer
I've learned many, many things from my mom. But there is one thing she told me a long time ago that I hardly ever forget. I can't remember when she said it, or why. But I remember her telling my sister and me that every time we see an ambulance go by or on the side of the road helping someone, we should say a little prayer for the person needing the ambulance.

It was a long time before I really took that to heart. It was just one of those annoying 'mom' things that moms say to teach a life lesson, or to add another 'rule' to dampen our kid fun. Like, "don't bounce the ball in the house", or "go hug your sister." You hear your mom say these things, then you roll your eyes and go outside to play. I'm sure at the time I either didn't really hear her, or care to take it seriously. Praying for ambulances and people I didn't know seemed unnecessary.

But, it's strange the things that suddenly stick in your mind as time passes and things happen to change the way you think. A little different perspective goes a long way. It had been years since I thought about this little nugget of 'mom' wisdom imparted on my sister and me. But ever since the car accident that killed my sister and her two friends several years ago, I now almost always remember to say a quick prayer when I see an ambulance. Why? It's partly selfish, I guess. But I have good intentions. These people needing ambulances are no longer just people I don't know. They've become somewhat familiar, because they in some way need help and comfort, and I'm familiar with that. I will likely never meet them or know if they are okay, but I say a quick prayer for them and their families, much like I hope somebody passing by my sister's accident and the ambulances at the scene that day prayed for her and her friends, for the people taking care of her, and for my family. I'm thankful to anyone that did. Doesn't seem so annoying now.

So from my mom, to me, to you: Don't bounce the ball in the house. When you see an opportunity, take a moment to say a little prayer. And, go hug your sister.

C.T.

A Current Events Question
I'm just curious, but to all the adamant and passionate anti-war protestors who seem convinced that going to war is the absolute most wrong thing we could have done, what is your suggestion as to a better alternative to solve this whole Saddam/Iraq situation? And, why is whatever non-war scenario you offer the better, more likely to succeed option? I see so many angry, passionate people objecting the war, taking time and energy away from going to work and school, walking the streets, making signs, writing accusations and commentaries about our country's leadership, getting arrested for making a scene, etc. I just wonder what they think we should be doing instead of our current course of action, and why they think they have a better perspective. They're obviously upset enough to make a scene against what we are doing. But sometimes I wonder if they are making a scene just to make a scene and be heard 'in the name of peace', or if they truly see a better way to handle the situation.

Not to say either side is right or wrong. Just curious.

C.T.

Squiggly
I think someone may have found my long lost pet squid, Squiggly. And apparently he's the same colossal attack squid from 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea.

They can keep him. I don't think he'll fit in his fish bowl anymore.

C.T.

Idol Heartbreak
So, the Tyrant was all set to do the "Bye-Bye Carmen" dance. (yes, there really is such a dance.) When what happens? NO ONE is voted off the show last night! What is that about?!?! What else is Idol good for, if not to shatter the hopes and dreams of pop star wannabees, every week, on schedule, for my entertainment?

My co-conspirator sums up the situation quite nicely. We were not entirely publicly united in our front, and this allowed for a small flaw in the timing of our plan. True, Corey was eliminated in the correct order, and even without being technically voted off. Pretty impressive, if I do say so myself. I'd almost underestimated the powerful persuasion of the alliance, via blog. But after Corey's untimely demise, our goal for this week was to send Carmen home crying last night. This freakish turn of events, with the non-elimination show (which I would argue is technically against the law and could be considered an Idol competition crime at this point) has thrown us for a loop. But ultimately it merely delays the inevitable demise of Carmen.

We have learned our lesson. Make no mistake, the shock and awe phase of the Idol coalition is in progress. For the greater good of ridding Idol annoyances once and for all, we stand united in our quest to oust Carmen swiftly, immediately, and without loss of innocent casualties along the way. Once the Carmen obstacle is out of the way, we will move steadily towards the next target, until victory is at hand. For now, be warned: Carmen will be sent packing next week.

The alliance has spoken.

C.T.

Color-riffic
Yes, I'm playing with the colors. Don't be afraid. It's still the same great blog as before.

C.T.

More Daily Annoyances
7. People who can't be silent.
I'm totally comfortable not saying a word. I love silence. I'm just not a talker. So why do people assume that means I want to listen to them talk? I mean, I like to listen when in conversation and such. If you need a friendly ear, I'm all about that. But just because I'm not saying anything when you come along doesn't mean I need you to fill the silence by chattering on about superfluous stuff for the sake of combatting the silence. If you're uncomfortable with silence, don't make me suffer because of your discomfort. If I'm sitting at lunch and you decide to join me, don't assume I'm going to engage in conversation with you just because you start talking, and keep talking. Don't assume I need to be in a conversation. And beyond that, don't assume I need to hear about your life to make my lunch time any better than sitting and eating in silence. I'm cool with silence. If I was looking for interaction, I'd interact. People who assume that silence is their floor to start talking about themselves, and continue talking about themselves after no prompting or response from me, they are only managing to ruin a perfectly peacefully silent atmosphere.

If after a few minutes I'm not responding to you, chances are I'm trying to tell you something without actually telling you. Silence!

8. Over-use of certain words.
Here's a hint, if everything to you is 'awesome', the word eventually loses all meaning to anyone listening to you describe your 'awesome' experiences. There is no possible way everything can be 'awesome'. The sky may be pretty, but is it really 'awesome' every time you see it and it's blue? You may have found a nickel on the floor, but is that really 'awesome'? You may enjoy the food you are eating for lunch, but is it any more 'awesome' than the food you said was 'awesome' yesterday? It's not awesome to use 'awesome' so much. Quit it.

C.T.

More Idol Analysis
It was finally disco night, and I was very excited for disco. Being a huge disco fan, I just knew I was in for an hour of disco-riffic fun. But, I have to admit I was left unfulfilled. Who would've guessed that some of these now seasoned Idol Wannabees could kill disco? I didn't think it was possible.

1. First, you should never doubt the annoying factor when it comes to the Tyrant's Spidey sense. I said from the beginning that I was tremendously annoyed by Corey, and sure enough, he's turned out to be a bad seed. As you saw last night, he can't even apologize for being a criminal in a non-annoying way. Corey, good luck with those 'false' charges. And I suggest you burn the see-through shirt, much like I will try to burn the memory of you on Idol.

2. Hopefully Carmen's hair extensions didn't succeed in extending her stay on Idol any further past today. And I will be so bold as to say that I never want to hear about Ryan's 'extension' again.

3. Paula was right about Kimberly C. She is very consistent. Consistently boring. Get off the show. And leave Jewel alone. She clearly was not interested in meeting you.

4. Joshua was by far the worst performance last night, only because Corey is no longer able to be with us. You'd think a Marine would be able to suck it up even feeling a bit sick, and still perform better than the other 7 civilians.

5. I usually appreciate Simon's perspective, but I'm not sure what his problem was last night. I loved Clay, although I'm beginning to wonder if his feet are made of lead since he never moves around on stage. I did totally dig his shirt and look last night. He's finally starting to look like a rock star, just a wee bit.

6. Ruben again did a fabulous job, although I am still sick of the 205 shirts. It's old, and it's working against him at this point, in my opinion. But annoying shirts aside, the Tyrant may foresee a Clay vs. Ruben duel to the end of this competition. And I would not be disappointed with that.

7. Ricky's 'fro was the best part of his performance. But I think all of the contestants should have had to wear the 'fro for each of their performances. One good 'fro deserves another.

8. Kimberly L. tried it with the 'fro, but just didn't quite pull it off as well. Girl does have some hair, though. Still, I'm just not impressed by her performances. Too ordinary to be an Idol. But she would likely beat the other Kimberly in a fist fight, so I give her props for that.

9. The artist currently known as Trenyce, well, I have to say she's growing on me. She was in my Top 3 last night. Which is impressive since she was originally on my list to be removed from the competition post haste. We'll see if she continues to redeem herself.

If all continues to go according to plan, Carmen will be back to her hometown, in bed before her curfew, and up in time to catch the bus for school tomorrow. And per last night's performance, I think Josh may have moved to next in line on the hit list. His 'marine' novelty has worn off, and it may be time for him to report back to duty.

And, seriously, if Verdine from Earth, Wind and Fire can be a celebrity judge, why have I not been called? Come on! I can totally top his outfit, and hair, if necessary.

C.T.

PS: If you doubt the power of the Tyrant and other blogs cooperating to dictate the course of this Idol series, I refer you to another concerned blog dedicated to expelling the idiots from Idol. Are the recent course of events coincidental to our wishes via blog? I think not. But you decide for yourself. Never underestimate the power of the blog . . .

Cher Sheds Light on a Murky Issue
Well, I suspected as much. But hearing it from Cher, I'm now convinced that Jacko is Wacko.

C.T.

Commercials, and therefore products, I Loathe
My understanding of advertising via television commercials is to entice the consumer into wanting and purchasing a product or service. So, why have people created so many commercials that do nothing but annoy me? This seems not to coincide with the logic of enticement, since the commercials only succeed in leading me to loathe whatever they advertise. I am therefore boycotting the following commercials and their related products. These are the first in what I'm sure will be a long on-going list of commercials and products:

1. Michelina
There is a reason The Macarena died a quick death, and is now a phenomenon of which humans are forbidden to speak. The reason is not so that the song could be revived as the theme song for Michelina frozen dinners. Whoever thought this was a good idea was very, very wrong. People doing the 'Michelina' dance in the frozen food section or in the office does not make the song or the commercials any better. Therefore, I will never purchase or consume a Michelina dinner.

2. Any commercial starting with the sound of an alarm clock
One that comes to mind is the Doritos commerical with Tony Hawk on his skateboard. All alarm clocks on TV sound like my alarm clock. Since I hate the sound of my clock because it means I have to wake from my peaceful sleep and go to my dreaded job, to hear a similar alarm clock sound any time during the day only causes rage and hostility to arise within me. Therefore, I will not eat those Doritos in the easy access can, or partake of any other products sold by use of an alarm clock in a commercial.

3. Snuggle
That little bear is the creepiest stuffed animal I've ever seen. The commercials using the porcupine and other animals as Snuggle pitch-animals are just as creepy. I have to admit I currently use Snuggle, but the more I see that bear, the more I fear the product. The status of this boycott is TBA.

4. Geico
Enough with the gecko lizard already. We get the joke, but the commercials that were never really clever have definitely moved beyond nearly-clever and are now just annoying. Therefore, I will never switch to Geico for my insurance needs.

5. Wal-Mart smiley face
Seriously, I hate the smiley face. Unfortunately, I am a Wal-Mart shopper. But Wal-Mart should take some pointers from the Target commercials, so I'm not completely embarrassed by my Wal-Mart shopping experience. If Target can become cool, so can Wal-Mart.

6. Pier One
Please send Kirstie Alley back to wherever you found her. Because she is so annoying in and of herself, I therefore boycott Pier One.

7. 10-10-220, 1-800-CALL-ATT
These are two competing products, but individually so annoying that I consider them one horrible line of advertising. Whoever thought Alf and Hulk Hogan were good competition for Carrot Top was way off. I therefore boycott the use of these long-distance dialing services, and will continue to not call anyone long-distance.

8. Radio Shack
If you continue to insist on using Howie Long, Vanessa Williams, Ving Rhames, and Teri Hatcher for these horrible commercials, I will never again set foot inside a Radio Shack. There is nothing in there that I can't get at Best Buy, where I'm not already annoyed before I enter the store.

9. T-Mobile
Why, oh why, did Catherine Zeta-Jones ever sign on to this ad campaign? Since she is now an Oscar winning actress, she should sever all ties with T-Mobile, fire off a cease and desist order to immediately pull all of these commercials from the air, and have another kid.

I'm so annoyed right now just blogging about these commercials, I will have to pick this up again another time.

The moral of the story is, if you value the consumer influence of the Tyrant, don't annoy her with silly commercials and spokespeople.

C.T.

Another Idol Bites the Dust
Weeding out the losers one criminal at a time. This time, without punishing us through another bad performance. It's almost too good to be true.

In all reality, the true crime was his see-through shirt last week. I think it tipped someone off as to his sordid past.

Next target: Carmen

C.T.

Cycling Issues
As I continue training for my century ride, there are several recurring issues that play a part in my rides throughout the week.

Issue #1 - Knee pain
I have bad knees, from sports injuries during my glory days on the the jr. high basketball team and my highschool tennis team, further damaged by the Great Bike Incident (see Biking and The Incident) several years ago when I saved some lives and landed on my knee. Had my knees held up better through all the athleticism and heroics, I'd likely now be a famous professional basketball player for the WNBA, a tennis pro, and winner of the Tour de France.

Consequently, when I ride long distances now my knee doth complain profusely. Sometimes it behaves, and I mistakenly think I've been miraculously healed via a secret bionic knee transplant. Other times, I'm about ready to rip it off and continue pedaling with one good leg. I am determined not to let my knees keep me from riding and completing my century. I just need to figure out how to fill my Camelback with the right concoction of Powerade and morphine, so I can steadily sip and dull the pain throughout the ride.

Issue #2 - Wind
I hate wind. Even when the weather man tells me there is no wind, at the lake there is always wind. Wind is omnipresent. It blows debris into my eyes, somehow managing to swirl inside and around my protective cycling sunglasses worn for the sole purpose of shielding my eyes from debris. Thus, the wind renders me unable to see for all the blinking and eye-watering attempts to rid my eye of said debris. Wind hits me from the side in big gusts, trying to knock me over. It pushes against me as I pedal forward. Wind is not my friend.

The thing with wind is that unless it's a tornado, it should pretty much blow one way or the other. When cycling around the lake, I tend to think there should be one windy side to the lake. If the wind blows from the north, as I ride on the side of the lake pointing north, it makes sense I will encounter some wind resistance. My solace in that is to look forward to the other side of the lake where I should experience the wind at my back. So, imagine my frustration as I pedal several laps around the lake, finding that every side of the lake seems to be the windy side of the lake. If I didn't know better, I'd say the wind follows me just to taunt me. And blow things into my eye.

Issue #3 - Snot
Yes, snot. When biking outside my nose runs uncontrollably. I don't understand it. I don't have a cold, and my allergies are under control. So I ask, why all the snot? I could really do without it. I almost hyperventilate from breathing hard due to riding hard, plus continuously sniffing to keep the snot from trailing down my chin. It's disgusting. Even using my gloves to wipe the snot tends to mostly just smear it. I'm sure I make quite a spectacle, sniffing around the lake, trying to control the snot without breaking form.

Of all the issues, the snot is the biggest annoyance. The knee is aching, the wind is blowing, but the snot is flowing faster and in greater volumes than I can handle. I need to fashion some sort of device, attaching to my helmet, as a hands-free snot catcher.

It's a good thing I really love cycling. Otherwise it wouldn't make sense to spend so much time perfecting a painful, windy, snot-filled hobby.

C.T.

More Daily Annoyances
6. People who are oblivious to personal space.
I am completely annoyed by the people behind me who stand pretty much on top of me in the checkout line, breathing down my neck and looking over my shoulder eyeballing my coupons, or trying to fill out their check on that one tiny check-writing platform before I've finished paying for my groceris and moved out of the way. Or people who reach around, over, or through me to grab something off the shelf at Wal-Mart because they can't wait two seconds for me to move. Or people who let their children run amok in the grocery store, letting them bump into my legs and touch me with sticky hands before they attempt to corral their kids out of my personal space.

If I don't know you, you and your kin don't belong that close to me. Step off.

C.T.

Exercise Observation of the Day
After a weekend of intensely observing various people walking, running, biking, rollerblading, etc. at the lake, I've come to the following conclusion: No matter what kind of exercise you feel you are doing, if it can be done while having a conversation on your cell phone, you are not exercising.

Cell phone negates exercise. Plus, you are a hazard to people who are seriously exercising. Turn it off, or get out of my way.

C.T.

The Drink Cooler
Here at my place of employment, we have a cooler containing cold softdrinks and bottled juices, free to staff. It's a beautiful thing. One of the few perks of working where I work. They pay me dirt and torture me relentlessly, but I can have a Coke.

I'm pretty sure at least something in this place will kill me before I'm able to escape. It could be the drink cooler. This cooler is likely the oldest known electric cooler still functioning on the planet. Somehow, it keeps running. But it looks like it shouldn't work and should have been put out of its misery long ago. In all honesty, it's probably made of some sort of toxic materials, now illegal to use in the manufacture of consumer goods since the cooler was made in the early 17th century. At one point a hole appeared in the underneath side of the lid, so every time you closed the lid this crumbly rusty looking powdery stuff would fall out of the hole and onto the lids of the drinks. The hole stayed open for a few days, forcing us to deal with the strange potentially hazardous substance. I finally took matters into my own hands and fixed it. With tape. Tape will surely protect us from any biohazardous material or chemical toxin. Right?

Now, I'm not sure what they did around here until I started working here a year or so ago. But without me, this cooler would be a constant disaster area. It's the source of endless frustration for me. The one shining good thing I look forward to here everyday is a nice, cold Coke for lunch. My one daily caffeine allowance. The one redeemable quality of working here. Free Coke. So imagine my disappointment on the days when I find no Coke in the cooler. How hard is it to keep a cooler stocked?

The drinks are delivered to the room containing the cooler. However, they do not jump into the cooler on their own. Someone must physically place the drinks inside the cooler. Hence the cooling process begins. Maybe we need to hire a Cooler Coordinator to make sure the cooler is properly stocked at all times. Because if I never went down there to attend to the cooler, we'd have a room full of warm drinks, and a cooler full of very cool air.

Occassionally people will decide they need to help a bit with the cooler. I don't know who these people are for sure, but I can guess, based on the flavors of drinks they decide to add to the cooler. These people do not understand proper cooler loading techniques. They'll look for whatever drink they prefer, and if they don't see at the top of the cooler, they'll throw in a 6-pack of it on top of everything else. While this is essentially the drink cooler loading process, it is entirely the wrong way to load a cooler for effective and practical drink cooling, selection, and retrieval.

I spent three summers in highschool and college working for a golf course in the food and beverage department. During my time there I learned the proper ways to load a cooler for easy location and distribution of drinks upon demand. There is a technique to it that allows for a wide variety of drinks to be clearly on display in a cooler, evenly cooled throughout the cooler, and easily reachable for serving. I became an expert. However, even without my extensive training in this area, common sense should allow anyone knowledge of proper cooler operation.

It's simple. First, you never load the entire 6-pack still in the plastic rings. You take the cans out of the rings. If you place 6-pack on top of 6-pack the 6-packs on the bottom become unreachable, and therefore unavailable, wasting space. Soon the rings and cans get all tangled together, and you have a huge mess inside the cooler. Second, you load from bottom to top, in columns, per drink type. This allows some of every drink to be at the top. When one column is low, you load more of that particular softdrink. Third, load the volume of each type of drink per the demand. Take notice as to the most popular drinks, and keep a good supply of those drinks in the cooler. There is never a need for 36 cans of Big Red or Sunkist or generic 'root beer'. That takes space away from the drinks people like, such as Coke, Diet Coke, Dr. Pepper, and Diet Dr. Pepper. The Big Red, Sunkist, 'root beer' freaks don't need that much space in the cooler.

What is hard about that? I'll go in a couple times a week and load the cooler properly, to the top. It's a fabulous example of impeccable cooler maintenance. But without fail, I'll come along in a day or two and the Diet Dr. Pepper lover has thrown in two 6-packs of Diet DP on top of my beautiful arrangement of softdrinks. Then someone else will come along, unable to find their Big Red because of all the Diet DP on top, and he'll throw in two 6-packs of Big Red. This ruins the whole thing! Drinks running amok.

All I want is one cold Coke for lunch. And a tidy cooler. That is not too much to ask, people.

C.T.

Bathroom Talk
I know I said to keep it clean here, but I have to talk dirty for a minute.

I've changed a lot over the past couple of years in one specific area. I used to be a major germ-ophobe. You know, afraid to touch anything for fear of germs, washing my hands frequently, always carrying anti-bacterial hand cleanser. I'm not sure when I became so afraid of germs, or why. I guess it just became one of the things I obsessed about. When I fixate on something, it becomes a major obsession. Case in point: M&Ms.

Anyway, I'm now pretty much cured of my germ issues. How, you ask? Simple. A couple of trips to Russia did the trick. The purpose of the trips was not to cure me of my germ issues. My cure was just a byproduct of the adventures. After spending time in a country with an entirely different interpretation of the words 'clean' or 'hygiene', you learn that the germiest thing in America is automatically at least 100 times cleaner than the cleanest thing in Russia. Don't get me wrong, I love Russia. But be warned, it'll scare the germ fear right out of you. Germs, dirt, stench, et all run completely amok in Russia.

For instance, bathrooms. I was warned before going that there is a far inferior sewage system in Russia, and that toilet paper is scarce. But I was not prepared for the shocking difference in facilities upon my first trip to Russia. Since the pipes are so bad in Russia, you can't flush toilet paper, when you can find or purchase a few squares of toilet paper. In one restroom, the toilet 'paper' was actually sheets torn out of a book. But toilet paper aside, upon hitting the door of a restroom, you are immediately greeted by an offensive aroma and some things you don't ever want to see in a trash can. And these are the 'nice' restrooms in restaurants and hotels and such. Out in the sticks, you're doing well to get a covered hole and toilet paper that isn't frozen to the wall of the shack containing the hole.

Having endured these conditions now twice, you'd think I'd be prepared for whatever restroom atrocities that could possibly take place here in the States. We have far superior restroom functionality and standards here. So by default, you'd think things wouldn't be as bad. Yet, here at work I am continually shocked by what I endure during my trips to the restroom.

We have the potential to have a very nice restroom. It's a one-seater just for the women, with a locking door, so in theory it should be a very pleasant experience. You don't have to share the room with anyone while you're in there. You have complete privacy, plenty of room to stretch out or walk around a bit, and you don't have to worry about being interrupted while engaged in whatever bathroom activity you feel the need to embrace while in there.

My office is upstairs from the ladies restroom. Since there are only a few ladies in this building, it doesn't get nearly as much use as the men's facilities. You'd think it would be a pretty safe place to do necessary business. But, you'd think wrong. Truly, I'm appalled that some of the females here are so bold as to their use of the restroom in ways that should only be done at home in the privacy of your own, personal bathroom. It's one thing to funk up your own place, but it's a whole weird etiquette thing to go to work and funk the place up there.

Being upstairs, I can never tell when someone has just been in the restroom. And I swear I don't know how it happens, but I always manage to time my visits immediately following someone who has been in there doing some major, well, work. There are only a few people who could be the offending culprits, and yet I haven't quite managed to determine who gets in there and does so much damage. Maybe they are working as a team, conspiring against me. Whatever the case, they lay some major traps for me to discover once I've already committed to needing the facilities.

I always wait as long as I can, because I know what awaits me downstairs. I'm very sensitive to smells, and without fail, every time I open the door I'm hit by a wave of odor that shouldn't be humanly possible coming from any woman on earth. Once I've opened the door and timidly ventured in, there's no turning back. I've committed to the process, and I can't very well abort the mission and flee back up the stairs. I can only grab one last giant gulp of fresh hallway air, enter the demon restroom, think of my 'happy place', and hurry as best I can through what I need to do.

Sometimes, the bad smell isn't the worst part. Often the offending culprit has tried to mask the bad odor with what they hope to be a better aroma, in the form of air-freshener. I swear this can of air-freshener is the same can from the first day I started working here. It's been there maybe since the Mission was founded. It's a never-ending can. And it's not a good scent. So on top of the overwhelming stench of business gone bad, we often have the overbearing aroma of bad air-freshener. Since it's an enclosed room with a locking door and no ventilation, the mixture seems to increase in strength the longer I'm in there. It's a suffocating mix. And it burns my eyes.

Beyond the smell, sometimes the culprit leaves presents for me on the toliet seat. And I truly don't understand it. How is it possible to leave something behind on the seat without knowing? Surely if they knew they'd left an unwanted gift, they would have the presence of mind and the decency to clean it up. This tells me they aren't looking or considering that others do use the same restroom and don't appreciate their remnants left behind. There is plenty of room to turn around and make sure the coast is clear when you are finished with your business. If you see something, clean it up. It got so bad for awhile that I posted a sign about keeping the seat clean, to add to the other signs already posted asking people to turn out the lights and such. I didn't think we were 3rd graders, but apparently some of us are. We need lots of signs on proper bathroom use. But for the love of Pete, who cares about the lights when there are hazardous landmines laying in wait on the toilet seat??? Get your priorities straight, people.

For the sake of argument, I have not reverted back to my germ fearing ways. And actually, I feel much better not worrying about everything I touch, and I haven't been sick in quite a long while. Germs, schmerms. But for purposes of human decency and acceptable amounts of workplace torture, I feel that if I am forced to be here at work all day, when it comes time for me to use the facilities they should be at a certain level of cleanliness, and at a much lower level of smelliness. When in Russia, that's a different story, and a different level of expectations. But here in America, I have the right to a clean, odor-free restroom at my place of employment.

I shouldn't have to enter a bio-hazard everytime I need to use the facilities. I just don't have the haz-mat suit or gas mask for that sort of thing.

C.T.

Tyrannical Rules
I didn't want to have to do this, but due to a couple of comments posted to a blog entry here, I have to pause for a minute to be your mom.

The rules here are simple. Read and have fun. I ask one thing: keep your comment responses clean.

I don't see the need for use of inappropriate language, four letter words, or any derivations thereof, when posting a comment. I truly believe you can effectively convey your thoughts on any issue here without cussing us out. I don't cuss at you, and I'd prefer to keep my blog a cuss-free zone.

If you feel you absolutely must use some colorful language to express yourself here, try this: Pause in your typing, say the colorful word aloud to yourself, get it out of your system, take a deep breath, and continue to type your thoughts being sure to leave out the colorful word. Or, substitute a more pleasant word. Like, 'flower' for the f-word. I promise your thoughts will be much more well received if you choose a kinder, gentler way to speak your mind here.

I love reading your comments, and I appreciate different points of view in response to the things I write. Feel free to comment on anything said here, whether you agree or disagree or just have something you want to say. But if we can't all be adults here, I will take off the comments. Don't make me do that.

You don't want to anger the Tyrant. Remember, I am a ninja. I will strike before you even realize you've been hit. You've been warned.

Thanks for your cooperation. Read on, and have fun.

C.T.

Idol Analysis
I have a few words based on last night's American Idol:

1. Never, ever replace disco with country music. I was set and pumped for a night of disco. Then I was hit by the disappointment of Ryan's announcement about switching things up, and this tainted my viewing of the entire show. Since they dug Olivia Newton John out from wherever she's been hiding lately, they should have at least done her songs for the evening. I'd have preferred to hear Let's Get Physical 10 times, rather than one single country song.

2. Josh the Marine - At first, I liked this guy. For one, he's a Marine. How can we not like that? Plus, he just seemed like a sweet, good-singing guy. Now, he tends to get on my nerves. I do believe he was in his element last night as a country singer, but his performance just really annoyed me. I didn't think he sounded good, and if he'd quit running all over the stage long enough to get a good look at him, I'd comment on how he looked.

3. Seriously, Ruben. You sing wonderfully, but surely there is another shirt you can wear without the 205??? Last night I expected him to bust out into some kind of country-rap, based on his attire. Word.

4. While I still do not like her, Kimberly C. finally gave a performance worthy of being considered a finalist, albeit a lower tier finalist. However, she seemed to have forgotten the lower tier of her shirt.

5. Corey, Corey, Corey. Wins again for Most Annoying Male Idol Wannabee. The see-through mesh shirt, worn frequently in the 80's, is just not something I ever wanted to see again. And while his performance was not as bad as last week, he may never be able to redeem himself with me. He's just stuck in my mind as one severely annoying dude. I cannot figure out why Paula is so in love with him.

6. Carmen, Happy Birthday. After you finish your homework and grow into this competition, then you can come sing with the rest of us.

7. I didn't realize how tall Clay really is, til he stood next to Ryan Seacrest on the stage. Ryan must be a midget, because Clay always strikes me as non-tall. Clay, another good performance. A little lacking on the excitement, but your peppy hair made up for it.

8. Kimberly not C., your performance was not memorable enough for me to make a comment.

9. Ricky, ditto. And it may be time to give the 'Hercules' voice a rest.

10. Trenyce. I just noticed she now only goes by Trenyce. No last name. She's assuming she's cool enough to be a just 'Cher', or 'Madonna', or 'Tyrant'? I think not.

11. Saved the worst for last. Julia should just quit trying, since Simon pointed out quite accurately that she appears to be trying too hard. Poor Faith Hill should burn all ties to Breathe after Julia got ahold of it. America, please send Julia home tonight. Put us out of our misery.

I should totally be a celebrity judge on Idol. I rock.

UPDATE: The Julia issue has been contained. She has been forcefully removed from the premises. I hear she scratched one of Ryan's eyeballs out as she was dragged from the stage. He'll be wearing a carefully coordinated eye patch the rest of the season. Ryan's injury aside, good job, America. You rose to the occasion, you rid us of Julia, and you've made me proud. With Julia out of the way, the 'shock and awe' phase of American Idol will now commence. Next target: Corey.

C.T.

Energy Bar Experiment
Since I'm cycling and working out so much lately, training for my century ride, I have to concentrate quite a bit on nutrition. I'm hungry literally all the time. I consume more food than I am capable of holding. Truthfully, I don't know where it all goes. I just know I eat alot, and often. And it's expensive. I can't afford to feed myself. Too bad my tummy doesn't know that.

Currently, I'm on a quest to find a decent energy bar type thing. I hate these things. But, they really do help with energy and nutrients before and after I ride, and they make a better snack before workouts than say, M&Ms. The problem is, I just don't understand why they have to be so gross.

For one, they don't taste good. All the different flavors don't help. The flavors are just poor attempts at imitating real flavors that make you wish you were eating the real thing, rather than a carrot cake 'flavored' bar. The first few bites are okay, sometimes. But I find it difficult to make it through an entire energy bar in one sitting.

Which brings me to the texture issues. Could they be any more disgusting in texture? If they tried to make the original PowerBars more wrong in texture, I don't think they could. In college, I was in the marching band. Say what you will about that, but I was in it purely for the free travel to football games, and to get out of the lame P.E. requirements, for which I'd have to take Beginning Tennis, or Bowling, or Hopscotch. You know, something stupid. Marching Band was a strategic move. And not entirely stupid.

Anyway, after our halftime performances of wandering all over the football field in 100 degree weather wearing wool uniforms, they decided PowerBars would be just the thing to restore our energy levels for the rest of the football game. That's when I discovered that a warm PowerBar, when taken out of the wrapper and rolled into a ball, bounces. Yep, they bounce, and will eventually stick to almost any given surface, such as a tuba, or someone's marching hat, or a drum. Or cheerleaders. Needless to say, the PowerBars stopped after awhile. Apparently college students aren't mature enough to handle PowerBars when bored and delirious from sunstroke.

By the way, I wouldn't recommend throwing a PowerBar Ball at someone you like or intend to keep as a friend. They hurt.

Anyway, knowing PowerBars are made of a substance resembling rubber and can be used as a toy or weapon, it's difficult to get past the texture issue to enjoy a PowerBar. They always seem to get stuck about halfway down my food pipe, lodging somewhere in my chest. No amount of water seems to dissolve it. PowerBars are just a weird idea for food.

Now there are many varieties of PowerBars: Harvest, ProteinPlus, etc. They each have a different consistency and a slightly different purpose. I've also discovered Clif Bars, which so far are winning my energy bar experiment. They have a slightly better taste, and better consistency, although still a little mushy, yet rubbery. I'm currently trying every variety and flavor of energy bar which seems reasonable to try. It's a confusing, difficult, but necessary process.

As my search continues, I still have to wonder why energy bars have to be so gross. Why must they torture me so? I never did anything to them. Well, after the throwing. And they started it by being gross first.

Maybe one day I'll build a statue in honor of whatever energy bar wins my affection. It will be a sculpture made entirely of the energy bar which loses the competition.

C.T.

Caffeine - The Eternal Struggle
My battle with caffeine is an on-going issue. Several years ago I had a major caffeine problem. I'd consume much coffee and Coke throughout the day. These were pretty much the only beverages of which I'd partake. After developing some stomach problems (not directly related to the caffeine over-indulgence), my doctor insisted that I give up the caffeine. Little did I know this was the beginning of much suffering. It would have been easier just to put me down on the spot.

So, I stopped the caffeine cold turkey. This was a big mistake. What happened next was a three-week headache, much sleepiness, and general grumpiness. I was not pleasant to be around for many weeks in a row. And, I was thirsty. What do people drink if not coffee and Coke?

Water. Bland, boring, tasteless water.

Well, I discovered that once I was past the withdrawal phase, I actually felt much better. It was tough to stay away from the caffeine. Coffee is all over the office, and it was hard to go to lunch and not order a Coke. But, I adapted and soon I never even missed the sweet, satisfying caffeinated beverages of my past.

I went about two years, completely caffeine free. You don't get a chip, or go to a support group for this. No Caffeine-aholics Anonymous. No, I did it all on my own, and before I knew it quite a bit of time had passed since that last Coke. I discovered I actually didn't need the stuff to make it through a day. I definitely deserved a medal of some sort.

Well, somewhere along the line I slipped up. I'm sure it started with Coke, my main weakness. And I blame my family. When I don't spend time with them, I'm not tempted by Cokes or coffee. I'd quit buying Cokes, and I'd put my coffee maker in the back of my cabinet, so as not to be tempted to make coffee at home. But, my family does drink heavily when it comes to coffee, Cokes, and tea. Oh, how I love sweet tea. When I'm with family, I'm forced to participate in their custom of consuming the caffeinated beverages. When in Rome, right? I don't want to be rude. . .

So my caffeine rules are now this: Maximum one Coke a day. And no coffee while in the city where I live. Coffee is only to be had on vacation. And any time I am out of town falls into the category of 'vacation' for the purposes of these rules. Once out of town, I'm allowed basically a free-for-all with the Coke, coffee, and tea. After all, I work so hard the rest of the time staying away. I deserve a treat.

When back home after a caffeine-filled vacation, I usually suffer for a day or two back on my strict caffeine diet. But it's soooo worth it.

Today, I am in withdrawal because there are no caffeinated softdrinks anywhere to be found in the office. Sticking to my coffee rule, I do insist on one Coke a day. We usually have drinks available here at work. My preference is Coke. Then I'll go with Pepsi. And if all else fails, Dr. Pepper. Today, I saw Sunkist. And I was sad.

And now sleepy. And getting a headache. . .

Curse caffeine. I just can't win.

C.T.

Protesting Protests
That's it. I'm taking time off from work, I'm not going to class, I'm going to make large signs and stand in the middle of the street in downtown, block traffic, and scream until I am heard and I make it on the news. I'm protesting all of these protests.

I'm not against the act of protesting. In fact, I support taking a stand on something and passionately backing that up. I just don't agree with the way many of the protesters protest.

Seriously people, do you think all the yelling and screaming and getting in the way of people trying to get to work or home from work everyday really makes a difference? Do you think Bush or people in influencial positions are sitting home, watching the mobs gather and march around the streets obstructing traffic and getting arrested, thinking, "You know, they really are right. I see them in the street getting in the way of people doing their jobs to keep this economy running. I see them getting arrested, filling up our jails, and taking police officers away from catching criminals. I see those naked people spelling out 'No War' in a field. I see these celebrities speaking out against the war at the Oscars. Because they are naked, celebrities, and angry mobs, I hear what they say and they have totally convinced me that we should immediately stop the war." Hmmmm. I don't think so.

To me it just looks like a bunch of silly people not wanting to go to work or class, and looking for an excuse to make a big deal out of something because it's "for a good cause". I don't take any of the protestors seriously because these scenes of protest just come across as loud, bored, angry, immature people. Why would I support that?

Go ahead and protest. But I implore you to get creative and think of a more constructive way to do it. Something that will really convince people to listen to you about your cause, rather than be frustrated and annoyed at the sight of you. Don't you think that might work a little better?

Especially don't get in my way while I'm trying to get to work or do what I need to do everyday. I may not ever be exactly anxious to arrive at my job everyday, or excited to be here. But when you start getting in the way of how this country runs, impeding those of us who still see the importance of going to work, doing our jobs, supporting the economy, and trying to make sure this place is still standing when our troops come home, you are working against the very thing you think you are trying to protect and support.

Now, put your pants on, go to work, get to class, polish your Oscar and/or Grammy, and think about what I've said.

C.T.

Spandex: Why?
I know this is not a new question on the minds of anyone. But as I'm cycling quite a bit these days, on my numerous laps around the lake I have quite a bit of time to think, ponder, wonder. Lately I've been coming back to the question of spandex: why?

I'm a hater. Of spandex. I understand the logic of it, to a degree. But what I don't get is the over-indulgence of spandex that some people seem to claim as their personal quest.

For instance, last summer I participated in a cycling event. I was completely naive about the situation, but I'd decided at long last to choose an event, and actually go to it. I showed up with my clunker of a mountain bike, wearing a tank top and shorts, and I was good to go. However, upon arrival and exiting my vehicle, I quickly realized I was not good to go. I was in spandex hell. And I was severely over-dressed.

Everywhere I looked, I saw spandex running amok. Now, some people can pull off the spandex cycling garb thing. These are the people who arrived hours before the event was to start, removed their bike from their rack, begin airing up tires with mechanical pumps, and proceeded to check the gravitational pull of the moon versus the direction of the wind, to determine how their ride will go for the day. They have spandex shorts, spandex shirts, spandex socks, underwear, and likely even spandex shoes. I, on the other hand, rolled up just in time to stumble out of my car, pull my bike pieces out of my trunk, reassemble the bike, and nap til the ride began. About as unprofessional as one can get.

I have to admit I did wear spandex that day. But it was conscientiously concealed beneath another layer of shorts. I am only recently beginning to brave spandex shorts out in public where they can be seen, not hidden underneath a more acceptable type of short. I pray no one is looking, and I've worked hard to increase my cycling speed, so as to limit the amount of time I have to be out inflicting my spandex wearing on innocent bystanders. Like I said, I do understand the purpose of spandex, so in the sense that it helps in certain ways and can be worn tastefully, I am pro-spandex. Being a serious cycling-type person, I am in a sense forced into the spandex arena, and I assure you I go there kicking and screaming and with much protest. Because, you see, in the sense that one must senselessly drown one's self in spandex from head to toe in order to be a good cycler, I am anti-spandex.

I saw people that day in spandex that had no business being in spandex. Since this ride wasn't a race, there were people of all shapes, sizes, ages, and riding levels at this event. Yet all of them seemed to assume that since they own a bike and can ride at some level, they had earned the right to over-do the spandex attire. I actually have no idea how they got in to the spandex. That in and of itself had to have been a greater accomplishment than completing the bike ride.

I am totally in favor of anyone capable of remaining upright on a bike being out and about in the world of cycling. I wish I could get more of my friends on bikes because it really is a great sport. I am not, however, in favor of people inflicting the world with blatant spandex abuse, wearing it on bodies and in places that should never, ever endure spandex. Just because spandex is available to the free world doesn't mean anyone has the right to flaunt it mercilessly. And really, if you are old and fat on a bike, don't get me wrong, I am glad to see you out and about. But, is the spandex really helping you go any faster? Think about it.

Somewhere in the history of spandex, something went terribly wrong. I believe it was created for good, not for evil. Why people insist on wearing it for evil, to haunt me and create waves of nausea as I try to bike around the lake, I just don't understand.

My cycling this weekend came to no conclusion about the spandex debacle. I still see it worn immorally and indecently, with every lap around the lake. But maybe my small voice will be heard, and I can somehow in some way make a difference. Please, I implore you. Use the utmost discretion before you step out of doors in any form of spandex.

The right to cycle does not equal the right to spandex. Please use extreme caution.

C.T.

The Tyrant's Review
I always check my email right before I go to bed late at night, hoping to receive one last message sending me off to sleep knowing someone out there in the world loves me at the very last moment I'm awake for the day. Or something like that.

Well, checking my email late at night has finally paid off. I opened my Inbox tonight to find a message from TheWeblogReview.com, letting me know my blog has been reviewed. And holy cow, my eternal quest for mortal approval just got a HUGE boost.

I'll let you read for yourself here. And to my reviewer, Wendy, thank you so much for such a wonderful review! If I make just one person happy with my meager literary offerings, it makes it all worthwhile . . .

Right!!! Who am I kidding?? I love the attention and I really appreciate the props about my new venture into writing for people to read. It's a huge confidence booster, and I hope I can continue writing in a way that interests and entertains those who do me the honor of reading what I write.

You've made the Tyrant very happy. I will sleep well tonight.

C.T.