Category Archives: solo jaunts

The new haunt

So, you know about the house I grew up in and the haunted happenings there (we’ll call it “thirty-three twelve” for the sake of this entry).  My parents’ new house -well, the one they’ve lived in for the past 7 years, a place I’ve never lived- is NOT haunted.

The dorm I moved into after moving out of thirty-three twelve was not haunted, the old, smelly, no central A/C apartment I moved into my sophomore year of college, same thing.  The newly-built complex where I spent the latter part of my sophomore year through AFTER graduating college: no spooks.

My apartment now: loud and sometimes shitty neighbors, the occasional homeless guy in the woods, and, once, a young black man who needed a flashlight because he lost his bike in those woods (I have no idea), but nothing scary.

However, I am about to become a homeowner.  The house I’m buying is a legit old-school house at a mere 75 years old.

Something tells me I may encounter a spirit or two here:



Have I ever told you…

that the house I grew up in was haunted? Now, you might be picturing a ramshackle, run down piece of crap house, but ours was nothing like that.  It was a cute brick ranch in a middle-class neighborhood with a very above-average yard (my parents have the greenest thumbs of anyone on the planet).  We had hair touching, and phantom tv noises, and “who the hell was I playing with?” moments and parents falling out of the attic but feeling pushed moments.

My parents have since moved to a larger house in a town about 10 miles away, and every time I visit I go by our old house.  It is apparently empty now, and I desperately want to find the woman who bought it to ask her if anything ever touched her hair or otherwise scared the crap out of her.

that sometimes I do lots and lots of random shit at odd hours? For example, it is now 3:03 am, Eastern time, and I am blogging. Two hours ago I was taking a camera phone photo of myself and my room as proof of the aftermath of ebaying.  I tore shit apart in my entire apartment looking for one USB cord that is seriously about 10 years old, all so I could sell my old digital camera.  I did a total super-cussin’ victory dance that included thanking Jesus [for real], fist pumping, jumping around and doing some weird cheerleader-type stunt with the help of my bed.

One night about a year ago, I decided to move my entire living room around, also at about 3am.  After thirty minutes of sweating and cussing, I realized I hated it and went to bed very angry.  I moved it back about a week later, completely crestfallen.

Cleaning the bathroom and driving also make this list.  Maybe those don’t necessarily qualify as “random shit” but most people I know do not take a two to three hour nap just so they can drive at 4am and avoid traffic, or decide that their bathtub HAS to be sparkling after a night out til 2.

that almost nothing grosses me out? (This does NOT count worms on the sidewalk) If you look closely, you’ll see I have the categories “farts” and “snot and boogers” in this blog.  My family has no qualms about discussing bowel movements and nasal output.  I’m lucky that many of my friends feel this way as well.  It isn’t uncommon for my friend Katie and I to email or text each other:  “Dude, I just took the greatest shit of my life.  It filled the bowl,” or “My butt just exploded.”  The latter is often after we hit up our favorite sushi joint.  Go figure.

My brother-in-law and I discuss farts on a regular basis and I have often been the victim of his crop dusting skills. And he is an EXPERT.

that my ideal house is one that may resemble a castle, will probably creep people out a little when they come over, and will also probably be dust-filled? Ok, so we can probably attribute the dustiness to my hatred of dusting. Seriously. I have not dusted my apartment in YEARS, except for the last time this guy I’m kind of seeing came over.  And that was just a dusting of the bookshelves around my Mexican money and skeleton key collection.  However, dust does lend a certain creep factor to things and although I am by no means some goth girl, I LOVE creepy.

I think antiques and dark wallpaper and damask fabric are beautiful things and I am all over trying to have a house that features this.  Bonuses would include: gargoyle statues, an atrium with tinted windows so it always seems gloomy out, and a library with large windows flanked by heavy, heavy drapery.


Photo dump!

The following things/people/places  make me happy/make me laugh/move me/interest me/are just downright interesting to look at.

Aaaand go!

Louis Louis Louis!

Yale’s rare book and manuscript collection

my brother as a kid, playing Starsky and Hutch (my mom painted a goatee on for him)


Makin’ Money

So, I’m a member of a few “get paid to read” sites. So far, the ones I’ve really been paying attention to have worked.

My friend lamecasper reviews some of the sites she uses on her blog, so I thought I’d do the same in a short list version. – easy, quick, and low payout. so far, so good! lynn has had success with it, so i expect to as well.

“> – good site, easy to do. just click on emails to get credit. i’ve gotten over sixty bucks from them so far.




Over lunch, I came up with another great theme day: DEVO.  Dress in all black, wear my glasses [they are black and plastic and mighty, mighty thick]

I’m almost embarassed at how awesome the idea is.

Or Mike Myers’s “Sprockets” character.

I might need to compile a list into fives, then plan a theme day for each workday, taking weekends off.

If anyone knows where I can get a Devo hat to complete my new idea, let me know.

Theme Days

Lately, I’ve been really into “theme dressing”.

Not for anyone else, really, but just to amuse myself.

Themes thus far:

– Crazy Mexican lady/Mexican five-year-old: skinny jeans with an oversized yellow embroidered short-sleeved [puffy, no less] sun dress.  Slap a sombrero on me and call me Maria.

– Equestrian: leggings, knee-high boots, black tunic, long sweater.  Only jodhpurs and a riding crop could’ve made the outfit any better.

– Count of Monte Cristo: skinny jeans, black knee-high boots, brown long tank top and a cape-like black jacket.  This is my look for today.  Give me a sword.

I can’t wait to get pictures of all this.

And yes, I dress like this at work. We have a casual dress policy unless we’re having a sponsor or big-wig visit.

My next plan is old Chinese lady. I have the perfect vintage shirt and wooden flip flops with dragons on them.

Other ideas:

– Roadie
– Zookeeper
– Grandmother
– Mod from Quadrophenia, male version

Any ideas?

Why I am probably already an old spinster -or- perpetually single

I don’t think I’ll ever be able to meet a guy who will put up with me.  There are times when I am like “Oooooh! This weekend, I’m totally going to go out and have a great time!” and then, by the time the weekend comes, I’m more like “Wow. Sitting in my apartment and watching a movie then going to bed sounds like a GREAT idea.”

I’m not easily definable, and it seems like all the guys I know want someone that is.  There are too many aspects of my life that almost don’t make sense when put together:
– i love cemeteries, stories about ghosts, dead people, forensics, anything some people might consider “ghoulish” but show me a worm on the sidewalk and i will probably punch you for grossing me out.

– i listen to loud angry music that says things like fuck shit damn hell, but i also listen to sixpence none the richer and stavesacre and beloved aka bands with a “Christian message”.

– along those same lines, I’m totally a believer, but the things that come out of my mouth [especially when I drive] could possibly make a sailor blush.  a lot of people don’t understand that.

– I think toilet humor is hilarious, but I know some dudes that go so far as to believe that girls don’t even fart, so there’s a strange juxtaposition: if they don’t think I even fart, then how can I possibly joke about turds and stuff with them?

– I am just as happy wearing cutoffs, a tank top and flip-flops as I am wearing pointy-toed shoes, crisp jeans, and a “cute top”. I am neither a tomboy nor a girly-girl.

– I think things like this:

and this:
are unbelievably hilarious

– I could sit and play Galaxia, Dig Dug, and Rally-X until my fingers bled.  Old-school video games are awesome to me… and so are computer games.  I won’t tell you how many rounds of Dynomite or Free Cell I’ve played in the last month.

– This was my favorite Halloween costume of all time, from 2005:

Me as Stuart

My brother has warned me never to let any dude I like see this picture, because it will apparently scare him off.  BUT I want a guy who will see this picture and think I’m the coolest chick alive.

– I’m kind of a geek. and I like geeky guys.  But it seems I’m not ENOUGH of a geek to GET the geeky guys.

– I look like this when I laugh:


(ignore the cleav, plz)

Aaaand there are a whole lot of other things, but none come to mind. I’ll let you know.

The REM Sleep Diaries and The Theme Fiasco

Among a lot of other things in my life, one thing I do rather oddly is sleep.  Or, to be more specific, dream.

I first noticed that my dreaming patterns were something weird at age six.  I’d had a fever and ended up dreaming this:

Our family went on a trip to the beach [we’re beach people, in the David Sedaris school of thought] and Grover [from Sesame Street] went with us.  Upon returning home, I discovered that Grover had peed in his bathing suit and I threatened to tell on him.  Immediately, he turned into the Big Bad Wolf and trapped me behind my bed.

I woke up crying and my dad came and gave me baby aspirin and sat with me until I went back to sleep.

If only I’d known then how weird my dreams would get.

I often wake myself up by talking.  Also, by laughing.

I once dreamed that my sister and I were running through some building, when I slipped on a floor mat and started to fall.  Somehow, I slowed myself down and did a funny pose as I fell, with the intent of making her crack up.

It worked. REALLY well, because I started cracking up so loudly that I woke up, laughed a while, sighed, and went back to sleep.

True story.

I also once woke myself and my parents up by yelling for my mom in my sleep.  I was at that “everything is scary and I have to sleep on my parents’ bedroom floor” phase in my life, when I began dreaming that my brother was grabbing the back of my neck and tickling me [did you know tickling is a form of torture?].  In real, awake life when he did this, I used to yell for my mom to make him quit.  In my dream, asleep life, I also did this and woke up to myself saying “Moooooooooooooooooommmmmmmm!”

I immediately slurred, “Mom? Did I just call for you?”

“Uh huh. Yeah”


Then we all went back to sleep.

A lot of times, my dreams have recurring themes or settings.  The most popular dream setting? School.  And it’s usually my high school [vomit] and the dreams, more often than not, involve me either being VERY late to class, skipping class, or going to a class I’ve only attended once or twice and finding out that I have no idea what’s going on.

The second most-common setting is a grocery store.  One of my most memorable “WTF?” dreams involved me in soccer gear running down the aisle to get away from the ghost of the statue of liberty.

I know.

Usually, though, I’m searching for chocolate milk or orange juice. In EVERY grocery store dream.  Maybe this is a sign that I need more calcium and vitamin C?

Sometimes, my dreams completely escape my memory, but they make me wake up with a sense of urgency. 

For example, the other night I awoke with a start, sat upright, turned on my bedside lamp, and realized my heart was racing.

With absolutely no recollection of my dream, I grabbed my golf club [complete with head cut off; better for impaling intruders] and checked every nook and cranny of my apartment.

Even my washer/dryer closet where you’d have to be two-dimensional just to fit.

There was no one in my apartment but me. Thank God.

Since it’s taken me forever to write this entry, I’ve had another theme dream. AND IT SUCKED! (please refer to “Let me Borrow that Top” by Kelly in order to get the feel for that last phrase)

It was a school dream again.  This time, I had a World History exam and had missed the last few classes [par for the course so far] but, then, the dream carried over into real-life and I woke up like four times with a sense of panic thinking “Holy shit! I have to study for that exam!”

Good. Gah.

BTSG Strikes Again!

Oh, my.

Last night at work, about four of us ended up catching on to the fact that BTSG was basically doing no work to speak of.

Instead, she was surfing the internet the entire time.  As in, myspacing, facebooking, blogging, etc.

I walked by once, and she had about three tabs up. One of them was livejournal.

“Jackpot!” I thought.

I had no idea it would get SO much better.

After a few rounds of “Let’s see what internet site BTSG is on NOW”, one girl let us in on a little secret.

Ok, back up.  I need to say that BTSG had made a sudden disappearance and I was under the impression she had gone home since I hadn’t seen her for about half an hour.

Oh, boy was I wrong.

She finally showed back up after I was returning from picking up food and getting a soda.

My dinner didn’t go down as well as planned, since, as I walked back to my desk, BTSG was leaning her very large frame over someone’s desk, giving me a very large view of her very large rear end.


But, I digress.

As we were all sitting there just cracking up at the audacity of our “coworker”, one girl, I’ll call her V, let the secret out: “Guys,” she said, “BTSG was just in the bathroom with a book.”

Poor V had gone on an innocent pee break and had to encounter BTSG emerging from a stall, book in hand.

V noted to us that “it didn’t smell like BTSG was having STOMACH PROBLEMS, if you know what I mean.”

So BTSG spent half an hour reading a book on the toilet.

Ten minutes after that, she clocked out for her break.


Finally, BTSG left for the night, and we were semi-free to bitch about her aloud [one little guy remained, and we’re still not sure if he’s too weird to realize what a headcase BTSG is].

After I revealed to CW/S, S, and V what I had seen on my latest pass by BTSG’s computer, CW/S and S decided to do a little digging.

They figured out BTSG’s login [not hard to do when someone never changes their password!] and checked her browsing history.

We found her livejournal name… and so much more.

About a hundred entries for “Stardust pictures”, several visits to the rubbermaid brand site (?), several websites for song lyrics (complete with misspelled titles), and, the best but most disturbing thing ever: several google searches and webpages for this subject: mental masturbation.

And how to conquer it.

I immediately began miming a girl jilling off, but on my forehead going “Y’all? Do you think this is what it looks like?”

Cue everyone participating in a mass-vomit.

Anyway, back to BTSG’s livejournal: the title of it has MY last name in it.


Ok, ok, so, although my last name isn’t the most common in the world, it IS a fairly common word.

But still: creeeeeepy.

We scoured the first few pages of BTSG’s blog, searching for my name, our company’s name, and the word “work”.

We found out that BTSG does a whole lot of blogging at work, a whole lot of bitching, and apparently HAS dated a girl.

And that’s it.

No scathing entries about how “those girls at work” have been “mean” to her, or how she longs for our friendship.

A little disappointing to find out that BTSG writes about a bunch of crap, but worth it to know that she has “a fictional doppelganger”.

who happens to be named after one of my friends [and former coworker].

Continued: The weirdest week of my life aka I’ve almost died like four times

For part one, go here

Sure enough: the formerly parked white jeep was careening toward me at an unnatural rate for a car with no driver [must’ve been a five-speed].

I jumped/ran out of the way and stopped.  The driver of the car that hit the jeep was sitting in her car, mouth bleeding, steering wheel smoking, sideways in the lane.

I yelled out “Are you okay?” and ran over to her, telling her she should probably get out of the car. (Remind me sometime to tell you about the great car-turned-fireball-on-the-side-of-I-40 fiasco of 1999)

She stumbled out, wearing one birkenstock, and went, “Whew! I was just reaching down for my cell phone! What happened?”

And then she spit blood.

“Um, you hit that jeep.  Do you wanna sit down?”

I said this as I was opening my cell phone to dial 911.

“Yeah. Oh, should I move my car?

I didn’t have the heart to tell her that her car wasn’t moving by itself for a VERY long time.

At this point, about thirty people from surrounding doctors’ offices had come out to gape at the wreck.  One nurse yelled out, as I had the phone to my ear, “Are you calling 911?”

No, lady, I’m calling Katie to see what she wore to work today.  OF COURSE I’M CALLING 911.

Dumb bitch.

So, the crowd of people come down to the street, basically SWARMING, and a nice-looking nurse says to me, “What happened?”

I pointed to the jeep: “She hit that”

“Was it parked there?”

At this point, some random guy comes walking up and says, “No, it was parked THERE” and points SEVERAL yards away.

It was then that I realized the jeep had landed RIGHT where I’d previously been standing.

So I turn to nice-looking nurse lady and say “Are you gonna be here, ’cause I gotta go to work.”

And left.

And called my mom and almost threw up because I was thisclose to being hit by a flying car. But not a Delorean.

The next morning, I decided to walk over to the cafeteria to get breakfast, and my boss went with me.

As we returned to our building, I went to open the door.

And the handle came off in my hand.  I could only stand there, shaking my head.

That night, I went to nightwork and we finished waaay late.

I walked out the door about two minutes before L and S and noticed a guy walking from underneath the fire escape.

“Hm. Probably sitting under there smoking weed or something”

He walked to his car, parked near mine.

I vaguely recall him backing out and leaving.

The next thing I know, L and S are next to my passenger window, gesturing in the rapidly departing car’s direction.

I excused myself from my phone conversation and rolled down my window.

“Did you see that?!?!?!”, they cried.

“What, that guy?”

“Yeah, he almost hit your car! If you had been standing behind it, he definitely would’ve hit you.  He gunned it backwards, then slammed on brakes and sped off.”

“What?! Well, I DID see him come out from under the fire escape. Maybe he’s high.”

“Um, so don’t leave by yourself again, ok?”


I resumed my phone conversation and, after regaling the person on the other end with details of what had just happened they said, “Um. It’s possible he was waiting under the stairs for you.”


The next day at work, my boss and I walked somewhere together that involved hopping off a small ledge on our return.

“Be careful” she warned.

“Oh, I hop off this thing all the time.”

“Yeah, but you’re not exactly having the best week.”

The rest of the day was uneventful [well, unless you count getting word that I didn’t get a job I applied for, but later on that in a minute].

The next morning I arrived to work in my cute blue pants that are starting to fit looser [double-pump].

After a trip to empty my bladder, I decided to check out my own ass in the mirror.

Oh, come on, like you don’t do it too.

As I turned to look, I saw something: a big rip down the middle of my pants.


At least I live five minutes away and was able to go home and change after showing my boss and having her say, “Yeah, you need to change probably.”

That was the end of the bad things.  After that, good things have been coming at me just like that white jeep from before.

While I WAS passed up on a job for which I was CERTAIN I interviewed well, I decided to turn it into something positive: I emailed one of my interviewers letting her know that I appreciated her time and did she have any suggestions for me in the future.

She wrote back that they had hired internally [something I’m looking for in my next place of employment: mobility within] and that it was a tough choice, but asked me to continue to check their jobs and apply.

So today, I did. And once I was finished applying for a job, I looked at my profile.

“Send to Manager” was written beside a job I’d never even applied for.  “Send to Manager” means “book an interview”.


While I was on my way to my car to go home for lunch, my voicemail alert went off.  I had a message from the company asking me to call about the job I’d applied for maybe two hours earlier.

Double yesssssss.

It ended up that the recruiter was going to call me back to set up an interview, but when she looked in the system, she saw that I was already being considered for another position there.  She called me to tell me that, and said she’d put my interview process on hold for now.

Three considerations from a big company in one month?

I think I can handle that.