tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23211982984922662242024-03-05T23:45:13.133-08:00Spiel ItSpiel: (speel or shpeel)
chatter, empty talk, jabber, or jiveRenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04688475049660671720noreply@blogger.comBlogger38125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2321198298492266224.post-54884673554292673992012-01-14T20:43:00.000-08:002012-01-14T20:43:05.057-08:00It's Chili, Soup, & Stew Season!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I spent close to two hours shoveling my driveway with an actual shovel. We have no snowblower and apparently I'm the only one in the house that will get out there and do it. And since my roommate has zero motivation to do anything that pertains to the interior and exterior of this house and the fact that my roommate is gone all weekend, it's up to me. It snowed about 6 inches the night before and continued onto the next day with an additional 6-8 inches. So I basically shoveled an entire driveway with a foot of snow...alone. Thank goodness for my iPod; made it feel like it went a lot faster. So the upside is that I got a full body workout in, I have the house to myself, and I made myself a huge pot of chili to last me all weekend. A nice sized bowl of hot, spicy, chili to warm and cheer me right up!!</div>
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Pictured: my first bowl for the weekend.</div>
<br />Renhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04688475049660671720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2321198298492266224.post-39839412564669626542012-01-06T10:07:00.000-08:002012-01-06T10:07:22.094-08:00"I'd Like To Use My Lifeline"I meant to get an early start today but that was abruptly put on hold because I needed to charge my cell phone. So here I am, instead, talking about it, digesting breakfast, and waiting for my phone to get enough juice that will last me throughout the afternoon. (I normally carry my charger with me but today is an I'm-on-the-go kinda day. In most cases, I would have left it behind and ran my errands without it but, unfortunately, I need my cell phone because I'm on-call today. <br />
How did I get here? How do I put on-hold the things I need to get done all because I need to recharge my phone? I remember growing up without an answering machine. If someone called and there was no answer, they would have called back later. Simple. <br />
Now? We're much more accessible through cell phones, text msgs, email, etc. I hate to say it but my phone is my lifeline.....Ahhhh, here we go, 86%. That's good enough for now.<br />
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Enjoy the rest of the day, Happy Friday!!Renhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04688475049660671720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2321198298492266224.post-70232811784834655192012-01-04T08:12:00.000-08:002012-01-04T08:12:19.123-08:00Distraction Lost My AppetiteI love watching certain cooking shows and I, especially, love watching films that feature food. They always make me want to jump in the kitchen and cook up a storm. Yesterday, was one of those days that the TV was on on one of those channels. It had been awhile since I've seen a Paula Deen episode and it was a special episode where she co-hosted with her eldest son. On the menu for the day was a grilled ribeye steak with garlic mashed potatoes and deep fried oysters. And to finish it off with a cheesecake topped with fried apples drizzled with a caramel sauce. Sounds delicious, doesn't it? Fattening, but delicious.<br />
I couldn't help but notice how many times she said 'Ya'll' during that hour. It was pretty frequent that even her son would throw in his own 'Ya'll' into the mix and by halfway through the episode I was distracted. I even thought to myself, '<i>next time, I should keep a tally'</i>. <br />
I love Paula Deen and I've been watching her for years but please, please, please cut back on the 'Ya'll' like I would cut back on the butter.Renhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04688475049660671720noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2321198298492266224.post-57472385400313027752011-12-30T20:53:00.000-08:002011-12-30T20:53:11.849-08:00Fridge vs. Freezer<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj9JzBI_p3laofCrVscB-JVYzQfFMi0gKSJuwWCak8PxnYAbSV9rJ_d_7fRfb6rrfWFWVV_MfaB0sxVRnzJsfBUHgzZQnphAWNtaVJQQbGtavV3Zy4kRdFLBdZNeb5CfLq0x-m3BaiVw/s1600/DSC01434.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj9JzBI_p3laofCrVscB-JVYzQfFMi0gKSJuwWCak8PxnYAbSV9rJ_d_7fRfb6rrfWFWVV_MfaB0sxVRnzJsfBUHgzZQnphAWNtaVJQQbGtavV3Zy4kRdFLBdZNeb5CfLq0x-m3BaiVw/s400/DSC01434.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>I was going through some old pictures and I found this one that I had taken a long time ago. I just went shopping at Costco and spent nearly $200 worth of groceries, mostly meat. I tend to buy my fruits and veggies almost daily because I can't seem to keep things fresh for too long. I thought it was crazy to see my fridge so sparse and my freezer crammed with food, I could barely close the door. Why is there a pack of gum in the fridge? I have no clue. But I do see a bottle of vodka on the middle shelf and a bottle of wine and kahlua in the door. They're not priorities, they just happen to be in there.Renhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04688475049660671720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2321198298492266224.post-5807796475871979462011-03-29T12:02:00.000-07:002011-03-29T12:02:37.254-07:00The Media can be a Royal NuisanceIt's that time again for another British royal wedding and indications of it are plastered everywhere; the Internet, magazine covers, newspapers, TV, etc. The media stream is flooding the public with details of the dress, the ring, cake, guests, blah blah blah. And, of course, businesses are going to bank on mock-up versions of their wedding details. To be honest, I don't really care. I just don't think it comes as a big surprise to anyone that they are getting married. I think in most minds, we all thought, '<i>It's about time!</i>'. Don't get me wrong, I think they make a cute couple and I'm happy for them. But unfortunately it's bittersweet timing. More people are more concerned about economic hardships, the inflation of gas prices, the crisis in Libya, the aftermaths of Haiti and now Japan than they would about a wedding. But on the upside of it even in the wake of global disasters and wars, there is still love and hope for a future. There is something positive happening amidst all the negative that's saturating this world. Like I said, it's bittersweet. <br />
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I had my thoughts that I believed I was the only one who felt blasé about this whole wedding ordeal but then I came across this article today in the Associated Press regarding this very thing. I know it can't be easy being in the public eye especially for a milestone such as this. But I think the media is making too much of a big deal out of this than it really is. However, I give my congratulations to the young couple and I wish them all the best. But let's just talk about something else, shall we?<br />
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Here is the link to the article I referred earlier: <a href="http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/eu_britain_royal_wedding_fatigue">http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/eu_britain_royal_wedding_fatigue</a> Renhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04688475049660671720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2321198298492266224.post-33948460294690066202010-12-06T10:38:00.000-08:002010-12-06T10:38:32.257-08:00Excerpts of Christmas Music<div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font: normal normal normal 13px/19px Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0.6em; padding-left: 0.6em; padding-right: 0.6em; padding-top: 0.6em;">I love Christmas music for the most part. There are some songs I could definitely do without like anything Burl Ives and the Drummer Boy Song and its endless verses. But nothing is more irritating than listening and singing along to my favorite Christmas music while shopping or grocery shopping. I can't enjoy a song in its entirety.<br />
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"Just hear those sleigh bells jing-aling, ring ting ting-aling too. Come on it's lovely---<span class="Apple-style-span" mce_name="em" mce_style="font-style: italic;" style="font-style: italic;">Lisa, Customer Service. Lisa, Customer Service---</span>snow is falling and friends are calling yoohoo. Come on it's lovely weather for a---<span class="Apple-style-span" mce_name="em" mce_style="font-style: italic;" style="font-style: italic;">Lane 5 is open. Lane 5 is now open---</span>yap giddyap let's go...." (shaking head) <br />
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This has been a reenactment from last night's venture. Why is it always on my favorite songs and not the Drummer Boy Song??</div>Renhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04688475049660671720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2321198298492266224.post-69886366475325594962010-11-29T16:53:00.000-08:002010-11-29T16:53:13.669-08:00First Thanksgiving mini-dinnerI have to admit that I've never really made an entire Thanksgiving dinner. Ya know, the turkey and all the fixings. I'm usually invited to other people's homes and I bring a dish or two to contribute but I'm never the hostess. I remember one year in high school or junior high my mom decided on making each of us a cornish hen for the holiday with her zucchini stuffing. I wanted to recreate her dish knowing that I couldn't make it for any dinner this year due to my work schedule. Thankfully I wasn't needed and I was able to enjoy my favorite holiday with my sister and her family. However, I had already gone to the market and bought all the ingredients I needed to make my own mini-Thanksgiving dinner. Cornish hens, green beans, zucchini, a bag of potatoes and pumpkin pie. After two days of eating turkey and the weekend was approaching I had a desperate need to make the hens that had been thawing in my fridge for the last three days. <br />
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I got a recipe from a friend who had been using <a href="http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/ina-garten/perfect-roast-turkey-recipe4/index.html">Ina Garten's Perfect Roast Turkey</a> recipe for years and she had suggested using the chicken version. A simple recipe that sounded delicious with minimal prep time which was exactly what I needed for my first time. On a side note; she has a recipe for cornish hens but I didn't use it. The recipe calls to clean out the giblets and excess fat and rinse the inside thoroughly. <br />
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<i>Yeah, that was strange. I felt like I just </i><b><i>violated</i></b><i> a hen.</i> <br />
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Then I needed to stuff the inside with the remaining ingredients. <br />
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<i>Okay so not only did I just violate the poor thing, I tortured it by stuffing it with foreign objects.</i><br />
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">But in the end, it turned out...perfect.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><i> </i>The skin was so crispy and the meat was not dry at all. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">Sadly, I wasn't motivated enough to make my mom's zucchini stuffing that day but I'll make it for the other hen. </span></i><br />
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<i>Pictured: Cornish hen, green bean casserole and mashed potatoes.</i><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinWsJL-lRys83xVfMTr739mhy4AWfI9kJWaY6SljnD_E1i6RVuz0eliabOvMEFhyljWzJEYpMvK0Q4Gmagrgs7oxqqvFXFRacPQdP-8CPbRj0p4xuTN9M1WWqcUZpzcHSB2a2iUfbM-w/s1600/IMG_0822.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinWsJL-lRys83xVfMTr739mhy4AWfI9kJWaY6SljnD_E1i6RVuz0eliabOvMEFhyljWzJEYpMvK0Q4Gmagrgs7oxqqvFXFRacPQdP-8CPbRj0p4xuTN9M1WWqcUZpzcHSB2a2iUfbM-w/s320/IMG_0822.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Renhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04688475049660671720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2321198298492266224.post-19113803593092802232010-08-16T08:59:00.000-07:002010-08-16T08:59:08.813-07:00Stripes on Thatched Print<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> I had just returned from my vacation and I had dropped my weekend bag by the front door. Within an hour, this is what we found.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">This is Stripes, my niece's cat. </div><div style="text-align: center;">Yes, her name is Stripes; my niece was seven at the time when she got her. </div><div style="text-align: center;">Then later...</div><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">She managed to fit herself perfectly within the circumference of the bag's handle.</div><div style="text-align: center;">How cute is this??</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">From afar, these look like fire flames but a little closer they look like feather fringes or wisps.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;">June 9, 2010 </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><br />
</div>Renhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04688475049660671720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2321198298492266224.post-4526895232886546782010-06-07T15:43:00.000-07:002010-06-07T15:47:20.064-07:00There's Compromise and then there's Bad Combo<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My apologies for not posting the last month. Nothing exciting or worth spieling on happened and on top of which, thankfully, I have picked up a ton of extra hours at work and I've been too exhausted to log in. I did have one thing that I was working on and it took me a couple of days to upload all the pictures and once I posted it officially, it wasn't how I wanted it to look so I removed it. Note to self: when deleting a post, you delete even the saved draft. At that point, I was too frustrated to start over so when I get the energy, I'll make a second attempt. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A few months ago, I was driving to a Vietnamese restaurant with a friend of mine and I saw this sign. Of course, I was confused by it so I had to take a picture.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCzwCozZPD43chpoac9rOW6txXuACEy52FPVWwgSP9B36yq2_Yxno0Mj00yCRnrGaWcLQK90ye8Xx0dsGZHAhHypdwaq3qpFwmDqNnLU94WzbylEu3hWKrhxpzyZ1UcFDp9vZYk98X2A/s1600/DSC01827.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCzwCozZPD43chpoac9rOW6txXuACEy52FPVWwgSP9B36yq2_Yxno0Mj00yCRnrGaWcLQK90ye8Xx0dsGZHAhHypdwaq3qpFwmDqNnLU94WzbylEu3hWKrhxpzyZ1UcFDp9vZYk98X2A/s400/DSC01827.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now, if you read it the way I did, you'd question it too. Is it a fried chicken joint or is it a chinese place? I never made any attempts to walk in there to even look at their menu to confirm one way or another. From the outside looking into the windows, it seems clean enough but then again there wasn't exactly a line of people waiting to be served. In fact, there were no people inside. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Then at the end of April, I happen to be in L.A. with the same friend and I saw this:</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Yeah. Could someone explain this to me? And secondly, is this a chain establishment? And if you've dined here before; please let me know. I'm curious but I'm not <b>THAT</b> curious to find out for myself.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This reminds me of the restaurant in the movie Black Dynamite. Roscoe's Chili and Donuts. It's two very different combinations put together and makes neither one sound appealing. (<i>Chicken and Waffles</i>)</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Actually yesterday, I had another encounter with, coincidentally, the same gal pal. We headed to a co-worker's house to pick up some furniture that she was giving away. On the way there she says, "I'm in the mood for either sushi or tacos."</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm sitting in the back seat with my head cocked to one side letting that statement settle on my mind. My response was this, "What the hell kind of a combo is that?!"</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"I said one or the other, not together!"</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A couple of hours later we're sitting at Del Taco and lo and behold she, according to her, <b><i>unconsciously</i></b> ordered two fish tacos. Now that's a compromise. It's the best of both worlds. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Got any crazy combos you tried or heard of? Leave a comment, I'd love to read them. And knowing Herr Falco, I'm sure I'll get a few from him.</span><br />
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</span>Renhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04688475049660671720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2321198298492266224.post-36230635375653163822010-04-24T19:47:00.000-07:002010-04-24T19:47:44.625-07:00New AuthorI've added a guest author to Spiel-It. She's the co-founder of www.snarkward.com. Everyone once in awhile, she'll pop in and leave us a snarky post. She goes by the name of Tita Betchausen or Tita B for short.<br />
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Readers and bloggers, enjoy!!<br />
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Highbeam_Renhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04688475049660671720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2321198298492266224.post-30737315354834518882010-04-24T19:35:00.000-07:002010-04-24T19:49:35.803-07:00Old Dogs + No New Tricks = Hilarious<span style="font-family: arial;">I know that I’m not the most tech savvy person out there. But, I will try to get on board with the latest and greatest gadget. I am (reasonably) willing to learn how stuff works. Well, maybe not so much of HOW it works, but rather what I need to make it useful for me and my daily life. I think if you’re going to own a gadget, like a cell phone for example, you should really know how to use it. This does not make me in any way qualified to troubleshoot problems for other people. But somehow, this position has been bestowed upon me by some in the family. I’ve spent valuable moments of my life trying to explain how to mass-delete emails in the junk folder, how pushing the TV/Video button on a remote will not only take you to Video, but will also bring you back to TV, and this is my personal favorite, how to purchase airline tickets on-line. That last one was not as easy as you might think, or as it should have been, because I was on the phone with a relative, trying to walk her through it. I was on-line at the same time so I could see what she was seeing. I was directing her here and there, clicking and typing in her info, screen after screen. After several minutes, she informs me that she, in fact, was not sitting at a computer, but rather driving. And could I please email her the step-by-steps, so she can do it at home. No, I can’t do that. You can call me back when you get there. Ridiculous, yet true. So, here’s yet another case study for family dynamics and interpersonal communications. Enjoy! </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">The Players: Me, Auntie Betchausen, Brother Betchausen</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">The Problem: Ringtones and how to spot them </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">AB: Can you fix my phone?</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Me: I’ll try. What’s wrong with it?</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">AB: I need to change ringtones.</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Me: Ok, what’s wrong with the one you have already?</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">AB: It makes me miss a lot of calls.</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Me: Huh? How does it do that?</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">AB: Well, it plays Fur Elise and I get distracted and just start dancing to it, so I miss the calls.</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Me: Uh-huh. <pause> Ok, let’s pick out one that you won’t dance to then.</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">AB: How do you find them?</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Me: <showing> You just click this, then scroll down to here, select that, and see? There’s a whole list of them for you to choose from. Here. <handing></span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">AB: No, you do it for me. </span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Me: Well, I don’t know which one you want.</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">AB: Can you just scroll through each one? I’ll tell you if I like it or not.</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Me: <sigh> Fine. <scrolling></span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">AB: No, I don’t like that. No, not that one either. Mmm, try another one.</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> (This went on for several, long, agonizing minutes)</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Me: Ok, that’s all of them.</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">AB: Go back to that last one. No, back one more. No, one more. Yes, I like that!</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Me: Alright, it’s selected.</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">AB: Thank you. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Folks, if you think that’s the end of the story, you’re sadly mistaken. A week later, we were having lunch together with my bro. I was running late, but called to let them know I was on my way. Of course, no answer and it went to voicemail. Here’s the exchange that occurred in my absence. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">AB: I think your sister just called, but my phone died. Can you look at this?</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">BB: Sure. <examining> Auntie, you turned off your phone.</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">AB: Oh, I did? There’s an Off button?</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">BB: Yes, right here. Ok, there. It’s on now. Looks like you have a message.</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">AB: Oh, I have a lot of them.</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">BB: How do you know that?</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">AB: I don’t know how to check them or delete them.</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">BB: You don’t check your voicemail?</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">AB: No.</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">BB: Uh-huh.</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> (I arrive)</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Me: Sorry I’m late. I called to let you know I was on my way, but I just got your voicemail.</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">AB: I know. I didn’t realize my phone was ringing and then when I did, I missed your call. </span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">BB: She thought her phone died, but she accidentally hit the off button.</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">AB: <laughing> I didn’t even know there was one!</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Me: <laughs> Did you not hear your phone? Was your phone buried in your purse or something?</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">AB: No, I just didn’t recognize that it was MY phone ringing, because I don’t like the ringtone.</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Me: But, you picked out the ringtone.</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">AB: Yes, but I don’t recognize it when it rings. I was going to ask you to change it again.</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Me: What do you want to change it to?</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">AB: I don’t know. Could you scroll through them again?</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Me: Right now? Can we do this later?</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">BB: Oh, and she doesn’t know how to access voicemail either.</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Me: Is that why you won’t return my messages?</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">AB: I don’t know how to do that. </span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Me: <sighing> Ok. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">I’m going to spare you the rest of this conversation, as it was so painful that my blood pressure is starting to rise just reliving it. It took another 40 minutes to select the proper ringtone, proper volume, and give a tutorial on message retrieval. I know what you’re thinking. Boundaries. Don’t get all Dr. Phil on me, ok? I endure it for the stories. For you, gentle readers. Because I just can’t make this stuff up.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Word up, Betches!</span>Tita Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00996947289975624507noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2321198298492266224.post-77188166841015305692010-04-01T05:07:00.001-07:002010-04-01T05:07:31.305-07:00I think that was a---compliment???So....I'm at work the other day and one of the ladies was walking past me. She and I have worked together for the last several months. As I'm walking towards her, she complimented me on how nice I looked with makeup on.
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<br>Of course, I was pleasantly surprised by this compliment and I thanked her for it. By this point, we had passed each other and over my shoulder I hear, "You're like me, we only wear makeup when we feel like it."
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<br>I started laughing and then I stopped dead in my tracks. I thought to myself, "Hey wait a minute, I'm always wearing makeup."
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<br>Delayed response, not cool.
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<br>Sent from my BlackBerry® on the MetroPCS NetworkRenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04688475049660671720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2321198298492266224.post-19815740653556753792010-03-30T10:06:00.000-07:002010-03-30T10:07:01.565-07:00Chain Mail Folly<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj054RYa692nanjTCRyZQInKzKWDJ0oqDsIVhMaw6pqskYlgNjcp2uTtlootttF4SXITK1ZqIT5LWg2Rw-6UQdq3q_mjNhkx08ztHprI1gLWeBYy0qNCClX5dadl9CVrWMkZXtM39XAlQ/s1600/=%3Futf-8%3FB%3FVW5uYW1lZC5qcGc=%3F=-721566"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj054RYa692nanjTCRyZQInKzKWDJ0oqDsIVhMaw6pqskYlgNjcp2uTtlootttF4SXITK1ZqIT5LWg2Rw-6UQdq3q_mjNhkx08ztHprI1gLWeBYy0qNCClX5dadl9CVrWMkZXtM39XAlQ/s320/=%3Futf-8%3FB%3FVW5uYW1lZC5qcGc=%3F=-721566" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454474553796956562" /></a></p>This morning I received yet another piece of chain mail in my inbox. You know the kind that says you'll be rewarded if you send it to so many friends? This time it was Lakshimi, the Money Goddess. If I send it to six friends or family members, I'll get money in four days.
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<br>How convenient. Friday is pay day.
<br>Sent from my BlackBerry® on the MetroPCS NetworkRenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04688475049660671720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2321198298492266224.post-4233480408396351592010-03-17T09:37:00.001-07:002010-03-17T09:37:39.503-07:00It's Spring!!<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWXxyY2P10cP7rzZHD1sQkx-Yp6PJ_k8zIf8BGlrmTgaAG0xDFElNb2Xdazo1Dd826JWXyigYp-oFPqgVS4rD4Nmkdlc9qF-kuIB6qNcj0GONuAvtX-23woBYR7jxLj4OD89A8iTDAOw/s1600-h/=%3Futf-8%3FB%3FY290dG9uYmFsbCB0cmVlIDIuanBn%3F=-759504"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWXxyY2P10cP7rzZHD1sQkx-Yp6PJ_k8zIf8BGlrmTgaAG0xDFElNb2Xdazo1Dd826JWXyigYp-oFPqgVS4rD4Nmkdlc9qF-kuIB6qNcj0GONuAvtX-23woBYR7jxLj4OD89A8iTDAOw/s320/=%3Futf-8%3FB%3FY290dG9uYmFsbCB0cmVlIDIuanBn%3F=-759504" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5449642881259692066" /></a></p>I love the sound of Spring. I have had the windows open for several weeks now and this morning I'm listening to the cheerful song of the Red-Breasted Robin. A juxtaposition to the somber notes of the Morning Dove's cry. A beautiful contrast of melodies between a flute and a piccolo.
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<br>Spring is the season of new life. Young birds crying out from the safety of their nest; flowers and trees showing off their new blossoms. It's not hard to miss the vibrant colors that begin to peak after a long period of gray and brown winter tones.
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<br>This is the season I like best to take some photos. Just me, my camera, and nature. Nothing is more serene and awe-inspiring. So go out there and enjoy the sunrise and listen to the world waking up. Or sit by a stream and listen to its babble against the rocks or watch a flock of ducklings follow the leader. Catch the sun set over the ocean and see orange sparkles glitter across the water. Whatever you do or wherever you go, enjoy the world around you.
<br>Happy Spring 2010!!!
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<br>Sent from my BlackBerry® on the MetroPCS NetworkRenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04688475049660671720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2321198298492266224.post-25843643489159249382010-03-16T11:37:00.001-07:002010-03-16T11:37:52.703-07:00Hello, Operator?I have decided that I really hate automated customer services. They are not convenient. They are not personal. And they do not benefit mankind's ongoing health problems with high blood pressure and stress.<p>The computerized, female voice's main purpose is to sound pleasant and kind so no matter how frustrated or angry I am to begin with, the gentleness in the voice should calm me. It should be able to decrease any anxiety levels and heart rates for all annoyed customers. And it should give me a sense of 'good customer service is happy customer service' but that's just never the case. In order to direct me to any resolution, she puts me through a series of menus to narrow down the possibilities. And if she fails, then I'm put on hold for a half an hour for the next LIVE representative to assist me. But I'm getting ahead of myself. <p>I'm immediately taken to a main menu where she begins to break down general categories to correspond appropriately with my issues. But, herein, lies my problem. The menus are too long for me to follow because every time I start the process, I get distracted by something or someone; or worse, my mind starts wandering off. For example, I suddenly think of something else that I need to add to the grocery list or remind myself of some appointment or phone call I need to return. Before I know it, the voice says, "If you missed any part of this menu, press * to repeat or say 'go back'". <p>Okay. "Go Back."<p>The menu begins...again and I force myself to concentrate this time to really focus on which number I need to press. Well, guess what, I got further than '2' and managed to get to '8' but now she gave me options and I'm not sure which one to go with. <p>At this point, I'm thinking to myself, 'If this were a real person, this would go a lot faster. He or she can just answer my simple question and then I can go on about my life.' <p>So I press '0' to direct me straight to the operator. Right? Unfortunately, no. Companies have become more and more impersonal and lazy that they added an even more upsetting feature in this agonizing process just to avoid anymore human contact. I press '0' and she responds back, "I understand you wish to speak with a representative but before you do, I may be of assistance. Now, how can I help? You can say things like..."<p>I find myself pressing '0' again but the message continues to repeat. Without thinking, I blurt out, "If I didn't wanna speak to a representative, I wouldn't have pressed '0'." Okay, now I'm talking to a computer as if it would understand. My patience has now reached its pinnacle. This is not a convenience to me as the computer earlier explained. <p>At times, I do get to speak to a LIVE person but then I run into this: 'Well, ma'am, I do apologize for this inconvenience but I'm going to transfer you to our specialist who can better assist you." Translation: "Well, ma'am, I have no idea how to fix your problem because I know very little about my job nor my company and its services and products but I'm going to pass the buck over to our specialist who SHOULD have an answer for you." So after being transferred to a rep and the rep's supervisor and the specialist, I'm now explaining my issue for the third or fourth time. Would you believe that the "specialist" didn't have a definitive answer for me? His answer was, "You should try this and then it should be able to work."<p>Me: "And if it doesn't work, then what?"<p>Specialist: "I'd log onto our website periodically and check for any upgrades."<p>What I wanted to say was, "Are you kidding me, right now?! That's your specialist's answer?! This doesn't help my issue NOW. If it doesn't work with what I have then don't advertise it like it does! We expect your products to work not glitch out on us."<p>Me: (sigh) "Okay." <p>Irritated and annoyed, one word came out and not in a very pleasant tone.<p>Specialist: "I do apologize for this. Is there anything else I can assist you with?"<p>Me: "Apparently, no."<p>Specialist: "Then, we thank you for calling...feel free to call us again if you have anymore problems...or you may go online at yada yada yada..."<p>Me: Click.<p>So, here's the end result. I'm annoyed because this one phone call that could have taken all but 5 minutes, had I've spoken to real person in the first place, took 30+ minutes of my life and in the end never fixed my one problem.<br>Hello, Operator? Hello?? <p><br>Side note: The conversation between the specialist and myself was much longer. I actually drilled him with questions of possible scenarios, in hopes, he could give me a different answer. Which, of course, resulted in his 'upgrade' suggestion. <p>
<br>Sent from my BlackBerry® on the MetroPCS NetworkRenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04688475049660671720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2321198298492266224.post-88902247884151260432010-03-03T02:33:00.000-08:002010-03-03T02:34:28.793-08:00New Fashion Statement Part 2<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8VxIV2YnQ1lYttv_U5nhfl59Ofk4fXM6SYkIKni9GkacHVlcym0o99EOva3B0xRh4xO-5Ybv8A2IXlS4e4U2hsWHLSDh4g9NsJyaGQjqI4JmahvR3YOzzMBLJkLEATdttkKZFBHV8dQ/s1600-h/=%3Futf-8%3FB%3FSU1HMDA1NDUuanBn%3F=-768794"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8VxIV2YnQ1lYttv_U5nhfl59Ofk4fXM6SYkIKni9GkacHVlcym0o99EOva3B0xRh4xO-5Ybv8A2IXlS4e4U2hsWHLSDh4g9NsJyaGQjqI4JmahvR3YOzzMBLJkLEATdttkKZFBHV8dQ/s320/=%3Futf-8%3FB%3FSU1HMDA1NDUuanBn%3F=-768794" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444354097872959826" /></a></p>What is going on? It's like the manufacturer or designer could not make up their minds. Displayed in the back is a sneaker. The middle is a sandal but the shoe in the foreground is a...Sneakdal?
<br>I don't care, these hybrids are getting out of hand. Veto, veto, veto.
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<br>Sent from my BlackBerry® on the MetroPCS NetworkRenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04688475049660671720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2321198298492266224.post-71595003528909912232010-03-03T01:54:00.001-08:002010-03-03T01:54:55.130-08:00New Fashion Statement??<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5xwWJnDmkrmX2bt3LnpUEI3QFbBF5TERjA2qz4XRRUy47wJWKS4cF2FeaHNApfccJHGsDhoz-wZwiOVKGb5sZAfeCSV6IXNn2j9b40elb0-yGA9o1iyQzuH68IYMmuOMBEvV7bIC4mQ/s1600-h/=%3Futf-8%3FB%3FSU1HMDA1NDQuanBn%3F=-795130"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5xwWJnDmkrmX2bt3LnpUEI3QFbBF5TERjA2qz4XRRUy47wJWKS4cF2FeaHNApfccJHGsDhoz-wZwiOVKGb5sZAfeCSV6IXNn2j9b40elb0-yGA9o1iyQzuH68IYMmuOMBEvV7bIC4mQ/s320/=%3Futf-8%3FB%3FSU1HMDA1NDQuanBn%3F=-795130" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444343906336810514" /></a></p>Are you kidding me right now??!! It's a boot; it's a sandal. Do we call it a Boondal? It's ugly either way.
<br>Sent from my BlackBerry® on the MetroPCS NetworkRenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04688475049660671720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2321198298492266224.post-43955855615273561242010-02-21T10:45:00.001-08:002010-02-21T10:45:10.181-08:00Paperbacks and HardcoversBooks. Books. Books. <br />
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I was never much of a reader while growing up, especially when it was required for school. I always hated book reports! But somewhere in the last decade, I developed a love for this calming pasttime. <br />
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I like going to Barnes & Noble or Borders browsing through the shelves with a coffee in hand. Or finding a used or bargain bookstore; I seem to get lost in these places. <br />
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Yesterday, I was online pre-ordering a book and browsing through its massive selection and came across an advertisement for Kindle for Blackberries. Seeing that I own a Blackberry, it piqued my interest, so I researched deeper. As far as I could tell, it's not designed for my model. I wasn't too disappointed, however, I researched further on digital readers. It's absolutely cool! For an avid reader like my mom, who can go through a 700+ page novel in a day, a digital reader can be a good thing for her, especially when she travels. Then I thought about getting one myself but after some thought, I dismissed it. <br />
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Earlier in the day, my sister and I were discussing the Twilight Saga (I did finish it, by the way). The same conversation picked up again hours later in her kitchen and somehow segued into my shopping online for books. We were discussing this issue about digital readers and we both felt the same way. It's a cool gadget but there's just something about reading a REAL book with REAL paper pages to turn. It's not that I'm apprehensive about everything going digital but a real book feels authentic, nostalgic. <br />
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Considering that both our jobs require total computer time, the last thing we want is to look at another screen at the end of our day. So, my apologies to digital books, I can't conform. Unless, I am a speed reader and a frequent traveler, old school reading has got you beat.Renhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04688475049660671720noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2321198298492266224.post-70484689115910585262010-02-16T04:10:00.001-08:002010-02-16T04:10:45.831-08:00Rude AwakeningNothing is more confusing in life than being abruptly woken from a sound slumber. <br />
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I have mastered the art of not picking up the phone when I'm asleep, especially when work's number shows up on the caller ID. The last thing I need is to agree to something I may regret later or have no recollection of making such an agreement; which, in the long run, could get me into bigger trouble. Thank goodness for voicemail. My motto: if it's THAT important, they'll leave a message. And when I'm oriented enough to have a decent, coherent conversation, I'll return the call, even if it takes me a half hour or more to reach that conscious point. <br />
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As for waking me, don't touch any part of me. I prefer you continuously call my name until I answer. And, please, for the love of my own beating heart, don't stand there watching me sleep because nothing makes me feel more vunerable and more paranoid than that. <br />
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Several years ago, I was hanging out at a friends' house. It was too late to be driving home and we were too tired to drive the distance back. So the hosting couple insisted that another friend and I could crash on their couches. I had mentioned earlier on that I needed to be somewhere in the morning and the husband said he'd wake me up since he had to get up for work. My friend took the long couch and I fell asleep on the oversized recliner. It didn't take long for me to close my eyes and enter my lovely REM. But it only seemed like several minutes had passed. I heard my name being repeatedly called in a whisper. My consciousness was being tugged back into reality. I barely opened my eyes and the room was faintly lit from some distant, outdoor lamppost. I thought to myself of what time it could be if it's still this dark outside and then I heard my name whispered again. My eyes opened wider adjusting and focusing for the lack of light. The first thing I saw was a dark figure standing at my feet looking right at me. He tugged my big toe and whispered my name. My eyes shot open, I gasped for air, and when my whole body jolted, the recliner was suddenly in a sitting position. Charlie raised his hands, open palms, in defense and whispered, "It's 5:45." <br />
I exhaled and calmly replied, "Ok, thanks, Charlie." He must have chuckled to himself as he walked back to his room and there I sat in the dark trying to slow down my heart rate. I think it was the combination of it all that scared me more. A dark figure tugging on my bare, big toe, whispering MY name, in a dark living room that's not my own. What could be more confusing? Only my next story. <br />
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My middle sister shares my same traits. Except, upon her waking, her sudden awareness is much more violent. I never liked waking her up even when she asked me to. Touching her to wake?...Big NO-NO. I'd lose an eye or have broken fingers from thrashing appendages. Calling her from the door is the safety zone. At least from there, I'd only suffer from my heart skipping a beat but I'd walk away in one piece. <br />
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One Spring, we decided to take a weekend road trip to Chicago to meet up with some cousins from Florida for his weight lifting competition. We arrived the day before them and decided to check into a hotel nearby the venue. Seven flights up and a room at the end of the hall, we found our room. To keep us from being bored and feeling stuck we decided to go out. We wandered around Chicago's art district. I think we took in a comedy show at a small theatre. The evening passed quickly so we decided to find our way back to the hotel. We deliberated for a few minutes on what time we should set the alarm. 8:00. Even though our body clocks were set an hour ahead, it didn't feel like we were getting up too early.<br />
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Lights out.<br />
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I don't remember what I was dreaming but I'm sure it was me running through a field of wild flowers in my bare feet. The sun generously cascading warmth on my skin. <br />
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Wah! Wah! Wah! Wah!<br />
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The cloudless, blue sky started screaming in rhythmic blares. Where the hell was that coming from?! My eyes shot open and I turned to see my sister on the other double bed flailing from under her covers. The room was bright and I couldn't believe that it was 8 AM already. <br />
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"Turn it off!" I screamed, louder than was normally necessary. She was closest to the clock and hit the snooze button. But it just kept blaring. She hit it again, harder this time but it wouldn't stop. Fingertips at first and then a fist to shut it up. Curse words escaped both our lips.<br />
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Panicked, she screamed back, "It's not working!!" She picked up the clock and pounded it on the top of the side table. <br />
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"Is it broken? Pull it out from the wall!", I suggested. <br />
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She pulled the bed away from the wall and yanked it out. Wah! Wah! Wah!<br />
This was unbelievable! Was I still dreaming? I jumped out of bed with my hands over my ears, squinting in the morning light. My sister yells out, "What the hell is going on?!"<br />
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I turned to her, seeing she was mimicking my moves as well. Then, what felt like slow motion, the truth broke through the confusion like a missile going through a brick wall. "It's the fire alarm!!", I screamed. <br />
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We both scrambled around the room, throwing on the same jeans and sweaters from the day before. We slid into our shoes without tying them. We grabbed our coats and headed for the door. She suddenly stopped and shouted, "Our purses!" In case, the building was burning down, we'd still have money and an ID. We turned around each grabbed our own and headed for the door again. I turned the handle and another revelation hit me, "The hotel key!" Just in case everything was fine and we needed to get back in. She bolted out the door; we headed back to the elevators. Simultaneously, we realized we had to take the stairs. Everything we learned from school fire alarm drills were finally being put into action. I pushed the metal door open with the big red letters painted on it. We ran down the metal staircase...7th...6th...5th floor. I could hear the stomping of our feet reverberate off the walls. My sister was yelling behind me, "Go, go, go!" I could hear the alarm sounding like a warning counting down the last few seconds before something of disasterous proportions occurred. Skipping steps now...4th...3rd..."We're almost there!", I yelled back. I was running out of breath but the adrenaline, my internal reserve tank, kicked in. 2nd floor...last set of stairs...the EXIT DOOR. Like the ribbon at the end of the relay, I broke through the door. The cold, morning air hit my face at once, I was now fully awake. In one split second, panting with our hands on our knees, we were relieved we made it. And in the next moment, I realized we were standing among other hotel guests, cold and annoyed, they appeared to have been outside for more than a few minutes. Seconds after our epic evacuation, the alarm shut off. "Dohhhh!" False alarm. We just ran down seven flights in Olympian fashion, a real Guiness record breaker, for a false alarm. And to put more salt in an open wound, the elevators wouldn't be up and running for 20 minutes. Only one option left, climb those wretched stairs. <br />
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Minutes later, we opened our hotel room door and shuffled inside. We each fell on our beds completely drained from any energy we had. Since this was the age before cell phones and the one working clock was now unplugged and out of order, we turned the tv on to find the time. To our dismay, it was before 8:00. My sister looks at me and asks, "Well, I'm up. Wanna get breakfast?"<br />
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Why I told this story, I do not know. I guess it's because lately, I've been waking up in a panic not knowing what time it was, afraid I overslept for work. I had to change my cell phone clock to military time so I wouldn't get confused. I haven't quite ingrained it into second nature, yet. But, then again, who the hell can do math in their head when their mind is still dreaming of flying through the forest with fairies and floating goddesses? It doesn't help working overnight and sleeping during the day. But now that Spring is quickly approaching and the daylight is longer, I can begin to distinguish 5AM and 5PM. <br />
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Highbeam's note: I must dedicate this to my sister for all the crazy road trips we've taken. This one always stands out for me. Thanks big sis!Renhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04688475049660671720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2321198298492266224.post-5460451731843419482010-02-10T13:24:00.000-08:002010-08-16T09:13:04.127-07:00Hand-me-down GenesI'm sure some of us have said, at one point or another, "I'm never gonna do that." (in reference to parents) Oops! Wrong! The older I'm getting, the more I become my parents. A healthy mixture of both, mind you. My dad is a lot more laid back and reserved and my mother is very open and entertaining. She always was a great hostess while my dad was much more comfortable upstairs in his room away from all the noise. <br />
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Family dinners were a big thing in the house. It was the one thing my mother demanded to have without any excuse. I don't blame her for that because it was difficult to wrangle six different schedules under one roof. In fact, I think we all enjoyed it. We'd have a huge dinner and afterward, we wouldn't disappear or run off to avoid clean-up or rejoining friends. We sat around the table for over an hour talking about anything and everything. <br />
Or play our favorite game of "Who can gross out mom the most?" This scenario was usually the norm. It always started with one of us kids and the rest of us trying to one-up the last. Usually my brother would pioneer this venture because his mission in life is to annoy you. (I think they made that into a T-shirt) <br />
I'll spare you the details but, of course, each attempt was getting more and more graphic. Cries of "Oh, c'mon!" and "Agh, you guys!" and "Ew, gross!" would bellow from my mom. My reserved and observing father sat at the head of the table laughing uncontrollably, possibly wondering where his kids got their humor. All the while, mom hitting dad in the arm, "Hoy! Don' encourage dem!" Unbeknownst to us, dad was scheming himself, letting the game play out as long as my mom could handle it. And after red faces, frozen smiles, and tear-filled eyes dad would lay down the biggest trump of all. The biggest shouts and laughter filled the kitchen instantaneously; I'm sure our neighbors could hear the raucous. <br />
"Okay, dat's it, I'm going upstairs!!" Mom would be up and out of her chair in a nanosecond and that was the cue that dinner was officially over. Dad wins! <br />
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I digressed. <br />
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During one of our many family dinners, we were discussing....something. In any case, it prolonged the evening and none of us felt compelled to up and leave. Not a serious conversation but we were definitely involved. What I do remember is realizing that my siblings and I were sitting in our chairs exactly like dad. The left elbow was bent and hanging off the back of the seat, our bodies twisted to shift our weight onto our left side while the right leg was extended and the right arm laying on the tabletop. It took me a moment to notice the similarities between the five of us. I scanned each individual and ended up toward dad's position who always sat to my right. Trying not to move, I began laughing but couldn't get the words out to explain this sudden fit of hysterics. Once revealed, this began a whole other topic of discussion of "Things I find myself doing just like mom and dad". To this day, it's still a topic that surfaces now and again. <br />
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Once, not too long ago, my older brother-in-law had pointed out that my sister had a way of saying one particular word. I repeated it and found myself saying it just as comfortably as she. Now in our defense, this actually comes from our parents whose foreign accents influence certain pronunciations. Even phrases are included in this category. Although, it was fun listening to our foreign-born relatives put the wrong 'emPAHsis' on the wrong 'syLAHble'. Like laBORatory and cirCUMstances and ACcesSORies.<br />
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But, it's not just the way I pronounce words or physical gestures that surprise me, it's much more than that.<br />
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A couple of years ago, I was cooking dinner and like most Filipinos, I had to have rice with the meal. Normally, I eat in ratio; rice, meat and veggies in one spoon. The very first bite I took was a spoonful of white rice, large and heaping. This is something that my dad did at every meal. He always claimed, "I could lib on rrrice alone." This gesture took me by the biggest surprise. Actually, I was stunned, so stunned that I immediately got on the phone to text this shocking discovery to my family members. <br />
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So to make a long story longer, we are who we are with a little bit of influence from those that raise us. The tiny nuances and idiosyncrasies graciously get passed down from generation to unsuspecting generation. We can deny it all we want but sooner or later our hand-me-down genes will find their way into our everyday lives. <br />
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Highbeam's note: I dedicate this blogpost to my wonderful parents for giving us a loving home, the gift of laughter, and the family time that I now miss. We miss you; see you next year! <br />
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Sent from my BlackBerry® on the MetroPCS NetworkRenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04688475049660671720noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2321198298492266224.post-44932125732324096222010-02-07T12:34:00.000-08:002010-02-07T12:38:51.634-08:00Reading "New Moon" Part 3I cannot believe I read 75% of this book in one day. I think the last time I did that, before this series, was when I was reading Harry Potter several years ago. Depending on the book, it could take me days or weeks to finish one. I'll admit that our rainfall yesterday was a contributing factor to my staying indoors. I went out for a couple of hours to do some shopping but gave up because A.) It was a downpour, B.) There were too many people out driving which made me nervous, and C.) I was tired of being cold and wet from running to and from the car. Suffice it to say, I enjoyed staying in; put on a pair of lounge pants and a T-shirt, ate a bowl of chili, turned the TV off and just read while listening to the rain. It was the curl-up-on-the-couch kinda weather. <p> So the story is getting better and more adventurous but I couldn't stop myself from slamming the book closed a few times in annoyance and frustration over the writing style. Why can't I get past this?? It makes me cringe in the same way when I hear people sing off-key. It's like watching a B-rated movie and wondering how on Earth they got the budget for that crap. <p> Page after page, chapter after chapter, I was drowning in sappy dialogue, useless metaphors, and adjective overkill. She doesn't quite know how to paint the picture well enough to be mysterious and suspenseful. If the book is written in first person then I, myself, as a reader, shouldn't really know things before he or she does, right? Some things were just too obvious, too blatant that I kept wondering how our bookworm heroine couldn't put two and two together. <p> I hate to say it but there were a couple of times I read through a passage and didn't comprehend it at all. It just seemed like there wasn't any flow to her run-ons or even a single, coherent thought. I know the brain can have a multitude of thoughts shooting almost simultaneously across the synapses but it doesn't mean you have it to write it all down. And on top of my irritation, I was too lazy to go back and read it over. So herein lies the question, why am I still going through this? If I'm that irritated, then why can't I just simply put the book down? Curiosity, I suppose. I think I want to know how it all ends. <p>Well, with that being said, on to book three. <br>
<br>Sent from my BlackBerry® on the MetroPCS NetworkRenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04688475049660671720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2321198298492266224.post-24464613039266008002010-02-07T01:23:00.001-08:002010-02-07T01:23:29.329-08:00Reading "New Moon" Part 2So far so blah. It's slightly better than the first book. Slightly.
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<br> I think I read the same description 4 times in the first few chapters. Allow me to recap: "...like a marble tribute...", "...into his marble forehead.", "...his face was more like a sculpture...cold and statue-like..." Repetitive!! How many times can she describe him as a marble stone? Or his 'velvet voice'? When I had to write English papers, essays and such, they'd not only lose their spark but I'd lose points off the grade for being incapable of variety. Thesaurus, thesaurus, dictionary.
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<br> And another thing, doesn't Ms. Meyer have an editor?? If she can get away with a bestselling series with this kind of writing, then I'm gonna hunt down this editor and submit my own works of literary genius. Forgive me but Dr. Seuss is the only one that should be allowed to One Fish Two Fish his way onto bookstands.
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<br>Sent from my BlackBerry® on the MetroPCS NetworkRenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04688475049660671720noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2321198298492266224.post-36848621101480471792010-02-02T21:26:00.000-08:002010-02-02T21:31:15.390-08:00Reading New Moon Part 1<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmUkn7hikO_FcWmlQwmjXHwzj9sNtFSerpi76sYMBlGdNtl-6Dk_Zq6xk9qf2Kj6xl-myx63muRvGi1GqkKcKgzXNi8XM8BecSUpKZ4A2pj3-o0trTsTu28OJpIPqbkcOpN5nb0353CA/s1600-h/=%3Futf-8%3FB%3FSU1HMDA0ODQuanBn%3F=-775391"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmUkn7hikO_FcWmlQwmjXHwzj9sNtFSerpi76sYMBlGdNtl-6Dk_Zq6xk9qf2Kj6xl-myx63muRvGi1GqkKcKgzXNi8XM8BecSUpKZ4A2pj3-o0trTsTu28OJpIPqbkcOpN5nb0353CA/s320/=%3Futf-8%3FB%3FSU1HMDA0ODQuanBn%3F=-775391" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433885571044293202" /></a></p>Sooooo, I ordered the remaining books online...a lot cheaper too, by the way. They landed on my doorstep yesterday evening. Reluctantly as I care to admit, I was rather excited when UPS knocked on my door. Not so much that it was THESE particular books but just the fact that I ordered something online and I received it within a week's time. It was kinda like Christmas all over again....but for myself.
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<br>So I don't know what to expect from this but I've been told of a couple things that do happen which, of course, piqued my interest enough for me to continue on this saga. None of which ruined the story for me in its entirety but enough for me to feel slight disappointment for not finding out on my own. It's the same way when someone reveals to you a major character's death or some life changing event.
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<br>Anyway, enough blogging for now....posts of obscure outbursts will soon follow. Stay tuned.
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<br>Sent from my BlackBerry® on the MetroPCS NetworkRenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04688475049660671720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2321198298492266224.post-2155942466643241262010-02-01T06:03:00.001-08:002010-02-01T06:03:30.973-08:00Who are the People in your Neighborhood?Did you start singing the song when you read the title?? I know I did. <br />
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I have mentioned before that I do live in an apartment. Now there are pros and cons to everything especially this. I live on the ground floor for one main reason; it's easy to move furniture in and out without stairs to climb. As much as I've changed addresses, I know what's convenient and what isn't. I've been here for almost two years and I've gotten to know the property staff pretty good, therefore, I got dirt on some surrounding neighbors. And only to identify each, I tend to give them nicknames, which now the staff has quickly adapted. <br />
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For example, there was "the screaming couple" for obvious reasons. These two would get into verbal fights and slamming doors at any time of the day and night. I could hear her cry in her bathroom which just so happens to share my bathroom wall. (sarcastically) I find it so soothing at 4 AM to hear her say, 'F--- you, get out of my house!'. Oh yeah, those are definitely the sounds that just lull one to sleep. Eventually, they broke up and later she moved out.<br />
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Then we have "Pack Rat". This woman...ugh...needs a PODS container to hold all the crap she has stored in her vehicles, patio, and inside her unit. (Pictures are shown on a previous post) If there ever was a fire, she would lose the most possessions. <br />
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Next, we have "Lady Hermit" that lives across the way. I've never seen her but I hear her talking to the stray cats that have taken up residence on the property. And apparently, she has someone that brings her groceries. <br />
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There's also "Man Basher". This one walks the perimeter of the apartment complex smoking her ciggies and talking on her cell phone. She just circles and circles and circles. It starts somewhere around the 7pm hour and goes through 'til midnight at the latest. Trust me when I say that this goes on EVERY NIGHT. Sometimes she'll park herself somewhere and have a full out conversation on how awful men are. According to two property staff members, she has parked herself right outside both their patio doors on opposite ends of the complex and they heard every word she and the caller said. And yet, she goes home every night to her man who happens to be the bread winner in that relationship. There's something wrong with this picture.<br />
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Finally, there's "Halftime". Halftime is a young guy in his 20's that lives just above my apartment. Now the walls aren't thin but the floor-ceiling is weak and poorly insulated. I hear every step he makes and exactly where he is in his apartment, not hard to do when we have the exact same layout. His bedroom is above my bedroom. Do you see where I'm going with this?? I know when he has company. So let's go back to last summer, shall we?<br />
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I was in blissful, deep slumber, happy in my dreams until I heard metal scraping against metal. I woke up completely disoriented and then quickly assessed that it wasn't from my dreams at all but from the bed springs from the room above. I was appalled to say the least. As it turned out, this was the beginning of something that would occur every weekend for several months. It didn't take long for me to realize that his nocturnal activities didn't last long. So I did something I never dreamed of doing, I timed him. You laugh because you probably would've done the same thing. What's that saying that it takes 15 minutes or something like that? Now you know why I call him 'Halftime'.<br />
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So, one night I'm at the verge of falling into my REM cycle when I heard bed springs again. "Fan-flippin-tastic!". I looked on my cell phone to see exactly how late it was. The clock read 11:38. About that time, I received a text message. After a few replies, I heard Halftime get up and make his way to the bathroom. I looked at the clock again, 11:44. SIX MINUTES???!!!! Oh hell nah! Now, I'm not great at math but I know that half of fifteen is 7.5. That's ridiculous. Talk about disappointment, not for him, for her. <br />
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In my mind: "You didn't even make it to the halfway mark, brotha!" <br />
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I pondered on telling him that I can hear what goes on but couldn't bring myself to do it. How can I face the guy and tell him? I'M embarrassed. Why? I don't know. Although, I always wanted to put a note on the girl's car that said, "Stop f---ing my boyfriend" just so they could have it out and break up then I wouldn't have to hear her every weekend.<br />
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Now when I said the property staff has dirt on residents, they weren't lying. Our painter told me that, as he's walking by, he has heard people having sex. In fact, he's the one that said I should applaud loudly when Halftime is done. No, I've never done that. Now, this just goes to show, 'if I can hear you, then you can hear me'. <br />
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I was pleased when it all came to a halt. I had my peaceful nights again. But peace doesn't last long. Last month, a new girl came over. I know because I ran into her in the parking lot and saw her walk up to his door and the thought, 'oh dammit!' went through my mind. So last Friday, I happened to be home and I had the misfortune to be victimized by my neighbor and his new girlfriend for all of ten minutes. Here we go again....(Laughing) I guess he's getting better. <br />
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So there's two ways to look at this: be pissed off for having to hear it all or be thankful that it only lasts for several minutes and not all night. <br />
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Cue Music: Who are the people in your neighborhood?<br />
In your neighborhood?....<br />
While you're singing the song, I'm going to take this time to say, "Thanks, Halftime, for giving me something to spiel on; I think I'll dedicate this one to you."<br />
....Oh, who are the people in your neighborhood? It's the people that we meet each day.Renhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04688475049660671720noreply@blogger.com0