Technologically Inept

No, not me. I'm a genius. Hahahaha....


Anyway, I have worked in several jobs where I was easily the most technologically capable person in the place. Not that I'm writing C++ or anything, I'm just, like, 35% more familiar with computers and their workings than your average mid-twenties person. And this doesn't really bother me, until the old farts I work with dismiss the knowledge I have as either useless or unimportant. For example, Finishing Touch. There was a perfectly usable MS-DOS sort of system for inventory that was (and probably still is) completely FUBARed. You know why? Because everything in the store had a sticker on it. As in, when we would get inventory in, we would take a pricing gun and sticker every individual item as $**.95. Then, when people bought these items, we would just ring them up as "ITEM $**.95" on the register. God forbid we take a little time and put the correct price into the system corresponding to the correct UPC code, right? The thing was, I spent some time one day to take 1 of each type of candle-y thing in some Yankee Candle scent, and put them in. When I showed the boss, he was completely against it. He specifically instructed the ladies to put the stickers OVER THE BARCODES, which irritated me to no end. WHY, if you have a functioning system, wouldn't you just use it?! I think he was afraid of computers, to be honest. The one time, I had to try to figure out why the computer that prints the daily business wasn't printing, so I went into the Windows 95 OS it was running on to look at the settings and he about flipped out. "What is that?! It has never done that before!! I don't think you should be doing that ("that" being opening folders to see what was in them and viewing the "Properties" to see how big the hard drive was)" which implied that not only did I not know what I was doing with this computer, but that HE knew better (which was so far from true, I cannot even put it into words). Oh my LORD I couldn't stand him.... This is the same boss that would watch the employees on the security cameras and if it looked like you weren't actively being busy, he would call the phone nearest to you from his desk in his office and say, "What are you working on right now?" so you'd go get to work touching every piece of merchandise in the store. It didn't really matter if you were actually doing anything, he just insisted that you look like you were doing something.


Well, that was an unexpected outpouring of hatred for ignorance of that man... but, anyway... I started this post because my wonderful, wonderful boss (that I love working for/with) just doesn't get it, either. I kind of think he views computers as typewriters where you can erase. Don't get me wrong, he uses email and the internet (sort of...), but he's a fax machine kind of guy and we print EVERYTHING (even though I know why we do, and it's not that big of a deal). I guess I just feel like we could be using these 2 iMacs in the office much more effectively (can I get a what, what, co-workerladyma'am?) He's so funny, though. There are 2 things that will make him super mad in about 3 seconds: When he can't find something (usually because I didn't file it in the right place...oops) and then the printer won't work. Usually it's just a turn it off, turn it back on fix, but he just gets so worked up about it. I guess I just half expect technology to get screwed up at some point or another, so it doesn't get to me, but man. And every time he goes, "Why can't things just work?" which, given that the printer may screw up for 4 hours collectively out of the whole month, for the most part, it does just work.



So, basically, all I'm saying is that it's a good thing I've grown too lazy to try instigate any changes, because it would likely just make me angry and frustrated. Lazy is clearly the better option.

It usually is, I find.

Time Vortex

I have been listening to the Battlestar Galactica Season Four soundtrack all day... and it has put me in a weird mood. It's all GLORIOUS and sort of sounds like what the Titanic soundtrack would sound like if it had a drumline in it. This is okay with me, really, because I have always liked the Titanic soundtrack, too (judge if you must).

So in my own personal time vortex, it feels like it's about 5:30 in the afternoon, but I keep looking at the clock, and it keeps saying 2:38pm. Ugh.

I have also been playing SimCity2000 all day. If any of you Mac people out there want to play old PC games (and have them run better than they ever did on your old PCs), just let me know. Dosbox will absolutely change your life. It's basically amazing.

Hm. Actually, today has pretty much kicked ass.

Here's a song and a picture for today:



Gaeta's Lament - BSG Season Four Soundtrack



Yeah, so what if my city is called Fusion Watermelon... kiss my ass.

**EDIT: I guess I should have specified that this day has been had at work. All of the game playing, Battlestar listening and the subsequent blog post are all from my desk at work. I'm not making that kind of money, but still... not too bad.

Thoughts on retail

I have worked in retail of some kind for pretty much the entirety of my "working" life. I guess it it sort of a stretch to call "courtesy clerk" at Albertson's a "retail" job, but it was still in a place that sells things, and was almost unheard of that my schedule didn't conflict with EVERYTHING, so that definitely fits the description at the most base level.

My employment history developed in such a way that I really feel that ever single job I have ever done has prepared me for the job I did after it. Let me just run this down so you have a point of reference:

Courtesy Clerk (grocery sacker) at Albertson's

Salesperson at Finishing Touch - This place was basically a Halmark on steroids; sold candles, cards, Beanie Babies, and Precious Moments and the like.

Salesperson at JC Penney - I spent about 3 months in the Men's Department and then my friend Edana (Thank God for her) helped me get into Jewelry for the remaining 2 years I worked there.

Salesperson at Gordon's Jewelers - This was a really fun job. Playing with diamonds all day and being around people in loooove... what more could you ask for? (And my co-workers were... well, I can say that they were probably no small part of why I loved this job)

Teller at Bank of America - This was a pretty decent job, too (my supervisor drove me INSANE, though). I worked commercial most often, which was the highest volume, but I liked it because you basically just had to do your job and do it quickly. There were crazy times at Christmas and whatnot where there would be anywhere from 5 to 9 cars LINED UP.

From one job to the next, I handled more money and generally catered to a different and more specialized group of people (which, I personally feel, is all part of that God having it under control thing). The thing about customer service experience is that you will get better at it the longer you do it. The best part about having had these jobs (the jewelry jobs, in particular) is that I can basically walk into any job interview and say, "I sold commission jewelry for 5 years," and they say, "When do you want to start?"

I actually get a marginal amount of satisfaction working in retail, or at very least customer service. Like when I worked at Finishing Touch, if someone came in and was like "I need a gift for someone that loves giraffes," I love being able to help that person find exactly the right kind of present and wrap it all pretty so not only will the person receiving the gift be happy, but the person buying the gift is happy and excited to give the gift. Jewelry is the same way. When I can help someone find exactly what is right for them, especially after searching for a while, and then wrapping it up in the fancy box so when the person receiving the gift opens it will just be so pretty... it really is fun. It's really weird, but I get goosebumps when I feel like I've done a good job and the customer is happy. And good customer service goosebumps are always on the backs of my legs. I know, strange, and it's the same feeling if I'm helping a 5 year old pick out a present for their daddy for Father's day or if it's a nervous dude picking out an engagement ring or if it's a lady at Victoria's Secret that is looking for a particular perfume and I found the last bottle in the back room.

And thank GOD those little things happen every now and again, because retail is really hard work, and it's usually not a whole lot of fun. However, I can definitely say that even if the job is a pain in the ass, if you're working with people you like, it makes all the difference in the world. I know, I know... sometimes you inadvertently end up staying in the store counting diamonds until midnight because none of the cases will balance and the old ladies in the store can't put stuff back where it goes and I can't count higher than 3 with you talking to me because I can't concentrate and suddenly all I can think about is countertops and now exF is calling the store AGAIN...

...

...ahem

25 on the 25th

Well, here it is. My magic birthday. I'm a quarter of a century old. I think that doing a life evaluation post like a report card or something won't really be of any help, as it will likely just fall short of what I had thought I would be doing by this time in my life. Maybe not short, but different certainly.

I was talking to someone (I think it was Joel, probably around HIS birthday) about regrets over the course of your life and if you could go back to a certain time in your life, would you? We watched the first 2 seasons of Heroes over the past week, so time travel is in the forefront of my available thought processes. I can honestly say that I wouldn't go back to any other time in my life because no other time is as good as right now. Even though I don't know what I'm doing with my life and I don't have any money or whatever, at this juncture, what would I go back to? I mean, it's not as if any part of the already lived portion of my life is so much better than now, because it simply isn't. And if I went back, I would have to take that God awful theory class again, and I just don't think my psyche could handle that a third time. Twice was bad enough.

I sort of feel like I'm on my way to something... even though I don't know what it is. I usually have landmarks in my life that I'm headed toward; paychecks, vacations, big events or what have you, and I have this inkling that there is a big one on the other side of this slightly translucent curtain or something that I can kind of tell is there, but I can't tell what I'm looking at.

Anyhow, I guess I'm getting all metaphorical on my birthday. I think I'm going to go eat lunch and then I have to work today! How appropriate. I think we're going to go out this evening, so hopefully we'll take lots of pictures and I'll have something to tell you guys soon.

BOO!

When I was a little kid, my dad used to scare me. What am I saying.... he STILL scares me. If he's walking ahead of me and turns a corner before I get there, odds are pretty good that he's stopped and waiting for me to get there so he can say "AGGH!" and make me jump. Because I will. About 98% of the time I will jump and scream and then go, "You turd!!" and he just laughs because it is endlessly funny to him. This is a long-standing thing for Dad. Throughout our childhood, he has moved our stuffed animals and hidden in our beds at night, sat in the bottom of the dark closet, hidden behind the door to our room... Once, all of us came home and Dad's car was there, but we couldn't find him. We probably looked for 10 minutes, and when we finally found him, he was behind the lower rack of clothes in HIS closet. Good one, Dad. Another useful tidbit in this whole thing is that all of the eyesight in our family is baaaaad, which only aided his mischief. So not only was it usually dark when he was laying in wait, it was also usually time for bed, so we've all got our glasses off or contacts out or whatever and no one can see anything anyway.

This has been good practice, it seems, as I have been watching around corners and in closets and behind doors the whole time I've been in Albuquerque. Joel seems to get immense satisfaction from seeing me jump and then me telling him he's a jerk (hahaha). Like how I'm brushing my teeth last night, and when I turn the light off on the way out of the bathroom, every light in the apartment is off. So what do I do? Say, "Oh! Good grief... You jerk!" and turn the bathroom light back on. I didn't have to go very far before he said "AGGH!!" from his hiding place on the ground in the hallway just outside the door. Or this morning, on the way to the bedroom, I look in the office and there is a figure standing there that looks like a Death Eater.



Death Eater.

Ironically, this didn't scare me. It was morning though, and that possibly had something to do with it, but it did at least make me do a double take. He was disappointed in my reaction, and said he was going to take a shower. I sat reading for a good few minutes and wondered why the water hadn't started yet. When I walked past the office, HE was there instead... as in, wearing the coat (apparently, in the office and coming out of the bathroom are the most popular locales for this behavior). Again, for whatever reason, this didn't scare me, but I applauded the effort.

Clearly, one is more apt to make me jump and scream with less prep work. Just sitting watching TV for long enough without moving and then making a loud noise will get me, seriously, every time. What can I say? I'm an easy mark.

Still, my favorite time he tried to scare me was once over 4th of July weekend. I was walking past the office and caught movement out of the corner of my eye. I walked into the office and he is standing on the chair by the door, in a psycho-killer type position holding... a feather duster. We just look at each other and since I'm obviously not scared, and also I have no idea what he was going for with that approach, he just goes,


"Hmm... it appears I may have over-planned this..."

Yeah...
you may have...

TMI: Or possibly Not Enough Information... (NEI)

As per last week, this is not quite typical of a TMI, even though it does have some sex in it (Woo hoo!) and it IS embarrassing. Even so, that geriatric boobie grabbing gets me every time!

***Alright, folks, you know the rules. Join us all in humiliating the crap out of yourself every Thursday by sharing some completely tasteless, wholly unclassy, "how many readers can I estrange THIS week??" TMI story about your life. Or hell, about someone else's!***





Against my better judgement, I'm going to embarrass myself. Usually, if I have the option to embarrass myself, or NOT, I choose not. But I'll throw myself on the sword this TMIT and tell everyone about my sexual naïvety as a young, but not so young, person.

We learned last week that I was one prude somebody for the majority of my life. Still am, really (in case you're freaking out, Dad), but there was a level that even I look at now and think, "What was wrong with me?"

Example: For a while in early high school, I had this totally absurd relationship "rule", if you will, that there was no kissing for, I think it was a month, or something equally ridiculous. I'm a little foggy because it didn't really stick around, but to clarify: From the time we started being BF-GF ("Will you go out with me?" Lawl), there was "supposed" to be a MONTH that passed before we kissed. I think I even lost one BECAUSE of that. Not that I blame him. I was a gal that stuck to her guns.

Anyprude*, I'm here to address my sexual idiocy, not my general idiocy. When I was in late elementary school, the schools did "Hot Topics" in Health class where they talked about girls getting their period and boys becoming men (Whatever that entails specifically. They split us up...) and you had to have your parents sign a permission form so you could even HEAR this really special, ultra-secret, grownup information. I had this week-long event every year for 3 years. So it begs the question:


How in the world did I have no idea what "the sex" really was?


Y'all, I'm not kidding. I knew it had to do with kissing, and it was in a bed and I was pretty sure it had to do with the parts that a bikini covered becoming UNcovered (I had gathered this much from movies, I guess), but that was as far as I got. I don't know where I came up with this, but I really, honestly and actually, I'm-not-making-this-up thought that these were the steps to having a baby:

1. Get married. (Because people that aren't married don't have babies. Duh.)


2. Make an appointment with God. (Still not making this up, people)


3. Have baby. (There! That was easy!)

I can't remember exactly when the whole P-in-the-V connection was made, but I vividly recall thinking, "What? No way. In? Like... IN in??" and being somewhat horrified. I'm sure it didn't exactly help that the diagrams I had been seeing for the past "Hot Topics" sessions looked like this:







I just have to think that surely... SURELY someone at some point had explained that the P goes IN the V, but I either was asleep or wondering what that scrotesticlepenis was or who even knows, and I didn't get the memo. I really think that even when they said it, I looked up at that flaccid line drawing and just dismissed the statement as unimportant.

3 years.

3 different "Hot Topics" presentations.


HOW did I not know?! So tragic.



*That's for you, Sassyginger!!

Musically sheltered

When I was growing up, my mother sheltered me, musically. I could probably say that she stifled me, somewhat, but she didn't do it on purpose. She just didn't like any music besides country, so whenever I was with her (which was basically all the time) that's all we listened to. As an anecdote to illustrate my point, I remember being in either jr. high or early high school and being all "Man! Dad, Mom said you like The Beatles? (as if The Beatles were a new and cool thing that virtually no one knew about) They're really neat sounding!" I'm pretty sure Dad just sighed resignedly and let it go. (Fun fact: The first Beatles song I really remember was "Free as a Bird")

Because of all of this, I am actually quite a fan of pre-pop country. As in, country when there was still a twang (I am from Texas, after all), but not so much that it was grating. Y'all, it was 80s/90s Country, and it was sooo good. To name a few:

Garth Brooks
Reba McEntire
George Strait
Brooks & Dunn
Vince Gil
Diamond Rio
Trisha Yearwood
John Michael Montgomery
Martina McBride
Faith Hill
Tim McGraw
Kathy Mattea
Toby Keith
Deana Carter
Trace Adkins
Terri Clark
The Judds
SheDaisy
Chely Wright
Sara Evans
The Dixie Chicks....

I could probably go on. (Ok, fine. That was way more than "a few") I also recognize that some of these are really pushing the pop country line, but I don't care. They are sooooooo good (reiterated and with more o's). Anywho, here's your little bloggy dose of 90s country:



I Cross My Heart - George Strait
This always reminds me of gymnasium dances in jr. high. *swoon*



Safe in the Arms of Love - Martina McBride
Not one of her biggest hits, but I wanted something upbeat and... really none of the really good girl songs are upbeat...


Shameless - Garth Brooks
ZOMG. best. My internet searches for random info on Mr. Brooks yielded rumors of a tour with Trisha Yearwood and/or Reba McEntire as openers. YES, PLEASE. I'd pay to see that shit, for sure.




In other news, I think I have discovered the secret to being able to wake up in the morning. I usually... like every morning (read: 11:30am)... will lay in bed and just in general not want to get up for probably an hour depending on when I have set my alarms (all 4 of them) and which one actually wakes me up. But I also usually... like pretty much every night... right before I go to bed, I'll eat something. I'm not talking a little something, either. I mean like a plateful (or 2) of pasta. I accidentally didn't do that earlier this week and ended up waking up at 6 in the morning. Go figure. So I also didn't eat a ton of carbs right before bed last night, and I was able to coherently wake up at 6:45 and remember that I had to be at work at 8. I think I will continue with this. It worked surprisingly well.



Lastly, www.whothetweet.com CONSUMED my morning in a ball of flames. Amusingly accurate and somewhat revealing flames.

It's Father's Day!!!

...and I don't get to go see my dad, which is kind of crappy. We may use the wonders of technology and video chat or something later, but actually, I'll probably call him and tell him "Happy Father's Day!" and that will be it. I think that'll be fine, though, and he should be rolling through OKC on his way back from somewhere else in the relatively near future, so we're all good.

My dad is the best kind of dad I could have ever asked for. He was (in my little kid mind) mean and deserving of my fear when I was doing crap I wasn't supposed to be doing (Hell, now, too), but that's the way it's supposed to be. He also tempered being mean (which wasn't really mean, it was just him being a parent and disciplining his child when she was being a brat, which I very much appreciate NOW) with much love and stories told by my stuffed animals about Barfy the Beaver (played by a bear that was a hand puppet) that barfed when he ate Dogwood trees, but not when he ate Birdwood trees (no, those do not exist). It actually may have been the other way around, but none of us, Seester included, remember.



I'm on the left, and my sister is on the right


Haha, this is after the opera at OCU (He looks goofy! Love you, Dad!)


All of us in Arkansas visiting grandparents




So, here's to you, Dad!
I love you and Happy Father's Day!!

My bestest friend

So, I may have cried a little this morning when Kate and Andrew left. She called me earlier this evening and told me that they were on their way back from a wedding, so they detoured through OKC to have breakfast/coffee/pit stop.

She and I have been BFFs (hahaha) since I was a sophomore and she was a freshman in high school. We were both in band and in choir and there was just one day at an after school rehearsal that I just decided that we were going to be friends. Apparently, that was all I had to do, because she was pretty quiet and, (obviously) I am the opposite of quiet, so it worked out. We sang together with her mother at, of all things, a cafeteria workers end of the year banquet. We sang "I'll Fly Away" but with the words "I'll Walk in May" and another song with new words that I don't remember, and this:


Tonight - Patience and Prudence


I was a bitch in high school. I can admit it. I can own up to it. And Kate was my best friend through all of it; my only true friend, really. I had other good friends, but Kate is the one I can call at any time ever ever, even if we haven't talked in months, and we'll talk for 2 hours catching up (we have done this). She and her fiancé (who is GREAT, by the way) and I just sat at IHOP for an hour talking about wedding stuff and boy stuff and just stuff stuff and man, I need to go see them. Maybe I'll get to make a trip of it, though I'm kind of running out of summer. In any case, she's one of those life friends that will be around for the duration.



Valentine's Day (we were hot stuff)



Prom (so classy)



Kate and Andrew (SO cute!)

I can't WAIT for your wedding!

I'm a mute today

Well, at least this morning.

I have a swollen uvula (that's the hangy ball in the back of your throat, not a girly part...{it's not Thursday... ew...})

Until March of this year, I hadn't ever had this happen before, nor had I even heard of it. So imagine my surprise when I Googled it and came up with this. Anyhow, the little bastert has showed up again and since just eating cold stuff all morning worked pretty good last time, my venti Strawberries and Cream Frappuccino will do nicely. I also find that this is one of those things that doesn't seem so bad until you see it, so I'm not even going to check it out this time. That was an unfortunate decision first time around...

So, um, yeah. That's the morning for me. Thankfully, I can still hum. Not that I sing full blast at the office, but I do get to rocking out back here sometimes. Since I have my mind fully occupied on my hangy ball situation, humming will have to be sufficient.

Here's some music that The Bloggess tweeted about the other day. It's so cute! And if you don't read The Bloggess... remedy this. She is absolutely hysterical.

Bitter Heart - Zee Avi


Yeah, it is NOT easy to talk with this hangy ball affliction. Blech...

100th Post!!

Wow! I can't believe I've already posted 100 times. Geez.


Well, to celebrate this occasion, I feel I should blog about something that means a lot to me. Something that changed my life forever.


a potato.


Not just any potato, friends. This was a life altering spud of epic proportions. I'm not kidding when I say that for weeks after this potato incident, I couldn't go more than 3 days without mentioning it. People, this tuber consumed my thoughts. It's story time:



Over Thanksgiving, my Li'l Brudder and Seester and I went to southish Texas to see my Dad. Not ON Thanksgiving, but the day before, we went to this small town eatery for lunch. It was some manner of barbecue place and so they obviously had baked potatoes. They had something I had officially never seen before, but I was so intrigued, and it sounded so delicious that I ordered it. (Looking back, I am SO glad I did and yet I also have a healthy {ha, healthy} amount of regret tied to the experience. Mainly because after I ate it, I wanted to die. So much potato... anyway, back to the story.)

The potato I ordered ended up being about the size of a softball and a half. That is not remotely a small potato, or even a medium one. This potato meant business. It had my standard potato trappings of butter, cheese and sour cream, but here's where the magic happened: There was a chicken fried steak on, nay, in this potato. A whole chicken fried steak. On/In this mammoth potato. And white gravy, because you can't eat a chicken fried steak without white gravy.

That's the part that I look upon fondly. The actual potato. Eating the whole thing? I don't exactly look upon that with the same sense of nostalgia and general happiness associated with good food memories. *whew*

Anyway, to you who read this and see my delightful potato as an abomination to food everywhere, I am sad for you. Maybe it's just my general Southern upbringing that makes me particularly susceptible to the wiles of foods of this nature, but either way... that potato affected my life more than some people, and for that, it gets its own commemorative blog post.




And now a picture of a lizard on a chaise lounge (because this is what I found when I was trying to find a graphic of the number 100):




hahahahahahahaha


Hiliarious. Explanation here.

Pfft, just when I start to get mad

I see THIS Disney Trailer:




I'm still not sorry for implying that Hannah Montana is only being pushed for its doll sales.

Story Time!

OK, I do not have the energy right now to talk about the competition two days ago (I didn't advance to finals, in case you were wondering, but it's totally alright) so I'm going to tell a story, albeit belatedly, in honor of 4/20. This is the story of the time my sister and I got high.


Ok, those of you that are freaking out can calm down. We didn't do it on purpose, and it was only through examination years later that we decided that was what actually happened.


We were youngish, probably high school. I get this strange cosmotological urge to do a manicure and tell Seester that if she'd let me, I'd do her nails. She's game, so we get a set at Walgreen's or someplace and go in her room (or was it our room? Depends on how young we were) and start playing beauty shop.

The way you used the particular type of acrylic nail set we got was that there was a gel you put on the fingernail, and then poured this powdery stuff on it to "activate" it. I'm pretty sure (read: it was all over the box) that the room was supposed to be well ventilated. I don't remember why we needed to shut her door (loud music, perhaps? Probably so we wouldn't kill the parrot in the living room) but we did and since the whole process was centered around a powder, we couldn't really turn a fan on, either. Basically, we were huffing and had no idea. Some rebels, eh?

I don't remember much about the whole experience except that we were listening to Cake and at one point, the lyrics are "Fawn, Jo and Tootsie are out on a wire" (OH MY GOSH! I never actually knew what the lyrics were there! Ha!) and we, at the time (and me up until about literally five seconds ago), thought it was "Fonzo and Tootsie," which, admittedly, makes no sense. We, at the same time, realized that we had both occasionally gotten mixed up at that part and said "Fonzie" (like Happy Days) but then remembered "Tootso" isn't anything, so that was obviously wrong. We laughed really hard about that, but only after we were done being slightly weirded out that we had been thinking the exact same thing about this goofy song.


Oh, that and we did a trial run of the acrylic stuff on a Sharpie, so for a while this Sharpie in our house had a creepy fingernail on the end of it. We painted it red, which just made it weirder. Damn, I wish I had a photo of that marker. Instead, a photo of weirded out.

I AM an Opera Singer.

Opera singers sing.


If I had to describe myself in a word, it would probably be loud. I am one of the loudest people I know, as far as sheer volume of sound produced, and while I know that it is mostly just obnoxious, I choose to believe it is endearing on some level. And professionally, it's very useful. I have lived in 3 different apartment complexes and a duplex and have never had anyone say anything negative at all about me making a LOT of noise practicing or what have you.



Until about half an hour ago.


My neighbors next door (not upstairs, ironically) were actually knocking on the wall as if to say, "Hey! You in there singing. SHUT THE #@$% UP!"



It is not late. I am not bad. I will probably only sing for 15 or 20 minutes before I get bored. This is my house. This is what I do.





Please don't throw a rock though my window....... :'-(


Tallulah Carter in Hotel Casablanca







Two Cake themed titles in a row in honor of Cakefest 2009! Wooo!!

Technology makes things possible

For example, right now I am playing Hangman with someone a time zone away.




On my phone.

Just like old times.
Nothing beats wasting time at work playing Hangman

The Tale of the Toaster

Confession:

I kind of wish I had named my url something besides "toasterxors" because while it does express (too much, I daresay) my true inner nerd, I feel like something more poetic or cute or generally less ending in "xors" would have been wiser. But, we live with the choices we make, I guess, and it's WAY beyond the point that I could change it now. I would have just used "lifesatoaster" but, inexplicably, someone else already has that one... It's random enough that I want it. It's even weirder than someone already has it. I was not so versed in the ways of blogging to realize that I could just separate with hyphens, but I digress. The "Life's a Toaster." story must be told.


So the saga of the Toaster began as many things do between Seester and myself: as ridiculous and outlandish sarcasm.

My sister Whitney (who will generally be referred to as "Seester") and I were sitting at the dining room table and she was working on her high school graduation announcements. "I need a quote to go on these. What should I use?" she asks me. She is very into quotes, so it wasn't so much that she didn't have a quote, she just couldn't decide what to use. I look at her, and with utmost sincerity, say, "I've got it-

"Life's.... a toaster."

She just looked at me, waiting for the rest of it. Then she asked, "Life's a toaster.... what? Life's a toaster, it's got lots of crumbs... Life's a toaster, it's burned on the edges... what's the rest?" I just tell her, "Nope. That's it. 'Life's a toaster.' End." She didn't end up using it, but the whole thing was endlessly funny to us, and it was added to the already extensive list of inside jokes that no one else gets.

This quote resurfaces about two years later when she is filling out her application to go to school in Oklahoma City. They want her to write an entrance essay about a quote from "a movie, a book or a song that is meaningful to you." Again, we sat across from each other at the dining room table, she asked me,

"What quote should I use for my essay?"
"Life's a toaster."
She laughed, "I totally should. But they said it has to be from a song or book or something."
"I promise you, they don't care what source you get your quote from. They want you to be able to string words together into sentences and say something interesting. You can BS something about how 'Life's a toaster.' came to be and how your relationship with your sister is very meaningful, blah blah."

{pause}

"Say all that slower and let me write it down."

My sister wrote her college entrance essay on the endlessly deep and meaningful quotation "Life's a toaster."


This is getting lengthy, but I can't talk about the toaster quote without mentioning the toaster lamp.

Yes.
Toaster lamp.



My sister is, and has been for quite some time, very involved in theatrical lighting. That was actually what she was in school for in Oklahoma. One of her classes had an assignment to turn some object into a lamp that isn't supposed to be a lamp, but still looks like what it is supposed to be. She said that lots of people put light bulbs into books and flower pots and things that are pretty easy to wire (whatever that means). Well, as is Seester's tendency, she waited until the night before she was supposed to have parts and pieces to even think about what she was going to lampify. She was literally walking around our apartment poking things and trying to find something that would a) work as a lamp and b) be relatively cheap to replace, since she would be destroying it. She said of the final choice, "Well, it was between the toaster and the coffee maker. The coffee maker was like twenty bucks. The toaster was six. Toaster it is." The pictures are the result of her taking OUR toaster right out of our kitchen and making it into a lamp. With a dimmer.


Sidebar: Seester is a total badass. Always.


So, there it is! The Tale of the Toaster. Doesn't it feel good to be in on the joke? Also, it's so interesting to me which of the seemingly insignificant things I have said sometimes stick around forever!