Cynical Rantings

Braum's Milk and other Adam tidbits

2009-07-12T17:16:00.011-05:00

I bought milk at Brahm's today, just like I do every time I buy milk. However, it might shock you to know that I have not always bought my milk at Braum's. Let me explain . . .

Adam and I had a conversation one day about milk (doesn't everbody?) and he challenged me to try Braum's milk. Adam claimed Braum's milk is cheaper, tastes better, and stays fresh longer than milk from the grocery store. But the idea of changing my grocery store milk routine was difficult for me . . .

But now I only buy my milk from Braum's . . . because he was right.

Every time I stop by the Braum's there on the corner of Nantucket (we shared a mutual Braum's location . . .), I am reminded that Adam introduced me to better milk, and that I've probably saved upwards of $17 in the years since I took him up on his milk wisdom . . .

This is just one of many things that makes me appreciate my friend Adam. He passed away a few days ago after a long and brave battle with Cystic Fibrosis.

I met Adam at work about five years ago and we worked together for almost four years. As I've thought about Adam these past few days, so many things come to mind. One Adam memory leads to another . . .

I remember not long after the Campisi's opened near the office, he excitedly came to chat with me one day after lunch. He'd eaten a WHOLE small Campisi's pizza, by himself, and he was very excited about this, had to tell me about it. I, too, was excited for him because 1) his illness kept him very thin and not prone to scarf down entire pizzas, and 2) I am well-known for never leaving a scrap of my own Campisi's pizza, quite capable of eating the whole thing in one sitting. Skinny people eating whole pizzas . . . we shared a bond.

Adam was the first to notice that one pair of my pants had random buttons intended for suspenders . . . even though I never wore suspenders.

The Lokey duo elevated our company softball to a whole new level. Think about frail Adam out there knocking balls OUT OF THE PARK, catching balls in the outfield left and right. And as if that wasn't enough, he brings in his amazing wife Jen who OWNED the mound as our secret weapon pitcher. A one-two Lokey punch on the field. It was greatness.

And that makes me think of our team shirts for the Ad Hawks. Adam sought out my geniusery to collaborate on the shirt design . . . "We bring a fowl game" was all me, folks. Thanks to Adam, that line will go down in history on those shirts. Forever . . .

You never knew what pattern Adam's facial hair would follow from day to day. But, I have to hand it to the man that he was a master at facial hair creativity.

Adam always surprised me. More times than I like to remember, we'd get the calls or e-mails at the office that he was back in the hospital. It always scared the bajeezus out of us. But in a couple of weeks, he'd be back at the office, glad to be there and seeming like his old self, like nothing happened. He always had a smile, and he always made the time and the point to catch up with everyone when he got back. The thing about Adam is that HE wanted to know how WE were while he was out. Dude was in a hospital, and he was more interested in how we were.

My grandmother died last year and I remember that was around a time when Adam was in and out of the office. When I made it back in to the office after my grandma's funeral, he came over and sat in the chair by my desk and asked me about it. You never had to wonder if Adam cared about you. He always seemed to keep up with everyone with a geniune sense of compassion.

Not long after that, I left that job. Again, Adam was in and out of the office around that time. But he called to check on me and to encourage me. I'll never forget that.

A few months ago, late at night the phone rang . . . and it was Adam. I hadn't heard from him in awhile. I pick up the phone and I hear a very excited Adam checking up on me, apologizing for the late night call (I'm sorry, but when Lokey calls . . . who cares what time it is?!?! I'll gladly take the call . . .).

THEN he got to the real reason for his call. He had come up with a plan and was so excited about it, he had to call me because Jen wasn't home yet so he could tell her . . . Silly Adam wanted to set me up with a friend of his. He went on and on about it, and had me rolling with laughter . . . but also so touched that even though we hadn't seen each other or talked in awhile, he was thinking of me and his friends and how to make us happy. Apparently by playing matchmaker . . .

Some time went by and he called me again with his plan. It was SUPER late at night and he had the set-up all arranged . . . except I was in NYC for work . . . But it was great to hear his voice and hear him still excited. Truth me told, I would have let him set me up with a stinky, smelly jerk if it gave something Adam to be excited about for awhile . . .

When I think of men of integrity, men that I respect, Adam is most definitely one of those men. I don't know that I told him how much it meant that he thought well enough of me to want to set me up with a friend of his. But, that was cool, Lokey.

Adam was our designated emcee for the company white elephant party each year at Christmas. The year I got to emcee in his place will always stand out for me. Had I been given more than about 30 minutes to understand what I was about to do and what it meant, I might have chickened out. I knew Adam wasn't up to it and I would have to dig deep into my wealth of snark and wit to successfully step up.

But this was "his" thing and it was a little bittersweet for me. Not to mention, NO ONE can compete with Adam and the Elf t-shirt. Big pointy shoes to fill . . . Afterwards, I went back to the office and went straight to Adam and I thanked him for giving me the opportunity and bowed to his emcee geniusery.

One of my favorite things about Adam (other than the hilarity) was how people rallied around him. When we would find out he wasn't doing well, Paula would round up the troops at the office and we would send a care package to Adam of his favorite things. We bought him an ipod one time. Anything we could think of to make his hospital visits more bearable, the office pulled through for him.

One of my favorite Adam moments didn't even really involve him. But the garage sale we held to help offset some of Adam and Jen's medical costs will go down as one of my favorite things ever.

He wasn't there for any of the time I helped at the sale, although he came out the night before for his rockstar appearance. But the spirit of the whole thing made it clear that this was a Lokey event from start to finish. It was great to spend that day with people who love Adam, and it was certainly fantastic to get to spend that time with Jen wheeling and dealing at the sale. She is truly amazing and a blessing to watch with anything regarding Adam.

Knowing we could do something tangible to help him, so many people rallied with tons of stuff for the sale, plenty of help. We raised a good chunk of change, and of course . . . hilarity ensued.

For Adam (of course) I may or may not have donned a wedding dress to help increase our sales.

But, he did it first.

That event is something I'll never forget for a friend I'll never forget.

Adam is at rest now, no more pain. For that, I am thankful. But even more than that, I'm thankful that I had the opportunity to know him, even a just little bit, for awhile.

I'll never understand why amazing people have to die so young. I have to remind myself that they are only too young to us. But to God, they have lived the life they were intended to live and their work here is done. We have to trust Him in that.

Adam touched a lot of lives in his short time here, and I have no doubt the Adam stories will continue for a long, long time. He is missed. But he is home and whole.

Thank you, Adam . . . for everything. Including the milk.

-Teri

Michael Jackson: I'm not convinced that "This Is It"

2009-07-04T19:58:00.003-05:00

Yes, I have been caught up in the Michael Jackson whirlwind since he reportedly died last week. I've been shocked and saddened, just like the rest of the world.

I've watched all of the coverage (who knew it was possible to watch so much Michael Jackson programming and still want more?!?!?). I've read all of the online news coverage, as much as my eyeballs could take. Even my Entertainment Weekly arrived yesterday with MJ on the cover, and I'm convinced there is more info in it that I simply must read, lest I miss something important.

However, WHAT IF this is all a hoax? Think about it . . .

I've read and watched SO MUCH about all of this, I'm beginning to see (or perhaps make up in my MJ-overloaded brain) some holes in the story. And I've become suspicious that Michael Jackson's reported death last week could be the greatest piece of showmanship the world has ever seen . . . to set up the greatest comeback the world has ever witnessed.

Think about it . . .

Let's examine the facts, shall we?

The most obvious clue is that MJ's memorial service is set to take place at the Staples Center . . . where he was rehearsing for his big comeback. And his "death" happened just two weeks before his comeback tour was set to begin. What better way to publicize a comeback than to attract the world's media coverage to the star? The sets are there at the Staples Center. In a sense, the stage is already set. And . . . with the media coverage of his death, the whole world will be watching on Tuesday. What better set-up to live up to the promise he made to the world that this would be the biggest comeback ever?

And, why would AEG (the concert promotion company) release footage of his last rehearsal . . . if not to tease the world and make his apparent death more dramatic? Making the case that MJ was in good health, well enough to rehearse, so how could he be suddenly dead?

Think about what we have NOT seen. Isn't it somewhat suspicious that we've seen NO rogue cell phone picks from a money-hungry EMT, or from someone at the hospital, or from MJ's staff . . . of Michael's body? Could this mean that . . . there is no body? We've barely seen anything from the scene, and very little details have emerged from his time at the hospital. Then a moving van shows up a day or so later and began removing items from the mansion. To cover up? Think about it . . .

The L.A. Police are under speculation for not following proper procedures. They didn't seal the mansion right away, they didn't get a search warrant right away . . . could this have been because they were in on the hoax? Why rush things or follow protocol details when there's no real crime . . . or death . . .

AEG is offering a full refund for the 50 London concerts. Could this really be because they know Michael only intended to do the ONE comeback show at the Staples Center after his "death?" Most fans are keeping their tickets anyway. AEG probably knew this would happen, so they aren't really losing any money even though they are playing the part of the responsible concert promoters.

Mis-direction is a must when trying to create the most elaborate and shocking comeback ever. So sure, the media has been mislead with "discoveries" of drugs in his mansion, sketchy doctors to interview, all kinds of crazy "details" and "revelations" about his last days, relationships, what will happen to the kids, etc. plus talks of holding the memorial at Neverland that fell through . . . all the while finalizing the "memorial" at the Staples Center.

Is it beyond MJ's influence and capability to coordinate friends, family, staff, associates, to go along with the story? He has a family of performers. He wanted to be the world's greatest entertainer. Clearly, the most recent spotlight on him (prior to the recent weeks) was less than favorable. And in recent years, did anyone really care about a Michael Jackson comeback tour with 50 dates in London? Since when is his biggest audience the UK? Think about it . . .

I could be full of crap. And yes, I'm naturally paranoid and suspicious of just about everything.

BUT, if Tuesday comes and Michael Jackson's "memorial" turns out to be the ultimate, most elaborate hoax and comeback ever?

YOU HEARD IT HERE FIRST.

I'm just sayin'.... Don't underestimate the King of Pop.

But if I'm wrong, rest in peace . . . you will always rock my world.

C.T.

Attempting to embrace change

2009-06-30T21:54:00.003-05:00

In the past few months, I've done some growing as a human being and I've embraced the possibility of change in my ordered world. The changes didn't actually happen, but the fact that I was open to change is a pretty big deal.

For those of you who don't know me, I don't like change.

One change was the possibility of a roommate. I don't need a roommate, but I was willing to help out a friend for awhile. I've lived alone for pretty much....ever. So, considering having someone else all up in my space was a big moment of growth for me.

She decided to move out of the country instead. And no, it had nothing to do with the idea of living with me....

The second possibility for change happened just in the past few days.... a puppy. A need came up to rescue some puppies from a house that had too many dogs, and I considered that maybe this is the time to get a dog. I have the time, the space. Seriously, a dog living here with me is pretty much the perfect situation for a dog. All of my attention, I'm around plenty. House, yard. My dog would be spoiled and loved, no question.

The particular pups in question are small dogs, something that I could tuck away in a little nook and probably not even notice until I needed to snuggle with a furry creature, at which point I would demand to snuggle. Perfect for me, too.

I considered this thoroughly over the weekend. I decided that yes, if not the roommate then a pup would be the next obvious thing to bring into my world. Today I was able to go see the puppies. If you know me even a little bit, you will know that once I go LOOK at the puppies, I'm pretty much coming home with one. The mistake is in seeing their faces. I've made the mistake before of thinking a puppy was a good idea, seeing the pup and taking it home....then finding out it was NOT a good idea after all. If I had not SEEN the pup, I would have had no problem saying no.

I love dogs, I've just never wanted one that I'm in charge of, all up in my space, dependent on me for every little thing.... But it's a responsibility that I decided I'm finally ready for. And I know now not to SEE the pups unless I am fully prepared to take one home.

Bring on the pup.

So, I arrive at the house that I knew contained a multitude of dogs. As I am getting out of the car, another girl is leaving.... NO, FLEEING the house. Running for her life. I ask her if she was there to look at the pups and she says this: "Yes, and good luck in there..."

Okay....

I should have heeded her warning and made a run for it. But I'd already been spotted by the house/dog people and I had to go in. I realized as I went up to the door that I had not let anyone know I was there or to call 911 and report me as missing if they had not heard from me in a few days.... sinking... feeling....

There were dogs EVERYWHERE. Millions of them. Coming out from every nook and cranny and crack and hole, from under couches, from under OTHER dogs, and I'm pretty sure right out of thin air. Just materializing....as if from nowhere...

Now, before I go any further, I am only reporting on this situation because as a storyteller and an attractor of ridiculous situations, I am required to do so. However, know that these were very nice people with an overabundance of dogs that just needed to go to good homes. I mean them no harm. I write because hilarity ensued (for me) and I found the humor (for me) in what is obviously a stressful situation with too many dogs needing too many homes.... quickly.

That said, I walked into a house with the mixed aroma of cigarette, cigar, incense (burning, I assume, to cover the next smell), and dog. A LOT of dog. All told, I was probably in the house maybe 20 minutes or so, and I came out smelling like the house. I might have to get used to it. I'm not sure it's leaving me any time soon.

Now, I've been to houses where dogs are aplenty, and to houses where folks are in the dog business. Breeding, selling, adopting.... whatever you want to call it. I expect a certain level of unkempt doginess from these situation, so I was not surprised at what I found there.... except for the millions of dogs that just kept coming.

I don't think I ever saw the same dog twice. At one point I could hear more dogs but could not see them. I finally figured out they were pressed against a door that I assume led to the out of doors... but they were trying to get IN. Why? It's just really not clear. "In" would seem much less desirable than "out" in this situation. Fresh air, presumably less dogs.... stay OUT and embrace your freedom.

So, the precious pup I'd had my eye on from the pictures I'd seen beforehand (see? It's the pics that get me every time) had already been adopted. But I was so into this save-the-dogs and embrace-more-change thing that I was willing to check out the other pups to help the situation. However, the dogs were not willing to cooperate with this. They freaked out, nonstop, and would not come near me. Clearly they had run off the poor girl who was fleeing when I arrived and they were attempting to do the same to me.

There was a even whole pack of dogs that were not-for-adoption, but that were apparently trained by the other dogs to create disruption and run people off. And I believe it was one (or more) of this pack of dogs that PEED right on my shoe and my pants as I tried to lure a possible adoptee closer to me for a look-see. Following the pee on me, this conversation took place:

"Oh...now which one did that? Was it Bruce? Nah... it couldn't have been Bruce. That's not like him. Was it Lulu? I bet it was Pookey. Or maybe Blabbity Blah or Schmoopy or well, Hoppity Hop might have done it. But really, that's more like Binky. Where is Binky? I haven't seen her all week.... I am so sorry! They never do that..."

HOW DO I KNOW WHICH ONE DID IT?!?! There are 37 dogs surrounding me, all of them brown. And, might I add, they are all standing in at least two or three puddles of pee.... so are you saying they never pee in here? Or just not on strangers.... And how do you remember all of their names?!?!? Or are you just making up names as you go...

Shortly after I arrived at the house, the woman arrived back home from the vet....because yet another dog had puppies.... this very day. In she came with a purse full of pups and a mama dog who looked like she'd lost the will to live. Seriously, MORE PUPS?!?!? I quickly noticed that a few of the dogs in the pack also looked ready to pop out more puppies at any second.

It was then that I realized that I was in the one place on earth where ALL dogs are born. EVER. All dogs come from here. It must be so.

Finally we were able to get one small potential adoptee to settle down enough for me to attempt to hold her. I had her for almost 22 seconds.... when she decided she'd had enough of being calm and decided to freak out again.... leaving me with another round of pee all over me.

Yep. Peed on TWICE within about 5 minutes. And not just a little bit of pee, mind you. Think waterfalls of dog pee raining down. Who knew such a little dog had so much pee in there?

I had really only stayed past the first 60 seconds to be a good sport, and because these dogs really did need help and this couple did need help finding good homes for the dogs. So I wanted to give them some time to calm down and see if we couldn't pick a winner for me.

But after Pee #2, I finally had to say that this just wasn't going to work out for me and make my escape. I felt bad because I really wanted to help, but I don't think I would be the best help to take a dog that I would not be able to bond with because it would just pee on me and freak out all the time.

So, I apologized that I couldn't help and assured them to have no worries about the pee incidents. They are traumatized dogs and, well, pee happens. No biggie.

Sadly, my attempt to embrace change #2 didn't work out today. But... at least I know I was prepared for a little bundle of furry joy to come co-habitate with me in my ordered world, bringing a little disorder but more furriness. That's a good thing, right?

A dog will come. Preferably one that doesn't burn incense and pee on me so much.

C.T.

P.S. And yes, I immediately showered and burned my shoes and clothes when I got home..... TWICE. One for each pee.

No critters were harmed in the writing of this blog post.

2009-06-13T17:52:00.008-05:00

It's been a recurring theme throughout the years while living in my house. Critters in my yard seem to have a death wish.

They get injured, some have died. Frogs, snakes, birds, a squirrel, maybe a bear. But let it be understood: I live here with no intent to harm critters of any kind.

It. Just. Happens.

This week has been a double whammy. Earlier this week, I apparently watered this sad little bird with the yard sprinklers for about 30 minutes before I noticed him.

He was completely water logged. At first I thought he was dead. But then I realized I had knocked him over the head with the water hose while moving the hose, which is when I figured I had probably watered him thoroughly. Unintentionally, of course.

So, not only had he fallen out of a nest that I couldn't find, I probably knocked him unconcious for awhile with the hose.

I proceeded NOT to water anymore until he moved out of the way. But, he didn't move. He just watched me. Was he drowning? I don't know. Are birds immobilized by excessive water? Again.... I don't know.

Then he began to hop. So, I figured this was a good sign. He hopped aimlessly for a few minutes. There really was no purpose or direction to his hop. I didn't know what to do. He hopped without meaning. I didn't understand. I talked to him, encouraged him to hop over to the neighbor's yard, or under the car, out of water's way.

He just hopped. Nowhere in particular.

It was getting dark, but I felt like I needed to stay with him and make sure he lived a long life. Maybe after he dried out for awhile, he'd be able to hop away to his bird family. I decided I needed to make up for all of the other lost critters over the years. I would not let this bird down.

But then I distinctly heard him squeak out a "mama" and he began to hop TOWARD me. So . . . rather than lead him on to a life of disappointment because he was abandoned by TWO mothers (the one who tossed him out of a nest, clearly before he was ready . . . and me - I mean, seriously . . . what would I do with a wild bird?), I bolted before he could get too attached.

I was hungry anyway.

Next morning, I found no sign of him . . . until I looked closer and found what I'm pretty sure was a tiny bird carcass near where I last saw him. Probably the result of a cat. And that would be the SECOND bird I've seen gotten by that cat since I've lived here.

The first one was a massacre . . . bird body parts and feathers everywhere . . .

Anyway, R.I.P. sad, tiny bird.

THEN, today. I finish weed-whacking the yard and I'm heading back to the garage when I notice what looks like a frog hanging out in an odd place in the middle of the grass.

It was, in fact, a frog. I picked it up so that I wouldn't MOW it (see? I mean well . . .), at which time I discovered that I had apparently already WEED-WHACKED it. He looked at me with sadness in his eyes.

The three bloody stumps that used to be his legs are probably why he was sad. And his blood was literally on my hands . . .

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!?!? What are the odds that in my few years in this house, I would weed-whack not one but TWO frogs while doing routine yard work.

Flashbacks to the first frog a few years ago immediately came to mind. He and I had been friends. He hung out by my water spigot. And then one day . . . he decided to go on vacation near the air conditioner WITHOUT TELLING ME. It was there, by the a/c, that I saw the trail of blood. And my friend, the frog, was one leg short of all the legs he used to know and love.

We never spoke again. He survived. I would see him, dragging himself along with his three good legs . . . anger in his heart . . .

I have never gotten over it.

So . . . back to today's frog. I wasn't going to let this frog go the way of the other frog. And I wasn't going to lose two yard critters in one week.

I gently put him in a safe place where I would not mow him. I watched him. He watched me. My heart broke a little . . . maybe he was the son of my former frog friend? And now the same thing had happened to him.

I swear, I really love frogs. I mean them no harm.

I needed time to think. So, I finished mowing the front yard. I planned out that I would put him in a box or a container, rigged with a water dish that he could hop (or well . . . drag himself) around in. There would be rocks, some vegetation for shade. And I would put him in a place where he could still catch bugs for food. Although in case the bugs did not come to his frog habitat, I made plans to Google "what do frogs eat" later.

I would nurse him back to health and teach him how to live, love, and prosper with only one good leg and three stumps. It would be a beautiful story that I would someday write a book about, then sell the movie rights for a feature film in which Ellen Page would play me as the kindly, yet sarcastic girl who owns the house and tries to keep the yard critters from succeeding with their death wishes, then forms a special bond with a special frog and they grow old together, dying of old age . . . on the very same day so that neither one has to live a day without the other one.

I know, right? It's good.

All of this planning took 10 minutes (including the yard mowing). And after 10 minutes, I returned to where I had safely left the poor legless frog . . . AND HE WAS GONE.

I have to believe he is a survivor. That he was able to drag himself away, being brave, and protecting me from seeing him suffer anymore. He will nurse himself back to health and learn how to cope with three less legs than he had this morning.

One day he will come back to me, tell me that all is forgiven. That his life is richer because of overcoming this struggle and that he owes it all to my unfortunate tendency to weed-whack frogs.

Unintentionally, of course.

He will thank me, and then I will write the book . . . NO. WE will write the book, then sell the movie rights. Ellen Page will turn down another role to play me. And no less than 108 frogs will be used to play my very special frog, all of which will be rescued from unfortunate frog accidents that leave them but with one leg and three stumps, to be given a new life in the movie/stunt frog business.

It will be called Froggy and Me.

Oh yeah. I have a VERY vivid imagination.

Unintentionally, of course.

C.T.

It's okay.....

2009-05-18T22:36:00.003-05:00

I keep my bedroom behind a massive steel door secured by an elaborate lock with a narrow connecting hallway lined with shelves filled with communications equipment, too.

It's not a bunker. It's just a precaution . . .

C.T.

My new Arch-Nemesis: City Code Enforcer Inspector

2009-05-16T10:59:00.002-05:00

Some of you may know of my latest rivalry with the City Code Enforcer Inspector. He is my new Arch-Nemesis . . . except that I'm convinced he thinks I'm hot and he's using his authority to woo me.

I've lived in my house for almost six years. The one issue I have with the city involves the weeds and grass behind my fence in the alley. Technically, my property line ends at the fence. Yet, when the weeds behind the fence get too tall, residents get a letter from the city because we are supposed to keep the weeds and grass under control behind the fence.

So . . . in protest, I prefer to wait until I get a letter before I do anything about the weeds back there. I say that if I'm supposed to keep up with that, let me build my fence to the alley concrete so I can make it part of my yard. Otherwise, I don't think it should be my problem.

I got my first letter this year, a few months ago, and I promptly took care of the weeds like I always do. It's always funny to me because a few tall weeds behind my nice wooden fence are by far not the worst atrocity back there compared to some of my neighbors. But, I will cooperate and de-weed.

Then, it rained for a million days and I got busy. I neglected the weeds. And I got another letter a month or so later. So, I promptly took care of the weeds. Again.

A week later I get a note on my door that I have a certified letter waiting for me at the Post Office. I assume it's something important, so I spend a lunch hour one day getting the letter.

IT'S THE SAME LETTER I RECEIVED THE WEEK BEFORE . . . only now in certified form. Now, I've already fixed the problem. And I just wasted my lunch hour waiting in line at the Post Office to receive the same exact letter.

I was ticked. Fortunately, Mr. Code Inspector's e-mail address is on the letter. And oh yes, he was going to get an e-mail about this matter.

I e-mailed him that day. A very nice e-mail, I might add. I explained my frustration over receiving a duplicate letter that wasted my time.

I take pride and great care in keeping my house nice and well-kept, inside and out. These types of letters frustrate me because they are nit-picking over tiny things . . . when all up and down my street there are much bigger issues than whether or not my weeds in the alley are too tall.

He promptly e-mailed me back, very nicely, I might add. In fact, we had an e-mail conversation back and forth for the rest of the day. He explained that when someone earns two letters in six months, they automatically get the certified mail letters in addition to the other letter. Ok, that makes sense. But I didn't like that I was now in this "certified letter" category.

I'M A GOOD NEIGHBOR.

Then, I decided I would ask him the burning question I have about the issue with the fence line. I asked him why, if my property ends at the fence, do I have to monitor the weeds behind the fence?

And he says this: "I don't have a good answer for that except that residents are just supposed to do it."

Shouldn't a City Inspector know why he's enforcing the codes he is enforcing? Why is this even a code if they don't know why? If you ask me, the City just doesn't want to pay to keep up the alleys even though it's technically city property.

So then, I TOTALLY blew his mind. I THANKED HIM for the good work he does and the rest of the inspectors do, keeping the city nice and safe. In all honesty, I do appreciate the City's efforts to keep neighborhoods nice and encourage residents to take care of their properties.

Also, at this point I had looked him up on the City web site . . . and he's kind of a hottie.

He said that no one ever thanks them, and usually he just gets yelled at a lot. So he really appreciated that.

It's amazing what a simple thank-you can do, y'all.

HOWEVER, yesterday I got another letter. No, not about weeds. I'm keeping up with that because I've made a new friend . . . even though he doesn't know it. I will make his job easier, at least in regards to my house

No, this letter from yesterday called me out for a shingle that is missing . . . from the SHED in my BACKYARD . . . on the side that FACES THE ALLEY.

This shingle in question fell off of the shed probably two or three years ago after a big rainstorm. I kept it. It's in the shed, I just haven't done anything about it because, well, I don't care. The shed is a very nice shed and looks great. There's just one shingle missing on the back side.

WHAT?!?!? Now it's suddenly a code violation?!?!?! After all this time?!?!?!

Ok, I'm on to you City Inspector Hottie . . . you are trying to ask me out . . . If you ask me, he spends way too much time checking out my house. And the only logical thing I can think of is . . . that he's in love with me.

I'll fix the shingle. If I can figure out how to get a ladder back there in between the fence and the shed . . . then we'll see what else you come up with to attempt to woo me . . .

Game ON.

C.T.

Emergency post from un-intended blogging retirement....

2009-05-06T21:39:00.002-05:00

It is necessary for me to write, immediately, RIGHT NOW..... and ask Paula Abdul never to attempt to perform/non-sing/sort-of-dance again.

On any stage.

Ever.

Please.

I beg of you.

No.

C.T.

P.S. I'm serious. Don't.

Staring my youth in the face....

2009-03-28T10:30:00.003-05:00

I was on a plane earlier this week. Joining me on the plane was a high school marching band. If you don't know by now, yes, I was in the marching band in high school. And in college, as a matter of fact.

So, here I am on a plane surrounded by lots and lots of young, wide-eyed band nerds. Watching them, I was immediately taken back to my high school band nerd days.

My first high school mascot was the Cougars, colors were red and white. These kids on the plane were also the Cougars, colors were red and white. Purely coincidence, as these kids were from a different high school. But, seeing all the band jackets with the red and white and the cougar . . . made it almost a surreal experience.

It was an unexpected trip down memory lane, watching these kids. I saw the "cool" band nerds keeping their distance from some of the other "less cool" band nerds. The flutes huddled together. Drummers were in the back of the plane, air-drumming to their ipods. I even saw the couple of kids who clearly didn't fit in anywhere, even among fellow band nerds.

I was on this plane, dressed in a suit, traveling to NYC for a business meeting with a client. I make this trip often. These kids were dressed in the skinny jean weirdness of your typical teens these days, excited for a big trip to NYC, maybe their first time to the Big Apple.

But, unbeknown to them, we were one and the same in my head on this plane.

I was once one of them . . . but, would any of them be me one day? In a suit, 15 years removed from a band trip with all your friends (and enemies - oh, high school drama . . .)? Headed to the same place (NYC) but in two entirely different places.

When I was that high school band nerd, I don't think I ever would have guessed I'd one day be all suited up, as a grown-up, doing grown-up things . . . business meetings, business travel, responsibilities . . . I do these things now, but I don't feel like a grown-up.

Sometimes I still feel like a kid just playing grown-up because that's what I'm supposed to do now. With years comes responsibility, even if my heart and soul haven't quite caught up to my years. I feel out of place in my suits, leading client meetings, creating reports (while sitting on a plane, no less), having conversations that don't include words like "rad," "totally," or "dude."

Ok, I still say "dude" as much as possible. Just not to clients.

It was weird to see myself 15 years ago through the eyes of my grown-up self right now. Am I where I'm supposed to be? Am I who I thought I'd be back when I had the whole world ahead of me? No harm, no fouls . . . yet. Choices toward a future still to be made. Grown-up decisions a distant thought. Fun of the moment and teenage drama still at hand.

I don't know. What? Yeah. I don't know if I had an idea of what I wanted to be when I grew up, and now that I'm more grown-up than not grown-up, I don't know if this is what I had in mind back in the day.

Weirder than that, it's weird to think that I'm ok wherever this is that I am, for the most part, for now. For not having much of an idea of where I wanted to be or what I wanted to make of myself, and for having an interesting road on the way to getting here, I'm blessed to have ended up someplace that's working out okay for me . . . for now.

I thought about all that's happened since high school, since the so-called innocence of my youth. Things that have led me to where I am today, to my seat on that plane earlier this week. Life for me has taken some crazy, unexpected turns. It's hard not to think "what if," had forks in the road along the way had forked the other way.

Yeah, a lot of thinking for an early morning plane ride . . .

I'm glad I'm not still in those high school band nerd days. It was great at the time (don't judge), but I'm glad it's in the past and part of who I am today, rather than where I still am today.

Plus, I'm not done yet. So, there's that.

C.T.

Random Thankful Reflections

2009-03-20T20:05:00.005-05:00

I'm thankful for some random things these days.

Right now, in a moment of reflection, I'm thankful for my house, this fantastic weather we've been having, my patio, and a nice, event-free, relaxing Friday evening that I can sit out here on my patio and listen to my sprinklers . . . alone . . . in the calm and beauty of my grody Texas yard.

I'm just really blessed, y'all.

Lately I've also been thankful for some of the experiences I've been through. Not because I am glad those things happened or that I'm thankful to have gone through them. No question, given the option of changing some things in my lifetime, I'd pick what's behind door #2. Door # 1 kinda sucked.

But, on the other side of Door #1 (or at least on a side of it with better perspective - I can't say I'm truly on the other side or that I ever will be), I can appreciate what I've learned and the person I am today . . . in part due to the things that have happened in my world as a grown-up.

That's a big deal for me, y'all. I don't come by peace in my world very easily.

Sometimes I feel like I had to grow up really fast, really suddenly. And not in a way that I would have preferred.

But, the way I'm thankful for my life's less-than-pleasant experiences thus far is that I can talk. And I can be there. And I can understand what others may be going through, in a way that I would not be able to had I not experienced some downs in my lifetime thus far.

That may be cheesy, but I don't care right now. I am so thankful to be in a place where my world isn't falling a part, right now, at this time. I can be strong when I'm needed. That feels really good.

It's not that I never thought I'd get to this place. And you know, I won't always be in this place. One thing I've certainly learned is that good days come and go, with bad days mixed in there from time to time. All part of it . . . life, growing, learning . . . healing.

But, I've grown to appreciate the significance of the good days and what they mean having been through a world that fell apart, for a long time.

And I can talk. And share. And be there. And listen. And maybe, if there can ever be a reason for things to happen that rock your world in bad ways, my being able to talk, and share, and be there, and love, and support, and listen, and be strong . . . for others . . . is part of why I grew up quickly, suddenly . . . permanently.

It's so hard to see the bigger picture sometimes. To see beyond what is broken and hurting and what doesn't make sense. Getting to a place where I can start to piece together somewhat of a bigger picture, well, it's good.

I don't know. Just some random thoughts on a perfect evening, in the calm and refuge of my homestead . . . sound of the sprinklers soothing me . . . peaceful moments.

I'll take them when I can get them, and I'll savor them for as long as I can.

God is good, y'all. I promise.

C.T.

I didn't get a bonus this year.

2009-03-17T21:22:00.003-05:00

Nope, no bonuses at my company this year.

I did, however, pay my taxes. Which I guess means that today I apparently helped pay some million-dollar bonuses for some millionaires.

As did you, and you, and you and you and you . . .

Since my company just switched our dental insurance to AIG, I think maybe this is the year I need to get a LOT of dental work done . . . maybe several million dollars worth . . .

Diamond-studded grill? A few gold teeth? Extra super-duper teeth whitening? A few rounds of x-rays?

YES. Done and done.

C.T.

I am stimulated.

2009-03-15T19:37:00.003-05:00

My paycheck this week reflected the first installment of the new-fangled, save-the-economy tax cut thingy recently enacted by our government.

For me, it amounts to an extra $20 per paycheck.

Wow. It's a veritable windfall of funds, if you will.

We'll be back on our feet in no time.

Thanks, Obama!

C.T.

Why Blockbuster is helping Netflix

2009-02-28T22:53:00.004-06:00

I have Netflix, and have had it for quite some time now. I love it, and I'm also IN love with it. Netflix can pretty much do no wrong, as far as I'm concerned.

Even if I HATED Netflix (which I don't), here is why Netflix. What follows is an event at Blockbuster this evening with a friend who does not have Netflix:

Us: I just turned in "insert sappy tearjerker movie here."
Blockbuster Drone: Yeah. The fee on that is $157.42.
Us: Ok, sure it was a couple of weeks late. But I thought Blockbuster had no late fees.
BD: Uh, yeah. We reinstated late fees a month or so ago.
Us: Ok, but I had no idea. And I just turned it in. So, do I really have to pay $157.42? I just want to rent these two movies now. And I just turned the other one in.
BD: Uh... yeah. It's late, so you owe $157.42.
Us: Ok, but I didn't know.
BD: Ok, but this is the late fee.
Us: So, if we pay $157.42 do we now OWN the movie? If so, go get it out of that bin WHERE WE JUST TURNED IT IN.
BD: Let me get a manager.
Us: ..................
BD Manager: Ok, we can take off that fee and add a warning to your record because now you know about the late fees.
Us: Awesome.
BD: Ok, it's $3.25 for those two movies. How many days do you want to keep them?
Us: What?
BD: How long do you want to keep the movies?
Us: Three days.
BD: Ok, you can choose one day, or five days.
Us: Ok, well then... one day.
BD: Great. Ok, if you don't return these tomorrow then there is a $450.94739 late fee per day that the movies are not returned.
Us: Fantastic.

Blockbuster.... making it DIFFICULT to rent movies by reinstating late fees at exorbitant prices starting less days than you request because they can't let you have the movie for as long as you want.

Netflix.... no late fees. Ever. Keep the movies as long as you want.

R.I.P. Blockbuster.

C.T.

A Better Stimulus Plan: The Tyrant Plan

2009-02-19T19:28:00.007-06:00

I'm just gonna say it. I'm not real excited about this "stimulus" plan.

I mean, it just all seems thrown together, half-assed and ill-thought-out, with a bunch of stuff in it that has nothing to do with stimulating the economy or helping the millions of people who have lost practical jobs.

I'm sure spending billions of dollars on Global Warming will provide new jobs for some scientists or something. But for the people I know who have lost jobs and who need jobs, Global Warming ain't gonna help them now or any time soon.

Now, those senators and the President and whatnot did not ask for my help. But, I've put some thought into it. I believe I've come up with a better (and FAR less ridiculous) plan. It's actually really simple.

(I think maybe all the senators and congressmen didn't read that whole stimulus bill before voting because it was just really, really, really ridiculously too long and confusing.)

1. Deport all the illegal immigrants.
Just the illegal ones. This will free up, like, a BILLION jobs by next week, or maybe the week after.

2. Make gas free for all travel within the U.S.
Seriously, this is genius. The gas company executives made enough money in 2008 to live for like, 37 years. So they'll be okay if gas is free for a year or so. Airfare will go down and people will fly to places and spend money. People will drive places and spend money. People will be able to afford gas to get to work and earn money (at the new jobs freed up by getting rid of the immigrants). There is no flaw with this plan.

3. Stop giving money to banks and car companies and other irresponsible companies.
I mean, seriously. New banks pop up on every corner every five minutes like 7-elevens or something, except you can't even get a Slurpee at any of these superfluous banks. Stop giving banks more money unless they will give away free Slurpees every time they DON'T do something stupid with our money.

And the car companies? I mean, if they were serious about selling cars and not flying around in private jets right now, all cars should be at least half-off as a show of good faith. I don't want to buy a Hummer and get a Ford Focus thrown in for free. I want to buy two cars that I WANT for the price of ONE car. And then I will drive them around the country using free gas (see #3).

Other greedy companies? Same rules apply.

4. Give tax credits, refunds, whatever to ME.
You want people to start spending money again? The people who need the "stimulating" are people like ME. We make enough money at our regular jobs to be comfortable and are not in debt (unlike our governmental role models), yet we don't qualify for many (if any) of the rebates, refunds, or tax cuts in your new-fangled "stimulus" plan.

PLUS, we are scared out of our minds about what you people are doing with my hard-earned taxes these days that we'd rather hole up, watch our Netflix, and not spend any of our money out there where the country needs it. Who knows, we could be next to fall victim to governmental input on "fixing" the economy. You want this large chunk of America to start spending money again? Give us a reason to part with our pennies.

These are four simple things that I think can be MUCH more effective, and again, LESS ridiculous than the current plan.

But . . . no one wanted my help. So, I'll just sit here at home, watching my Netflix, holding on to my pennies for the next rainy day . . . in case this whole stimulus thingy doesn't work out so well.

C.T.

It was pretty much awesome.

2009-02-12T22:01:00.002-06:00

C.T

Tyrant, you've just (a week ago) watched the Super Bowl.

2009-02-07T22:12:00.002-06:00

What are you going to do now???

I'M GOING TO DISNEY WORLD!!!

Seriously. I am.

Is it legal to be cynical in the Happiest Place On Earth? We're going to find out, y'all.

C.T.

Watch out, y'all

2009-01-28T21:29:00.001-06:00

C.T.

Ice Storm '09, y'all

2009-01-28T09:23:00.003-06:00

I'm enjoying a leisurely Wednesday morning at home, still in my pjs, snuggled under my blankets, with my coffee, watching . . . ICE STORM '09 on T.V.

Work is delayed til noon. And I am snuggly.

For the past 30 minutes, ICE STORM '09 has consisted of the local news team pointing a camera at one particular ramp that is loaded with cars that are stuck and/or slipping and sliding into each other or into rails . . . and making comments about the whole mess.

I don't know how that is really helping get us through ICE STORM '09, and yet . . . I can't stop watching.

Glad I'm not out there.

C.T.

We have a new President. Now we need a new word.

2009-01-20T19:28:00.004-06:00

Today was a big day for our country, no matter where you fall on the political spectrum. The inauguration of a new President is a big deal.

The inauguration of any President is a big deal. The inauguration of any President brings change. It's an exciting time.

All of the hub-bub of the day is certainly exciting. But mostly, the hub-bub got me thinking today. And here are my thoughts....

One thing I hope for the people of this country is that we are keeping our perspective on this change that has begun. We've used and heard the word "change" so much over the past few months of campaigns, election, and now on this day as our 44th President takes office, the word itself has almost taken on a life of its own. Or perhaps it's lost its real meaning.

Personally, I'm sick of hearing it. Not because I don't believe in it. Not because I am bitter towards the situation. I'm just concerned that the expectation and the excitement has ruined the word forever. And I'm concerned that "change" may translate into "undo" for those who are championing the word as though "change" is the answer to a world full of problems. It feels like the hope I'm hearing about today is synonamous with "change." And that's a little scary.

As a wise man once said, "I do not think that word means what you think it means." (Name the movie....)

Here's the thing, for me. Today, President Obama pledged to restore hope to this country. But, I had hope for this country before today, before Obama, during the last eight years of Bush, and I'll continue to have hope long after the Obama hype and the man himself has moved on. There are millions of Americans who have never stopped having hope for this country.

There's never been a reason to lose hope in this country. And if your hope started today, there's a bigger problem in this country than the problems that just left Office. Having hope is not a change.

I've been proud to be an American for 33 years. Well, at least for as long as I can remember. Today is not the day that makes me proud to be an American again. If you haven't been proud to be an American during the last eight years, that's a bigger problem that has nothing to do with the people who will come and go as our Commander in Chief.

Being proud of this country is not a change, and should not be a change that begins today.

President Obama also pledged to restore prosperity to our country. I don't know if you've looked around the world lately, but by any standard just about anywhere, the United States is an extremely prosperous country. I don't think this country's success in the area of prosperity is the issue, or even a concern. Prosperity is not what needs to be restored.

Yes, we are in an economic struggle. And we do have a lot of work to do to recover to a place of stability. But again, I ask that we keep things in perspective. This is not the poorest we've been or the worst situation we've been in. Prosperity (aka "greed") is actually the root of the problem that we have right now.

We certainly have challenges ahead. But, hear this: Obama cannot make the difference by himself. He may represent a new face on things. But by himself, he can't get a whole lot done.

I found this blog today and appreciated the message it gives and the perspective it brings, even though it's a little snarky even for my tastes. The hype of today, of Obama, is dangerous, and we need to chill. The worst thing we can do right now is set the man of the hour up for failure by placing all of our hopes in one basket, one man, one word . . . "change."

The party ends tonight, ladies and gentlemen. The 108 inaugural balls will end, the clock will strike midnight, the glass slipper gets left behind and our new President turns back into a working pumpkin tomorrow.

Because tomorrow, the world's eyes are on him. But not because he "is the change," or because he's popular among celebrities, or because he's hot, or because he's our first African-American President. None of that matters for the next four years. The celebrity "bubble" that's been the part-ay atmosphere since November is over. He will not be judged by his celebrity, by his abs, by how his wife dresses, or by the new Presidential puppy.

He will be judged by his successes, and his failures, as all other Presidents who have gone before him. And no matter how much hope you found today, there will be failures, my friends.

Tomorrow, the work begins. Tomorrow we begin to see what he's really made of, and what "change" really means.

Tomorrow he starts the massive task of proving himself, filling the shoes of Presidents before him, and leading this country into unity and to the next stage in our future. President Obama will not be compared only to now-former President George W. Bush. He'll be put up against all Presidents who have gone before him. And "change" should not be compared only to the past eight years.

This isn't a fad. This isn't Hollywood. This isn't a hip slogan about "change." This is the real deal now, folks. Let's get this thing into perspective.

I hope to be impressed by whatever change comes about, and I hope it takes the right amount of time to come into play so that it is effective, positive, and the best change it can be. No more, no less. I hope to be impressed by this man, our 44th President. I hope we celebrate him as much on his last day in office as we did today, on his first day. I don't see any reason why that can't happen.

But mostly, I hope we find a new word to use to shape and ultimately to remember this Presidency. This cannot be the Change Administration. No self-respecting leader wants to be known only for change. And I guarantee this: if change is the expectation, we will not be disappointed . . . except where the changes might not be in our best interest as a country, or the changes don't come soon enough for many of our expectations . . . or the changes don't mean what we thought they meant.

So, I encourage us to let that word go. I don't want to hear anymore about change, unless you are loaning me some change so I can get a Coke out of the machine.

But if we can't let it go, if we must keep that word as our mantra to get through the next four years, let's consider substituting another word. Like "pizza," or "bear hugs." Something that doesn't make me cringe or think of menopause (going through "the change") every time I hear it.

I appreciated much of Obama's speech today, particularly his reminder that the truths we desire and the truths we must adhere to today are the same truths that this country was founded upon. That never changes, no matter the person in place as our President.

That's a good reminder to us all, that maybe we aren't really in search of change in the way we have abused the word. But rather, maybe we just need a shift in focus to reposition our functionality back to our values that have always been there, from the beginning.

Bear hugs, y'all. Bear hugs.

C.T.

Farewell, Old Matresses

2009-01-14T19:57:00.003-06:00

Tonight will be my last night of sleep on the mattresses I have had since . . . well, at least junior high. Maybe earlier than that.

I will not get into all of the details of what all these mattresses have been through. But the more I think about them, the more I am pretty sure they are biohazard status and should probably be disposed of through incineration. Or weighed down with rocks and sunk to the bottom of the deepest part of the ocean.

They've been good mattresses. At one time, they were really good, nice, firm mattresses that served me well.

But one day, you wake up and you realize that every morning starts with aches and pains and cricks because your tossed and turned all night and never got out of that one sunken spot in the middle of the bed where you were curled into an uncomfortable ball all night.

It hurts.

No more, my friends. No more.

For . . . tomorrow morning, bright and early, shiny brand new mattresses will arrive at my house. And the old ones will be carted away.

And then, I may never get out of bed again. The fantastic new mattresses that are on their way will be so amazing, so comfy, so sleep-worthy that I might just live there forever.

I am, however, a little frightened by what may or may not be living under my bed. It's been in that one spot for a little over five years now. I never look under there. It could be bad.

But, one last time, to honor the mattresses that have gotten me through many, many nights of sleep, and that have always been a safe sanctuary for me to crawl in and hunker down when the world is cruel, or (as was the case when I used to be afraid of those dang flying monkeys from The Wizard of Oz) a place of safety . . . a haiku. For you.

Old Mattresses, go
To mattress heaven, be gone
Good night sleep is here

Farewell, old friends . . . and hello new friends!

C.T.

Snark it as I see it: The Golden Globes

2009-01-11T19:01:00.030-06:00

Back in the day, I used to provide my valuable insights here for many an awards show. The beauty of this now is that I have the wireless and the laptop and can literally blog live.

I'm going to attempt to publish as I go . . . more bullet points will pop up at the bottom as the night wears on . . . this could be awesome, or totally lame, and it's entirely possible I'll give up halfway through.

Otherwise, enjoy!

The red carpet was so-so. I do, however, want to punch Miley in the face for complaining on national television that she only got her mom's hand-me-down Porche for her 16th birthday. I'm sorry, but in what actual reality is a hand-me-down Porche something to complain about?

Drew Barrymore's hair reminds me of Tippi Hedren in The Birds after she gets swarmed and attacked by thousands of birds a few times.

They say the Globes are the "fun" awards show, but so far that seems to mean "wheels off." I just saw someone carrying a chair across the room. JLo was screaming at people to shut up so she could present an award. The screen just went black. This is fun!

No more awards for Kate Winslet. I like her and I like that she won, but I can't handle anymore of her thank-you speeches. I think she thanked me.

It appears that if you are a woman and you win an award, the rule is that every man within arm's reach gets to kiss you on your way up to the stage. Depending on who you are sitting near, this could be bad . . .

It's so nice that they pulled in a drunk, homeless man off the street to tell everyone (and Steven) to have a good time.

Did Hayden just steal Zac Efron's line because she thought he wasn't paying attention? Rude.

Last time I checked, Anna Paquin was 11 years old. What?

I love how the stars just wander around willy nilly, and Ricky Gervais wanders on stage with a drink in hand. I'm not entirely sure why he was there, but he should do that a few more times tonight.

Why must the Jonas Brothers show up and ruin EVERYTHING!!?!?!? Is there no sacred place left on earth where we aren't forced to Jo Bro???? That's it. One day when I am requested to attend an awards show, my one stipulation is that the Jonas Brothers are not anywhere within a 100 miles of the show.

Why have I never heard of Happy Go Lucky until right now? I mean, seriously. No more awards to people who are from fake, made-up movies or who have to thank everyone in the world and who are in love with Emma Thompson.

Correction: Johnny Depp should come on stage and look adorably uncomfortable a few more times during the show. Loverly. I would watch that all night.

Seriously, the next award that someone sets on the stage? It's MINE. If you can't hold it for a minute and talk at the same time, I will hold it for you . . . forever.

Drew Barrymore and Jessica Lange apparently have an inside joke on stage, y'all. Oh wait, no it's just that P-Diddy is a really bad actor . . . in the sun.

I will always love Tom Hanks. He can do no wrong. Even though I have no idea what he just won.

They got this one right. No snark here.

Colin Farrell just snotted on the microphone and made an inappropriate joke. These awards are nothing, if not classy.

Maggie Gyllenhal's dress, is, um, uh . . . not good. I think I also saw Glenn Close wearing her curtains, or perhaps a table cloth of some sort. You would think it wouldn't be so hard for famous people to not look stupid.

Seriously? In Bruges is nominated as a Best Picture? What? It's cuz of that dwarf.

Those Slumdog Millionare people are super cute. Good for them!

Anyone who watched the new Scrubs last week and saw the very end will appreciate with me that Tony Shaloub did NOT win this year. Win one for Zach Braff, y'all.

By my calculations, Rumer Willis wants to crawl under a table and do some cocaine with Mickey Rourke right about now, between the mommy "don't slouch" comment from Demi and the juice box thing from Alec Baldwin.

I'm wearing Old Nay sweatpants and a Coke Is It t-shirt from a thrift store, by the way. I've accessorized with a bag full of Jelly Belly's. Not red carpet attire, but I'm totally comfy.

I'm sorry, I was wrong. Renee Zellweger's hair reminds me of Tippi Hedrin from The Birds . . . and her dress just makes me sad. It's like butterfly netting attached to a cape, but not in a good way.

Yes. Glenn Close is, in fact, wearing what I think was originally on her table when she first came in for the evening of awards festivities. And strangely, it kinda works for her in a room-decor-as-clothes sort of way.

I don't think Tracy Morgan ever really knows where he is. He probably gave the same thank-you speech to himself this morning while he talked into a shampoo bottle in the shower.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again. James Bond should never, EVER sing. That means you, Pierce.

I'm a little surprised that Beyonce wasn't nominated for the Best Soundtrack to every viral video spoof in 2008. She totally would have won.

Um, that guy just thanked the billion people of India. GENIUS.

David Duchovny so far wins the Most Awkward Jokes About My Family To Cover Up That We Are Not So Happy Award.

Tina Fey should always win things. Sorry, Mom. I find her to be hilarious with my kind of fantastic, sharp, sarcastic wit, and she's almost as good-looking as I am. Hollywood Foreign Press Action Figures . . . PURE GENIUS!!! I mean, Tina and I are the same kind of funny and I . . . . I'm sorry, I just got distracted again by Drew Barrymore's tumbleweedish hair . . . no idea where I was going with this . . .

Cecile B. Demille Award = bathroom break and popcorn fetching

Steven Spielberg's hair looks fine. And he apparently invented movies or something. And he just put his award down on the podium, which makes it MINE. I'm not kidding about that rule, y'all.

I love Emma Thompson. She never seems to quite know what's going on. And I love when Dustin Hoffman is Rainman during awards shows. He's so silly! But is he, like, 3 feet tall? He could give that In Bruges dwarf a run for his money.

Oh . . . it's really bad when you are introduced as the star of the "upcoming Lifetime movie . . . " Sigourney Weaver . . . where is the glory of Alien and Gorillas in the Mist when you need it?!?!?

I'm still not understanding why In Bruges is winning awards, or nominated, for that matter. Even Colin Farrell doesn't understand why he's up there getting an award. But he does wear two earrings, so he's got that going for him. Really, if anyone should win from this movie, it should be the dwarf. He wore a funny hat!

Sacha Baron Cohen . . . not so much funny tonight. Where's Borat?

Now, is Vicky Cristina Barcelona a Comedy? Or a musical. I'm confused. Mostly at why Comedy or Musical is all one category. What if it's a sad musical? Or a comedy with a tragic ending?

I just saw Tom Cruise trying to recruit Kate Winslet to Scientology. And now I'm watching a commercial for Quiznos "chefs." As if Scientology or Quiznos chefs are both things that exist as things that are real . . .

Oh, Slumdog Millionare guy with the bedazzled necktie tucked into your shirt? Um, no. I'm happy for you and your movie. But I'm not happy for that tie.

Cameron Diaz seems to be literally wrapped up in an Ace bandage as her dress. Genius, and affordable. And if she falls because it's wrapped too, tight, no worries. She's set and wrapped already for a full body sprain.

Angelina might murder someone if she doesn't win that Lead Actress award eventually. Shot down at the Critic's Choice, and now that girl from Titanic takes the Globe from her . . . and then forgets Angelina was even one of the nominees in her speech . . . . The good thing is that the Academy will not want to sit through Kate Winslet's speeches again. So, what's-her-name could get her shot at the Oscars.

Wheels off, Rainn and Blake.

I have no idea what the Mad Men guy is rambling on about. Bring back Kate Winslet's speech, please.

Mickey Rourke should have washed his hair to get an award tonight. I think he tripped up the stairs from all the hair grease. But, congrats anyway! Wait, did he just thank his dog? Nevermind. Please take his award back, pronto.

I don't think middle fingers are allowed on primetime T.V., and that means you, director of The Wrestler.

I wish Tom Cruise was wearing the eye patch to present the last award. I really do.

Accepting the award for Slumdog Millionare are the one billion people of India. This could take awhile . . . everyone please keep your seats.

Well, that's it from The Tyrant's Couch Blogging of the 66th Annual Golden Globe Awards, and first ever live blogging event. There were some odd wins, and some even odder outfits. Thankfully, this makes my snarky blogging job easy.

Thank you, and good night. And don't vote for Kate Winslet for any Oscars until she learns how to ramble less.

Oh, I almost forgot . . . The Birds.

C.T.

The price of fame...

2009-01-11T18:28:00.002-06:00

Since my awesome music video has hit the interweb, my level of famousness has increased several-fold.

Paparazzi around every corner and hiding in every bush. At least, I don't THINK I'm imagining that.

Interviews, special appearances . . . you know, it just never stops.

I will write again.

C.T.

This article is wrong.

2009-01-01T20:59:00.002-06:00

Because I'd say TWO women rule YouTube . . .

Beyonce & ME.

FOXNews.com - One Woman Rules Youtube

Move over, Beyonce.

C.T.

And what did YOU do over your Christmas break . . .

2008-12-28T20:47:00.001-06:00

I accidentally did THIS . . .

Once again, that film degree is paying off . . .

C.T.

Can you even fathom 30,000 pairs of shoes?

2008-12-21T13:18:00.003-06:00

Well, I can. And I'll tell you why.

If you'll recall, my newest favorite thing is TOMS shoes. For every pair of shoes or item of TOMS apparel that is purchased, they give a pair of shoes to a child who needs shoes.

This month, right now, they are nearing the mark of providing 30,000 shoes for 30,000 children in Ethiopia. And what's even cooler than a big ol' pile of 30,000 shoes is that they've done this in 30 days.

30,000 shoes in 30 days. Almost . . .

If you're looking for last-minute gift idea for a friend or loved one, go buy a pair of TOMS and help reach that goal of 30,000 shoes for kids in Ethiopia.

I have two pairs of TOMS now, and they have quickly become my favorite shoes. If you don't know how big your friends's feets are, get them a gift card. Or a hat. Or a hoodie. Everything is the same as a pair of shoes for a child.

Then, take the money your grandma sends you for Christmas and do some shopping for yourself at TOMS. T-shirt, shoes, tiny shoes for a tiny person that you may know . . .

See how close to 30,000 pairs of shoes? But not close enough . . . yet.

www.tomsshoes.com

Now.

C.T.

Ok, about the guy who threw the shoe . . .

2008-12-16T20:20:00.002-06:00

Anyone who saw the story about the guy who threw the shoe at President Bush and who did not immediately think of Austin Powers . . . "I mean, who throws a shoe? Who DOES that!?!?" . . . I don't even want to know you.

Now, I'm failing to understand this whole shoe-throwing thing. I understand this Iraqi guy wanted to disgrace Bush. But . . . I'm pretty sure that's not what he accomplished.

I did, however, learn that throwing a shoe is the best and most culturally accepted way to disgrace someone. Who knew?

I mean, how did he really expect this to play out? For one thing, after throwing two shoes, you are now shoeless . . . which probably makes it harder to run away from cops and Secret Service, I would imagine.

I have no idea, however, from personal experience . . .

I mean, if for no other reason, he would stand out as being the only guy in the room without shoes. I wasn't there, but I'm pretty sure everyone else in the room had not one, but two shoes on.

And I'd be willing to put money on the fact that there would likely also be a foot odor of some sort following him as he tried to make his escape, thusly drawing even more attention to his shoeless getaway.

So, was his plan really to show up at the press event, no less, full of cameras and reporters, throw some shoes, then expect to make a clean getaway, only to read about himself the next day as a Mysterious Shoe-Throwing Superhero who successfully disgraced that American President Bush when no one else could?

Maybe a little more thought should have gone into that plan, seeing as how he's now in jail for tossing his shoes . . . He maybe should have just mailed his shoes to the White House with a nasty note or something. Or perhaps e-mailed a picture of a shoe with a harsh limerick?

Whatever. Next time I need to disgrace anyone, I'm definitely throwing one or both of my size 9.5s. I'm pretty fast in just my socks. I think I could make it.

C.T.

I'm apparently not mean enough

2008-12-10T18:45:00.005-06:00

Today a friend told me that I'm too nice and I should not do nice things for her because it might be weird that I'm so nice.

I can honestly say this is the first time anyone has said this to me. I am thoroughly confounded. I wonder if she's actually met me.

I mean, I guess it's better than, "Hey you're really mean and you should quit doing mean things to me, jerk." So, I guess it's a good problem to have, being too nice.

But, I've never thought of myself as all that nice.

I mean, I like to do nice things for people. But usually when it's convenient for me, like, I'm already going that way or something. Or, if I need one, too, then sure, I'll get one for you, too, but I might charge you for gas.

If I have to get up too early to help you, I'll more likely fake a seizure and leave you high and dry. If you need me to do something I don't normally do, I'll probably weasel out of it because I'm "sick."

If I have to drive too far to help you, or if I don't already have what you need, chances are I won't answer the phone when you call.

If it's an emergency and I'm busy napping or watching T.V. but you really need my help, unless I can DVR whatever I'm watching or nap while I'm helping you, you're probably out of luck. And if you wake me from a nap, well, you don't want to deal with that angry mess anyway. It's nicer of me to stay here and leave you somewhere on the side of the road.

I have no shame in making fun of whatever you're wearing or making snarky comments behind your back if your hair looks weird. I've been known to not open doors for old people or people in wheelchairs . . . without even thinking twice. I will not hesitate to cut you off in traffic or tailgate you until you get out of my way.

If I'm really annoyed by you, I won't even make eye contact. If that results in me running into you and knocking you down because I refuse to look at you, it's not my fault. You got in my way.

So, basically telling me to not be so nice is the same as asking me to punch you in the face for no good reason at all. Everyday. When you're not expecting it.

But since you insist, so be it.

Get out of my way.

C.T.

I do everything to the best of my abilities.

2008-12-07T21:38:00.002-06:00

This includes getting sick.

This weekend's illness event was a fun combination of laryngitis, what I think was a cold, plus an eye infection that started in one eye and then moved to the other one. I like to think it was what it was like to be Helen Keller, except I could still hear. Mostly.

Not only was it fun, but I looked good, too.

I give 100% to everything I do. Even germs.

C.T.

People are idiots

2008-11-30T12:30:00.002-06:00

I found this Miss Manners in the paper this morning. I kind of want to punch this reader in the face for being an idiot.

DEAR MISS MANNERS: Very often, when making a purchase with our credit card, we are asked by the sales associate to show a picture ID. This is something we find highly offensive, as it is basically a request to prove that we are not attempting to use a stolen card.

When we complain to the clerk (or the manager, who usually gets involved) that the request is offensive, we are invariably told that it is for our own protection. Most of the time, they just don't seem to understand how it is offensive. Is there anything that can be said to let them know that I really don't like being treated like a criminal when I'm trying to enhance their profit margin? I feel like I'm being rude to the clerks when I complain. I know it's not usually their fault (company policy), but that doesn't lessen the affront.

GENTLE READER: Here is how to lessen your feeling of offense:

Leave your credit card lying around some place where there are likely to be disreputable strangers. Then examine your next credit card bill. After that, Miss Manners suggests that you might want to make a sheepish apology to that insulting company.

This Gentle Idiot Reader should only use cash. Always.

Personally, I'm offended when stores DON'T ask for my I.D. I'm also offended when people steal my credit card number and use it to buy ipods at Best Buy.

Sincerely,
Offended by Credit Card Theft in Texas

Remembering to give thanks

2008-11-27T20:33:00.003-06:00

Holidays are hard since I don't have my sister anymore. That just takes the wind of the sails for my holidays.

It's not that I have to force myself to be thankful. Sometimes I just have to make myself focus on what I am thankful for so that I don't focus on what is missing.

This year I am thankful for a lot of things, and here are a few . . .

I'm thankful that Mamaw could get on a plane and come visit us for Thanksgiving this year. I am so glad to have this time to spend with her, having her all to ourselves.

I am thankful for my parents, that both of them are healthy and doing well. They are wonderful, thoughtful, generous, and they both make me very proud. I raised them well.

I'm thankful for my parents' dogs, Duke and Daisy, who are currently at Doggie Boot Camp learning how to be properly behaved dogs that don't embarrass us. I miss having them to play with for the holiday, but I'm glad they are learning good things, like not taking running, flying leaps at me when I walk in the door.

I am very thankful for my job. First, I am glad to have it in light of current economic situations when many folks do not have jobs. But, I'm also very thankful that it is a MUCH better situation than this time last year when I was working 60-70 hours a week with a lot of stress and very little appreciation. I can actually enjoy my four days off for Thanksgiving with peace and without stress. I worked at home last year for Thanksgiving. NO MORE.

I am thankful for flannel pajama pants. I've bought several pairs this year to restock my tired old pants, and these new ones make me very, very happy.

I am thankful for friends, new and old. I've gotten to know some fantastic people this year, and I've had more time to spend with old friends. I am continually amazed and blessed by the people God puts in my life. I learn so much from them. They take good care of me. They make me laugh and they put up with my craziness and silly antics. They make me feel as though I have a place of importance in their world. For this, I am thankful.

I am thankful for my house and everything in it, and for the financial stability at this time to be able to stay in my house and live comfortably.

I am thankful to have enough so that I can give to help others who have needs.

I am thankful that I don't have to spend my weekend doing chores or de-leafing. I can truly relax this weekend, which is fantastic!

I am thankful for fabric softener, without which I would never be satisfied by how my clothes smell. If I could bathe in fabric softener, I would.

I am thankful to be in a good, peaceful place in my world.

I am thankful for some of my favorite men in my life, without which my feet would never be comfortable or fun: Chucks and TOMS

I'm thankful for Jumbalaya Jeep, who is paid off and running well at the ripe old age of 6 years old.

I am thankful for pizza.

I am thankful for so much more than I am sad and missing Miriam during the holidays. But it would be so wonderful to share these things that I am thankful for . . . with her.

I am thankful that I still miss her.

Thankful wishes to all of you!

C.T.

Tyrant's Favorite Things

2008-11-21T20:57:00.004-06:00

If Oprah can have Favorite Things, so can I.

My new favorite thing is for a good cause, plus it addresses my like of fun, comfy shoes . . . a necessity to realize the full potential of The Tyrant.

I recently came to know about TOMS Shoes:

If any of you watch The Amazing Race, Blake from the second place team a few season's ago started this company. But that's not the best reason to buy these shoes.

The best reason to buy the shoes is that for every pair of shoes, t-shirt, hat, whatever sold, they give a pair of shoes to a child.

So, you buy these:

. . . and a child gets those, too. But in their size, of course.

I bought those shoes above a couple of weeks ago, and I fell in love with them. Comfy, simple, fun, and (this may sound silly) but when I put them on I remember that I just gave a pair of shoes to a child who needs some shoes.

So, I bought another pair of shoes. And a shirt. That's two more pairs of shoes for two more children. No tax, no shipping. Just shoes.

For this holiday season, TOMS is hoping to provide 30,000 shoes in Ethiopia. I think that's fantastic.

So, go buy yourself some TOMS. It's the holidays. Make it a present for yourself or a friend or your family . . . and for a kid who really needs some shoes just like yours.

www.tomsshoes.com

C.T.

The Tyant is Winterized.

2008-11-16T17:47:00.005-06:00

It takes very little cold to send me into winterizing mode. I just can't handle being cold.

This weekend was the first real taste of colder temperatures, so it sent me into a cold-be-gone frenzy.

I broke out the flannel sheets and electric blanket this weekend. The flannel sheets were so warm and delightful, I didn't even need to turn on the blanket.
I finally let myself turn on the heat this morning. I've since turned it back off because it warmed up again . . .
I bought new space heaters. I've been using the ones my parents bought for my sister and me when I was in highschool. I decided this year . . . they might be old enough that I should consider them a fire-hazard.
I bought sweaters, hoodies, and sweatpants. Everything was on sale this weekend!
I washed pretty much every blanket and jacket that I own and that I haven't used since last cold season. I can't help it. I really love fabric softener . . . and snuggling.
I stocked up on hot chocolate and all of the ingredients for our family spice tea concoction to make my first batch of the season.

And, for the pinnacle of The Tyrant's winterization . . . I bought this.

Yes, that's a fire pit. I decided this year that I need fire.

Don't worry, I also bought a fire extinguisher . . . but just to be safe, someone should probably put 911 on their speed dial and keep the phone handy for the next few months.

Fire, y'all!

C.T.

De-Leafing 2008

2008-11-09T11:34:00.003-06:00

I was able to document my day of de-leafing the yard yesterday.

First, I took my family photo in and amongst the fall leavery.

Then I was momentarily lost behind a giant pile of leaves.

Eventually, I collapsed in exhaustion at the conclusion of the de-leafing.

I wrangled 14 bags of leaves.

Also, the bread war continues. I noticed this sitting on top of the fence. But since this fence is not on the side of the yard closest to the bread-throwing neighbor, I can only assume a squirrel put it there, setting it gingerly in a place that I would be sure to find his bread-taunting tactics.

Today, my body hurts. And I am boycotting Yard Bread.

C.T.

My expectations for the "change."

2008-11-05T18:29:00.003-06:00

Now that the election is over and we have our new President-elect, it's time to hunker down accept what is to come. But more important, it's time to hold our future President to the promises he has made that won him his place in our history as the 44th President.

My expectations are the same as they would be even if McCain had won. I voted for McCain (pause for all of my liberal friends to freak out, ridicule, point and laugh, and gloat . . .). But accepting the outcome of yesterday's election, I hold the next President of my country to the same standards as any other President: to lead with integrity and to serve the citizens of this country in such ways that only improve on the situation he has been given.

Even though I did not vote for Obama, I am a huge supporter of coming together as a country, Republican and Democrat status aside, to work together for the greater good. We don't always get what we want, but we must work together to make our country the best it can be and a place to be proud of.

The big selling point for the Obama campaign was "change." But, in all reality, we will always see change in this country, regardless of if we vote for what is labeled as "change" or not. No two presidencies are the same. But we must adapt as a country to whatever change comes our way.

And the true reality is . . . the Commander-in-Chief is not in control. Even if Paris Hilton told us to vote for him, bitches.

But, to gain my full support and the support of fellow Republican voters, Obama and his Democrats have quite a challenge ahead. Yes, it is up to all of you to prove to every one of us that the choice you made is the best choice for our country, not just for a liberal agenda. You've won your change, now prove to the rest of us that we were wrong to vote against your brand of change.

It's time to stop gloating (24-hours is more than enough) and to end the partying and celebrating, and get down to business. The gloating is divisive, so get over it and embrace your fellow countrymen in the name of Obama. You need to rally the country around this change you have chosen for us. You need to reach out across the aisle and help us understand why you are a good change and something that this country needs.

Prove to us that it wasn't just the cool thing to do to vote for our first black President. Throughout this whole campaign, Obama was the hip and cool thing to do, the anti-Bush. The promise of change struck a chord with our GAP Red, MTV, Hollywood-engrossed generation. If the celebrities think he's the right choice, then that should definitely influence my vote, right?

The next four years are not the "cool thing to do." The President is not a popularity contest. The next presidency is not a fad, or a chance to do everything the opposite of the way Bush did it, just because Bush did it. Voting for change is a huge responsibility, and now that we've got the change, the responsibility lies with you to make it work. Again, for the best.

Obama has won a bad situation for himself. He has some huge holes to dig us out of. I do not envy the job he has ahead of him. But, his campaign was full of promises of change and improvement for our situation. I'll agree, some of those promises sound really good. "Sound" being the key word.

He has essentially promised the opposite of the Bush administration's blunders and turmoil, which seems to be what the country wants and has voted to support. However, I doubt Obama wants his presidential legacy to be The Anti-Bush. It's time to rise to the occasion and be the next President.

The majority of the country voted on your promises and on their belief that you can make them happen. Do not let us down.

So, of my next President, I expect the following:

Keep your promises and do not stop until you have fulfilled what you promised this country to earn the majority vote. 'Nuff said.
Fix the debt. Even just a little bit. $1 trillion is a lot for a first-timer. Do what you can.
Don't touch my paycheck. If you can't make it happen for me to bring home more money, I'll be happy if you just don't touch my check at all. Especially in these tough economic times, I need my money and the freedom to choose who I help with it. Let me spread my own wealth.
Fix the economy. Be sure to keep in mind the fixing of the debt and the non-touching of my paycheck while you fix our economy.
Improve healthcare. I think the word here has been "fix" healthcare. But I challenge you to improve it.
Improve the war situation. I know the popular idea (and your promise) is to quickly remove our troops from Iraq. Everyone thinks they know what is best for Iraq. Except me, I don't claim to have any idea. Don't do what is popular, do what is best.
Don't make America an easy target for the crazy world around us. It's not necessarily important for us to be popular among the cool countries. It is, however, necessary for us to survive, thrive, and help those we can help. In that order.
Fix us first. We can't be of much help to the rest of the world if we are circling the drain ourselves.

Above all else, don't un-do just for the sake of un-doing.

The journey isn't over - it has just begun. Gaining the presidency isn't the real accomplishment. Leading this country out of a bad situation and into a new phase of prosperity, peace, and hope is the real accomplishment that has yet to be realized.

Yes, we can. But . . . will we?

C.T.

I guess I missed a few leaves when I cleaned up the yard on Saturday.

2008-11-04T22:17:00.001-06:00

C.T.

My latest talent seems to be pumpkin art.

2008-10-30T22:20:00.003-05:00

I call this one . . . Pimp-kin.

He has been entered in a contest. I will let you know when he wins tomorrow.

C.T.

UPDATE: Pimp-kin won!

I have early voted.

2008-10-27T20:13:00.002-05:00

And due to my early voting, I have also ended my interest in hearing any more about the election, campaigns, candidates, issues, and bickering until we have a new president and something to actually talk about.

C.T.

A pretty much perfect day . . .

2008-10-19T20:49:00.005-05:00

Well, except that I had to get up and going on a Saturday while it was still dark outside, and it was dark by the time I got home. But everything in between could not have been more perfect.

Yesterday, a fantastic group of people that I am proud to call my friends held a benefit garage sale for some dear friends of ours. He suffers from Cystic Fibrosis. He and his wife are fantastic. So, we made some money for them.

Aren't they cute?

We had lots of donations from lots of friends and family plus lots of helpers throughout the sale, and at the end of the sale we made a good chunk of change that should put a dent in some medical bills for that handsome young couple you see above.

At the end of a very long day of garage sale haggling, hard work, and time spent with good friends for a good cause, I came home completely worn out. But despite the aches and pains and fatigue, I was so full of joy and peace about what we accomplished yesterday and about the people I got to spend my day with.

I'll tell you this, helping others is genius. Selfishly, it did as much for me yesterday as I hope we were able to do for them.

We had SO MUCH FUN selling our wares. In fact, rumor has it that I may or may not have put on a wedding dress for some bridal portraits. You know, just in case I need them one day.

We laughed, we bartered, we stuffed our pockets with cash (which we later took OUT of our pockets to count and give to our friends). We shopped amongst the treasures for our own prized used goods to call our own. We entertained the kids. The kids entertained us.

Then, no sooner had we shut everything down and bagged up the leftovers, we were standing in the driveway trying to figure out how to get the leftover stuff hauled off and to Goodwill or something, when a truck with a trailer came by and offered to haul it all off for free.

See? Perfect.

We counted the loot and our blessings and it was awesome. We shared a meal and more laughs. And at the end of the night, we sat once again on the driveway (where we'd been pretty much all day) and talked of God and life.

It was a long day with a lot of activity and a lot of people that I was blessed to share my day with. And at the end of the day to be thinking of God with those folks, well, that's why were really there anyway doing what we can to help those we love.

If anyone doubts that church can happen on a driveway in the Boonies, I'm here to tell you I was there yesterday. And it put a peace in my heart that I don't quite understand right now, but that I've needed. I wasn't expecting the blessing I would come away with.

Thank you, friends, for letting me help and spend the day with you and your families, all for our dear friends. You all know who you are.

And thanks for the free bridal portraits. Fingers crossed that they woo me a husband!

C.T.

Dinner is sometimes more like just a snack

2008-10-15T20:30:00.002-05:00

I hardly ever skip dinner. Maybe if I'm sick. But most days, I'm starving by the time I get home from work that following changing into comfy clothes, the next immediate activity has to be dinner.

And not just a light supper. I need food.

So, I eat the food. Then five minutes later, I'm hungry again. Not because I'm not eating enough for dinner. But sometimes I think my body thinks that dinner was just a snack.

So I usually have an after dinner snack, after dinner. But sometimes I look forward to the snack more than my actual dinner.

In fact, sometimes I create my dinner selection in order to make sure it doesn't interfere with what I'm planning to eat after dinner.

So is dinner the snack? Or is the snack still the snack.

I really don't know. But I'm definitely hungry. And I already had dinner.

C.T.

Another year, another Fair Gang Adventure

2008-10-12T20:05:00.004-05:00

We went by all the rules.

That guy peeing in the bushes did not go by the rules.

C.T.

Another Grievance

2008-10-08T18:35:00.003-05:00

Seriously, people. I'm not kidding. Anger me and I will publicly "grievance" you.

Dear Best Buy-
You are the scene of the crime. Whoever stole my credit card number used it fraudulently at no less than two of your stores in the Pasadena, CA area. Yet, you do not seem to care that your store was used to commit at least two crimes.

I've filed a number of reports, spent quite a bit of time on the phone - all to piece together what happened to my poor credit card number and to fix the damage caused by thieves.

I do appreciate your prompt response to the email I sent you last night, inquiring about your store policy about asking for ID when a credit card is used, specifically in relation to two purchases in two of your stores using my card, neither of which I authorized.

You called today, and you almost had me at "hello." You seemed interested in my concern, probably because I may or may not have mentioned that I will no longer be shopping at Best Buy if you can't be trusted to recognize and fight fraudulent purchases.

You asked what you could do for me today. I asked for as much info as possible on the two transactions that took place on 9/27, using my card number, each in the amount of about $865.

You said, "Yes, I can help you with that today." You gave the impression that you heard me, that you understood my need, that you wanted to be helpful. You offered to send me copies of the receipts to help me dispute the charges with my credit card company.

But then, you failed. You bombed. You tanked.

You found the two transactions. You had all of the information in front of you. You had me on the phone, seeking answers. You offered more than I actually asked. My privacy was violated and exploited in your store, and I turned to you for help.

But then, suddenly, all you would tell me is that they were two transactions of ipod Nanos.

You had the transactions right in front of you. You could see that my card number had been used, twice, at two store locations, on the same day . . . and that the names on the card transactions weren't mine. And suddenly, you can offer no more information. You decide you can't send me the receipts after all, since my name was not on the transactions. Only my card number.

Suddenly, you decide that you can't legally give me any more information. You tell me that Best Buy's policy is to protect the private information OF YOUR CUSTOMERS.

So, you're now telling me that your "customers" can steal someone else's credit card number, make their own cards using their name with the fraudulent number so that it matches their ID, stock up on a couple thousand dollars worth of ipod Nanos with the card number that isn't theirs, and Best Buy reserves the right to protect those "customers"?!?!?!

You know that it's a fraudulent purchase. I am the victim and I am asking for your help. And you choose to protect the criminals instead? It may be a legal store policy issue. But it's a crappy store policy.

Then you tell me you can't even tell me if it's one name on both transactions, or two different names on each transaction. So, I still don't know if I'm dealing with one thief, or two. Even though you are looking at the info while you are talking to me on the phone.

You insist that Best Buy checks IDs for credit card purchases. Fantastic. So, two large purchases of a bunch of ipod Nanos on the same day at two different stores using the same credit card number doesn't raise a red flag to anyone, regardless of if the ID matches the card?

No one needs that many ipod Nanos in one day.

And you insist that without a police report, you can't give me any further information. Your "Fraud" department works only with police.

So, this tells me only one thing. Since fraud of this nature doesn't cost you anything (in fact, you sold a lot of ipod Nanos that day), you don't care. And you do nothing to protect your actual customers. I'm sorry, but fraud thieves are not customers. Doesn't your "Fraud" department also want to cut down on fraudulent purchases in your store?

Now having been a victim of credit card fraud, I will be very careful where I spend my money using my credit card. Only at places that I feel are truly "fraud conscious" and actively fighting fraud.

Best Buy, since it's clearly not safe to make purchases in your stores, you no longer have my business. I've given you a lot of business over the years (far more than the couple thousand dollars you made recently selling a bunch of ipod Nanos to one or more thieves using my card). But, I will be taking my business elsewhere from now on.

It's worth it to me to potentially spend more at a place that is probably paying more attention to fraud than it is to find better deals at a company that doesn't care about it's true customers.

I know this only puts a potential minor dent in your company profits. But, it's the principle of the matter. I am the voice of the people.

I will be filing that police report. If all that stands between me and the names of the people who used my card that day is a police report, then you will get your police report. And I will get those names. And I will pursue tracking them down. Credit card fraud may be a common occurrence these days, but it's a big deal to me and I won't put up with it.

Also, I might be buying a bunch of ipod Nanos later on eBay for a fraction of the cost that I could get them in your store.

C.T.

Sometimes, I leave a paperclip in the middle of my floor.

2008-10-07T22:27:00.003-05:00

Just to see if anyone will pick it up.

It annoys me when someone picks up the paperclip.

And yet, I prefer not to have a floor full of paperclips.

C.T.

More Grievances

2008-10-04T10:50:00.003-05:00

I warned you.

Dear Local Grassroots Democratic Party Volunteers-
Do not ring my doorbell at 9:30 in the morning on a Saturday morning.

For one thing, I have had a very long and stressful week (see post below). The one thing I have looked forward to all week is sleeping in on my Saturday morning and enjoying a day of leisure.

So, imagine my, um, displeasure to have barely rolled out of bed and started my Saturday morning coffee (which I look forward to every week, enjoying it in the peace and quiet of my Saturday morning after a week of hard work), when the doorbell rings and you are standing on my front porch.

I am still in my pajamas. I am not yet functioning beyond "need coffee . . . " I do not know you. I am not going to open the door and listen to anything you have to say. And you are lucky I wasn't coherent enough to throw open the door in my disheveled state and chase you off of my porch with a broom. Or a Swiffer, whichever I grab first.

Now, I have to ask. Is it really the best way to secure votes for your Democratic party by harrassing people on Saturday mornings? Do you really have much success annoying people in the morning to convince them to vote for you?

I consider myself a responsible young adult. I've paid attention to the debates and the candidates and the issues. I care about the election and the future of our country during the next presidency. I am informed.

I also care about sleep. And peace and quiet for my weekend mornings. And not having to deal with strangers first thing in the morning while I am still groggy and disheveled.

I will go so far as to say that I applaud the grassroot efforts of our political parties. The whole campaign and election event intrigues me. I like that people are out there, encouraging the vote, and talking to people about what is important to them about our country and our government.

But, regardless of if the one thing I was waiting for was someone to come to my house and personally talk me into voting for your candidate (nevermind which party), you've probably done a pretty good job this morning of pushing me to the other side, due to sheer annoyance with you.

Unless Obama himself shows up at my door at 9:30 in the morning, with donuts and coffee, and with Biden mowing my lawn while we chat so that I don't have to mow later today, some local nobody disturbing me that early on a Saturday is actually going to do much more harm for your campaign than good.

I wasn't on your side to begin with. Now you've lost me at doorbell ring . . .

Sincerely,
The Cynical Tyrant

Grievances

2008-10-04T10:20:00.002-05:00

To avoid appearing as a Grievance here, don't anger me.

Dear Insensitive Credit Card Company Phone Person-
(not the credit card that was recently hacked - a different one)

When I call to cancel your card because I never use it and I haven't used it in years, why must you argue with me? Even after I explain that I've had a recent issue with credit card fraud on another card and I want to cancel your card because I don't want it out in the world for thieves to use, you continue to try to convince me to keep your card.

You launch into your pitch about you rewards and awards, none of which even matter to me if my card is compromised. You launch into a series of questions about why I haven't used your card, why I prefer other cards, and my general credit card habits - none of which I want to answer because I know it is all for research.

You make it clear that you are not listening to me, nor that you care about me as a very long-time customer. This actually perpetuates my problem and my annoyance with credit cards at this time.

I know before calling you that you are going to try and convince me to stay, even though I never intend to use your card anyway. I dread calling you people because instead of listening to me and accommodating my needs as your customer, you will try to upsell me on things that I do not want or need. I am spending my Friday night trying to repair of the work of thieves and head off any potential issues that could still be out there, checking credit reports and filing fraud reports. Do you think I want to argue with you about a card I haven't used in years?

Instead, you should be promoting responsible credit card use, applauding my actions to put a stop to what could be a seriously damaging situation, not knowing the full extent of the breach of my personal information. You should sympathize with my situation and cooperate without bullying me into what I clearly do not want: extra credit cards out there just waiting to be hacked and used. At this time, I am paranoid about my credit cards and personal information.

So, you should know that after my call to you last night for help, you convinced me to never use your card again, now or in the future when I am past this annoying ordeal. Even after you finally canceled the card and said, "We look forward to getting you back as a customer sometime in the future."

You forced me to say no less than SIX TIMES, "I just want to cancel the card." Why would I come back? I'll stick with the card that was compromised because at least that company has helped me with the problem and rewarded me for my pain and suffering.

Jerks.

Sincerely,
The Tyrant

It's possible that I killed Mr. Clean

2008-10-02T19:35:00.003-05:00

Last night, I'm sitting here watching T.V. A commercial for Mr. Clean comes on.

I'm watching the cartoon Mr. Clean on T.V., and I began to wonder why Mr. Clean is a cartoon. I've never really thought about Mr. Clean, cartoon or otherwise. But for some reason last night, I was really intrigued by the mystery of Mr. Clean.

I thought I remembered once upon a time when Mr. Clean was a real, live human. I began to wonder when he turned into a cartoon. Or if he had ever really been real at all.

Then, today I read that Mr. Clean died.

Seriously, what are the odds?

C.T.

Damn: A Public Service Announcement

2008-09-29T20:07:00.005-05:00

So, this morning I get a call from my credit card company about some suspected fraudulent charges on my card. Apparently someone tried to purchase $1,800 worth of stuff at Best Buy in Pasadena on Saturday using my credit card number.

Funny that, since I was in Austin, WITH my card, on Saturday.

Not funny ha-ha. Funny The Tyrant is Mad.

Thank goodness for my credit card company recognizing the ridiculous charges and taking quick action. It's an inconvenience, but they've canceled my card and a new one with a different number is on the way. Unfortunately I'm without a credit card for about a week.

Although . . . I was just thinking this weekend I need to quit spending so much money. Without a card in my hand, that will help.

Weird way to go about that, but whatever.

And, I'm not responsible for the charges. But, I'd kinda like to see what I bought. Hopefully I have good taste.

Needless to say, I'm pretty mad. And I feel a little violated. I'm super careful with things like credit cards, bank information, etc. I don't like the thought that some petty thief has outsmarted me, even as careful as I am.

Also, the timing on it sucked because the call came this morning a few minutes before my clients arrived at my office. Hard to take them to lunch without a credit card . . .

Of course, I've been obsessed with figuring out how this person, this Frauder, got my card number. And yes, I will find you. Mark my words. I'm very resourceful.

I have a few ideas already:

If you are a reader of my blog and it was you, I will hunt you down and, of course, expose you mercilessly on my blog. Plus, shame on you. Don't come here into my world then steal from me.

It might be an angry David Blaine. It's possible he read the post below, magically read my card number while recovering from his Dive of Death, then bought himself a present at Best Buy. Just to spite me.

Ok, on a serious note, here are my thoughts:

We had possibly the worst waitress ever on Friday night. We were as patient as we could be, but after sitting there for 25 minutes before our drinks even arrived, we had to say something. Another waiter ended up taking our cards to run the transaction. I'm always nervous when folks have to take my card to where I can't see it to run transactions. You never know if they are also keeping the number for themselves. If she was not only a bad waitress, but a spiteful one, maybe she (or the other waiter who actually took the cards) snuck my card number.

I went to dinner the week before with my girls and the waiter was probably the worst waiter ever. Maybe he's related to the waitress above. He took off with our credit cards for an unreasonably long amount of time, to the point that we were all wondering what he was doing with them.

I recently made some purchases online for some fundraisers for kids of some of my friends. I'm not saying it was them, but they raise my suspicions because they are not well-known companies and I have never purchased through those companies.

To anyone who has been with me in the past couple of weeks and used your card at places where I used my card, you might want to check your credit card statements for any purchases you did not make. This is my Public Service Announcement for you. Because I care.

To anyone who was with me in the past couple of weeks, STOLE MY CARD NUMBER, then went to Pasadena to buy some presents for yourself at Best Buy, we are no longer friends. You are dead to me now.

I make the jokes because it's how I deal with stress. But it's not a laughing matter. It's a fairly common occurrence these days, and honestly as long as I've had that credit card, it's only a matter of time until Frauder struck. Let this be a lesson to all of you that if it can happen to The Tyrant, it can happen to you.

As soon as I get my new credit card, I'll check my credit report. (Yeah, without a valid credit card, I can't even check my credit report!). I recommend you do the same.

Damn.

C.T.

P.S. I came home today and found that someone made off with the fence on half of my yard.

What the heck is going on today?!?!? Everything is falling apart . . .

Dear David Blaine,

2008-09-24T22:15:00.005-05:00

You just took up two hours of primetime television performing a "stunt" I had never heard of until yesterday.

Of course, the "stunt" took up maybe 20 minutes of those two hours. We periodically saw you hanging upside down for "the past 60 hours," even though we know you weren't upside down that entire time (thank you, FOXNews, for busting Blaine on your web site today with the important news of his "cheating" by standing upright periodically throughout his "stunt").

I can't blame you for needing a few upright breaks. But, don't call that 60 hours of hanging upside down. It's like calling a bike event a 100 mile Century, but only marking out 85 miles. If it's not 100 miles, it's not 100 miles, and therefore it's not a century. Don't tell me that it is.

That didn't happen to me, by the way. I swear.

Anyway, for the rest of the two hours we watched you do the same card trick to random people all over the country. And then you "caught" a bullet in a tin can in your mouth. That was sort of exciting, until we watched 15 minutes of footage of all the prep work that went into it. Then it was kinda like you'd be an idiot to mess that one up after all the precautions.

Granted, I will probably never attempt to hang upside for MOST of 60 hours. Nor will I travel the country blowing people's minds with a card trick. Nor will I attempt to catch a bullet in my mouth, with or without a tin can.

But damn you, Blaine. If you insist on taking up prime time TV and wooing me into watching you, I insist that actually do something remarkable. I watched those card tricks years ago when you first showed us that you can levitate. I'm over it.

But yes, once again, I kept the TV on tonight while America waited, and waited, and WAITED for something to actually happen. That "something" being this Dive of Death we heard about all the livelong night.

I mean, we're on the verge of an economic collapse that could happen mere seconds after you Dive to Death. David, we turn to you in this hour of need to doing something spectacular to remind us that we're all just Americans trying to make it in this world of Wall Street types who seem to need my meager income to keep their six-figure incomes, retirement portfolios, and penthouses intact.

So, imagine my disappointment when the time came for this death-defying leap from 44 feet above ground, but all I saw was you take a step off the platform, then float gingerly toward the ground, not actually getting close to the ground, mind you, before you were hauled away by a cable, slowly, ever-so-slowly . . . while the commentator seemed not to now what to say, and while the crowd that watched was underwhelmed into silence, as well.

What, pray tell, was that supposed to be? It would be more of a Dive of Death for me to stand on a chair then jump onto my soft carpet stack high with pillows and a snuggly blanket.

In fact, I tripped in the hallway last week and I'm pretty sure now that walking down the hall is more dangerous than what I saw as your dive of "death" tonight. I don't have any cables attached to keep me from falling to the ground, flat on my arse.

I mean, I'm not going to attempt a dive from 44 feet off the ground. I don't even jump off my step ladder, for goodness sakes.

But to think, I put my DVRed America's Next Top Model on hold when I turned on the TV and saw you hanging from some sort of contraption. I thought that maybe this time, this would be the time you actually do something exciting. Something perilous. Something, I don't know, that Cirque de Soleil doesn't do every night of the week.

But, no. I took a Dive of Death by laying here on my couch, watching you stretch a coin for folks holding plastic cups of what I'm guessing was not just water. That would impress me, too, if I were sipping the trashcan punch.

I know Tyra will forgive me for my lapse in good judgement. However, forgiving myself for this poor use of my time and energy, well, I only hope I can be as forgiving as Tyra is.

Your power lies in your ability to make me watch, even though with every fiber of my being and sanity, I fight you and your "stunts."

Damn you, Blaine. Damn you.

C.T.

It's not that I'm against Bread.

2008-09-17T18:50:00.002-05:00

But I'm against picking bread out of my yard.

For the five years that I've lived in my house, from time to time I will see the old asian man who lives behind me come out of his house into his backyard with what's left of a loaf of bread. He then proceeds to throw it about his yard for the birds to eat.

At first glance, this could be a beautiful ritual from a kindly neighbor who enjoys feeding birds.

But, for the five years I've lived in my house, after the man throws the bread into his yard, for the next few days I will find disgusting, moldy, soggy bread scattered about my yard.

Apparently after the birds have the bread feast, they deposit their leftovers into my yard as though I am the busboy.

The other day, I found an entire half of what looked like it once was maybe a pumpernickel loaf, or perhaps some pumpkin bread. This is the hunk of bread that put me over the edge. I put some gloves on (because it was disgusting), picked it up and threw it over my fence, across the alley, and back into my neighbor's yard.

I am sick of his soggy bread leftovers.

I found a squirrel eating the remnants of the loaf back in my yard just a little while ago.

I don't want my yard to be made of bread.

C.T.

Hunkered down for Hurricane Ike

2008-09-12T21:07:00.002-05:00

Of course, by the time Ike gets up to my part of Texas, it will likely just be lots of wind and rain. But, I'm ready, nevertheless.

I can literally stay in here for days, should it come to that. And intend to stay in here for at least the next two days.

Cheese . . . check
Ice cream . . . check
Cokes . . . check
Books . . . check, check and check
Two Netflixes . . . check
DVR full of crap . . . check
No desire to shower . . . check
Oatmeal . . . check
Yard freshly mowed and ready for tons of rain . . . check

Unfortunately, if the power goes out, I will go hungry and be bored out of my mind.

It's all part of being hunkered down.

C.T.

Sarah Mclachlan Divorce

2008-09-11T21:57:00.003-05:00

Today must be the day that Sarah Mclachlan's divorce was announced because my blog has gotten a bazillion hits today from people searching for that very thing.

All because I wrote a blog a couple of years ago about a Sarah Mclachlan Christmas song that I put on my ultimate Christmas mix.

Sorry, folks. No news about the big divorce here.

But you'll keep arriving, now that I've typed it.

C.T.

Two-year-olds selling cookie dough

2008-09-08T21:31:00.004-05:00

It's that time again. That time when I, having no children, have to financially support the children of all of my friends.

It's that time when I think my friends make up children I never knew they had just to get money out of me.

It's school fundraiser season.

I used to think I had a handle on this. It was a simpler time of Girl Scout cookies at the office. Coworkers would bring the order forms up to the office, I place my order for my Samoas. Then a few weeks later, the cookies show up at my desk.

No problem.

Then last year, my friend's two-year-old was raising money for her nursery school by selling tubs of cookie dough. I mean, cute as can be. I couldn't resist.

But since when do two-year-olds need money? How do they know how to sell cookie dough? They can't even SAY cookie dough.

This year it's the online stores. Seriously, the children's fundraising has hit the interweb. I mean, back in my day it was the boxes of candy bars that took forever to sell, and only sold when my dad would take them to work.

Now, the kids don't even have to personally ask me for money. Their moms send an email with a link to a web store. They don't even send a photo of their cute kids to woo me.

But so far, it works. It's terrible. I will spend more money on more kids this way because I don't even have to leave my couch to support their causes. Why are the children so smart these days?!?!

I blame our education system.

So far, I'm in for a magazine subscription for one kid, and probably some gift wrap for another kid. I can't help it.

I buy something from one kid, I pretty much have to buy something from all of the kids.

For the next month, I will be eating only Samoas while reading my new subscription to Entertainment Weekly while wrapping gifts and looking at my free gym bag that came with the magazines but that I don't intend to actually use. I'll put it next to the pansies that I told my boss I'd buy for her kid's drill team.

I'll be too poor to do anything else.

But, it's a sacrifice I'm willing to make. It's for the kids . . . who better pay me back by supporting me one day when I'm old.

C.T.

Scotch Guard: the most elusive product ever invented

2008-09-07T17:51:00.003-05:00

I can never find Scotch Guard at the store.

If I'm looking for it, it's nowhere to be found. If I'm NOT looking for it and I don't need it, that's when I find it. But then I can never remember where I saw it the next time I need it.

Sometimes it's in Fabric Care. Sometimes it's by the camping equipment (which is the best kind because it's heavy duty for outdoors and mildew).

But I'm pretty sure it's never in the same place twice. In fact, I'm pretty sure it moves around the store when it knows I'm looking for it.

This weekend I was able to find Scotch Guard cleaner. This is not what I need.

Then I found Scotch Guard carpet protector. Also, NOT what I need.

Next time I find it, I'm buying all of it.

C.T.

I am obsessed with oatmeal.

2008-09-04T20:42:00.003-05:00

I haven't always been obsessed with oatmeal. But over the past few weeks, oatmeal is pretty much my life.

Not the kind in a serving-size packet to which you add water and stick it in the microwave. I'm talking the real stuff. Comes in that cylindrical container and cooks for a whole five minutes on the stove.

The best part is that I've been obsessed with the oatmeal . . . for dinner. I've eaten it almost every night for almost three weeks.

I can't explain why. I have no idea. I just know that even though it's been summer and super hot, I have to have my oatmeal for dinner.

A couple of nights ago, I decided that I needed something new. Not because I was tired of the oatmeal, but because it might be a little bit weird that I'm eating so much oatmeal without getting tired of it. Even though that's the way I tend to roll. I will eat something everyday for, like, ever, and then one day I pretty much don't want it ever again.

So, a couple of nights ago I had hot dogs for dinner. I also really love hot dogs. So, this was a good change.

But, last night it was back to oatmeal.

Tonight? Hot dogs.

But I'm kinda sad that I didn't have oatmeal.

Don't judge me.

C.T.

Tyrant through the years . . .

2008-09-01T23:09:00.012-05:00

I recently received a letter about my 10 year College Homecoming festivities. I can hardly believe I've been out of college for 10 years. . .

Today I spent some time looking through old photos. I found some of my yearbook photos, more than I remember ever taking. Some more embarrassing than others . . .

Here's the first photo I found, from my 1952 yearbook. Don't laugh!

In 1960, I looked remarkably like my mother did as a teenager!

By 1968, I'd lost those lame glasses. Much better!

1978 was a good year for my hair. I'm actually not really sure how I got it to do that, but it worked!

By 1984, I'd toned down the 'fro and opted for more feather.

In 1986, someone talked me in to experimenting with gerry curl. It was a bad decision.

By 1992, I was back to lots of feather, and lots of Aqua Net! And a really tan neck, apparently.

Halfway through college, I experimented with blonde. It worked, but it was too hard to keep up.

By 1998, the year I graduated college, I was back to something normal to go with my really tan neck.

But, I'm sure glad I'm past that now! Man, 10 years really makes you glad you don't look as ridiculous as you did back in college . . .

That's hot.

C.T.

I didn't do it.

2008-08-30T21:06:00.002-05:00

In lieu of the Olympics that are no longer on T.V., I've maybe watched too many episodes of CSI via CSI marathons.

Today, as I re-stained the wood edges of my flower beds in the yard, I was worried that I don't have anyone to collaborate my alibi if, for some reason, the red stain that dripped onto my clothes as I painted was to be mistaken for blood.

I swear I didn't do it. I was painting red stain onto my flower bed edges all afternoon.

It's red stain, I tell you.

C.T.

Frogs

2008-08-27T21:08:00.002-05:00

I have a lot of frogs around here lately. I'm puzzled by the whole thing.

A few years ago, I had one frog. He and I were friends. He hung out by my water spigot. Then one day I was weed-whacking near the air-conditioner and I noticed a trail of blood . . . that led to what was left of my frog friend's dangling leg.

In my defense, the frog neglected to let me know that he was vacationing near the air-conditioner so that I would know to watch out for him.

So, last week I was mowing in my backyard, and I saw several frogs scatter in the grass as I went by with the mower. My first thought was that I had slaughtered an entire family of frogs with the mower, and that I would never get back into the good graces with the frogs.

Turns out, the frogs I saw were all of the frogs and they fled before I got there with the mower. So, no frogs were lost during the mowing of my yard.

But then I wondered . . . why all the frogs?

I'm a little rusty on my frog knowledge, but I'm pretty sure frogs come from tadpoles, which have to live in water. And as far as I can tell, there are no ponds, lakes, rivers, streams, oceans, or swimming pools in my yard.

Then, tonight I was out front moving the sprinkler and I saw two more frogs hopping around.

So, on the one hand I'm glad the frogs seem to have forgiven me for their friend's leg and they have returned to my land to once again make their home.

But on the other hand, where do they come from?

I will do my best not to hurt them. But on mowing day, they'd best find other places to be than in the path of the weed-whacker or the mower.

C.T.

Tyrant Can Read

2008-08-20T21:32:00.002-05:00

One of my new re-favorite things to do these days is read.

I used to LOVE to read as a kid. I read all the time. Every summer, my mom would take my sister and me to the library to get involved in the summer reading program. We'd go each week and pick out our books. I'd pick more than I thought I could read, but I was usually finished with all of my books before it was time to go back to the library to return them and get more books.

We'd keep track of our books throughout the summer. It was fun at the end of the summer to see how many books we'd read. I was always a fast reader. I could read for hours. I could read while watching TV or listening to music and still absorb whatever I was reading. I loved it.

Then reading became schoolwork, and I was bored and not really interested in learning from reading. It's fun to read before they trick you into actually learning from the reading.

I think for a long time I also lost my attention span for sitting and reading. Even now, it tends to put me to sleep, no matter where I am.

Life also got really busy with too much information and stress filling up my brain. I don't think my brain could hold anything else that involved intentional intake.

But, life is much less stressful these days. I work normal hours. Which, I've discovered, is directly related to my stress levels and my brain's capacity to absorb more through activities, including reading. My brain no longer rebels at intentional information input that is purely for fun.

I read five books on my vacation a couple of weeks ago. This is huge for me. It might mean thhat I'm truly back to being a reader again. Of course, yhere were times on vacation when I would start to read and fall instantly to sleep (including once in a coffee shop). But by the end of my vacation, I gradually built up my reading stamina to where I could read and watch TV and keep up with both things at once.

It's entertainment multi-tasking, if you will.

In fact, these days one of my favorite activities is curling up on the couch, turning on the Olympics, and reading a book . . . all at the same time. It's genius. I watched all of Phelps's golds while reading about a childhood on an African farm.

I'm really into memoirs these days. I like stories of lives told by the people who lived them.

Of course, none of them are as awesome as my memoir will be. But, it's good to keep up with the competition.

This is something I've learned from my Olympics-watching.

It's pretty much a Summer Reading Olympics Program.

C.T.

Heavy heart

2008-08-19T23:01:00.003-05:00

My heart has been heavy today. It's the ninth anniversary of my sister's death.

Nine years since I had a sister. Hard to believe.

It's a day like any other day, but with a twist that I carry around for the day. Unbeknownst to many who don't know about it. And forgotten by many who have known.

I never forget. Every year.

I go to work like a normal day, expected to perform like a normal day, but it's not really a normal day for me.

Each year, I hear from less people. It's noticeable. This year, no one asked how I am. No hugs. No one to talk to. No knowing looks that comfort by communicating, "I know."

A few still remember and they let me know. I'm very thankful and appreciative for that.

It sucks being sad and feeling alone about it.

Good thing tomorrow is another day.

C.T.

Olympic Blogging

2008-08-18T23:05:00.003-05:00

If table tennis, trampoline, badminton, and speedwalking can be Olympic sports, I truly believe that in 2012, blogging should make it's Olympic debut as a sport.

But, in the meantime, I will blog my thoughts on table tennis. Incidentally, I will watch just about anything they call a sport for these Olympics. I'm not ashamed to say I watched trampoline finals tonight.

That's right.

Anyway, I do love what I know as ping-pong. I'm pretty good, if I do say so myself.

However, as an Olympic sport, it seems, well, not of the same level of glory and prestige in winning a gold medal as say . . . any one of Phelps's golds.

For instance,

There are 7 people in the stands watching the table tennis match that I'm watching right now.
Is it even called a "match?" No one knows.
The U.S. player is 44 years old. Compare that to the 12-year-old Chinese gymnasts who were probably on the uneven bars before they could walk. Did he have a real job and then one day decide to pursue his life-long dream of being Forrest Gump?
The two guys calling the match keep referring to one of the player's injuries. He has a back injury and a leg injury. Um, how do you get injured in ping-pong? Or was he moving his Lazy Boy recliner at home to make room for his new solid-gold ping-pong table when he threw his back out.
The players spend more time chasing down that tiny ping-pong ball than they do actually playing. Why don't they get ball boys like the tennis players do?
The U.S. team didn't even bother to send the real coach. They sent some other guy, who just had to help track down the tiny ping-pong ball for the players.
The players just broke the official game ball, which as the commentators just mentioned, is supposed to last the entire match. Do they not understand how many balls I can go through while playing with my friends? Those suckers are hard to find after I smash them on the table with extreme force and awesomeness. Fortunately, the Olympics pre-chooses a back-up ball for the rare cases that the original ball can't make it through a match.
These guys actually go over and towel off between points.
How do you train to become an Olympic Table-Tennis athlete? Is there a special diet? Weight-lifting? Cardio? I kinda feel like I could lay on the couch all day, eat a hunk of cheese and drink a Red Bull, then go down to the Rec Center and beat a few old people and some small children and call that a workout.

Don't get me wrong, those guys play faster than I can keep up with. I admire their skills.

Do I get a medal for staying up late to watch them play? I feel like I should.

C.T.

Can't blog

2008-08-14T22:54:00.001-05:00

Obsessed with Olympics.

C.T.

It's a good thing I don't live in China . . .

2008-08-12T19:44:00.002-05:00

. . . because there are a whole lot of people out there cuter than I am.

I'd never get to do anything.

C.T.

Well, my luggage finally made it here.

2008-08-11T20:21:00.003-05:00

Seriously. This is how it ended up at my house, two days after I got back to my house.

When your luggage is "delayed," as the airlines call it, you have to file a claim. At that time, they have literally no information about where your bag might be or when (or if) you will ever see it again.

They ask you what it looks like (black, like every other bag in the entire world).

They ask you to describe a few items that might be inside the bag (which means they open it up and dig around in it to make sure it's yours).

They ask you when you last saw the bag (um . . . when I gave it to your people yesterday and they put a tag on it and sent it down that belt to where bags are then lost).

Then they give you a piece of paper with a record locater number on it and a phone number to call if you haven't heard anything by the next day. And you leave the airport feeling like you've left your child behind with a sketchy babysitter. This very personal thing that is yours and that contains some of your very personal things is completely at the mercy of people who mislabeled and misplaced your bag in the first place.

They are your only hope of recovering every pair of underwear you own and your most favoritest jeans in the whole world. And the only assurance they can offer you is "we'll do our best to get your bag back."

So, when I hadn't heard from them the first afternoon or at all the first night, I called them Sunday morning to get an update. The lady was very nice but said they had no new information. They still had not located my bag. But they might have an update later in the day.

I then discovered that you can check the status of your "delayed" bag online. So I obsessively checked online about every 30 minutes all day on Sunday. When the day had passed and I still had no indication from the airline that my bag was any closer to being found than it was the day before, I called them again.

Still no update. So I asked the lady what was her best thought on what happened to my bag. I've had "delayed" bags many, many times before (it seems to be a curse), but never for over 24 hours missing.

She rattled off, like, 10 things that could have "delayed" my bag. She said that since it was an international bag, it might be stuck in Customs somewhere. Apparently Customs can pull a bag and hold it for 24 hours for no good reason and without having to tell anyone.

I find it curious that luggage rules are so very, very strict. They dictate what you can take on the plane with you, how big your bags can be, how much they can weigh. They don't let you leave a bag unattended, for security reasons. They scan and x-ray your bags. Sometimes they open them and search them by hand. They don't even let your bag on your flight if you are not also on your flight.

BUT, should they decide they want to hold your bag while you fly away, they don't even have to tell you, the airline, security, NO ONE. Which means that in order to get your bag to you later, they have to put it on flight that you are not on.

This seems contrary to that whole rule that your bag can't fly on a flight that you, yourself, are not also partaking of.

Not only can they pull a bag and not tell anyone, there is no way to track that the bag has been pulled or kept. They can't even track if the bag made it to your first destination before being "delayed" before getting to your connecting flight.

You literally hand them your bag when you check in for your flight, then no one can tell you where it is until it is in your hands again at some point in time after you arrive at your new destination.

In fact, ALL bags are essentially lost the second they leave your control and become the responsibility of the airlines, until they arrive back in your hands.

Anyway, the lady concluded her "helpful" information by mentioning that 98.6% of all "delayed" bags are found and returned to their owners, and most of them are not missing any belongings.

That's really not as reassuring as I think she meant it to be.

So, after no actual news yesterday, I got a call this morning on my office line. It went something like this:

Me: Hello
Phone: Yes, hello. Is this The Tyrant?
Me: Yes
Phone: Ok. Are you missing a bag?
Me: YES. I am.
Phone: Ok, did you file a claim?
Me: YES. I did.
Phone: Ok, well I have a bag. What's the claim number?
Me: 123XYZ
Phone: Ok. I just needed to verify that this is the right bag. They put the wrong ticket on it when you checked it, so it doesn't match the luggage claim ticket they gave you when you checked the bag.
Me: Well, it must be my bag since you called my office line and I filed the claim with my cell number. The bag identification tag is my business card.
Phone: Oh.

Phone: Ok, we'll have this sent out to you today.
Me: Fantastic. When?
Phone: The driver will call you 30 minutes before he gets to your house.
Me: Fantastic. Thank you!

So, right after lunch I got a call on my cell phone, but I didn't recognize the number and the call cut off before anyone said anything. I tried to call it back but it wouldn't let me.

I called the "delayed" baggage number again to see if they could tell me if the delivery service had called because I would need to run home to meet my long lost suitcase. This guy was NOT helpful and it went something like this:

Me: Hi, I got a call that was cut off and I'm waiting for a call from the delivery service to give me 30 minutes notice that they will be delivering my bag to my house. Do you know if they called me?
Phone Guy: Do you have a claim number?
Me: 123XYZ
Phone Guy: M'aam, the bag was picked up this morning and they deliver within 6 hours, but the driver will call you 30 minutes ahead of time.
Me: Yes, I know. I got a call but it was cut off. I'm wondering if you can tell if the delivery service called so that I know if I should go home to be there when he gets there.
Phone Guy: I don't know if he called.
Me: There's no way to contact the delivery company and check?
Phone Guy: No, I can't do that. You should have your bag later today.
Me: Thanks.

Once again, they have NO IDEA WHERE MY BAG IS and no way to find out. Sheesh.

Fortunately, a little while later the delivery service called and asked if I could be home at 4:30 because they would be there at 4:30 with my bag. Done and done.

My bag was SO CLOSE to being home.

However, I come back from a meeting at 3:45 to find this message on my cell phone:

"Uh, hi. I'm from the delivery service and I have your bag. It's 3:30 and I got here a little earlier than I expected and I can't get anyone to come to the door. So, I'm just gonna leave the bag behind the fence on the right side of the house."

Did I mention that it has been raining most of the day today? And now my poor suitcase has been heaved over my fence into my soggy backyard.

So, I got in the car and hurried home to put my suitcase in the house. And this is what I found when I got home:

It's just the saddest long-lost luggage picture ever.

Oh well. At least I have my bag. And everything seems to still be in it that was originally in it, and there are no extra things that were not originally in it. I guess my bag is one of those 98.6%.

There's no real indication of what all my bag has been through during the past three days when I last saw it in Capetown. I hope it had a happy adventure.

But, I've certainly never been so happy to do laundry in my whole life.

C.T.

Been around the world . . . again.

2008-08-10T11:45:00.004-05:00

Sadly, I am back home after my vacation to South Africa. Not sad in the sense that I hate my home. But it's always sad to end one of my big trip vacations.

I just really, really love vacation. And I really, really, REALLY love seeing the world.

Regrettably, my luggage has gone rogue and decided to stay on vacation. Or maybe it's being held hostage somewhere by a group of rebels who enjoy stealing small suitcases full of dirty underwear and t-shirts.

Whatever the case may be, it's not here. And according to American Airlines, it is somewhere between Capetown and here . . . probably.

Hopefully it gets here. Otherwise, no presents for anyone. All of my shopping is also in that bag. With the dirty underwear.

More on vacation later. For now, enjoy this photo of me on an ostrich.

This photo also documents the last time I wore that outfit. I hope to see it again someday. Those are my most favorite jeans in the whole world . . . apparently lost somewhere around the world.

C.T.

I'm pretty sure Bath & Body Works is the most ridiculous store ever.

2008-07-20T17:21:00.006-05:00

I went to the mall yesterday. I hate the mall.

There is one reason I go to the mall, and that is to wait on the Jeep while the guys at Sears change the oil and rotate her tires. You might laugh because I go to Sears. But, I've gone there for years. The same guys work there as the when I first took the Jeep. They do a fantastic job, they're very nice, they never try to upsell me on anything, and they answer my questions without talking to me like I'm stupid.

For those reasons, they continue to earn my business. I've bought four tires and a car battery there. And when I need brakes for the Jeep, I'll get them there too.

So, while I wait on the Jeep for about an hour, I run my mall errands. This usually involves a trip to Bath & Body Works to get my shower gel. However, I HATE Bath & Body Works. So I try to buy as much shower gel as is reasonable considering I'm not very big, or I get the minimum to get whatever is included in whatever random sale they've got going that day so that I don't have to come back for a very, very long time.

I hate most of the stuff in the store. I hate being overwhelmed the second I walk in the door by way too many aromas all in one place. But they do have one scent that I like.

All you need to know is that it smells like me. It is Tyrant. Simple, yet unoffensive.

But what I hate MOST about the store is that it's hardly ever busy when I'm there (granted I try to go early in the day before it gets busy), but there are always at least 10 girls working in the store with pretty much nothing to do. And their sole job (for ALL of them) is to hunt you down and explain all of the sales and specials, and to give you one of their big shopping bag for all of your purchases.

I never get hit with just one girl. I usually get hit with at least three or four of them, all of which seem to not have seen one of the other girls who just talked to me. It's not like it's a big store. And it's not like I'm not in and out of there as fast as is humanly possible. AND it's not like they don't wear those ridiculous headsets to communicate with each other, because they do.

But I have a feeling their secret headset communication goes something like this:

BBW Girl 1: Uh, girls. I just talked to the girl in the bright yellow t-shirt and the Chucks. Caught her on the way in the store. I told her about all of the specials on the west wall. I offered her a bag, but she declined. Susie, you're up.

BBW Girl 2: Ok, I tracked her to the "Specials" section in the middle and I told her about the "buy 4 get 1 free" for the products on the middle and lower left shelf. She still didn't want a bag. Muffie, she's headed your way.

BBW Girl 3: I let her know about the 2 for $47 sale on face and foot items. But I forgot to offer her a bag. It's my third day. Please don't fire me.

BBW Girl 4: Muffie, one more "failure to offer shopping bag" and I'm sticking you over in White Barn to keep an eye on the scented wall plugs and to sort potpourri. This is your last warning. WAIT, does anyone have a "twenty" on Yellow T-shirt?

BBW Girl 5: I've got her in hand lotions and tanning creams. Should I tell her about the Buy 5 get 1 free on Tanning Lip Balm? Or should I push the Buy 10 get $5 off your 11th tub of body butter.

BBW Girl 6: We need to sell more body butter and she looks like she could use some. Like, for reals. Her elbows look like they've never been introduced to a tube of lotion . . .

BBW Girl 7: Y'all, she only has two things in her hand and she's making an escape for the register! Distract her with the tub of $1.50 tiny bottles of hand sanitizer! She only needs to buy 7 bottles to get the free denim bag with minimum purchase of $35!

And . . . scene. All of which takes place in the span of one minute, thirty-six seconds.

I hate that store.

C.T.

Behold, my geniusery

2008-07-16T22:13:00.003-05:00

Today, I said the following and was then told that I should coin it on my blog because it's just that brilliant:

Technology is not your friend when you need it most, like on the day you have to print stuff for a client presentation.

Learn it, live it, love it.

C.T.

This guy is my new hero.

2008-07-13T21:18:00.000-05:00

Seriously.

C.T.

Coming Soon: The greatest achievement of my life.

2008-07-12T09:33:00.004-05:00

This is big.

Sure, I've had plenty of other big achievements:

Graduated college, with honors
Bought a house
Fixed the soffit on said house
Wrote a novel
Produced a CD
Was nominated for a Webby award
Survived Russia in winter
Survived LASIK surgery . . . twice
Fixed broken power windows on my Jeep by myself
Figured out how to Sudoku
Got up before noon this morning

But this next one blows all of those major accomplishments away. It is a MAJOR award, folks.

Due to all of the fantastic travel I have coming up in the next few weeks, I have signed up for the American Airlines Platinum Challenge. And I confirmed yesterday that in just a few short weeks . . .

I will be a PLATINUM level traveler.

People, this kind of status is a dream come true. The sun will shine a little brighter. The lines I wait in at the airport will be much, much shorter.

In fact, I full expect all lines everywhere to simply go away for me. The checkout line at the grocery store, lines at the State Fair, wrinkle lines that appear on my face as I move deeper into my 30s . . .

GONE. Because I have Platinum status.

It is a far-reaching status that I will take full advantage of in every area of my life.

Get ready for the Platinum Tyrant. Coming soon . . .

P.C.T.

Apparently working too many hours can literally kill you.

2008-07-09T22:02:00.003-05:00

Overtime kills, y'all.

Read about it here.

Good thing I have a job now that doesn't make me work crazy hours anymore.

New job saved my life . . .

C.T.

When lightning strikes once . . .

2008-07-09T12:02:00.002-05:00

. . . it apparently strikes my office building and lets me sleep in and stay home from work.

When your boss calls you at 7:45 a.m., my first thought is that I either overslept and she's wondering why I'm not at work. Or, something more along the lines of "don't bother coming in to work ever again."

This morning was sort of like that, but was more like, "don't bother coming in to work . . . until later today because the office was hit by lightning last night and we have no power."

This translates into, "Tyrant, you have the morning off. Please roll over and go back to sleep until we tell you that the office is working again."

Who am I to argue with my boss? I got off the phone and rolled over to go back to sleep.

I've also conducted some business via text message today. And I've decided that from now on, I will ONLY work via text message.

The extra sleep was much-needed to complete my recovery from my whirlwind trip to D.C. for July 4th weekend.

God bless America. And my extra sleep this morning.

C.T.

Soffit

2008-07-01T20:43:00.005-05:00

I'm just going to go ahead and say that I do a really good job of keeping my house in tip-top shape.

My yard is fabulous. I do it myself. The house itself is in good shape, inside and out. When things need repair, I'm pretty good at fixing stuff or getting someone over here to fix it when it's something I can't do.

It's by no means a fancy house. There's nothing extraordinary about my yard. But it's a house that I make sure looks nice to passersby pretty much at all times. I take pride in making my house look nice and keeping my yard well-groomed. I've done some improvements since I bought it almost five years ago. Nothing major. Just things here or there that add a little curb appeal. And compared to many other houses in my old neighborhood and on my street, it's pretty much one of the awesomest houses in these parts, if I do say-so myself.

In fact, there are some pretty rundown rental houses either way on my street. Yeah, I'm pretty much that neighbor who wants the house two doors down to mow their yard MORE THAN ONCE A MONTH. Seriously. If your weeds hit your knees, this is disrespectful to our neighborhood. And I'm a little bit personally offended.

Now, periodically the City will send me a letter asking me to trim a tree that hangs over the back alley too far, or cut the grass behind my fence in the alley. For the most part, I don't mind. I sometimes don't remember all of the rules about how far my tree can be in the alley, and I'm certainly not going to get out there and measure it myself.

However, my one exception to my property upkeep is to refuse to cut the grass and weeds behind my fence in the alley until the City makes me do it.

My reasoning is that anything behind my fence is not my property because the City won't let me build my fence all the way to the concrete of the alley. My property ends at the fence, per the City. Therefore, anything outside of my fence is not my problem. However, when they send me a letter, I promptly cut it. But only then.

When some hoodlums spray painted graffiti on the back of my brand new wood fence and the City asked me to clean the graffiti off of my fence, I got out there and scrubbed it off myself even though I wasn't responsible for putting it there. It was a hot summer day and it took me all day. But, to cooperate with the city and because I take pride in my city, I made my fence pretty again.

Today, however, the City has crossed the line.

I got a letter today. It said this:

Please repair/replace and paint the deteriorated and falling soffit on the north side of the subject property.

I had to read it, like, four times to begin to comprehend what the problem is that I need to fix. Trimming trees that are in the way makes sense. Cutting weeds that are too tall behind the fence makes sense.

Soffit?!?!? Does anyone even know what that is???

I had to Google it.

Seriously. If you need me to fix something, just tell me what it is IN ENGLISH.

Apparently the soffit is the underside of the eave at the corner of where your roof meets the house. After I realized this, I figured out what they meant.

There is part of the SOFFIT (apparently) near the corner of the front of my house that has been sagging that I just haven't bothered to fix. I see it everyday when I pull into my garage, but I forget to come back out and push it back up everyday. It's siding. It's no big deal.

It BY NO MEANS is offensive to the neighborhood. It is BY NO MEANS the most dilapidated SOFFIT on this street. There are soffits falling all over the place. Unless you are looking at my soffet, you can't even tell. It sags maybe a couple of inches. It doesn't hold water, rodents can't get in there, and it doesn't affect the structural soundness of the house whatsoever (all of which are reasons given in the letter to repair things like soffits).

Now, for the record, I take great pride in not being a nuisance to my neighborhood. Not to mention, I AM A GIRL. If I can keep my house up, all of the men on this street who can't be bothered to fix their fences or paint their garage doors that haven't been painted since 1960 should be getting letters from the City EVERY SINGLE DAY.

Seriously, how bored is this City worker guy that he has the time to write me a letter about my soffit when around the corner there's a house where the porch is literally broken in half. It's an add-on. Clearly didn't come with the house. And clearly was not a good idea to add on.

Hmmmm. Maybe he's seen me working on my house and he thinks I'm hot, so he wrote me this ridiculous soffit letter figuring I'd have to call him (the letter does include his phone number) to ask what the heck a soffit is.

I hope he's hot.

Anyway, once I figured out what the letter was telling me, I grabbed two nails, my hammer, and my step ladder and tacked it up in two places. Done. Two minutes.

And it doesn't need to be painted, either, City Worker Guy. It's GRAY SIDING. It looks just like the siding on the rest of the house, which is in great shape. The reason you get siding is so that you don't have to paint. Der.

Don't get me wrong. I'm all for doing my part to make sure the neighborhood looks great. I love that the City is involved in making the neighborhood a better place and helping to improve property values.

But, come on. Sometimes I think they're just picking on me. Seriously, the alley is pretty much a jungle with overgrowth coming over fences up and down the alley. My trees barely hang over and I'm the one getting the letters . . .

Maybe I should take it as a compliment. Maybe the City knows I'll actually fix what needs to be fixed, the first time I get a letter. So they are "helping" me make my property the best in the neighborhood.

Hmmmm. Maybe I'm getting an award for Most Awesomest House On This Street.

Plus I learned a new word today.

Soffit.

C.T.

Typos are not okkay.

2008-06-29T21:07:00.003-05:00

I get annoyed by typos. Not that I never make them, because I do.

But, I spend a lot of time at my job everyday proofing stuff. I catch typos all day, everyday. And, I'm pretty good at it. I don't catch them all, but I can comfortably say that I catch more typos than most people on any given day.

However, now that I have time and desire to read again, I am confused. I don't understand how books, REAL books, make it into my hands with typos in them.

Seriously. If I buy a book and I'm reading it and I'm catching typos in the book, what's up with that?

The book is written, usually by someone who is a professional writer, which by default should mean they know how to spell pretty well. Even if they can't, unless they are using a typewriter or charcoal on a shovel, it's probable that they have spell check of some sort to catch typos.

THEN, even if the initial draft (understandably) is finished with typos, there are proofreaders and editors that take a crack at it. They have dictionaries and style guides and beyond that, hopefully some sort of degree or professional experience that they can fall back on to catch all of the typos, grammatical errors, and other whatnot that should be fixed before a book is considered final and ready to print.

So, by my calculations, that's at least three people (or robots, if that might be the case) who have read the entire book with the intent to make it absolutely perfect.

SO, how does a book get through all of those people, plus mass production, and into my hands with a typo in it?

The book I finished today had more than one typo in it, including a figure illustration that was on the opposite page of the text that explained it. How does that happen?

I don't catch all the typos in the entire world. I'm only human, and sometimes mistakes make it through my eagle eye.

But if I can catch typos in a published book, I think I should get my money back for the mental anguish it causes me to deal with the typos in the book I paid for.

C.T.

P.S. If there are any typos in this post, please let my editor know.

I got a little out of control with the organizing the other day.

2008-06-25T20:19:00.002-05:00

I needed to do a little light cleaning on Sunday. I always know when my house is too dusty because I start sneezing constantly . . . well before I see that everything is covered in dust.

Well, the dusting turned into rearranging all of my shoes in my closet by color and by how often I wear them, for easy access in the mornings on the way out the door to work. Quite handy, now that I've done it. But it was a bit more time than I really wanted to spend on housework at the time.

But then I went a step further. See, I have this random box of band-aids that is the catch-all for when I have only a couple of band-aids left, but I need a different size band-aid which requires me to get a new box. I throw out the big box that is holding the two leftover band-aids and I put them in the big random box for safe keeping.

Um, I organized the random box of band-aids. By size.

Quite handy . . . now. But quite possibly a waste of time at the time.

Whatever. If you need a band-aid, I can find the perfect size for you super fast. Because they're organized for efficiency.

C.T.

This is what 20% chance of isolated thunder showers looks like.

2008-06-17T20:41:00.002-05:00

Anyone need fire wood?

C.T.

I have a new rabbit in my yard

2008-06-15T18:43:00.003-05:00

He's very small. He lives under my shed.

I think I will call him Sunflower. Because I think he ate the sunflower seeds I planted.

C.T.

Ridiculous people are at Target

2008-06-14T19:14:00.002-05:00

I saw two disturbing things within the past week at Target. And yes, I have no shame in admitting the fact that I go to Target more than once a week.

It's how I roll.

The first ridiculous person I saw at Target was in front of me when I was returning a couple of items. She was nicely dressed in a Polo brand shirt, nice jeans, nice shoes. It was obvious that she doesn't shop at Target for her clothes. She was too fancy.

So, you might ask, what was this obviously well-to-do woman returning at Target? I kid you not, she had just bought groceries and noticed that she had been charged too much for a package of muffin mix, and she was getting her 35 cents back.

This woman probably had well over $100 worth of groceries in her cart. And believe me, I am all for saving money and being frugal.

But if you're going to stand there in your fancy jeans and jewelry after examining your ridiculously long receipt, Ridiculous Suburban Wife, and keep me waiting in line for 10 minutes while the Target employee works as hard to find the packet of muffin mix on your ridiculously long receipt as she's working not to LAUGH AT YOU for wanting your 35 cents, then I have no choice but to let you know that you are RIDICULOUS.

Seriously, I felt bad for the poor kid who had to say this: "OK, M'aam, 35 cents will go back on your Mastercard. Thank you and have a nice day." Without laughing.

Ridiculous.

Then today I was in line to check out at Target, and the woman in front of me bought a whole lot of stuff . . . then paid for it by writing a check.

What? Are Target employees even trained on how to process a check anymore? I thought I was the last remaining person on earth who was clinging to her checks to pay for things, and when I gave that up a few years ago I assumed I had put to rest that art form for all the world over.

But no, I was mistaken. Today I found the last check-writer on the planet. And she was at Target. . . keeping me waiting in line while she wrote a check for her stuff.

Ridiculous.

C.T.

The Jehovah's Witnesses have gone too far this time.

2008-06-12T19:08:00.004-05:00

They sent me mail.

So, the Jehovah's Witnesses visit my house pretty regularly. It's the same two ladies every time. I don't know if they think I look extremely gullible, or if they just really like a challenge. But they show up here every few months, always on a Saturday or Sunday morning, usually before 10am.

That alone is enough to really make me angry. My Saturday before 10am is MY time. Leave me alone.

The first time they stopped by, I decided to be nice. I answered the door, I talked with them. I listened to their presentation. I even took their literature.

Apparently, I made them feel a little too welcome. Because now they won't leave me alone.

The last couple of times they've come by, I've hidden in the house and refused to answer the door until they go away.

One day I came in from my backyard where I was doing yard work, and I heard women's voices . . . talking. At first, I assumed I was overheated and simply hearing voices. But as I got closer to my front door, I realized that there were people on my front porch . . . having a conversation.

Yep, it was those same two JW ladies, hanging out on my porch, having a conversation. I figure they probably rang the doorbell while I was in the backyard and I didn't hear it. But they were still standing there on the porch, just talking. My window shades were open and I think the TV was on. They knew I was home.

But, I still didn't answer the door. I snuck away from the window so they couldn't see me and I watched until they left. And believe me, they stood on my porch for awhile. Then they stood by their car at the end of my driveway for awhile.

Here it is: I'm over the JWs at my house. Seriously, enough already.

Today I come home and I find a hand-addressed envelope in my mailbox. Now, I work with direct mail on a daily basis. It's my job. I know how to mail to people. And I especially know that hand-addressed envelopes are the most likely to be opened by a donor. It's more personal.

But, this was obviously the work of some random person, LOCAL, I might add (due to the local hand-written return address in the upper left hand corner) who needed THREE stamps to get the appropriate 42 cents for postage. It was junky.

I opened it and inside was a hand-written letter addressed to "Dear Friends and Family."

Um, newsflash. I'm really not your family.

A JW brochure also fell out. Subtle, right?

The letter starts, "I was recently at your home but did not get a chance to speak with you."

Ok, that's nearing stalker-level language and ridiculousness. That's just a hair away from, "I've been watching you from across the street in my car at nights through your front window using my binoculars, and I'd really like to speak with you about my crazy cult. Why are you ignoring me? Also, I have a shrine built in your honor in my basement."

So, now I'm officially done with JWs. That's it. They have annoyed me beyond the point of what is reasonable. I'm sorry, but pestering somebody repeatedly is no way to win converts. It's a complete turn off.

I've lived here almost 5 years and have probably been visited by these same women at least 5 times. I've never had a JW visit before I lived here. Seriously, I can't be the only one in the neighborhood who is NOT a JW. Go recruit the neighbors for awhile.

Leave me alone.

From henceforth, I proclaim an embargo on all JWs on my property.

I will not answer the door when you come by. You can stand there all day, I don't care.

If I see you coming, I will run away.

If I get more mail from you, I will toss it. Without reading it. Shoot, I might even send it back to you marked "Not at This Address. " Ha! You lose 42 cents, my "Friends and Family."

That's how I roll.

C.T.

It's not easy being a genius sometimes

2008-06-08T20:10:00.011-05:00

A couple of weeks ago, the back window in my Jeep decided it had lost the will to stay up any more. This was a sad moment for me.

I knew what the problem was. It had happened before to the other back window, at which time I took it to the dealer and had them fix it for free since it was still under warranty. It's the regulator. It broke.

Now that the Jeep is no longer under warranty, these silly repairs are not my favorite thing. I just don't want to spend the money on things that aren't essential to keeping the Jeep running for a long, long time.

However, keeping the window up, while not entirely essential to keeping the Jeep running, is quite essential to, say, keep rain and random people out of the Jeep. So, this means I had to fix the window.

As a temporary fix, I needed to get the window to at least stay up until I could get it completely fixed. Now that I'm an expert in taking off the inside of the doors in the Jeep to replace speakers, I decided I could take the door apart and figure out some contraption to keep the window up.

What I like about these challenges is that it is a chance for me to put my genius IQ and a little bit of common sense to good use to solve a problem. It also gives me the opportunity to hurt myself in new ways. Like my dad has so wisely taught me, always keep bandaids in the tool kit.

After a few attempts, the following combination of items worked to keep the window up so well that I could push on it from the outside and it still stayed up:

One Bungee cord
duct tape
Three zip ties
Super glue

Part genius, Part Macgyver. That's me.

So, I managed to keep the window up for the time being. And I also managed one huge bruise on my left arm, and a series of cuts and bruises on my right arm. All in a good day's work.

Then I got online to find out if I can purchase a window regulator. I really don't want to pay someone to fix the window. Sadly, I could not find one that was the correct part for my Jeep. But, I did find instructions online about how to replace the window regulator.

I then consulted the man from whom I've inherited my do-it-myself genes: my dad. He felt like this was something we could handle. This would save me some money, and of course, give me a new skill that I did not have before: Window Regulator Replacement.

So, yesterday was the day. I ordered the part from the dealer and we were ready to go. I figured I'd first attempt to undo the bungee cord, duct tape, zip ties, and super glue that was holding the window in place before my dad came over to help. I'm all for efficiency. And with my tiny, girly hands, I could get in there and undo everything without wasting his time.

Remembering my injuries from a couple of weeks ago, this time I suited up for my mechanical endeavor ahead of time to save my arms from further damage. And by "suited up", I mean "free wristbands that I got from running a few relays with my relay team a few years ago":

I felt that it was really important to look the part of Genius Mechanic Girl while I did the work.

Then I attacked the door and was finally able to undo my Macgyver fix-it job (I was a tad worried that I wouldn't be able to undo it - especially the super glue part - and then I'd probably have to just buy a whole new door . . . or just get a new Jeep) But I managed to undo everything fairly easily, and pretty soon my door looked like this:

It's kinda hard to see, but you're looking at the guts of my Jeep door.

So, by then I was having so much fun and feeling pretty confident that I'd at least gotten the door back to its broken state, I decided to see how far I could get with the next steps: getting the old regulator out, then putting the new one in.

Turns out, the hardest part was getting the old one out. Once I got it out, things looked like this:

That contraption in the upper left on the ground is the regulator. And yeah, that black thing on the ground is the outside panel of my door, cup holder and all.

At this point, things are a little frightening if you think about this in terms of the simple mechanics that my door is now in three pieces, and no one is watching me do this or making sure I'm not doing something really, really stupid without adult supervision.

However, I was still feeling an extreme sense of accomplishment at having gotten this far on my own, my wristbands were working marvelously, and I decided I'd keep forging ahead and try to get the new regulator even though my dad hadn't gotten there to help, yet.

So, I did it. I put the new one in, hooked it up, and tested it out. See, I'm dumb enough to have done projects like these before where I put everything back together without testing it first, only to find that I didn't hook it up right and the thing doesn't work.

But IT TOTALLY WORKED. And yes, I just sat there and made it go up and down and up and down a few times, just for fun.

Holy cow, I just pulled the guts out of my door and put new ones in, and it worked. I'm like a surgeon, only not with people.

I closed everything up just in time for my dad to call and say he was on his way soon. Don't worry, we had another project to do.

But y'all, I totally fixed my window all by myself.

And after all was put back in place, there was only one tiny random piece leftover that I'm pretty sure never served a purpose in the first place:

I guess I'll find out if it was important if my door falls off or something.

Next on the agenda was putting a giant net over my giant fig tree, which was quite an adventure that required the genius IQs of both me and my dad, a lot of string, some scissors, duct tape (seriously, it really does help in almost any situation) and a softball.

Yes, a softball.

Turns out, we needed about three more nets to fully cover the tree. It is seriously the world's largest fig tree. The guy at Home Depot when I bought the net thought I was ridiculous to buy the biggest net they had for just a fig tree.

He seriously underestimated the girth of my fig tree.

But whatever. We got one net up there and it should keep the birds off of at least some of the figs this year.

We will have figs, and I will eat them in my Jeep while I make the window go up and down.

It will be super fun.

C.T.

Dear All Places that Report the News,

2008-06-06T22:39:00.002-05:00

It is no longer news that gas prices are going up, everyday, all the time.

However, it makes me sad and angry to hear that gas prices go up, everyday, all the time. In fact, I'd say it's pretty much torture to remind us every day that gas costs more than our cars do.

We all know gas prices are going up. There's no need for it to be all over the news everyday.

Gas is expensive. It continues to get more expensive. People can't afford to eat or go anywhere because gas takes everyone's money.

These are things that are not news. But these are things that make everyone unhappy.

So, let's keep gas out of the news for awhile, shall we? It might help us think of other things that make us happier, like sunshine and bunnies. Both of which are free in my backyard, which is where I sit and relax to conserve the gas in the Jeep.

And how about if you just let us know when or if gas prices ever go down, for a change.

THAT will be big news, and I will certainly want to hear about it.

Til then, shut it.

C.T.

The Rejected Juror

2008-06-04T20:33:00.003-05:00

Once upon a time, I aspired to be the world's greatest juror.

This morning, I reported to court, right on time. I found where I was supposed to be and I reported to the bailiff, per my instructions.

I was so excited, you don't even know.

Then THIS happened:

"There are no trials today. Everyone can go home."

Um, WHAT??

I have been preparing for my role as the most amazing juror the world has ever seen for weeks. You cannot take this away from me!

Please, can't someone giving me something to jure?? I'll take anything.

That guy cut in front of you in line? GUILTY.
The bailiff made you throw your coffee away? GUILTY.
The bailiff made me throw MY coffee away? Um, NOT guilty.

Seriously, man. Leave me and my Starbucks alone.

The bailiff gave us the option to not turn in our summons form, which means we would probably get called again one day.

Um, you'd better believe I kept mine. I WILL JURE ONE DAY.

But not today. I was at work by 8:40, which is sometimes when I roll in on a normal day anyway.

Lamest. Jury. Duty. Ever.

C.T.

Dear Smoke Detector Battery,

2008-06-03T21:45:00.003-05:00

Why is it that you always insist on dying . . . in the middle of the night?

EVERY. SINGLE. TIME.

By doing this, you cause the smoke detector to beep incessantly, in the middle of the night, until it wakes me up and I am forced to get out of bed . . . in the middle of the night . . . to change the battery so that I can get some peace and quiet to fall back asleep.

Why can you not decide to quit working, say . . . at 3:00 in the afternoon? When I'm not even home? I'll gladly replace you when I get home. And I won't have to lose any sleep over you.

This is the most important thing in the world. The Tyrant should never have to lose sleep over these types of silly things. I get cranky and no one wants that.

Generally, I replace you regularly. Sometimes I get busy and forget. But, I do enjoy safety first. I try to stay on top of things. I have a ridiculously large supply of 9 volt batteries on hand and ready at a moment's notice.

So, it's kind of rude to wake me up in the middle of the night when I'm just a bit late replacing you. You know, it's really not all about you.

It's just not.

So, if you could, the next time you decide your time is up, try to let me know while I'm still awake.

Much appreciated,
C.T.

Tyrant and the Giant Fig

2008-05-31T21:57:00.002-05:00

Not unlike James and the Giant Peach.

Although I don't intend to live in the fig. I intend to eat it when the time comes for fig pickin' and preservin'.

Seriously, it's the largest fig ever. And it's only just getting started.

C.T.

I hope David Cook doesn't win

2008-05-20T21:25:00.004-05:00

Here are my two cents about who will win American Idol. I made this call weeks ago (in my head), and I didn't really need to watch tonight to have it all figured out.

However, if end up being wrong, you never heard it from me.

David Cook will not win.
David Archuletta will win.

Here is why. And keep in mind, I might be a little bit in love with David Cook.

David Cook does not need Idol. He'll be just fine on his own. In fact, he would likely do better on his own, without Idol influencing his first CD post-show.

I'd even go so far as to say that he already knows this and he possibly intentionally did not bring his A-game tonight to give Archuletta the top spot. Don't get me wrong, he played a good show tonight. But, we've seen him rock my socks off before and tonight wasn't it.

Archuletta, however, while cherubically cute and definitely able to sing, he'll need all the help Idol can give him.

Therefore, I hope David Cook doesn't win. Because by him NOT winning, both David's have a better shot at being successful.

You heard it here first. Or never at all.

C.T.

Dear Natasha Bedingfield,

2008-05-17T20:02:00.001-05:00

Do you really have a pocket full of sunshine?

Is that even possible?

Wouldn't that make it daylight wherever you are, all the time?

These are my questions.

Sincerely,
C.T.

Uncle Sam wants ME

2008-05-14T22:29:00.003-05:00

. . . for jury duty.

It finally happened. Today, I received a jury summons.

It is clear that all of my years of watching crime dramas on T.V. has finally come to the attention of someone who is fairly influencial in courts around here, and who obviously values my expertise on a jury in what I'm sure will be a high-profile case.

Perhaps I will be the juror who finally figures out what to do with Britney's kids. Or maybe, I'll be the deciding vote to make world peace mandatory, and world hunger outlawed.

I could save the world as Juror # Whatever.

Save the Juror, save the world . . .

It's my first summons, except for when I was in school and could get out of it because I was a student. It's all very exciting. Things have been going pretty well for me lately. I can only assume this is the next big thing I am to conquer. My next stage, if you will, to take a bite out of crime.

Consider it already bitten.

I'm not even thinking that I won't get picked. I'm just wondering how quickly after I get there will they beg me to stay.

I will out-jure all of the other jurors.

I will be inducted into the Juror Hall of Fame.

I will be the world's most sought-after juror. Courts and lawyers and judges and even the President will want me to be a juror for the world's most significant cases. I will be the first ever Professional Juror, by appointment only.

Juries won't summon me. I will summon juries.

The Supreme Court? I will one day be the only juror they have ever had, or will ever need.

I will pretty much invent being juror. I will jure in ways that you've never seen before. I will set records for the world's fastest juring.

Eventually I won't even need to sit in on the trial. Just send me a text message with some fast facts and a photo of the criminal in question, and I'll have an answer for you in 30 minutes or less.

They will clone me for juries of the future.

I have only a few weeks to prepare for my summons. There is a lot of Law & Order to be watched and John Grisham books to be read.

I can handle the truth.

C.T.

Dear Jared,

2008-05-12T22:11:00.003-05:00

We don't care anymore.

We get it. It's been 10 years. You've still got those huge pants that don't fit you anymore. You ate a lot of Subway sandwiches, you lost weight.

I, however, have lost my mind having to see you on my T.V. for the past 10 years.

Please tell me you have found something else to do in the past 10 years. I hate to think you lost all that weight only to sell your soul to Subway for all of eternity.

Because frankly, I can't handle an eternity of seeing you and your huge pants on TV to sell sandwiches.

We're over it.

Dear Subway,
Jared. 10 years. Big Pants. Sandwiches.

I stopped eating Subway sandwiches (coincidentally) 10 years ago.

We're over it.

Please find another spokesmodel.

C.T.

It's critter season again

2008-05-11T22:26:00.004-05:00

Another spring season is upon us, and for me and my house, that means the critters are out and about.

I planted my spring flowers about a month or so ago, maybe longer. For the most part, the critters have stayed out of the plantings . . . with the exception of the two pots on my patio where I planted rose moss/moss rose (I never know if it's rose moss or moss rose).

I'm pretty sure it's a squirrel that keeps insisting on throwing the poor moss/roses completely out of the pot and onto the ground. Almost everyday, I come home and see the poor thing lying on the ground next to the pot. And everyday, I put it back in.

It's really not a fun game for me, but I have a feeling that the squirrel LOVES tormenting me in this way. I finally bought some Critter-B-Gone powder to sprinkle in the pot. We'll see how that works.

If it works, I might by more in bulk and see if it works on a few annoying people I know that I'd like to get rid of . . . you know who you are.

Anyway, it seems like every new critter season introduces a new critter into my backyard ecosystem/wildlife sanctuary. Last year it was rabbits.

Frankly, I don't know why animals keep coming here. It rarely works out well for them. I don't do it intentionally, but if you've read much of this blog you should know the sad tales of the accidental animal accidents that have plagued this house since Day 1 of my living here.

So far this season, no animal mishaps. Maybe my yard has turned over a new leaf.

This morning while I was making my coffee, I looked out of my kitchen window to gaze upon my fabulous backyard. I tell ya, there is nothing quite like a fabulous green, blooming yard in the morning to start your day off right.

As I looked out, something caught my eye near my shed. Some sort of critter was creeping along the fence, and I just caught the tail end of it going behind my shed.

It wasn't a squirrel, nor a rabbit, nor one of the neighborhood cats. Frankly, I am not quite sure what it was. But I have some thoughts. These thoughts don't make me happy.

From the color of it, and the size of it's back leg (I never saw the front of it), and most importantly, the bushy-ness of its tail, I'm pretty sure it was a coyote.

I don't know if coyotes can jump over a tall wood fence, but if they can, I'm pretty sure there was a coyote in my yard this morning.

Naturally, I had to go out and see if I could see the whole thing. I'm pretty much one of those idiot girls in a slasher movie that goes to check out the mysterious noise in her high heels, only to have to run downstairs in the heels while the man with a chainsaw chases her down the stairs.

I heard in my head that voice that screams at the movie screen when the idiot girl opens the door, "Don't go out there! Whatever it is will eat you! All you have in your hand is a hot cup of coffee if it attacks you!"

So, I creeped outside towards the shed, yet not actually going anywhere near it. I walked around it without going behind it where the fence is, hoping to catch a glimpse of the critter. But I never saw it. It was either hiding in the crap behind the shed, or it jumped over the fence into the alley . . . or it was under the shed waiting for me to get close enough to jump on my face and bite my nose off.

I went back inside.

So, I'm not really sure what I saw. But it was definitely not one of the usual critters.

I have noticed that there are fewer rabbits this year. I've only seen the one big one a couple of times.

Coyotes eat rabbits.

After some extensive Googling for "bushy tailed animals that could live in my yard in Texas, possibly behind my shed," I came up with two other options:

A raccoon.

A red panda - native to Nepal, but it's entirely possible that it recently migrated to my backyard in Texas.

Obviously I will be looking for it every day until I figure out what it is.

The bushy tail rules out a sasquatch or a bear. So that's good.

C.T.

Don't worry. I have everything under control.

2008-05-06T20:44:00.002-05:00

I'm in the beginning days of 10 days of being in charge of the dogs while my parents are on vacation.

Don't worry. Everything is under control with the sneaky little rugrats.

I spent the first night with them at my folks's house. All was well.

Yesterday, I went to check on them after work and I discovered that they have figured out how to jump on top of their bed that is in their doggie nook in the house. This is a critical discovery for them because it puts them literally just a few inches away from being able to jump over their gate . . . which afford them the freedom to run willy nilly about the house all the live long day, unsupervised.

Very, very dangerous.

See, this is the first time they've been mostly on their own during the day. It's definitely the first time they've had no supervision at night. And they are not used to having their bed in their nook with them. They usually sleep in the room with me when I'm in charge. Having their bed in the nook allows them to have all the comforts of home, plus the freedom to go in and out of their doggie door all the livelong day.

Tonight, I arrived at the house to find them still in their caged area. But, as soon as I walked in the door they got excited and jumped up on their bed.

Then two seconds later, they pretty much stumbled out into the kitchen. First Daisy, who chased me down the hall. Then Duke, who is never one to be left alone for very long, although he's usually too scared to try anything first.

They both tackled me in the bathroom and they were quite pleased with themselves at having found the way into the house.

Of course, I think they are surprised by the whole thing. They were so excited that I was there, they just stumbled onto the bed and into the house trying to follow me.

BUT, this is bad. I still have quite a few days where I need them to be secluded in their caged fortress. However, now that they have essentially tunneled out, I have no idea what I will find when I get over there tomorrow.

With my luck, and with all the rain we've had so far this week, I figure my days are numbered before I find that they have run rampant all day through the house, painting muddy-pawed artwork all over the floor, walls, furniture . . .

I will have to come up with a clever plan to outsmart them and keep them confined. But I fear they are too crafty for the likes of me.

Parents, if you are reading, don't worry.

Everything is under control.

C.T.

I really like free stuff

2008-05-05T22:43:00.002-05:00

I got a free Tetanus shot at work last week.

Of course, they gave us the shots because they thought we were possibly exposed to Whooping Cough. So they brought in free Tetanus/Anti-Whooping Cough shots.

Whatever. I really like free stuff. And they gave me an American flag band-aid that I proudly wore the rest of the day.

The band-aid was free, too.

So, this weekend I figured, "Hey, I've had my tetanus shot, which makes me impervious to being impaled by sharp metal. Why not clean out my gutters on the house?"

So, I cleaned out my gutters.

And let me say this: I don't care how many Tetanus shots you get, cleaning out the gutters is still quite possibly the most disgusting job ever, in the whole entire world. Period.

Tetanus does NOT make you impervious to the disgusting-ness that lives in your gutters.

Even if it's free.

C.T.

Snake skin belt, anyone?

2008-04-29T20:12:00.004-05:00

If you are in need of a snake skin belt, let me know.

Because I found a snake skin in my begonias today.

Of course, it would have to be a very tiny belt. Say . . . for Snake Skin Barbie. It is a very tiny snake skin, as you can see above.

But still. Somewhere in my yard is a snake.

A very tiny snake.

But a SNAKE, nonetheless. And a skinless one, to boot.

C.T.

Gripes

2008-04-27T21:34:00.002-05:00

I have some bones to pick. I'm warning you now, if you are not on my good side, you might not want to read any further . . .

In no particular order:

1. Home Depot
Home Depot, why do you make me hate you sometimes?

I love you. I have loved you for years. I don't understand why you insist on being stupid sometimes, which of course, does not make me happy.

Why, on a Saturday of all days, would you have only ONE person working the Returns/Exchanges register? Are you unclear that Saturday is the day that everyone in the world goes to Home Depot to buy stuff for the yard, or spring house projects, or whatever?

And do you not realize that all of the people in the world who bought something from you on Saturday morning will realize as soon as they get home that they bought the wrong thing, then they'll turn right around and need to come back and Return/Exchange it for the right thing that same day?

So, imagine my dismay when I had to make several trips to visit Home Depot on Saturday to deal with my lawn equipment that was dying off, one by one. And on the third trip when I needed to Exchange the wrong extension cord for a longer one, I arrived to find five people in line at the Returns counter and just one lonely soul working that department.

Then, imagine my confusion when moments later, FIVE additional Home Depot employees come to "help" by literally standing in the corner and looking at all of the returned stuff. But not doing anything else.

Well, they were staring at the line of all of us trying to return stuff. The line was growing by the minute.

Home Depot, please fix this before the next Saturday when I might possibly have to make 108 trips to visit you in one day.

Nevermind that I'm kind of an idiot and I tend to buy the wrong thing 107 times before I get it right the 108th time.

2. Doctors
Dear Doctors, I believe I've mentioned this before. But clearly it has not gotten better. So maybe we need to talk it through again.

I don't like waiting an hour (sometimes more) for you to spend three minutes looking at me. And it's not like this happens every once in awhile. It's more often than not the standard mode of operation.

And don't think I'm fooled by the SECOND waiting room trick. You know, calling me back from the first waiting room . . . only to put me in another waiting room to wait some more.

IT'S STILL WAITING.

Here's the problem: I sit in a waiting room with 10 other people who are all booked for the same appointment time. Now, I'm no mathemagenius. But it's humanly impossible to see 10 people for individual appointments . . . all at the same time.

Unless you are a superhero doctor who can somehow manipulate time and also clone yourself instantaneously. Which, none of you are. I never see any of you wearing capes, and that is proof enough.

The thing is, we all schedule our appointments with you to work around our work schedules. I can legally get away with taking an hour from my work day to come see you. Now, I understand that my appointment IS, in fact, YOUR work day. But, that merely proves my point that I have to arrange my own time to come see you doing what you do, plus I still have to do what I do.

Yet, I continually wait on you.

So, when I wait for an hour and I still haven't seen you yet, I am confused. You offered a time for me to come, I accepted. We agreed on it by writing my name next to that time. I am there on time. I have gone out of my way to come to where you are. And still, I wait.

I'm comfortable waiting for 15 minutes. Anything more than that is not a good use of my time, or yours.

See, when clients are scheduled to visit me, I meet with them when they get here. If I made them wait for an hour (or even 15 minutes), I would probably not keep that client, or that job, for that matter. So . . . why is it different for you?

There must be a way that we can get that hour of wait time out of the way. If I could somehow wait at my office, or at my home, prior to the appointment so that I can be productive during that hour (as opposed to trapped in your useless office), that would help.

Or, maybe if I am supposed to be there at 1:00, if I call ahead and say, "Doctor, I am beginning my waiting now," that could be your signal that in an hour I'll arrive and walk right into my appointment.

It could be a Pre-Appointment. At 12:00, you do whatever it is that you do in that hour before you actually spend those quality five minutes with me, and I'll just let you know that I'm already waiting. Then when I get there at my designated 1:00 appointment time, we're both ready to rock.

You know, like calling ahead for reservations at a restaurant. They know you're on the way, and they have your table ready when you get there.

I'm on the way, please have that giant needle ready for me when I get there.

See? So simple. Yet, it saves my time and yours, as well as my sanity. Plus my office won't wonder why I've disappeared for two hours when I really only need to disappear for one hour.

That's all of the energy I have today to gripe. For those of you who know you have wronged me in some way lately, don't think I've forgotten. I'll get to you soon enough.

You know who you are.

C.T.

A question I often ask . . .

2008-04-24T22:47:00.001-05:00

I will call her "Pete and Repeat" from now on.

2008-04-22T20:45:00.002-05:00

Wait, let me start over . . .

From now on, I will call her "Pete and Repeat."

C.T.

I'm just sayin'

2008-04-20T21:21:00.005-05:00

I'm pretty sure D-list celebrities were invented purely to be on Celebrity Fit Club and entertain me.

Seriously, Screech, could you be any more of a paranoid, over-dramatic, lazy, ridiculous idiot?

And yet, it's sooooo entertaining.

C.T.

"Hey . . . YOU," she says awkwardly, having no idea who you are.

2008-04-16T22:47:00.004-05:00

So, the more people from highschool who Facebook me with a friend request, the more I realize . . . I have no idea who anyone was in highschool. And I have no idea how people know who I am if I can't remember them this many years later.

I mean, it hasn't been THAT many years. But then again, I have no idea what happened two days ago. So, time is pretty much irrelevant for me at this point.

Sure, some of these people I recognize and remember as my highschool friends and acquaintances. I'm not a complete idiot.

Although you people who get married and change your last names, then expect me to know who you are when you Facebook me, even after I click on your page and see only a very tiny picture of you with 10 other people . . . it's just a little ridiculous to expect me to be able to figure you out if I haven't seen you since graduation many years ago.

Anyway, today I got another friend request from a name I didn't recognize. After clicking on the page and seeing a few other people on it that I recognize from highschool, I assumed this guy must be from highschool. But it still wasn't ringing a bell.

So, I went to the highschool year book. This is a place I never like to go. A little piece of me dies inside each time I crack open one of those books.

I found the guy in the book, but he now only looked vaguely familiar. I tried to get in and out of the book as quickly as possible, but the book fell open to the pages where people write messages to you.

And after reading a few of those messages, I have determined that I really was a complete idiot in highschool.

I clearly had quite a few inside jokes with people back in those days. Of course, reading those words and phrases repeated on the pages of my yearbook leaves me confused, and again, certain that I must have been an idiot. Why was any of that funny? And I'm a little baffled that if these people who are Facebooking me are the same people who wrote any of these messages that reference my super-lame jokes, what about any of that makes them think, "Hey, I'll Facebook The Tyrant to see if she remembers that thing about [lame inside joke reference here] from highschool."

Fortunately, I read in the messages of my yearbook that folks in highschool did find me funny, so maybe the ridiculous inside jokes were actually funny. I was also apparently a really good clarinet player (which, of course, makes me proud nowadays), and quite sarcastic. A skill that, thankfully, still dwells within me today.

Of course, I remember very few of the people who wrote these things in my yearbook, so chances are I wrote them myself throughout the years, just to cheer myself up. Using random names from pictures I found in the yearbook of people I thought looked cool and probably wished had actually written in my book, and a variety of ink colors and handwriting samples to give it some variety.

Ok, I didn't really do that. Too much work.

So, People of Highschool, feel free to continue Facebooking me. But I make no promises to remember who you are. However, I assure you that I am WAY funnier now.

I mean, you could be some crazy stalker, for all I know. Including the stalker I actually had in highschool.

C.T.

This is what I look like after getting home from work by 5:33, sitting on my patio, enjoying that I was home from work at 5:33.

2008-04-15T18:36:00.002-05:00

C.T.

Week One

2008-04-11T20:54:00.003-05:00

I have completed Week One of the new job, and I must say, it's been a good week.

Of course, some strange things have happened.

I left work at 5:30 everyday . . . along with everyone else.

I took a lunch break . . . everyday. Along with everyone else.

It's the end of the week and I don't feel stressed. At all.

People I'd met in passing on my first day came by my office later in the week . . . just to see how I was doing.

The IT guy was helpful. And friendly.

All of the people who weren't the IT guy were also helpful, and friendly.

The one guy who reports to me let me know when he had downtime . . . and offered to help me with anything I needed.

People seemed happy and content. Also, they seem to like each other.

No one blamed me for anything I may or may not have been responsible for.

In fact, I did a couple of good things, and I got props for it.

I didn't hear anyone yell at anyone else. No one yelled at me, either.

Also, I didn't yell at anyone.

Very, very strange. I'm not sure I understand this environment.

But I think I could probably like it here, and do well.

C.T.

The next phase of my life

2008-04-09T22:16:00.007-05:00

Sure, I just started a new job this week and it's going great. But it's never the wrong time to think about your future.

In "some" years, I will achieve the age of 35 years old. This can be an important time in a woman's life. It represents a milestone of age and wisdom that opens new doors that were previously un-openable whilst being much younger, and far less wise.

One door is a position of power, leadership, and includes a big house. At the age of 35, I will become eligible to be President of the United States. And at the rate things are going now, our country might be ready for a fresh, young face and a new take on leading this country with honesty, values, and all of the country-running know-how contained in seven seasons of The West Wing.

First order of business: Four-day work weeks (Violators will be prosecuted and ridiculed)

Second order of business: Business-casual dress code at The White House

Third order of business: My face on a new 3-dollar bill

Fourth order of business: Peace in the Middle East, and fix Social Security

Of course, should I choose not to become President, the age of 35 will still provide an opportunity behind door number two. This one comes with far less power and little-to-no Secret Service. But it does combine my love of reality TV and ridiculous modeling competitions.

And I think I can still probably get my face on that 3-dollar bill.

I may be too old for America's Next Top Model, but come my 35th birthday, I will be the perfect age for TV Land's new show . . .

Gorgeous women 35-and-over will grace TV Land primetime in a new modeling competition series like no other. For one very lucky winner, a second chance for a supermodel career, a life changing contract with the world famous Wilhelmina Modeling Agency, and a spread in Self magazine awaits.

I mean, it will be a tough choice. Ruler of the free world, or 35-year-old model. The possibilities are endless with either path that I might choose.

But I have "some" years to think it through and arrive at my decision in a mature and responsible way. It's a big decision. I'll give it some time.

Of course, if I get fat and ugly before 35, the decision is pretty much made for me.

I think that's must have been what happened to Hillary, too.

C.T.

I design shoes, too

2008-04-09T19:30:00.003-05:00

Yes, they do let the world know that I'm a rockstar.

Design your own shoes at Converse.com.

Keep in mind, yours won't be as cool as mine. But you're welcome to try.

C.T.

This is me at home for lunch today.

2008-04-08T12:30:00.003-05:00

Why? Because I can, now that I work close enough to do so.

Yes, that's a hot pocket on my fork.

C.T.

Sittin' outside, eatin' Doritos

2008-04-06T16:57:00.002-05:00

I wanted my last day before I start my new job tomorrow to be as low-activity as humanly possible.

I am well on my way to accomplishing that.

I was not able to secure a fantastic tan during my time off. And today would have been a perfect day to work on that. It's nice and sunny outside.

However, I don't want to be THAT girl at work.

You know, the new girl who shows up on her first day with the most ridiculous sunburn ever.

So, I sat under my patio umbrella this afternoon, eating Doritos, foregoing the tan attempt so that I don't look like an idiot tomorrow with a horrible sunburn that would inevitably occur instead of a nice tan.

I have a talent for ridiculous sunburns.

C.T.

It's my last day of vacation.

2008-04-04T12:55:00.003-05:00

It's just not okay.

It doesn't matter how much time off I have, at the end it never feels like enough.

I get anxious about what to do with what little time off I have left. And it's not like I haven't done a lot during my time off. I've done all kinds of house projects, caught up with people, relaxed, got my eyeball fixed, almost finished reading a book.

But there's more stuff I probably had time to do, but I didn't do. I wanted to write more of my memoir, start a band, be in a movie, get a tan, get abs of steel, learn to play the drums, and become a millionaire so that I can be on vacation forever.

I just don't know where all the time went.

And then it's like even after having time off, I need two more days to get myself together to go to work. And this time, I go to work at a new job. SCARY!

I'm totally freaked out, y'all. I mean, I'm excited about the job. But it's scary to start over at a new place. It took a year and a half before people figured out I am funny at my last job. I just don't have that kind of time anymore.

Also, I don't like change.

Clearly I need a few more weeks off to work through these issues.

C.T.