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Archive for September, 2004

 
|| September 30, 2004 || 12:09 pm || Comments (17) ||

Couplet for IE

Oh, Internet Explorer, how I hate thee!

Absolutely despise thee, hate thee, motherfucking hate thee.

 
|| September 28, 2004 || 12:50 pm || Comments (0) ||

 
|| September 28, 2004 || 11:39 am || Comments (2) ||

Cum one cum all!

It’s been so long. So very, very, long and hard to be away. It’s Kristin again! Aw. That’s so nice. Even though I didn’t ask for it, I think I got a FUCK YEAH! Possibly even two!

Miss Jett has returned from abroad, but remains a broad. I mean that in the best way possible. Apparently, her computer has taken to poking her in the eye with a sharp stick, repeatedly, and in a very unsportsmanlike manner. No email, can’t check comments, etc. (see post below) So, she has given the guest posters the greenlight to continue ravaging her blog like so many pirates to a wench. Arr. *peg leg gimp*

So, let’s see. What have I been up to of late? There has been television, there was a yard sale, I got gas for my car, and went to the grocery store. This morning, I trimmed my toenails! Last night, I watched the Redskins get their asses spanked by the jerk Dallas Cowboys. It was fugly*.

* fugly = fuckin’ ugly. Also: fungry = fuckin’ hungry.

How about I ramble for a moment, if you don’t mind? Super. I’ve got a few shouts to out, things to random, and I’m fresh out of stamps, and people who give a shit.

I would like to give a shout out here to my homegirl, the cashier at Koko’s Deli. While it’s impressive that you can make my white, paper carryout bag into a Chinese throwing star, I have no time for origami when all I want to do is get back to the office and eat my damn sandwich.

Do you have parents? I do. Mine are returning from Europe today (that sounded pretentious), and I am picking them up at the airport. I’m sure my evening will be filled with wine and stories, which is nice. But, I think I already know all I need to know about the trip: my brother went and stayed with them in a house in Provence for a week. A quote from my brother: “be forewarned…mom will be purchasing Edith Piaf when she gets home. and someone had it in for me at our house in france…the CD collection included: Sting, Norah Jones, Edith Piaf, Van Morrison.” aka The My Mom Creams Her Jeans Collection. All that was missing there was Annie Lennox and the French Kiss soundtrack. My brother is convinced the latter was there, but hidden beneath a floorboard like a contraband bottle of liquor or something.

Speaking of contraband liquor, while studying The Great Gatsby in high school (junior year), we had a “speakeasy” in class one Friday. We had to get dressed up and bring food and everything. You can imagine just exactly how fun that wasn’t.

Secret TV confession part 1: I like to watch QVC, but only the jewelry parts, and only if it’s gemstones, or “gemstones” (like wtf is hallalucicapretendlite in the first place?). I ESPECIALLY like it if it’s the Joan Rivers collection. She was on last night, and I watched it for half an hour, until the start of her cosmetics collection line.

Secret TV confession part 2: You show me a food-related infomercial, and I squeal with delight. My favorites have been: The Snackmaster (make “apple pie” with two slices of white bread, apple pie filling and margarine! All food = triangle-shaped), Mr. Mixer (hosted by none other than Mr. Belvedere!!!!!), the TurboCooker, and the Xpress 101 (All food comes out shaped like a semi-circle). I will watch them over and over again, and I don’t care who knows it.

I think that about covers it for today, mon petit chous. Until next time, koko (keep on keepin’ on)!

Bye bye!

Kristin

PS – Is there anyone out there who remembers the cartoon Galaxy High, circa 1986? There HAS to be someone, as I really don’t think I could’ve made up an animated show about a high school in outer space, extra terrestrial cliques, et. al. Likewise Beverly Hills Teens (more limos with hottubs on the back, less aliens). Someone help a girl out.

 
|| September 28, 2004 || 9:39 am || Comments (4) ||

Well, now.

In some Great and Wondrous Conspiracy to Keep Jett Off the Internet, something heinous and mayhap evil has happened to my computer in my absence. Okay, well, if I’m being truly, truly honest, it started happening before I left, I just didn’t have the time or wherewithal to address it then.

My site displays all crazy-like (and not at all as planned) with IE (YES, I’m still using THAT browser, and YES, that will soon change), I can’t access comments (leave them for my eventual return, I suppose) and cannot get into my Gmail account (therefore e-mailing me about said prob will not do you nor me any good whatsoever).

It appears that I will have to do the Fabulous Backup And Wipe dance with the hard drive, but I will not have the ability to do that until this weekend (to be read: Unx and Skillzy, have your mobiles in the ‘On and Ready’ position for my calls of desperation and pleading) as I’ve a ton of paperwork and client fuck-ups to catch up on, I’m readying for a show this weekend, and (to be quite frank) I’m doing the whole extra quality time thing with the boys, as I missed them immensely.

Guest posters, I am leaving you the reins for a few more days until I can get the system un-wonked, and I thank you kindly for the great stuffs you hung up to dry in my absence. Stories, observations, and copious amounts of curse words upon my return.

Oh yeah, they’s pitchers (even of Scottish boys with motorbikes; who knew I wasn’t just postulating that idea, and that they really and truly wait in Scotland to be scooped up by some sassy American wench??), too.

 
|| September 23, 2004 || 8:38 pm || Comments (1) ||

A Titty Ditty

OK kiddies, here’s some music to hold you over till Jett gets back. Fuck ‘Em Boyo is a catchy little tune off the London Booted compilation, performed by the cute as pie Miss Frenchie. London Booted is a collection of bootys (remixes) based on London Calling by (duh) the Clash. It’s awesome, and you should download the whole thing, especially if you like the Clash. I found it via Alabama music blogger extraordinaire Largehearted Boy. As the name implies, Fuck ‘Em Boyo is not safe for work, home, or within 200 yards of a school or church.

Enjoy.

UPDATE: (Sunday night) Sorry if the song crashes your browser like it did mine on my laptop. It works fine if you right click it and save it to your machine. And welcome home Jett!

 
|| September 23, 2004 || 10:13 am || Comments (5) ||

It’s Kristin again. You may remember me from my initial guest post here on 09/16. If not, that’s okay, too.

Let’s do this.

I shall regale you with the tale of my very first date! I was in 7th grade at the time, and living in Yuma, AZ. Yuma is about 10 minutes from Mexico, and 20 minutes from California. As southwest as you could possibly get without being made of turquoise and silver. This date was a movie date, with a boy named Scott, who was in my Spanish class. Although I forget now what movie we attended, Scott spent the whole time alternately playing some portable, electronic “video” game, and throwing Haribo gummi bears at the people in front of us. No hand-holding, no sneaky Pete yawn-into-arm-around-shoulder move. Scott wasn’t what you would call suave. Granted, I didn’t exactly pine for his affections after he started in with the gelatinous projectiles, but still.

The only other “date” I had in junior high school was to a (ohmygod!) high shool football game, while I was in 8th grade. During 7th, I was in the same English class as a few 8th graders, and one was a boy, Andy, that I “like” liked, and he lived in my neighborhood. He had the most endearing lisp, and was very tall. I used to bike past his house during that summer, before he started high school, and I started 8th grade, in the hopes he would be home and outside. I didn’t really have a contingency plan for the possibility that I actually had to talk to him, but somehow it worked out that he invited me to go to one of his high school’s football game. I was so excited. I was going. On a date. With a 15-year-old 9th grader! Hello, whosa lady now? He left me an envelope in my mailbox, with a ticket inside and a note saying to root for his school, namely The Criminals. I arrived at the game, and he was there with his girlfriend. Thanks for the ticket, Andy, but you SUCK! Come to think of it, we actually went to a movie together later on, or perhaps prior to the game incident. He had his learner’s permit (got held back in elementary school), so he drove, with his mom in the car, and me in the back seat. We saw “Tremors”. And that’s all there really is to tell.

My junior high dateboys were utterly lacking in gumption.

It occurs to me I went on more 1-on-1 dates during junior high, than I have in the past two years. HAHAHAHAHA!

In more recent news, I have had several spider encounters over the past few weeks. One resulted in screaming, one resulted in smashing, one resulted in choosing a name. (Note: all spider measurements are legs-inclusive)

Screamer: I worked at a catering job, and we were getting tables out of a storage shed. As I lifted one end of the table, I saw, on the table right near my hand, a brown spider, approximately 3″ in diameter. I let go, and screamed for my friend to put down the table, there was a huge spider, then I ran out of the shed and screamed again, “oooheeeeemeeeeeeee!” while doing the shake-the-water-off gesture with my hands. My friend, still holding the table, got it angled so she could see the spider. Upon catching a glimpse, she immediately dropped the table *BLAM*, and launched out of the shed sideways, in sort of a loose cannonball position.

Smasher: While downstairs in my basement, I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. It was a black spider, maybe the size of a half-dollar. When I was hovering over him (at a safe distance), he curled up into a ball. I know a cunning motherfucker when I see a cunning motherfucker, so I went and retrieved an old copy of Martha Stewart Living, rolled it up, and *THWAP*, peace out.

Namer: I named the spider that lives in my car. He’s called Marty. He’s quarter-sized, golden-colored, and I’ve seen him on 3 separate occasions. This is not normally the type of spider I would kill, but I don’t want him to GET ME while I’m driving, or just be generally distracting, causing me to smash my car all to hell. I have tried to kill him with the lit end of my cigarette and attempted scooting him out the driver’s side window. He always gets away. Now, when I see him flitting around, I just flick my ash out the window, and continue talking on my cell phone.

Another spider-related sidenote: I figured out just the other day that spiders are part of Halloween decorations not ONLY because they’re spooky, but also because during the Fall, which is also a part of the general Halloween decoration motif, pumkins, etc., spiders come out in full force to spin webs and get up all in your face. *forehead slap* Duh.

Yay Fall, you started yesterday! *AIRHORN* Gourds!

 
|| September 23, 2004 || 7:34 am || Comments (0) ||

I hate “snooze” mornings.

I’m not a morning person, but I generally don’t have that much trouble getting up in the morning. Now don’t tell my parents, because they’d laugh at you. But believe it or not, I have changed just a teensy bit in the three years that I haven’t been living with them. For instance, I have graduated from college. And gotten married.

Anyway, back to the snooze button. Usually I hit it once or twice, or sometimes not at all. But this morning was a five snooze morning. A grumbling, headachey five snooze morning.

Last Tuesday I started a new job. After graduating in May with my B.F.A. in Advertising Photography, my husband and I moved to Buffalo so that he could start taking classes to get his teaching certification (he’s going to be a high school biology teacher). I’m not thrilled to be living in Buffalo, but it’s fine, and not a whole lot different than Rochester (where I spent the past 3 years). The job I got is in my field, so that is good, but the pay is not stupendous, and I’m not sure how much room there is for advancement. Once I finish some “training” classes I will get a $2/hr raise, but that won’t be for about 2 more months. So right now, my husband (who is a full-time grad student) and I are eeking it out on about $275 a week.

Yesterday was my first bad day at work. I was frustrated by several things.

1) I feel that the place I work is getting off very easy since I am already very knowledgeable about certain aspects of the job and therefore have required much less training than the average employee. Also, I am a very fast learner, even by all accounts of the people with whom I work.

2) Regardless of the fact that I am (one week in to my employment) an excellent and above average trainee, the district manager (the girl with whom I usually work) took most of yesterday off, and left me with another girl who is nice, but whom I had never met, on the busiest day we’ve had since I’ve worked there.

3) People get frustrated when I don’t know the answer to a question and I have to admit, “I’ve only been working here for just over a week… is it okay if I put you on hold for just a minute and I’ll get the answer for you?” The response is often a heavy sigh, as if to say, “Well if you’re so damn incompetent, why do they have you answering the phone?” Please refer to frustration #1.

I just felt like, “Yeah, I’m doing really well here, but thanks for leaving us alone all day, on the day when we have people scheduled to come in every half an hour, and we have to make people feel rushed because there really isn’t enough girl-power here to fully satisfy all of these customers.”

We had a “good day” financially, but it was at the cost of me thinking, “Holy ass, is it going to be like this often? We should have 3 fully-trained people working right now.”

On top of all that, we (do a lot of senior portraits and) had a girl come in and pick out a “seven pose” package. That’s great, because it’s a money maker for the store and both the photographer and the person who “sells” it make 2% commission. (Ooh, 2%?) But the girl and her mom finished picking the pictures at 4:50 and the studio closes at 6. I told them, “Give me about an hour to finish all of this.” They exchanged glances. I said, “You can always come in tomorrow and pick them up. We’re open 12-8 tomorrow.” They look relieved and confirmed that they would come in the next day to pick them up. The other photographer had just finished viewing pictures on the other computer with another girl who only ordered a few shots, so I let her print those first for the people who decided to wait for the prints. Then I got started on the 7-pose. I thought they were coming back the next day, so I took my time, was very careful with details, etc. All of a sudden, the mother is standing at the counter, 10 minutes to close. “Are they done yet?” I’m left sitting there like an idiot, because I can’t say, “Well, damn it, you said you were going to come back tomorrow for these.” “Uhhhhh,” I said slowly, choosing my words, “I was under the impression that I was going to have a little more time to work on these, so they’re not all done printing yet.” I also hadn’t cut apart the ones that had already printed. “Did you want to come back tomorrow?” “No,” she said, “I’ll wait right now.” I, stupidly, had arranged to have a client meeting (I shoot weddings also) at 6:30, so instead of printing two more sheets then cashing up the drawer for the day, I had to take 12 precious minutes to finish printing and cut apart all eighteen sheets that she had ordered.

On top of all that, the other photographer’s 5:00 appointment had shown up 10 minutes late, and brought her best friend so that after senior portraits, they could get their pictures taken together (no mention of this when booking the appointment). So they were viewing right up until 6:05 and we basically had to hurry them up a little so that we could cash up the drawer and get out of there.

In hindsight, yes, it was stupid of me to make a client meeting at 6:30. However, every day before, we had never been in the store more than 15 minutes after “close.” Had that been the case yesterday, I would have had plenty of time to get to my meeting. Luckily, the girl I had to meet was very understanding.

Anyway, I said all of this to say, man is it ever hard being content in a full-time job, no matter how passionate you are about the core aspect of the job (in my case, photography). There are so many details that need attention, jerk customers, and problems that can occur that I have a hard time not freaking out. I think that the worst thing about the job is that I work an 8.75 hour day and I never really actually get a break. Sure, I can sit down for a few minutes between appointments, or on the rare occasion that one doesn’t show, but I seemingly never actually get to take my 1/2 hour lunch, or any other real breaks. Once in a while I get to run next door to the car wash and buy something to drink. Ooh.

I’m hoping the job gets into a little more of a groove, and that very soon I will get to the point where there aren’t really any questions I can’t answer, and that I’ll feel more comfortable being rushed and badgered. And that Joe will find a teaching job right away next fall, taking the $%&# financial burden off of me.

Oh yeah, and my blog. It’s called Screw Flanders. Have a read sometime.