I Am a Bad Blogger

Daily blogging is one of those activities that makes a lot more sense when you're unemployed. Or at least that's my pathetic excuse for the month of August.

In the interest of full disclosure, here are some other activities at which I tend to fail regularly:

1. Being on time - I don't think tardiness is acceptable, I really don't. That said, there's a gaping hole in my brain where a chip should be, the chip that accurately calculates what time I need to start preparing in order to leave the house at 7:45 a.m. Currently, leaving the house at 7:45 a.m. means that at 7:43 a.m. I'm frantically brushing my teeth, peeing real quick, trying to locate my other shoe, hobbling into the hallway at which point I pass a mirror and realize my outfit looks totally unfinished without earrings, having a small meltdown, changing my jeans, perking up, looking off into space, remembering that thing about breakfast being the most important meal of the day, reorganizing the mustard shelf in my fridge, and getting out the door by 9:15. Approximately seven minutes after this accomplishment, I will realize that I forgot my phone.
2. Keeping my hands out of my mouth - I'm a shameful nail biter. I've been a nail biter as long as I can remember, except during my '95-'96 acrylic nail phase, during which period I rerouted all that nervous energy into diligent split-end eradication (which is a full-time job and requires all kinds of dexterity and precision and makes nail biting seem like amateur hour). I'm not biting my nails in order to make them shorter, I'm merely evening them out. But they're just never quite even enough, see, and I'm not going to give in to in that kind of wacked out asymmetrical world without a fight. To the death.
3. Adequately preparing for special occasions - Have you ever stood in the massively picked-over greeting card aisle at Walgreen's a little past midnight, trying to figure out how to create a Valentine's Day card out of one that says "To a loving grandson, on his 1st birthday"? Welcome to my world.
4. Stocking up on soap - I should just buy a lot of soap at once, instead of buying one bar at a time. I should just stuff an entire cupboard full of soap, so that it's always on hand and readily available when I run out. I really should do that.
5. Chilling out - On a good day, I'm what you might call an anxious person, though I've been told "mother effing spazz" is more accurate. I'm not sure how I became so tightly wound. I think it happened somewhere between getting lost inside K-Mart as a five year old, watching "The Exorcist" for the first time in sixth grade, drinking coffee for dinner throughout my entire senior year of college, and spending the better part of the last decade working in live television. I have been known to worry about worrying. It usually strikes around 3 a.m. and is immediately followed by painful cravings for ice cream.

Car Woes: Part Four Hundred and Eighty Six

About a month ago my car was stolen from a parking lot in Santa Rosa, California. It sucked. I've since bought a new car, and by new I mean a slightly newer version of my old car, which was a 1995 Honda Civic coupe. What can I say? I'm afraid of change. Point A to Point B with decent gas mileage is really all I'm asking for.

By the way, the police ended up finding my old car about three weeks after the theft, parked innocently on a fairly busy street about half a mile from where my mom lives. Because years ago I had taken advantage of the Civic's safety feature that disables the ability to pop the trunk from the lever next to the driver's seat and instead requires an actual key to open the trunk, the thieves (incorrectly) thought that maybe there was something really good back there, and proceeded to rip through my back seats in order to gain access to the following:

1. A yoga mat
2. A pair of Abercrombie pants I hadn't worn in two years
3. A variety of mix CDs I burned in 1999 and gave titles like "Trendy 90's Rock" and "Old Skool Hip Hop"
4. Several Sharpie pens
5. A Dolby Labs hoodie
6. My tax return paperwork from 2003
7. An empty box that the stereo in the dash originally came in
8. A bottle of white wine
9. A set of jumper cables
10. Glitter

Exactly none of these items were taken (I took a bit of offense at the snub of my carefully selected Pinot Grigio), but my back seats were so violently damaged in the process of getting access to these items that my insurance company decided to total the car anyway. Apparently by locking my own trunk in an effort to deter thieves, I directly contributed to my own car's demise. Or at least that's what the insurance adjuster told me, right before I shoved him into oncoming traffic.

My new car is working out splendidly, except for that little warning sign next to the odometer that flashes "Maint. Req'd" at me every time I start it up. What on earth could that mean?

RE: I'm pretty sure black beans are better for me than pinto beans, but still

Hi again New Spot Mexican Restaurant on 3rd/20th Streets in San Francisco's historic Dogpatch district,

20 minutes is just too long to wait for a super baby veggie burrito to go. It wasn't even crowded today. What are you guys doing back there? Nothing spoils my appetite like an unorganized kitchen. The spell has been broken. I am free.

Thanks!
Sarah

I'm pretty sure black beans are better for me than pinto beans, but still

Dear New Spot Mexican restaurant on 3rd/20th Streets in San Francisco's historic Dogpatch district,

I have an issue with your establishment. But not for the reasons you might think. Let me explain. See, I love Mexican food. Nachos are my idea of a perfect meal. Ask anyone. I know that this isn't your problem, but it's just that last week I starting working about half a block away from you. Once I became aware of your existence, I naturally felt it was my civic duty to sample your offerings. I chose what I thought was a relatively harmless "super baby burrito". You know, like a super burrito but not so big that I want to hibernate for seven years after eating an entire one. Obviously you know what I'm talking about - it's on your menu. Silly me! Anyway, the issue I have is that the super baby burrito is way, way too tasty (I always order the veggie/black bean version if that helps put things into perspective). In fact, I've eaten one every day since my first day on the job. It's troubling, New Spot Mexican Restaurant. Very troubling. I'm sort of afraid that I might not be able to NOT buy one tomorrow, too. And then the next day after that. For all eternity. Which, understandably, makes me a little nervous.

So I'm hoping you might be able to just refuse service to me when I come up to the counter tomorrow around 12:35 P.M.? Or better yet, lock the front door when you see me coming up the sidewalk? If I got all the way to the counter you might feel trapped and give in to me, because I can be very persuasive about ordering Mexican food if given the chance. So yeah, locking the door before I get in might be a better idea. I'm fairly easy to spot. I'm that rather small woman on her cell phone that's always sprinting toward your restaurant. I know it probably seems like I'm running FROM something, but in all honesty I'm just excited to eat.  If locking the door screws up your lunch rush, I totally understand. My next suggestion would be to just remove the "super baby burrito" option from your menu altogether. Then you don't even have to worry if you see me loitering about, because the issue will have already been disposed of.

Thanks in advance for your cooperation,

Sarah

Reality, Shattered: The Sequel

Theme song "Transformers, robots in the skiiiiiiiies" is actually "Transformers, robots in disguiiiiiiiise".

There are no words.

Ok, yes there are. They are FLYING robots. They are in THE SKIES, aren't they? Any stupid robot can don a costume, but how many robots do you know that can take to flight? My 20-years-strong version is clearly better. I will not accept reality today.