HOW DO THESE PEOPLE FIND ME?

Tonight I went to girl's night at J's house. She hosts these every few months or so and they are always interesting because of one person, Kim. I am using her real name because you can't give crazy a pseudonym. It is illegal in, like, 12 states.

This is the second time I have met her, though heard many many stories. The last time I met her, it was football Saturday and I showed up wasted. I had been drinking since noon and had a DD, so why the fuck not, right? I yelled at her all night because she was telling another friend of ours that her kids allergies were in her head. Or their heads. Or something completely ridiculous and this other friend was stunned into silence. At least this is how the story was told to me tonight, I do not remember yelling at her. Whatever.

This woman has a doctorate in something, but it is not legal to practice this type of medicine in the state of Ohio. Her Facebook page says that she has a doctorate in natural medicine. She is a naturopath? Whatever, she has a doctorate in crazy. She told us how she was prescribing her patients mushrooms. If I went to someone who claimed to have a medical degree with a health problem, and they told me to eat some mother fucking mushrooms, I would do everything in my power to make sure that no human being was ever allowed to speak to them again.

So, tonight she starts talking about birth control. She refuses to take birth control because she does not want to ingest hormones. OK, I get that. I mean, I take birth control, but I respect the choice to not take it. THEN THIS HAPPENED. She proceeds to say that sexually transmitted diseases are not as contagious as everyone thinks and that we are living in a society where our choices are controlled by fear. That you don't have to use condoms because every one's immune system is different and that if she hasn't gotten anything yet, she is immune to all sexually transmitted diseases. I seriously, at least 5 times, yelled "DUDE, YOU ARE GOING TO GET THE HERPS" at her. She does not like condoms, wants to have sex with whomever she wants, but doesn't want to get pregnant. And wanted our advice. On how to accomplish this.

Then she kept apologizing because she was a whore. Then something happened where she tried to convince me that HIV/AIDS was not an epidemic plaguing the world and that if we all just had stronger immune systems, nobody would ever get sexually transmitted diseases.

At this point, logic wasn't working. So, I just started answering every question she asked with "use condoms." Even after the conversation was over. Then I told her that she was never allowed to touch me because I didn't want crabs. THEN she said that she has never been tested. I believe at that point I fell off the couch, twitched on the floor for a few minutes, while screaming YOU HAVE THE AIDS.

As I am typing this, I still shaking my head in amazement. Mostly because if even one person out there is dumb enough to listen to this woman, she could kill them. Or give them turnips for cancer.

I literally left girls night to come home and share this with all of you. The proper reaction is to be stunned into silence, followed by repeating "why?" to yourself, and finally anger that a college gave this woman a medical license in some states. Just not the one she lives in...which I would try to understand, but it would kill me.

Mortgage Gate 2010

If you have not read this you are going to want to read it first to get the full effect of Mortgage Gate.

My day began with an allergy attack to end all allergy attacks. I sneezed so many times today that my entire body hurts and it feels like I got hit by a truck.

I called work and explained that there was no way it was sanitary for me to come in because I would sneeze on old people and that is NOT what they are paying for. They agreed, I came home.

I had a message on the answering machine from my mortgage company. I am in the process of refinancing under some of the stimulus stuff that Obama passed. One day I will go into the whole story of that, but for now just know they were calling about my refinance.

I call.

"Please say or enter your account number." Does anyone know their mortgage account number? I don't. Too lazy to look, I do nothing.

"Please say or enter your zip code." Done.

"Please say or enter your social security number." Done.

They list like 12 options, from press 1 if this is in regards to refinancing to press 10 if you are a masturbating monkey.

I pressed 1, although 10 was tempting.

Then they list like 12 different types of refinancing options. I press the one that sounds like maybe it could possibly apply to me?

I was wrong. I pressed the hardship refinance option because none of the other options made any sense. They gave me a 10 minute lecture on paying the mortgage. A recorded lecture. That I could not get out of. It finally ends and asks me if I would like to hear it again. No, thank you. I pay my mortgage on time. Back to the main menu. I push several buttons without listening, just hoping for a person. It tells me to say or enter my account number, so I just started screaming (yes, screaming at a recording) GO FUCK YOURSELF. Amazingly, they transferred me to an operator.

When man who spoke no English answered the phone, I very sweetly (not so much sweet) explained (more like lectured) that it is bad business (asinine) to have someone sit through that recording (long winded compu-cunt) when they were returning a call. He apologized in that fake, dear God don't start screaming way. I accepted and we moved on. This next part may or may not be paraphrased. It's more fun for you to just guess.

"Ma'am, that was a collections call, you are behind on your mortgage."

"No, I am not. I paid my mortgage. Over the phone. Because the refinance does not allow me to pay it online. I have a confirmation number."

"Oh, yes, I see that here. You still owe $167."

"No, I don't. That is stupid. That is not even an amount that makes sense."

"It is title fees."

"You are still not making sense."

"Please hold while I look into this."

"Ma'am, it appears that we pulled the title while researching the refinance and are charging you for it."

"Stop calling me ma'am. And you are still not making sense. Why am I paying for your research? I did not authorize that. I am not paying for it."

"No, of course not. I will see if I can waive that fee. I also show here that we need your last two pay stubs."

"They were faxed on Wednesday."

"Who did you fax them to?"

"YOU. I FAXED THEM TO YOU."

"Oh, I see that here now. Well, I am able to waive your fees."

"Can you please tell me exactly why someone called me? Was it to tell me that they charged me for something and then waived the fee? Or was there another reason?"

"It appears it was in regards to the fee I just waived."

"That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard."

"I can't disagree."

"Go fuck yourself."

Less than a minute after hanging up the phone, the phone rings. It is Bank of America. Again. I assume they are calling to tell me that my refrigerator is running and to hurry up and go catch it, but I answer anyway.

They tried to sell me auto injury insurance. That I remarkably pre qualified for based on my last conversation. About fees that made no sense. I qualified for insurance.

Go fuck yourself.

Is it anti-America to hate Bank of America so much you want to stab an entire corporation?

You are about to read too much information and a large amount of oversharing. You have been warned.

Any men who read this blog should stop. Seriously. There is no lesbian orgy play by play about to happen. You have been warned.

I had the yearly gyno appointment today and there is something that has plagued me for all of my adult life...why do they ask if you have to use the restroom before you enter "the room?" Do they think that when she shoves the cold metal contraption into your cooter you are just going to start peeing on her face? (I prefer the female gyno...so, you know, her.) I mean, are there people out there with that little control that they don't know until they are peeing? I mean, if I had to pee, I would be all, I have to pee, yo. Bathroom?

I get that it could be related to removal of feminine hygiene products. BUT I had one experience where the two collided and they told me to take care of it in the room. Was that too much information? Am I the elephant in the room? I feel like I over-shared.

I just really don't understand this. I need help. Please give me a logical reason why this is THE ONLY place where I am asked if I have to do something in the bathroom before I proceed. I want to ask them, but I only see them once a year and you all put up with my bullshit weekly. Therefore, I feel you are more tolerant and less likely to tell ALL your friends about it. And then point and laugh when I return.

Because, let's be honest...the small talk while some one's fingers are doing the internal exam is enough humiliation for one year, thank you very much.

Fire! Ha ha just kidding. Dead Battery.

A few things, that I am going to present in list form, because lists are awesome. True story.

1. I think my feet gave up on me. I expect to wake up in the morning with two stubs and a suicide note.
2. I want to call home a la Biggest Loser. NOBODY is ever that excited to hear from me. I want to hire someone who is always THAT excited to talk to me. I feel like it is something I am missing in my life. A personal phone cheerleader.
3. My smoke alarm just went off for no apparent reason and I am now convinced that I am going to die in my sleep. HOLY FUCK IT JUST DID IT AGAIN. This is a real live crisis here. Send help. And maybe the fire department. Wait...definitely the fire department.
4. The half asleep boy has fixed it, after I had to tell him to turn it to his right like 17 times. In his defense, he was half asleep. In my defense, I am short and could not find the step stool.
5. I just spent 10 minutes holding two shaking, crying dogs and telling them repeatedly that everything was going to be OK. I DO NOT OWN TOY POODLES PEOPLE. Tomorrow: get my dogs some mother fucking balls.
6. I forgot everything this post was supposed to be about. Stupid fire alarms.

Please don't stab me in the throat.

I was on Facebook today and was watching a video posted by one of my friends. I have not seen her since the summer after I graduated high school, nor talked to her other than on Facebook and MySpace. (On a side note: do people still use MySpace? Does it even still exist?)

She has two 3 month old twins, a boy and a girl. She always wanted twins and they are pretty cute. Well, that is not entirely true. The girl is really cute and the boy really isn't. I know that is mean and I just don't care, he is one ugly baby. She was a pretty ugly baby, though, so I am holding out hope for him. Not much, but, you know, an inkling.

So, I am watching this video of her husband bouncing their son on his knee and listening to Muse and all of a sudden she starts talking in the background. The typical goo goo gaa gaa baby stuff that everyone is forced to do when in the presence of a baby. Except me, who just can't do it. Most kids look at me like a crazy person and tell their parents they don't like me because I just don't know how to talk to kids. Seriously. They are little adults, right? It's OK to ask them what they think of the new health care reform bill, right?

Anyway, she started talking and my ears started bleeding. I just kept thinking, how was I friends with this person? Did she always sound like this? I scoured Facebook looking for all of her videos hoping it was just her baby voice.

You know what I found out? HOLY SHIT SHE REALLY SOUNDS LIKE THAT. This was the first friend I ever made when I moved to St. Louis in 3rd grade. This was the person that I spent most of my childhood and teenage years with. And she sounds like a shrew who inhaled helium then got kicked in the balls.

And it makes me wonder, do I have an annoying voice? Is it high pitched and shrill and I just don't notice because I hear it all the time? Do people want to stab me in the throat when I talk?

And maybe I am being a little paranoid here, but is it weird that I never want to talk out loud again? I'll just write notes all the time. It'll be fine. Really. I write fast. I can make this work. Because every single time I hear my voice on the answering machine I cringe and think, that is someone else impersonating me. I don't sound like that.

I sound like a man. A shrill man. Or something. Can someone please remind me that 28 is not a good age to find a NEW insecurity?

I promise I will never teach origami.

I spent a good part of the afternoon reflecting and reevaluating, trying to figure out why I have been in this funk lately. I haven't felt like me. A lot of it is the season. I am not going to say that I have Seasonal Affective Disorder because I have never even spoken with a doctor about it, but I do tend to struggle through the winter months. Not in a bad way, necessarily. I believe that changes in mood are healthy. I sleep more. I am more prone to be sad or depressed. I miss my family back home. I pull away from people and isolate myself more than usual. Spring will come and I will feel rejuvenated and full of energy. It's just my process and I am fine with it.

It's more than that, though. I feel like the old me, the operations analyst sitting at a desk all day me. I have been going through the motions, uninspired and exhausted.

Last term, I was learning from two chefs who loved food, talked about food, talked about places they ate at, places they worked, told industry stories. Their love for food had me hanging on every single word, because I feel that way. I can name, in seconds, the 5 best bites of food I have ever eaten and where I ate them. In order:

Smoked Beef Tenderloin "Carpaccio"- Trattoria la Tavola (now closed)

Beef Tenderloin - Barcelona

Yummy Roll - Sushi Dot Com

Spicy Calamari - Cap City Diner

Crab Cakes - Ocean Club

Our chefs this term? Yes, the lead instructor has owned restaurants, famous restaurants, won awards, and been published. He is accomplished. But, he lacks a passion for food. They both do. They don't talk about it with love, their eyes don't light up. Consequently, my inspiration is dwindling. That feeling of waking up in the morning with a skip in my step is gone.

It is just one term, I realize that. I will get through it, this is what I am meant to do and nothing will stop me. I have that passion, I have that love for food that sometimes consumes everything that I am.

But if you don't? If your eyes don't light up every single time you talk about what you want to spend the rest of your life doing? Maybe you shouldn't teach it. And maybe you should find that thing, grab on, and never let go. But, mostly, don't teach it.

Random things that do not make a whole post, but still need to be said.

Krackle got hit by a car. I repeat, Krackle got hit by a car. In Hawaii. She is fine, but very very sore. And, you know, SHE GOT HIT BY A CAR. Onlookers said she flew in the air before hitting the ground. FLEW. IN. THE. AIR. I could not go on without Krackle, so therefore, I am taking up money to buy her a bubble. A car proof bubble.

*****

My dogs like to wear clothes. Yes, I think it is cute as well. But, literally, you get out their sweaters/sweatshirts for the winter and they dance around your feet until you put them on. If they hated them, I would NEVER make them wear them. I admit, though, I am glad they like them. So, Kobi has a hoodie that is too big, so you have to adjust it for his weedler so he can pee. Shorty's sweater was argyle and adorable, but had a hole and eventually just unraveled. So, it was time to procure new dog clothes. The boy picked out Kobi's, a bad to the bone black hoodie. I picked out Shorty's, another argyle sweater.

They arrived today. Dog parent fail. The skulls on Kobi's hoodie have princess crowns on them. Shorty's sweater is pink. Apparently, when asked to choose between blue and black, they mean blue and pink. It is pink. I HATE PINK. So, since we are not made of money, they are wearing their new clothes until they wear out or the boy revolts and buys them manly clothes, because he is having a hard time with crowns, pink, and penises all rolled into one.

*****

I love, love, love, love, love Converse. I used to own a pair of classic Chucks but they were demolished over time. I bought a pair of Airwalk knock offs to replace them, but it never quite felt the same. Yesterday, courtesy of my mommy who loves me, these arrived in the mail:

Kobi approves, in a disapproving kind of way.

*****

This week is Restaurant Week, which basically means that locally owned restaurants offer their delicious food on a set menu at a discount price. The boy and I have hit up every Restaurant Week since we have been dating and have never been disappointed. Until tonight. I will not name the restaurant because I am neither a food critic nor a food blogger. But, the food was cold, rice was undercooked, and the short ribs were comparable to pot roast. I am sorry, but short ribs should NEVER be anything like pot roast.

The service was amazing, atmosphere good, but if I am spending $30 a person on a meal, I want to walk away wanting more. I will give it another chance, but for the record, the week you want to wow people is the week you offer discounted menu's. If the food is amazing, guess who is going to come back for special occasions? True, they won't be there every weekend, but you can get another kind of regular. Cold potatoes and undercooked rice just aren't going to cut it.

Has anyone ever licked gin off of YOUR coffee table? Ha! I win!

This weekend, I got together with some friends from school. We cooked one of the sauces on our practical exam today and had a few drinks.

I should amend that. We had A LOT of drinks. I would tell the whole story, but there is a reason we were ALL drunk...so that the very worst things we did would be forgotten in that alcohol haze. Or at least we would all be equally embarrassed and therefore equally inclined not to ever speak of it again. One of the underage very conservative girls from class wanted to come next time and we refused to allow it because she would be sober and therefore remember everything that happened.

So, I will summarize the evenings in a few key highlights to protect the innocent.

It took Tini an hour to prep 3 heads of lettuce. Also? He prepped 3 heads of lettuce for 4 people. I think he scrubbed each individual piece of lettuce with a very tiny toothbrush.

It took 3 chef apprentice's 3 hours to make a roast (which we, mostly me, overcooked), mashed potatoes, a salad, and a Chasseur sauce. We fail at life.

It looked like some sort of culinary tornado hit my kitchen and I am pissed I did not take pictures. The dishwasher was completely full and the sink was still stacked over the rim with dishes for the next load. It is quite possible we used every dish in my house.

Tini pulled the bottom of his shirt through the top of his shirt making a bra-like top. I have googled for an hour and cannot find a picture of this, so I hope you all know what I am talking about.

He then licked gin off of my coffee table.

We all woke up the next morning and stared at each other and mumbled something about our heads hurting and wanted to die. No one can be sure because nothing could be heard over the pain.

Oh, and Tini made cookies. This is the event that I find the hardest to explain.

It was a fun night. No, it was an awesome night. However, I am not 21 anymore. So, after a night at work where everyone steered clear of me and asked me if I was OK a zillion times I crashed and slept for 13 hours. I finally feel like a human being again. Sort of.

Final Count:

1/2 a bottle of gin

1 bottle of wine

a case of beer

Three people. Why do I feel like over half of my readers are talking to intervention about me RIGHT THIS SECOND?

SOD

"What are you looking at?"

"Your order pad from work."

"You don't know what any of it means."

"I think I can figure out what mash means."

"OK, smart ass, what does SOD mean?"

"Son of a bitch."

"SOD"

"Oh. (pauses to think) Side of dicks."

"Yes, honey, we serve the retirement community a side of dicks."

Why is murder ALWAYS the answer?

There is steam coming out of my ears right now and I have to talk about it. I called Tini, my culinary BFF, and fumed, but it did not seem to settle the urge to stab people. So, I am going to rant here.

As much as I come across as bitter and angry and sometimes violent, I'm actually a pretty nice person. Today at school, someone asked me to do a favor for them that involved talking to someone else on their behalf. Remember - I go to school with people that have an average age of 18. While I hesitated, I also saw a way to save this girl some heartache in a very nice, not obvious way.

This is the point where you all roll your eyes and say, "ERRATIC YOU FUCKING MORON HOW DID YOU NOT SEE THIS COMING?"

I deserve it. I deserve every single one of you to come to my house and slap me in the face five times. I would prefer you not do that, though. Because, you know, ouch.

So, I had this conversation. It was a non event. The girl thinks I was looking out for her, which is true, I was. That was the main reason I did it, because this guy is kind of a moron and would probably have been mean. He is interested in someone else, so I simply pointed that out to her. No harm no foul. UNTIL HE STARTED TEXTING HER.

He claims it was because he didn't want it to be obvious that I was calling her for him. To which I replied something along the lines of, this isn't my first time at the rodeo. FUCK! I SHOULD HAVE SAID JUST THAT. Because it would make this situation even more lame than it already is.

So, she now thinks that he isn't really interested in this other person and wants her and HOLY FUCKING BALLS WHY IS THIS MY LIFE?

So, to summarize, I am in the middle of some kind of fucked up love triangle to which there is no escape without either:

1. Murdering this girl, because it is the only way she will NOT stalk me until I die. After our little talk, she posted on her Facebook wall "hahah I love Erratic. She is amazing." This girl makes Fatal Attraction look like a fairy tale.
2. Murdering this guy because, although a little scary stalkerish, she is a sweet girl with good intentions and he is an ass hat.

It looks like murder either way, which pretty much means it is time to break out the bone saw. Fuck.

This post makes little to no sense.

Have you ever been so tired you were wide awake? That is where I am at now. Last night, I stayed up far too late, so I was dragging before the day even started. Then cooking in Kitchen today was like trying to train my dog to get me a beer - impossible.

The first thing out of the cricket squad's mouths? "OK, Erratic, what do we do first?" It made me stabby. Am I allowed to give fellow students time out? Or at least roll up a newspaper, smack them on the nose, and say, "NO!"?

Then I went to work and was on my own for the first time, which I was excited about. Except that the host double sat me at every seating and the guy who was supposed to be shadowing me was busy eating everything on the line the chef would let him touch. And we were out of EVERY flavor of ice cream except sugar free ass and sherbet.

I never knew that was how you spelled sherbet. Huh. It appears I learned something today.

So, anyway, tired. My feet feel like every single tendon running from the middle of my foot out to my toes is on fire. And my back is so sore I downed 2 muscle relaxers and am working on a nice buzz to accompany them.

The work is, different. After years of sitting behind a desk and being mentally exhausted, the physical exhaustion feels good. I mean, good in the way your body feels after a workout. You want to start chopping off body parts, but are too tired to get the bone saw. Or you don't own a bone saw because that is creepy. Is a bone saw a real thing?

I might be a serial killer who owns a bone saw.

And just now, my nose started whistling. Who does this actually happen to? Me.

This post feels like that conversation where you have been talking for 10 minutes and think, "Where am I going with this?"

Nowhere, that is where...no more medicated blog posting...

What I would have tweeted had I not been in class all day.

It is too early for pompous douche bag professors.

Seriously, you can't get your writing over an 8th grade level? You graduated from high school, right?

Lithium. Does anyone have Lithium? We need to medicate this crazy ass bitch who keeps calling Alex Tracy.

HAHAHA AIDS carrot. A carrot that gives you aids. Funny shit. I mean, not funny. AIDS is not funny. Right.

I need a new team in kitchen. Because, seriously, I think these two just have crickets chirping in their heads.

STOP STARING AT ME AND DO SOMETHING. Why am I in charge? WHY? Tell those crickets to get their shit together.

Dude, I don't know if your sauce is the right thickness, needs more salt, parsley, whatever. It is my first time making it too.

Do you ever stop talking? For real, stop talking. Right now. Stop it.

I need to find Tini. He is my sanity today. WHERE THE FUCK DID TINI GO?

Tini is back, crisis averted.

Are you really making your sauce in a double boiler? I mean, really? The crickets just failed you.

Damn it, your cream spinach turned out better than mine. Maybe I need to try this double boiler thing...

OMG THIS KITCHEN IS FILTHY. Do these kids not understand the concept of cleaning up after yourself? Feeling stabby...

Stab. Stab. Stab. Stab. Stab.

I would like to just eliminate this entire generation. Seriously, it may be worth it. Wait, am I in their generation? How do generations work?

I am going to assume I am not and go ahead with the eradication of everyone 18 - 20. Except the ones I like. Which is like, 2.

Stop bitching. You are sous chef, it is your job to yell at people. Get over it. But don't yell at me. I will stab you. In the face.

I honked at you because you drive a stupid car and I am crabby. Buy a lime green Volkswagen Beetle with a lei hanging from the rear view mirror, I honk at you.

I am now going to crawl into bed with my dogs and hope when I wake up I have faith in humanity once again.

Mmmm....food.

Two posts in one day! My awesomeness is overwhelming, I know. Just take a deep breath, we'll get through this together.

So, you know how every couple has the thing they really, really suck at? The boy and I suck at quality time. We are both independent and like our space, so we tend to be in the same vicinity a lot, but rarely in the same room. My schedule is gradually leaning towards night owl, while the boy remains a morning person. I will never understand the morning person, but that is a whole other post.

We have had conversation after conversation about ways that we can try to spend more quality time together. The boy always suggests watching TV together, which just makes me laugh because it is far too cute that it is his solution to everything. Again, another post. One of the suggestions we came up with was a date night. You know what else we really suck at? Following through on solutions to our problems. I think we have been talking about date night for a month now and have not actually followed through on it yet.

Sunday night, I got an IM (yes we IM each other from different floors - I told you, we suck at life) from the boy linking to a deal at a super high end steak house, Ruth's Chris. It is a national chain, so I am sure that most of you have heard of it. I believe they charge you $10 just to mention them. I should be getting my bill shortly. Well, it is a three course meal for about $40 a person. The last time I ate there, the bill for two people was about $200. Now, granted, we drank at the bar before and after. But, still. This place is not cheap, so this is a sweet ass deal.

He made reservations for tomorrow at 7:00 pm and offered to pay. This is not a jeans and nice shirt kind of place, so we get to get dressed up, something we NEVER do. Mostly because we both do not like to, but every once in a while, it feels nice.

I am so excited there are not words. He chose the best date night ever. Amazing food, amazing wine, amazing romantic atmosphere, and something completely out of character for us.

Sometimes you realize how good you have it over the simplest of things. Being pampered with amazing food always does it for me.

And... cheesy moment over...you may now resume your regularly scheduled bitter programming.

Woman seeking temperate climate.

I think most people have the tendency to underestimate themselves, to doubt their ability to try new things. I am definitely one of those people.

I was terrified going into culinary school that I would fail, terrified that I would realize I totally sucked. I would never be able to use the industrial burners, stoves, salamanders. I would never be able to keep up with my fellow students who had so much more experience than I did in kitchens. Yeah, I have a good palate, but that isn't all there is to becoming a chef.

Then I got there and everything was fine and I am halfway decent at this. Dare I say good? Yet, I still doubt myself at every turn.

Serving was a lot like that for me too. I was terrified to take an order, afraid I would fuck it up. Terrified to carry a tray, afraid I would drop it.

And it's fine. Do I think that I am awesome? No, no I do not. I get yelled at by old people all the time for stupid shit, like not cleaning up their dirty plates from the right. But, I am not horrible, so I am OK with it.

Most of the time I am at work, honestly, I stare at the chefs, a little pile of drool forming at the corner of my mouth because all I want is to be on their side of the line. To be grilling steak and making soup and plating food. When I have down time, I watch them, watch the routine that they each have. Waiting for the day that I have the chance to actually cook.

I am quite certain that all of the chefs think I am a food perv or something. Or maybe they get it, I don't know. But, this whole experience has made me a lot braver and a lot more confident in my ability to just DO something. I need to stop doubting myself so much. It's a hard habit to kick, man, but I am doing my best.

On a totally unrelated topic, can someone please tell the world that IT IS JANUARY and it has snowed for, like, two weeks. This is February weather. I am scared for February. And it is so cold I can't feel my toes. Somebody hold me...

Twitter War - I WIN!

Some things you should know about me:

I love college football.

I hate it when people talk down to me.

I hate it when I am knowledgeable about a "man" thing and men talk down to me because I am a woman.

I hate dick faces.

Working years in IT, I encountered my fair share of mainframe programmers who grew up in a world where men did IT and women baked cookies and shot babies out of their cooters. I cannot tell you how many times I was asked to transfer customers to the "IT guy," when, in most cases, I was more knowledgeable than any man in my field.

That is a side bitterness that does not directly pertain to my current bitterness. Tonight was the BCS National Championship! Woot! Texas vs Alabama, for those of you that do not follow. I hate Texas because their fans are ass holes and they beat us once and I hold grudges.

At about 11:20 I sent a tweet that said:

SwithanH

Loving watching Texas lose! BCS

Loving watching Texas lose!

Minutes later, this captain of douche tweets this:

jmacofearth RT @SwithanH: Loving watching Texas lose! BCS Don't hold your breath sweetie. bcs hookem bama rolltide

I responded with this, after Alabama won:

SwithanH

jmacofearth How about now? RT @SwithanH: Loving watching Texas lose! jmacofearth Don't hold your breath sweetie. BCS (w/o typo. lol)

Admittedly the first time with a typo...comeback fail.

But, seriously, was the sweetie necessary? Am I the only person who finds that totally condescending? If, say, one of my friends called me sweetie, I would probably call them something like sugar ass or sweetie pie lover loo in return and we would laugh. Total strangers? Not OK. Am I alone in this? Am I the only person it makes crazy? It is not a sex thing either, women saying the same exact thing sound like a condescending ass hat.

Ugh. Sorry for the rant, but the whole thing just made me angry. And crazy. And...beer.

Update! He just responded with this:

jmacofearth @SwithanH You are so good. Well played. Have a drink on me. bcs hookem bama rolltide http://ff.im/-dYGQr

Still seems kind of douchy or is it just the beer talking? And the link is just a link to his tweet, NOT a coupon for a drink. LAME.

First Day of Work!

Remember when I was all...I need a joooooobbbb. Nooooobooodddyyyy will hire me. Waaaaaaa? I am sure you all wanted to punch me in the face and tell me to turn on CNN because, duh, the economy.

Well, kids I am officially a member of the working class once again. Today was my first day of work. I have been in and out of the facility paid and unpaid working out the details, but I actually slapped on a uniform and a name tag and proceeded to wait on some old people. It was...fun? I have never waited tables before and have always been terrified of the prospect, but I needed a foot in the door and a good friend was willing to help me out, so here I am.

The dining room that I work in is independent living, meaning they receive no medical assistance from the facility. There are also assisted living and health care (mostly Alzheimer's and severe dementia patients.) Since they have their own kitchens in their apartments, they are required to make reservations to eat in the dining room. There is a cocktail hour before dinner and four seatings.

The menu is fine dining...tonight it was seared scallops with a champagne demi glace, chicken fingers with homemade sweet and sour sauce, and ham loaf with a mustard cream. We get to try all the food before service and it was damn good. AND I love the chef, who knows I am a culinary student. Fingers crossed there is an opening the kitchen.

All in all not a bad day, but I am beat. My body is not used to being on my feet for that long, although I am sure I will get used to it soon.

Funny story. There are signs all over the building about elopement. During my orientation, they did the tour before they did the actual paperwork. So, I am reading all of these signs, thinking these people are getting married left and right and it is a problem. Over and over I am going through my head how weird it is that the elderly elope all the time. You know what it really means? They left the facility without permission or wandered out of their ward. Can we talk about how glad I am I didn't ask?

No one will ever say "it's too soon."

OK, OK, OK...I don't normally do the whole, follow this link, then this link, then comment here, stand on your head, and watch this video thing, but holy mother of shit this is funny. I will start from the beginning.

On Follow Friday (or Follow me Friday or something...I don't do Twitter trends) someone linked to this Twitter account: http://twitter.com/Helen_Keller

I laughed for, approximately, ever. Normally I would never ever find this funny, but something about it made me laugh so hard I peed a little. And I didn't even feel guilty.

Dear Hell,

Just making sure I still have that room reserved.

Kisses!

Erratic.

So, then Comedy Central pulls out this tid bit of awesomeness: http://www.comedycentral.com/tosh.0/2009/06/03/10-most-inappropriate-helen-keller-items-on-the-web/

I died a little inside and was reborn even more evil. I. CAN'T. STOP. LAUGHING.

Admittedly, though, I laughed for like an hour the first time I got Rickrolled.

Haha. I just Rickrolled myself to get the link and laughed.

I should probably upgrade to the Satan Suite with the attached padded room.

Jerry Springer ate my potato chips.

I am not exactly a private person, per se. If you ask me a question and I am able to answer it without involving someone's privacy, I will probably answer it. However, I do not like to FORCE these things on people in the form of public displays of affection and fights. I don't have a problem with my bullshit being out there, as long as I am the one who put it there in a non in your face kind of way.

I have quite a few Facebook friends I have accumulated that are younger than me through school, family, mutual friends, etc. They tend to come with a lot of drama, Facebook stalking, public displays of immaturity...you get where I am going with this. It is ridiculous what these people think is appropriate to share with the entire Internet. This coming from the person who talked about their inability to poop for, like, 8 posts. Touche.

Color me surprised when one of my older classmates had a very public, very angry, swear-laden breakup over Facebook. I don't know the story, nor is it my story to tell, but it is making me uncomfortable to the point that about every half hour the boy walks upstairs, shuts my mouth, shakes his head, and walks back downstairs. I just stare at these comments thinking, YOU KNOW BETTER.

This leaves me thinking, is it really a matter of maturity? Or are there just people out there that do not give a fuck and just lay it all out there; the good, the bad, the ugly, the inappropriate? I guess I always knew...I mean, reality T.V. But, you can't ever take back the "Fuck off" you posted on Facebook. Or that time you went on Jerry Springer and found out you had a baby, came out of the closet, got restrained by a bouncer, and revealed you are sleeping with your girlfriends mother AND sister. Because I recorded that shit and posted it on You Tube.

On a totally unrelated note, the next time I go to the grocery store to get food for lunches, I am going to need one of you to dress up like a Ninja and keep me from buying chips. Bruises are fine, broken bones are not. So, I guess I am going to need to you to also acquire the skills of a Ninja. Because, seriously, I get home and eat the bag in two days, never actually taking it to school for lunch. Then I puff up like someone shoved a hose up my ass from all the salt and hate myself for two more days. It's just mean to NOT become a Ninja and help.

And in case you are wondering (judgy mcjudgerson) self control is not, in fact, an option.

Things I don't understand, 2010 edition. Also, the first edition.

Why people 20 or more years older than me insist on calling me girlfriend. Or "Hey girl" or anything else that sounds "hip" but is actually not. I do not talk like this. If I ever walk up to someone and say, "Hey girlfriend," I have had a seizure or stroke or mental breakdown and you should assist me in seeking medical help. Like, soon.

Shamwow. I mean, what?

People who air their bullshit on Facebook via enraged and inappropriate status messages that make me uncomfortable while sitting in my own living room. Also? People who confess undying and possibly stalker-like love via Facebook. Your status messages should be more like, hey guys, I just did something utterly uninteresting but OMG IT WAS AWESOME. Trust me...much more appropriate.

Why my Christmas tree still exists, despite my attempts to blow it up with my mind ALL DAY. Seriously, blowing things up with my mind should work.

Burt's Bee's Pomegranate Chap stick is the epitome of awesome...I did not think it possible to improve upon their regular mint formula. I want to find Burt and do bad, bad things to his bees.

The entire Kardashian family.

How the women on the bachelor STILL cry because everyone is SO FAKE. You are on television...competing for a man's love...Captain Obvious just slapped you in the face...and then punched you in the uterus.

I may or may not kill Santa.

Christmas break...yeah. Can we say bored? I am not working and I am not in school, so essentially, I am breeding a drinking problem. I learned something very important about myself this week - I drink when I am bored. I also play stupid ass computer games and watch horrible, horrible T.V. Let's pretend like I haven't been watching Jersey Shore, because if I was, I would tell you that "The Situation" is a GIANT douche canoe and that Snookie probably deserved to get hit just for existing.

That was mean.

Do you see what boredom does to me? Now I am lame and mean...you should probably stop being my friend.

I guess it is so completely weird to me that I didn't need a break, but I didn't. I miss school. I miss it so much. The people, the chef instructors, the learning...is this what it was supposed to be like? I mean, all those times I tried to do the college route, is this how everyone else felt all those years? It is still all so surreal to me. I wonder if it will ever be anything but surreal.

I start work next week too, so it is going to become somewhat of a cluster fuck here in the Erratic household. The boy is taking volunteers to come over and make him dinner, although I am going to do my best to make some crockpot and casserole dishes. Otherwise I know all his meals will be procured via drive-thru and take out, which I am trying to prevent. Plus, there is something for me to heat up when I get home! There is just something about a home cooked meal after a long day...

I have also developed homicidal tendencies towards Santa this holiday season...you all remember my collection, right? I have spent far too much time in my house, surrounded by Santa. I am not even kidding, I have an overwhelming urge to just stab the tree topper. Luckily, we plan to put away all things Christmas tomorrow. Another homicide in the Erratic household avoided! Maybe...it is distinctly possible that I cut off his hand or something. On principle.

BOREDOM ALSO MAKES ME EVIL. And mean. And an alcoholic.

I think that this means all of you should get together and formulate a plan to keep me constantly entertained. Do it for Santa. And really...for humanity as a whole.

The post where I say light fixture seven times.

The boy had to go into work today and I sat at home on the couch debating whether to be productive or nap and decided to just drink and play on the Internet.

I get an email with the below picture from the boy.

The email simply says, "Do you like them?"

I responded with the only response possible in this situation: "Why do you have a pile of light fixtures?"

He responded with what I am sure he deemed a very logical answer to my question. They are the owner of his company's light fixtures.

That explains it! I am sure you can all picture the totally and utterly blank look on my face at this point. I respond, "That really doesn't make it any less weird that you sent me a picture of a pile of light fixtures."

Nothing. No response. Hrm. I try again.

"Why did you ask if I liked the light fixtures? What is going on at your office?"

Crickets are chirping in my head I am so confused by the picture. I am getting frustrated at his lack of response, because, at this point, I HAVE TO KNOW WHY HE SENT ME THAT PICTURE.

"WHAT IS GOING ON WITH THE LIGHT FIXTURES?"

He finally responds! The owner of his company is giving them away. I actually smacked myself in the forehead. Of course he is! Why else would anyone send a picture of a pile of light fixtures?

"That information would have been helpful 15 minutes ago. Do we need light fixtures?"

No, in fact, we do not.