Today's stupid human tricks.

Contestant #1: the guy at Home Depot who kept cursing (literally and frequently) at the sales guy because they never had anything he needed. Uhhh, why do you keep coming here, then?

Contestant #2: the lady in the "10 items or less" lane at Longs who thought her 465 individual embroidery thread items counted as one item. Uhhh, in what alternate universe do you live in and can you please go back there now?

Contestant #3: the checkout lady at Safeway who berated me for not telling her I didn't want a bag for my one item until she'd already bagged it, because apparently there are people who don't want their items placed into a crumpled bag, and she then threw the crumpled bag in the trash can. Uhhh, it's A BAG, get over it already.

Contestant #4: me, who spent a full minute wishing malfortune on the jackass who rammed their cart into my car thereby scraping paint off my front bumper. Uhhh, wait, that's a car alarm sticker - I don't have a car alarm - D'OH that's not even my car.

Not the sharpest tool in the shed.

I have lived in my apartment for two years. Ever since I moved in, I've been wondering about the sliding door to the kitchen. The kitchen itself has one of those counter-divider-dealies that opens into the dining/living room area, so it's not like closing the sliding door would give anyone privacy in their culinary endeavors. And believe you me, it doesn't help in shielding the smoke detector from an endeavor gone horribly wrong.

Of late, I have discovered a heavenly use for that door. When I go into the kitchen, and I'm planning to be in there for more than thirty seconds, and Luna has not yet had her squishy food for the day, I CLOSE THE DOOR. Instead of following me about and entangling herself with my feet while meowing like a banshee, she sits outside the closed door with her back to it - clearly pissed, but quiet as a mouse.

She often gets up onto the counter-divider-dealie so she must know, in some area of her wee little brain, that she could access the kitchen that way when the door is closed.

Perhaps she opts for silent protest of my clearly inhumane act of shutting the door. Or - and this is the more likely scenario - she's really just not that bright.

Mother Nature saying hello.

As a general rule, I don't read the news. Well, the real news - the Dish doesn't count as news. More specifically, ever since 9/11/2001 I have avoided media coverage about disasters. This is because after 9/11, I found myself glued to CNN for days at a time watching clip after clip of airplanes flying into buildings and firefighters cleaning up rubble and people running and screaming and bleeding. And wondering why I was even going to work and trying to be a normal person when all this was going on 3000 miles from here - it all seemed meaningless in the grand scheme of things. Not the most constructive use of my time, for sure. Occasionally I lapse and regret it, but otherwise, avoidance is the key.

It's not that I'm insensitive to others' pain and suffering - don't get me wrong, I gave today, and will probably give again (if not again and again). But other than knowing that Ellen Degeneres's aunt lost everything, I truly have no conception of the magnitude of what has happened. And I'm choosing to keep it that way. So this week when people have mentioned the south in meetings, or when my parents told me to be thankful for what I have, it has thrown me.

I am certain that there's a balance between becoming emotionally wrecked and/or philosophically jolted over disasters like this and being able to look at them sympathetically but objectively. I'm not there yet, and I don't imagine I will be anytime soon. So Mother Nature, give us a break already, will you?

"I'm a stalker in a Taurus."

The last line of this review made me decide to see Broken Flowers. Normally I am not a big fan of Bill Murray (or Jim Jarmusch, if we're being totally honest) so I was pleasantly surprised at how much I enjoyed this movie.

Not really because the plot - which was a bit too reminiscent of when my ex called me out of the blue last summer - but for the acting and the use of silence. (The "pregnant pause," my class instructor called it last week.) There was a point where I was actually squirming in my seat along with the actors who were sitting in prolonged uncomfortable silences on the screen.

And unlike with Lost in Translation or The Life Aquatic..., this time Murray actually convinced me that he was a sad older man wondering where his life had gone. I truly empathized (and sympathized at times) with his character - something I have never said about Caddyshack Man before.

In summary... thumbs up.

Attention, charities who send me mail asking for money:

Spell my name wrong (first or last) and your envelope automatically goes in the trash. So if you really have the cure for cancer and just need a few more benjamins, kindly do your research.

Sadly, this can help. And starting September 1, you can even add comments to my ZabaBlog saying what a cheapskate bad samaritan I am!

Jesus H Christ.

Know thyself.

According to many of the oh-so-helpful web resources on prepping to enter the interview world, one of the things you are supposed to be able to describe at the drop of a hat, are three scenarios where you felt highly motivated to "finish something." I presume they mean something work-related... Which is really unfortunate, because all I can really think of being highly motivated to do are:

• getting through the first disc of season four of Six Feet Under so I can start on the second disc
  
• getting Riley to the crematorium so that I don't have to touch his poor little dead body ever again
  
• getting through the damn interview so that the torture will end

Oy vey. I am in trouble.

A funny way to insult someone.

From ThinkGeek's local fortune file, which has stolen about 15 minutes of my life tonight:

Charles: "You know that hole, the one you put pie in?"
Gabe: "You mean my pie-hole. Yeah."
Charles: "Shut it!"

Constructive feedback.

Day two of my class featured BILL AT MY TABLE! Joy of joys. Thankfully he left early, but not before monopolizing the group activities and also giving me a hug goodbye.

Anyway. The class also included a section on the ever-hokey topic of how to "develop the constructive feedback message." The instructor warned us against trying this at home before mastering it at work (due to the emotional ties that come with home attempts), but because it's so hokey to me that I can't do it without heavy sarcasm, I've been practicing on Luna:

"When you meow incessantly for no apparent reason, I feel frustrated, because I don't know what's wrong and you don't accept any attention I try to give you to try to soothe your angst."

"When you meow incessantly when I go into the kitchen, I feel annoyed, because me visiting the kitchen does not automatically mean that you get your daily dose of squishy food."

"When you meow incessantly [are you sensing a theme here?] while glaring at me while I sit on the couch, I feel perplexed, because you can see a lap prime for the taking but instead you sit there and glare."

See? Hokey. Even more so in the business world...

I am not a crook.

Today I went to Nordstrom to see if I could find some things. All I ended up finding were some quality "hosiery" that I would never spend that much money on if I didn't have (approximately) 86 $10 gift certificates. The total came to $23.something, so I handed the Nordstrom lady two $10 gift certificates and a $10 bill. The only bill in my wallet, which I knew for a fact because this morning I'd had $16 and spent $6 of it at the car wash.

She gave me back $1.something in change. I stood there waiting and finally she asked if something was wrong. I nicely explained that I'd given her a $10 - the only bill I had in my wallet - but she'd only given me change for a $5. She glared at me very suspiciously and finally handed over another $5.

While she was glaring it was all I could do to keep myself from saying, "Come on, lady. Surely your uber snotty sophisticated eye can see that I am dressed entirely in clothes from Ross - do you really think I don't know how much money is in my wallet at any moment during the day?"

I want to live in a van down by the river.

We recently got a survey at work requesting our input about an offsite later this year. One of the questions had to do with motivational speakers - as in, "if we got a motivational speaker, who would you like to hear from?"

It is absolutely killing me not to reply with "Matt Foley." Out of respect for the dearly departed, I shall refrain, but how funny would that be...

The almost-Friday five.

Top five things that negatively impacted my "I'm going to have a good day" attitude today, in no particular order:

• Waking up at 7:08am and realizing I need to be in San Francisco by 8am for a class.*
• Bill, in the class, who insisted on sharing a personal story or commentary in response to EVERY SINGLE scenario or example the instructor discussed during the class.**
• Being denied a store credit card after making a very large clothing purchase at one of Union Square's chain stores and therefore not saving $40 with their "10% off this purchase" deal.***
• Seeing a really cool shirt at the Gap, on what appeared to be a sale rack, which is the only reason I decided to buy it, and then finding out at the register that it actually wasn't on sale.****
• Giving money to the clearly-strung-out-heroin-addict-playing-a-rare-Beck-song-on-his-guitar rather than the guy-with-the-dog-who-asked-politely-for-change on the street.*****

And so to make up for my bad day, I went to this store and spent lots of money on these, and suddenly everything was allllllll good. The "Waving not Drowning" one sounds pretty good right about now.

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* In an unprecedented series of events, including me leaving the apartment at 7:23am and even remembering to feed Her Majesty before leaving (a new personal record for me), I was only 15 minutes late.

** And ANOTHER fun day of Bill tomorrow! Yay!!

*** The only time I ever apply for those things is when I am spending a ridiculous amount of money. And then once it's paid off I cancel it. And WHY THE HELL did they deny me anyway?? My credit is perfect. I'm banking on the fact that it's because I have zero debt and therefore they knew they wouldn't make any money off me. Bastards.

**** I bought it anyway. What the hell, I never go shopping.

***** Thus perpetuating my internal conflict of giving money to homeless/begging people. If I'm in a good mood and see someone outside of the grocery store, I offer to buy them food. Or if I'm in a good mood and pass someone on the street that I'm going to pass again shortly, I keep a dollar handy for when I go back their way. But if I'm in a bad mood there's no point in them even asking. Unless they happen to know a rare Beck song, in which case all bets are (apparently) off.

Bored now, part two.

Luna is SO not amused with my new digital camera.

You can practically hear her saying "oh jesus christ, wtf already??"

Tales of the heart.

I recently, finally, saw House of Flying Daggers. No one told me it was a love story. Despite that, it was well worth my time. I need to watch more kung fu movies. Suggestions accepted.

And then last night I watched The Laramie Project. And I had to wonder: is the fact that I hate people who hate other people, just as bad as them hating other people?

Why?

Why does Microsoft need to send an error report when Firefox dies? Who are they sending it to?

Not that I ever send those stupid error reports anyway. I'm sure THE MAN is behind the scenes looking at where the error occurred. Lord knows, with all the porn sites I frequent, I'm already due for a visit from the Patriot Act folks at some point.

Exercises in cause and effect.

For the past three weeks, it seems that my going to the gym is directly related to how much cheese I eat the night before. A sprinkle on some pasta doesn't warrant getting up at 6am, but you can bet that a quarter of a package sure does.* I was doing really well for about six months but then work got crazy and I was traveling every week and... Well, maybe the ultimate reason is that I needed a break before beginning my next ten-pounds-down endeavor.

Whatever the rationale - I will be resuming my routine of going to the gym regularly starting again on Monday. I WILL. You can't stop me. Go ahead, try. I dare you.

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* For more exercises in cause and effect, go here.

Only so much brain space for the Y chromosome.

Re: car situation. I was very sad (well, ultimately happy, but momentarily sad) to learn that the multiple clicking sound the other day was, in fact due to a dead battery rather than a starter/alternator issue. Those must be single-click issues.

I used to know that. I guess all my "car maintenance" brain space has been superceded of late by "power tool" brain space.

I would gladly give up my "where to buy cheap cute shoes" brain space to get that "car maintenance" brain space back...

Yay me.

I've been reading through old performance evaluations and some recent comments on my resume from people I've worked with over the years. Even though I don't always feel like I'm doing a good job, I think I am, in the grand scheme of things. And gosh darn it, it seems that people like me.

Except for maybe the guy I yelled at (again) on Friday.

But otherwise... Let's just hope the job-poster-people think so too.

If they take my stapler then I'll set the building on fire...

To put a perfect cap on a day that reeked of pointy haired bosses (or is it pin headed bosses? I can never remember), spending 3 hours doing someone else's job, and feeling utterly incompetent because documentation I'm responsible for has been wrong for some time, is now and will always be wrong, world without end... My car is dead.

SIGH.

Dead in the "this requires AAA to come and haul your car to the dealer" dead, not dead in the "wait for someone to come into the garage to give you a jump" dead. Dead in the "radio still works fine but there's a weird clicking noise when you turn the ignition" dead - which implies alternator or starter, if I recall correctly.

SIGH.

However! Today a boss of the non-PHB variety randomly gave me a beautiful new red Swingline stapler. And a friend is driving me to run some errands tonight even though I blatantly said "I need to use you" rather than "I need some help" (though to be fair I did say I'd buy her dinner*). And I got out of an evening meeting I wasn't really looking forward to.

So... I don't know what all that means. Except that I will probably be spending my weekend at the dealer. As a friend uttered (about something unrelated) today - "worse things have happened - but that doesn't mean I can't spend a few hours complaining about it."

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* Which, you are damn certain, will involve a margarita. And if I ask for no salt, NO salt on the margarita, and it has salt on it, big grains of salt, floating in the glass... That'll be okay with me.

For the sake of momentum.

A recent Aimee Mann* concert provoked me to buy a copy of Magnolia, which I saw in the theater in 2000, absolutely loved, and haven't seen again since. I'm having trouble getting up the nerve to watch it again (kinda like with American Beauty). Yesterday I sat through about an hour of the "diary/making of" and it was enough to remind me why the film was so brilliant in its first viewing, and how seeing it again might ruin it completely.

So instead I watched The Princess Bride (also purchased on DVD yesterday) for the 9,856 time... Anybody want a peanut?

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* Some of you might recall her performance in season seven of Buffy... the Sleeper episode, to be exact, the one where they cliffhang Giles dying, where she's playing "Pavlov's Bells" at the Bronze and all hell breaks loose between Spike and his newest recruit, and Aimee walks out of the club saying, "Man, I hate playing vampire towns." Very reminiscent of Grandpa's quote from The Lost Boys: "One thing about living in Santa Carla I never could stomach, all the damn vampires."

Bored now.

To those who have inquired recently - thanks, and Her Majesty the Cat is doing much better after a week of 'roids. So well, in fact, it appears that she doesn't know what to do with all the time she was spending scratching and grooming. Really, she sits there and looks at me like, "what do I do now?" It's quite amusing.

Either that or the 'roids have a stoning effect.

It's probably a little of both.

I'm okay with that...