Today I heard "The Devil Went Down to Georgia" (the Charlie Daniels Band version) for about the tenth time in the past week. I really like this song, but I have to disagree with the song in that the Devil was beaten by this young upstart named Johnny.

I mean, listen to their duel. The devil has this awesome disco-bass thing going, and then his whole solo is all done in dissonance, and it's wonderful and interesting and there's some car-booty shaking going on from my end.

Then what does "Johnny" do? He sings some insensible lyrics to some mediocre fiddle playing and some really basic elementary level harmonies. Boo! There's no booty shaking going on for this point. By this point I'm thinking "chicken in the bread pan? Man, that would suck!"

I mean, I know it's a morality play and it's very Faustian and all, but then why couldn't Johnny's part rock out?

I am also reminded of the Futurama episode where the Robot Devil challenges them for a golden fiddle and Bender's soul, and they ask "wouldn't a fiddle made of solid gold be incredibly heavy and sound awful?"

Those are words of wisdom, right there.

This weekend we went out of town for Laura's wedding. It went beautifully, Laura seemed really under control and not hysterical or Bride-zilla like in the least, and her wedding pictures are going to turn out really very well, because Laura and Andy are very photogenic, not that I am jealous at all. It's very weird seeing one of your friends get married. Laura, I deeply apologize for whatever pictures you find on those disposable cameras you left on the table. I didn't take any lewd ones, but I'm fairly certain that someone did.

I still feel like I need another dozen hours of sleep. Yesterday we left Pennsylvania rather early because there was another full day's worth of stuff do to on Sunday, and here I am at 6:13 a.m, pantsless, what the hell I'm going to wear to work and realizing that I'm really not in the mood to work at ALL. For the next four days. Also, it's the last billing day of the month, and for those of you who work in corporations, you know what that means.

We're also bringing Steve back from the vet this morning, and I'm a bit afraid that he's going to tear up the apartment because he may be angry with us at being boarded at the vet's all weekend. We left him shaking in fear, but still tentatively licking the kennel attendant's face in a friendly manner, so I hope he was OK and not TOO bad, and that he didn't hump anyone while he was there. I know if I were talking about Steve my brother I probably couldn't count on as much.

Hi ho, hi ho, it's off to find pants I go.

Today was employee appreciation day at work (job one-corporate law firm) and it served as a shining example of irony. You know what I appreciate? I appreciate people who have Ivy League educations who still happen to be thick as shit, that's what I appreciate.

Today one of the department printers ran out of envelopes in the middle of my printing a few dozen letters. These were very important letters that my boss had requested, and they were going to bring in quite a bit of money, and so when the printer stopped and my boss strolled the two feet from her office to the printer to check things out, I assumed she would announce "hey, looks like you ran out of envelopes!" and then promptly stick a few back in the slot. Instead, she strolled the two feet from her office to the printer, paused for three seconds, made a sort of rage-filled snorting sound, and then proceeded to walk three cubes down to my desk, announced "your letters ran out of envelopes and they stopped printing" into the air several feet to the left of me, not making eye contact, before she turned on her heel and strode BACK to her office. It was incredibly rude, but she has a tendency to do things like that to everyone in the office, so I can't really take it personally. It's rumored that she's dead on the inside, and that's probably not too far off from the truth.

Next, my co-worker Missy was copying a giant sheaf of credit card statements (using that paper feed on top of the copier) when the managing partner strode in and looked at what she was doing with great interest. "What are you copying?" he asked. Missy told him. "You mean you're copying that ONE AT A TIME?" he asked, with disdain. No, no she's not, Mr. Managing Partner. She's going to just place the whole bound account history somewhere near the copier and it will print out all the papers she needs using just the image from the first page.

Don't get me wrong, I really like my job, but I just can't fathom why these two particular people are always sending around memos on being considerate and doing things when they need to be done instead of just passing the buck are suddenly going out of their way and wasting time to be really unhelpful.

Anyway, I'm lazy and so I thought I'd share a link with y'all. It's about some J-Pop, and how it has cursed those it has touched. Go to Skipper's blog to read The Curse of Cloudy Cloud Calculator.

There's not much of a point to this post except to point out that I am tired. Very very tired.

The apartment is a mess, and will remain so until the end of May when I can encourage myself to give a damn. I am also becoming very forgetful about certain things, such as wedding dates for my friends and the location of my car keys. I'm thinking of just making a necklace out of the keys and wearing them as though they are a hip new accessory to go with my new '60s hair.

Also, where the hell are all my pants? I know I washed like, four pairs a few days ago. I don't know where they are now. This is bizarre.

I'm thinking I need an espresso machine.

The first thing I am going to do when I no longer have two jobs is cook. Real food. Then I'm going to iron some stuff and put my scary "intermediate laundry" pile in order. Then Lovell and I are going to barbecue some chicken and drink some good beer and watch movies. And then I will sleep.

Mmmmmmmmmm.

When getting a haircut, the last thing you want to hear is "oops." Especially when followed by several seconds of silence and then the dread phrase "well, that's kinda cute. Really. Yeah, that's cute!"

Suddenly a shoulder length cut with some long cheekbone length bangs seems awfully lighter than it did before. Something is wrong....something...ah yes. It could be that my hair is above my shoulders and now my bangs are at my eyebrows.

Yes, it's cute. That's one thing I will say. I look adorable, all fresh faced and blue eyed and just on my way to my first day of Junior High. I hope you all like my Muppet Babies lunch box!

No really, it's not that bad. I'll just wear some eyeliner.

A few days ago a local news website posted an article that showed most parents admit to bribing their children. I can't say I'm totally shocked by this, nor does it make me shake my head and say loudly and sarcastically "why parent when you can buy your kids' love?" I imagine that bribing a child is probably a delightful alternative to, say, locking them in their bedrooms with nothing but financial planning books and SAT test guides until they're old enough to not legally be your problem anymore. I also think that this article needed to be a bit more specific on what they deemed "bribery." See, to me, saying "get your towel off the floor or you will be eating it for dinner" is a form of bribery, only brilliantly and cleverly disguised. You are bribing your child with a nice nutritional meal for picking up after themselves.

I realize not everyone would see it that way, and some would argue that feeding a towel to a pre-teen is a borderline form of child abuse, even if it was one of those expensive giant cottony ones. I sort of disagree. If cooking bland, tasteless dinners was a form of abuse, they would have shut down "The Winking Lizard" years ago.

I guess I sort of look at bribery in the way a kid named Brett from my high school physics class described entropy. He defined it like this (please be aware that this is a crappily remembered paraphrase): "even if the universe is always shifting towards chaos, you could argue that those shifts themselves are a type of order. For example, my socks are in order because I keep them in my dresser drawer and not all over my room. But if I have one sock on the bed and one sock in the hall, you could say it's still order because they're still in the house. Now, sometimes I...." At this point Brett was shut up by the teacher, who didn't like the direction the conversation had taken. Brett later went on to be the only person ever to score 100% on some test given by NASA, so I don't think anyone can argue with his reasoning.

I think that lovely little example fits parenting, since I believe you can argue that any parenting at all is in some way a form of bribery. Oh, sure, you wussies out there could argue that operant conditioning is nothing more than a form of behavioral modification based on "reinforcement" as follows:
Positive reinforcement: giving a stimuli to a subject-giving a cookie
Negative reinforcement: removing an unpleasant stimuli-stopping nagging
Positive punishment: applying a negative stimuli-spanking, or telling a long winded "moral" story that begins "back when I was your age..." causing the subject to wish you'd just slap him on the ass and get it over with (my dad liked to use the Grandpa Simpson style stories on me)
Negative Punishment: removing a favorable treat of some sort, such as taking away your four year old's cell phone.

How are none of these bribery? ESPECIALLY positive reinforcement! You're not just extending curfew there, buster brown, you're currying favors. Buying a behavioral contract, if you will.

Since behavioral conditioning is necessary for discipline (which seems like common sense, but to judge from the kids in Lorain County, probably isn't), then bribery is necessary to keep the little sticky fingered snot nosed brats in place.

Therefore, why is NewsNet5 wringing their hands and crying "whatever will we do with these parents who bribe their children?"

We will give them applause. At least they know where their children are. They're sitting there with their hands out, waiting for $5, so they can buy their cigarettes with their fake IDs instead of going to the hassle to actually steal them. Duh!

Man, I really wish someone would bribe me to do something, too. I could really go for some free pie or $5 or something. Those darn kids get all the breaks.

I am laughing. I just looked at the keywords people search to find my blog, and someone went to ask.com and found my website by typing in "are knee high nylons for old women."

Well.

I'm going to answer that question for my curious visitor. The answer is yes, yes they are. I have acknowledged many a time that I am The Elderly.

Labels: elderly

As many of you know, I have been fighting with social security. I've been trying to get them to stop sending me money for months, or to at least put me on a program that gives me a definite cut-off date. There are a few reasons for this, namely a. I work 70 hours a week and earn far more than what their cut off requirement is b. I have to pay taxes on the benefits they send me because of how much I earn and c. I am not disabled, nor do I need their money. You know who needs their money? My friend Cat, who is the youngest recorded patient on the books with aplastic anemia. Her doctor won't allow her to work, they don't know what her treatments will be, and she's almost at the point where her parents can't cover her insurance anymore. Or what about the elderly who have used their savings to pay for their medical bills and are now being foreclosed on? Those people need this money. Or the family whose kids have been born with congenital dwarfism and aren't able to have health insurance, or the Amish family whose four year old son has leukemia and is getting chemotherapy every single day. Not ME, whose net household income is, let's face it, very middle class right now, at least for Cleveland.

GRRR!

I've filled out their fucking paperwork twice, the one that says I'm going back to work, etc., etc., how much I make and so on and so forth. Furthermore they know how much I make because I am paying social security taxes, and if they aren't keeping track of that, well, screw them.

Today I opened a letter I received in the mail:

Dear Stephanie,
We checked our records to see if any changes in your benefits are necessary.

(I squealed hopefully at this point, then continued reading.)

We are increasing your benefit amount to give you credit for your earnings in '006 which were not included when we figured your benefit before.

WHAT???????

Yes. On May 3rd, I'm going to get $800, and then I will receive $654 every month after that. Keep in mind this is mere weeks after an article that came out in the newspaper saying only "scofflaws" benefited from social security. Here I am, writing them letters, calling, trying to explain the situation, and those sons of bitches are sending me more money.

So I'm pissed. I picked up the phone to call their 1-800 number, since I can't technically sit on the phone with them for four hours while I'm at work, and of course their office was closed because it's Sunday. So tomorrow I will take a "break" and "help" an attorney in their closed-door office, while I will really be on the phone trying to explain that my working 70 hours a week can't possibly mean that I am not doing "significant work," which is how the letter put it.

Meanwhile, I will put their money in my savings account and earn interest on it. Or maybe I'll use it to buy a billboard and express my thoughts. Or maybe I'll use it for bail for when I go and spray paint "fraud" across the front of their office. What's bail for vandalism, like $500?? I could float that. I mean, not that I'd ever do anything like that because that would be wrong.

STOP GIVING ME MONEY.

Labels: idiocy, rage, social security

Recently the new head of Cleveland schools has decided to bring down the hammer and phase in uniforms. I know there are always raging debates over this policy, but I've always been pro-uniform for a few reasons:
1. Dressing "casually" is sort of a privilege, and the last thing those violent little bastards and junior crack dealers in Cleveland need are MORE privileges. They need more guidelines and discipline, not yet another reason to steal each others' stuff. You may think I'm making a generalization here but I'm not. Cleveland schools are absolutely HORRIBLE, and I know because my best friend is student teaching there right now. She says the kids spend more time preening than they do actually even bothering to pretend to pay attention. God only knows where they're getting the money for some of the stuff they wear.
2. In the long run it can be cheaper. I suppose it depends on what kind of family you come from, but I know that growing up most kids did new trendy school clothes thing every year, and they are freaking expensive. Buying four uniforms to last all year has GOT to be cheaper than buying several different pairs of Levis, trendy tops, etc. I suppose when you have Goodwill and hand me down families (as mine was) it would be more expensive initially, but you could hand the uniforms down for YEARS because the trends wouldn't change. It would make sense over time. Also, a uniform does not have to be a cataloged issued sweater and skirt set. A uniform can be black or tan slacks and a white button down shirt or sweater. You can find all those things at any store that sells clothing.
3. You know how hard it is to put on clothes that are comfortable, appropriate and even somewhat stylish now as an adult? Do you even remember how hard it was to get dressed when you were in high school and the kids actually noticed and cared? Forget that. I imagine it would cut bathroom hogging teenage dressing time down by at least fifteen minutes every morning.
4. No more of that thong hanging out of the pants look. That's like, so 2001.

Today, while trying to find a blazer at Target, I realized that the school uniform thing has another perk. It's actually good practice for being an adult! Yes! You can argue about how dressing how you'd like is an expression of creativity and blah blah blah all you want, but if you want to be really creative, try looking special in a black pantsuit. Let's see how you can do with THAT. Today I looked at three styles, all pretty much exactly alike, and ranging in price from $10 to $50. There were black blazers everywhere. I had black blazer trauma. And it's not like you can avoid it. At some point in their life, everyone dons a black jacket. Even HOBOS wear black jackets.

At work when we do well we get casual days as a reward, so what do we wear? Women wear heels, boot cut jeans, and a tight little sweater, and men wear collared short sleeved shirts and baggy jeans over sneakers. We're still in uniform---our Ohio "nice" casual uniform.

High schools are no different. You wear your goth/emo/preppy/stoner uniform every day, you shop where your friends shop, and you wear what you see on TV or in magazines. It's still a type of uniform, only you have five or six different types of uniform going around the school as opposed to just one.

That being said, I really don't see what the difference is when the schools impose actual prep-school style uniforms on the kids. It's not like they're dressing all that differently from each other to begin with.

I don't really think every school should use the uniform policy, but I think it's a good start in asserting dominance over a school that's pretty much gone to hell because there's no discipline in place. You have to start somewhere, and it's better than a fear tactic. Maybe after thirty days without a fight the kids can have a casual day or week or something.

I think one of the major reasons I am pro-uniform is also the cost of clothing. Clothing is a huge waste of money, even bigger than buying a car. Unfortunately, in our society you have to dress for success in many careers, and we might as well begin learning how do it in an affordable manner as soon as possible.

While we're on the topic, I also think non-ironed clothes should no longer taboo. Not for any political reason, but simply because I hate to iron. I would actually go out and buy one of those dryers that allows you to dry your clothes hanging on hangers if I had the disposable income. Ironing sucks, and there's always burn potential. I'm a walking disaster, and giving me an iron is just a bad idea.

In the year 2067 we'll all wear science fictioney jumpsuit style outfits, and no one will have to worry about matching their socks to their pants ever again. Hallelujah to that! I mean, I'm sure I'll be dead by then, but at least I'll be a styling corpse.

Last night I had the following sleep deprived conversation. No, not in my sleep, although it sounds like it might have been.

Him: (Holding up a box that says "1-800-CONTACTS" in giant colored letters.) This came for you today.
Me: Does that box say 1-800-CONTACTS?
Him: Yes, yes it does.
Me: Nice! Those must be the contacts I ordered from 1-800-CONTACTS!
Him: Really, lady?

Yes, apparently a box advertising contacts that comes in the mail is in fact carrying new contacts! I suppose this probably isn't funny to anyone who gets more than five hours of sleep a night.

I have a habit of vocalizing in my sleep.
Today I decided to diagnose myself, using my awesome medical skills and the power of google, and I discovered that sleep talking (also known as somnoliquy) is a common thing that happens to children, and they usually outgrow it by puberty.

To quote Adam from Mythbusters, "THERE'S your problem!"

I have not reached puberty yet, and so therefore it's no wonder I laugh and carry on conversations all while under the guise of sleeping. Perhaps this is why I always wake up feeling like the walking dead. Or no, maybe it's just that I'm not a morning person before approximately three cups of coffee.

But enough about me.

I want to post about Skipper. Skipper's doing some Ironman blogging thing and he has to post every single day. I've been trying to help by heckling him, but since I'm working seventy some hours a week right now I don't often have the time. Therefore, if you personally would like to go heckle him, you can go to http://www.irtvlive.com

Also, this quote reminded me of him:

Anonymous on Organ Donation--"Don't think of organ donation as giving up part of yourself to keep a complete stranger alive, think of it as a complete stranger giving up most of themselves to keep part of you alive."

Hells yeah.

And now to sleep, perchance to dream? Aye, there's the rub. For when we have shuffled off this mortal coil, what dreams may come? Must give us pause. Or pie.

You know what I just did? I just went sledding on the beach.
The lake is really swollen right now because although we have feet of snow, it's still kind of warm.

I realize that only in Cleveland will you hear someone say "it's kind of warm" when there are two feet of snow on the ground, but it's true. It's about 34 degrees, and it's all melty and stuff.

I love Ohio!

I imagine this is how the creation of Ohio went:

In the beginning, God created the heaven and the Earth. The Earth was without snowplowing and void, and darkness was upon the face of the day.

Then God said "Let there be Snow!" And there was snow. And God saw the snow, and it was Good. And God separated Ohio from the rest of the Earth. And the beautiful morning he called Easter. And the Darkness he called Ohio.

And the evening and the morning were the third day of the Easter Weekend Snowstorm.

I'm not a huge fan of Easter. For one, my mom works in a church and growing up there was always a lot of household stress surrounding the holiday. It didn't get any better years later when my kidneys failed and I had to spend Easter in a Catholic hospital, with nurses barging in and demanding to know why I (a Protestant) didn't want to go to mass. (Also with nurses barging in and wondering why a woman on dialysis who had to restrict her water intake didn't want to eat a lot of salty ham filled with phospherous. God, I love hospitals!)

There are a lot of reasons I don't like Easter very much. I mean, you know, aside from the spiritual resurrection aspect of it which of course is very fine indeed. I don't like the holiday part, where you're supposed to put on a lacey flowery dress and white shoes and prance around in the grass looking for crappily hidden eggs, hidden by Adults in the hopes that you kids will get the hell out of the house with your sugar highs for like, seven minutes or something. Here's a brilliant idea. Let's put a lot of pasty white people in spring pastels, even though in Ohio it's ALWAYS freezing on Easter morning! Yes! And then, when it thaws just enough to make mud, let's put the kids outside and tell them to play so we can yell at them later for getting their good Easter clothes muddy. Brilliant!

Also, WHY do we eat ham on Easter? WHY? Let's just order some pizza, OK? Pepperoni is sort of kind of in the same family as ham. Surely some part of it was at one point a type of pork. If we're lucky.

I woke up this morning and it was totally white outside. I had crazy bedhead since my hair is growing in curly, and I couldn't find my pants or my bra. I think I'm going to spend this Easter in my bathrobe drinking tea to stay warm. The rest of you can go hunt eggs or watch Ben Hur or do whatever the hell eyou people do on Easter. I'm going to silently thank The Lord for eternal salvation, turn off my phone, and watch about twelve straight hours of Invader Zim. I'll see y'all when my parking lots gets plowed in about four days.

 

I wore a pretty tacky green sequined dress to our Color Guard's annual fundraiser "A Nite at the Races." While I suck at gambling and lost at every single race, apparently I do rock at being pasty white and having a fabulous be-sequined booty. When I came home I wanted Bryan to take some pictures of the whole effect, but he wasn't feeling well so I had to take some whoreish ones myself using a mirror. Please don't judge me. I mean, look at me and say "Damn, Stepho, I didn't know you could actually wear eyeliner!" 'cause I'm kinda proud of that, but please don't judge, say, my hair, which is growing in curly. It kind of looks like the "before" part of one of those Garnier commercials, and I'm not really sure what I should do with it. Attempt a geri curl maybe? Now that would be class.

I tried to get some full body pictures but all the sequins made things turn out blurry and blob-like. I wish they'd turned out, because sneaking the camera around my shoulder and surprising the dress with stealth didn't work too well and it doesn't really portray the Vegas style lounge singer look I had going on. I swear it looked ten times worse under flourescent lights and with racing tickets and cash shoved into my bra. They're up on the photos page.

Also up are pictures of the Wii tournament, wherein people played VR sports, drank beer, made a mess of the apartment and generally kicked a lot of ass. Lovely homemade prizes were handed out, and a fun time was had by all. Check it out, especially for those of you who were medal winners, and some of you who were not!

(Alison--I had one picture of you from that night but I didn't post it because we caught you in the middle of talking and laughing, and, well...it's a rather awkward shot. It really doesn't do you any justice. Next time we'll make you take a few more so that you can be put on the fun page. I figured you'd understand!)