To the wire
I've gotta hand it to the Democrats. They are really rallying the troops, so to speak. Last evening, Bill Clinton called. OK, so it was a recording of Bill, but it was Bill Clinton all the same. My husband made me answer the phone because it was during a crucial point during That Football Game Which Shall Not Be Mentioned, and he thought it was going to be my mom flipping out. It turned out that Bill wanted to thank me/us for our support and to let us know to vote on November 2.

Then we went out to dinner (Mexican!) and when we came back, we had a message. Again, thinking it was my mom with a post TFGWSNBM jubliation message, my husband was wary of playing it. (He roots for That Team in Columbus.) However, it was a very friendly volunteer for the John Kerry campaign, who wanted to make sure that my husband's address on file was current, and if not, he could file a provisional ballot, and told him his polling location, and offered to drive him there.

Lord only knows what is going to happen on Tuesday. Every day I feel different. It's going to be a close race, perhaps it will be too close to call, as was the case in 2000. In fact, Ohio already has some brewing voter controversies. So it won't be a surprise if the winner is determined weeks, if not months, from Tuesday.

Anyway, I'm looking forward to the excitement that is sure to come this week.
Oh, that, and The O.C. premeire.

You got a problem with that?

Joyous tidings
Out of respect, I'm not going to mention a certain college football game. And no, I'm not talking about Ohio v. Kent State, although my husband, a Kent alum, made sure to tell me that his team was killing mine.

Anyhoo, I'm stoked because I discovered that the entire first and second season of one of the coolest, weirdest shows ever is available on DVD. That would be, of course, Space Ghost Coast to Coast. I went ahead and purchased Season One ... can't wait for it to get here.

Halloween
There are clowns. And a mime. And lions and monkeys and elephants. There's even a bearded woman (and it's NOT a costume, btw). I was able to go through their section of the building, and even though the mime started to freak me out, I didn't run away screaming or have to leave the office. My favorite though, is someone who is dressed as a gorilla french maid. I'm not sure what the significance is, but it's pretty amusing.

I really don't understand the big deal about Halloween. I mean, if you're a kid, sure. But once you reach adulthood, what is the appeal of dressing up?

I think the last time I dressed up was sometime in high school. Even though I went to college at one of the biggest Halloween party locations on Earth, I don't think I ever had a costume. Hell, you didn't need one! You just needed riot gear to deal with the drunken crowd.

My favorite costume that I wore, EVER, was when I went as Darth Vader. Yep, I was about 6 or 7, I was OBSESSED with Star Wars, and instead of being the ultra-girly Princess Leia, I went for the heavy breathing black-suited wonder himself. My costume was one of those store-bought, vinyl outfits with the plastic mask. It rocked. If I can find a picture of it I'll post it sometime. I know they exist...

An actual conversation which just took place
Me (to boss): Just wanted to let you know, people are dressing up like clowns tomorrow, so, if I appear to be traumatized, that's why.
Boss: *laughs*
Me: I'm just sayin', I might have to sue for emotional distress.
Boss: Want tickets to the circus?

This is when I notice that he actually has circus tickets in his hand. He's serious.

My worst nightmare is coming true
I just found out that tomorrow, one of the larger departments in our company is decorating their area like a circus tent, and they are all. dressing up. as. clowns.

In case I haven't mentioned it before, I HATE clowns. They creep me out. I can't stand looking at them.

So, co-workers dressed up as clowns is even scarier!!!!

Actually, some of them won't have to dress up too much, if you know what I mean...

By the numbers
Hours I've been in the office in the past two days: 6
Times I've been inappropriately groped by someone bearing the words "President" or "Vice President" in their title in the past 48 hours: 2
Items on "to-do" list at work: 15
Number of items that have been crossed off in past 48 hours: 0
Number of copies of brochures I must print out and cut by Friday: 100
Number of times I've contemplated throwing myself out my window: *looks for infinity symbol*

"A New Post"
Dreamy
A co-worker with whom I am only marginally acquainted just told me that I was in her dream last night. In this dream, I was we

--OOPS--

Uh, that was the last post I wrote.

Sorry.

I have acid reflux.

And also, the keyboard just started to type the last post I did.

I apologize for the inconvenience.

*does hoe-down*

Dreamy
A co-worker with whom I am only marginally acquainted just told me that I was in her dream last night. In this dream, I was wearing a "really short" skirt and dancing up a storm, apparently tearing up the dance floor.

Man, I'm much cooler in dreams than I am in real life.

Regulars
I'm at that age right now where I'm over the whole "being carded" thing. At first, it was cool to be carded at a bar, and then I could whip out my I.D. and prove that yes, I am of legal drinking age, that I can, if I decide, walk up to the bar and order an alcoholic beverage of my choosing. Even a Fuzzy Navel. Or a Schlitz.

But now, there's nothing I hate more than being carded by some punk kid who I know is younger than me. Especially when he is an ass about it.

Hence, Saturday night, we go to our favorite little watering hole/restaurant, and the little punk host dude, who can't be more than 18, asks for our I.D.'s after surveying us up and down. Granted, my husband, who is 30, could pass for 17 if he is wearing a baseball hat. I think I look my age, but maybe with him, I'm younger by association. Anyway, I start to fumble around in my purse for my wallet, when a hostess happens by and says, "Oh, don't worry about them. They're regulars."

Gasp.

I'm a regular somewhere? ("Cheers" theme song begins to play softly in the background) I picture a regular to be a grizzled old man who sits in the same stool at the bar, who comes in every night around the same time, and who always has a yarn and a toothless grin for whoever buys the next round.

I am so not a regular.

But still, when she says it, I feel like, wow. I belong here. This is my hangout. And damn you, 18 year old, for trying to make me prove it to you. Screw you and your I.D.-demanding ways. Now show me to my table. You know, the one where we always sit.

Oh, and the whole carding thing? I know that in a few years, if I'm still getting carded when I go out, that will be a good thing. So I should appreciate it now, right?

Shuffle
The to-do list is at 17 items now. Eep.
To remedy this, I must buckle down this afternoon and knock off at least four things from that list.
So I've put on my headphones, and quickly went through my Windows Media Player and made a playlist I'm calling "Shuffle" -- because I'm going to set it to shuffle and see what I get. It's got a little bit of everything from my eclectic music collection, from Elton John to Tupac -- because I'm all about the juxtaposition of cheesy 70's music to cheesy dead gangsta rappers -- and everything in between.

Wish me luck on my quest to diminsh the to-do's.

Reefer Madness
Some of you come here on purpose.
Some of you come here by mistake.

Here are the best recent examples of those who came here by mistake. You were really looking for:

1. gorilla indians suits
2. inappropriately funny Halloween costumes
3. Kansas City hooker hangout
4. lyrics to "Fresh Prince of Belair" (3 separate searches for this!)
5. lyrics to "She's a Bad Mamma Jamma" Carl Carlton

Rain, rain, go away
Come again some other day.
... are there more lines to that little ditty?

The "to-do" list has grown to 13 things, which is more than it's been in months. Yikes. My eye is twitching, too, which is either a factor of a) needing to catch up on sleep; or b) the 13-item "to do" list.

I am listening to my new CD which arrived in the mail yesterday -- it's a brand new, hot-off-the-press live John Mayer cd, which includes some tracks from the show that I was at in August. And one of those tracks is my favorite song of his, which I was stoked that he played live when I saw him, and now I have it on CD to listen to over and over again and annoy my cube mates and also drown out Bad Lady's radio.

I'm about to go brave the lunch room, where predators of carb counting await around every corner. Hopefully I'll remain unscathed.

NaNoUhOh
Well, I think this year I'm going to give NaNoWriMo a whirl. We'll see how it goes. If it goes well, you'll hear about it and perhaps I'll post my works in progress. If it goes not so well, this will probably be the first and last mention of it.

In other news, GO RED SOX!!!!!

Nomah!!!!

Oh wait, he got traded, didn't he?

Who cares. It's still fun to yell at the top of my lungs.

NOMAH!!!!!!!!

High times
I am buzzed off Sharpie fumes.
Why, you ask?
'Tis a sordid tale involving a video shoot and making cue cards, at the expense of my already-sparse brain cells. Hundreds are dying as I write this post. Goodbye, brain cells, you served me well. Off you go to the place where dead brain cells go. Where is that, exactly? I would usually had a snappy answer, such as, making a reference to some other person with a lack of brain cells, like George W., or Johnny Moseley, but I'll just leave it at that for now.

Who has a Twinkie?

Springer's Final Thoughts
The meeting that we had was very p.c., very non-hostile. Although I had a couple of Ally McBeal moments where I envisioned myself leaping across the table to strangle Bad Lady. It was mostly a lot of "we all need to work on being more respectful" and horse puckey like that.

I was secretly hoping for a knock-down drag-out girl fight.

Oh well.

Priorities
I can smell some steak cooking, and it smells awesome. The smell is wafting into my office from the nearby Longhorn steakhouse. It's making me ask myself the age-old question, "which fast food establishment will get my hard-earned money today?"

It's feeling like it might be a Subway day.

(abrupt change of subject to follow)

So, we're watching the Sox/Yanks game last night, and just feeling horribly for the Sox fans who are just going to be let down in the end. They cut to a shot of some of Boston's finest fans, yelling their little hearts out, and I say that I wish I could imitate a Boston accent, so I could come up with insults to yell at the TV. My husband, in a pretty damn good Boston accent, goes, "Hey Jetaahhh. I heahhh youahhhh sistah's dick is biggah than youahhhs!"

And there it is. The man I married, everyone.

Do Not Call
Dear Sarah/Debbie/Karen, or whatever the hell your name was, the Perky OU Senior Who Called Me Tonight On The Pretense of Updating the Alumni Database But Really Wanting Me to Send Lots and Lots of Money to Fund Various Things Such as Technology:

I had a really, really bad day today. I couldn't sleep last night, and so I'm tired. And grouchy.

And also, you interrupted taco night. Which is every Monday, for future reference.

So forgive me if I laughed out loud when you asked if I would be comfortable with a donation level of $500. I probably would have stifled the chuckle if you had caught me on any other day. But unlucky for you, you picked today to dial my number and get me on the phone. I humored you for a minute, answering your stupid questions, but then I turned cold. Pity, really. I could have been the older sister you never had. I really felt like we were beginning to bond when you asked me if the address you had on file was current, and was I still employed at Company X, even though you pronounced the name wrong.

So Mindy/Suzy/Laurie, I apologize.

But you're still not getting my money.

Faux friends
Here's a piece of advice from me to you. If you're going to do any sort of painting in your house involving a faux finish, be prepared to wait for it to dry. And wait.

And wait.

And then wait some more.

Still not dry? That's because you have to wait a little longer.

Kind of dry but still a little sticky in spots? WAIT.

And then for good measure -- you got it -- wait.

The can said at least 24 hours, but the job was finished on Friday afternoon and as of this morning, it is still not dry. And my house is a motherloving wreck. Argh!

Add to that we have the latest installment of work drama. Tomorrow afternoon we're having a meeting, just us wimmin folk, plus my boss, to "air out" some "issues" that we "have" with "each other." One of my coworkers, we'll just call her Bad Lady, went in to my boss' office to bitch about another coworker, who I'll arbitrarily call Screech, this morning.

So instead of dealing with those two head on, he's dragging all of us into it. Joy! I don't know what set off B.L. this time, but it is apparently a big freaking deal.

Here's my dilemma. There are so many things I'd love to say to Bad Lady, given the right arena. However, my little inner Jiminy Cricket is saying to "be the better person" and "remain professional but concerned" and all that b.s.

What I'd really like to do is go full-out Jerry Springer on her ass.

Thoughts?

Birthday greetings
To my favorite member of the Jackson family, Tito.

What lies beneath
My husband just called to tell me that he moved the stove in order to strip the wallpaper from the wall behind it.

What he found underneath the stove:
11 plastic milk rings
4 twisty-ties
1 balled up piece of paper
1 pretzel stick
1 toy mouse

How did these items get there?
Hmm. I wonder...

Monkey business
Oh yeah. So we're in Chicago, and we're walking through Lincoln Park, and so we decide to go into the zoo and look around.

We go into the gorilla house, and there's a crowd gathered around one of the glass-enclosed pens. Aw, it's a mommy gorilla! Holding her baby! It's so cute! Aw, the baby is so small!

It was adorable...

Right up until the moment where the mother gorilla started to urinate and then cupped her hand under the pee stream, got a big handful, and then drank it.

And that, my friends, is the difference between humans and apes.

So I'm back...
Back again. Guess who's back. Tell a friend.

The wedding was really nice. It was at a person's house in Lincoln Park. The house was like a museum. I bet that one piece of art on the walls cost more than my entire house does. OK, maybe not, but close. It was a beautiful house, but I'd never want to live there. It wasn't homey. You know what I mean? It was nice to look at, but there was no place just to kick back and watch TV, or put your feet up. But anyway, it was a very nice wedding.

We had a good time in Chicago, too. We went to Second City. We used to have a Second City in Cleveland but then it shut down, which is too bad, because I thought the Cleveland show was better than the Chicago show.

Then yesterday, we had the first awful rendition of The Raking of the Leaves. Oh, the humanity! And in a week it will be like we never raked. Then after The Raking of the Leaves, I decided that I hadn't killed my back and arms enough, so I decided to punish myself further with [Knights Who Say "Neet" Voice] The Trimming of the Shrubbery [/KWSNV]. We had a rather wild [KWSNV] shrubbery [/KWSNV] on the side of the house that needed to be tamed, and so I took up the hedge trimmers and went to town on it, much to the detriment of my already aching muscles (if you even want to call them that -- I have no arm strength whatsoever).

To further our domestic adventure we went to the paint store and bought several shades of paint for our kitchen. My husband has the dubious assignment of stripping the wallpaper and painting our kitchen this week while he's off work. I guess I'm glad I'm in the office while this task is taking place! Which is very frightening.

Some thoughts on Survivor... and some other stuff
First off, Da fucking ROCKED. He was all business, even with a tribe full of women at his disposal for 24 hours. Da was the man. And frankly, Da has been the highlight of this so far dismal season of Survivor.

Second of all, WHAT THE HELL is the men's strategy? Unless it's Sarge's strategy, and in that case, it's freaking brilliant, to eliminate all physical threats other than himself.

And it looks like we've got a tribe shakeup coming next week. Those are always fun. I'm hoping for a tribe which includes Sarge, the alpha male of Lopevi, and Twila, the alpha male of Yasur.

Now onto other things! I'm leaving for Chicago today, one of my high school friends is getting married, so we are spending the weekend there. I also took Friday and Monday off work.

Downside: Bad Lady is also heading to Chicago, for different reasons, but will be in the same general area as me. Now, I know Chicago is a big city and all, but YOU KNOW I'm going to run into her sometime this weekend.

Hopefully when I return to the office on Tuesday, things will be a lot calmer than they were this week. We'll see about that!

In brief
I've been extremely busy at work, but I did want to take a minute to post that today, Bad Lady is wearing a pink fishnet poncho, over an all-black ensemble, as well as calf-length black leather boots.

It's very... Nouveau Hooker.

Hoopla, the aftermath
My wish came true! IBL hula hooped! It was horrific! But he didn't cause bodily injury to himself or to others, so it wasn't quite as fun as I'd imagined.

They attempted to break us apart into mixed tables with different departments so we'd be forced to socialize with other people *shudder* but I wasn't having any part of that. DO NOT FORCE ME TO SOCIALIZE WITH MY COWORKERS!!!!!!! RAWRRRRRRR!!!!!

*ahem*

At least I got some free food out of the deal.

Hoopla
I will post more archive stuff later on today, but there is a more pressing situation that is on the radar screen that I must address:

We are having a lunch picnic this afternoon at the office. There's a huge tent set up on the lawn, and from my office window, I can view the preparations. The grill is going, I see a bunch of burgers and dogs out there...

... And also some hula hoops.

There are about six or seven hula hoops in a pile on the lawn... as if there is going to be some sort of hula hooping contest.

First of all, I will not be hula hooping, not unless a hefty sum of cash is exchanged, in the 7-figure range. Second of all, I can think of several coworkers I do not want to see hula hooping. In fact, I can't think of anyone I'd like to see twirling their hips around trying to keep the plastic hoop up. Except maybe Incompetent But Likeable, just because I know he'd end up launching the hoop into the tent and the tent would collapse and fall into the grill and catch fire and the whole picnic would be ruined.

Actually, I might just watch the picnic from the safety of my window. I'll keep you posted on this situation as it develops!

Great Moments in Sketch Factor History, part troix
But first, this news:
A member of the Cleveland Indians pitching staff was shot in the leg while on the team bus, leaving Kaufman stadium in Kansas City.

You think that's weird? He was dressed as a USC cheerleader and would have been injured more had he not been donning white go-go boots.

This was part of a hazing ritual that the Indians (and maybe other teams) have every year wherein the rookies are forced to show themselves in public wearing all sorts of humiliating costumes. This poor soul, Kyle Denney, was in drag for this purpose when the shooting incident occurred.

Or so they would have you believe. *raises eyebrow*

Now, without further ado, here are more snippets...

One of my most-hated songs EVER makes its appearance in this post from February 23, 2004:

For reasons unbeknownst, Bad Lady's radio is extra loud this morning. So right now, I'm being treated to:

If you like Pina Colada
Getting caught in the rain
If you're not into yoga
If you have half a brain

It's too early in the morning for this shit. Really, it's never a good time for the Pina Colada song.

It's status quo in the office, as documented on February 27, 2004:

Status Report
Eye: still twitching frequently.

Incompetent but Likeable: on the verge of going postal, and no one can figure out why. Although he did have an outburst at my desk about a certain management person being a "hillbilly" so I assume that his disgruntled postal worker behavior has something to do with that.

Bad Lady Crisis du Jour: Finding a pair of Ugg boots on e-Bay for her daughter (ha!!!)

Just thought you'd like to know.

Most of you know that I love all reality television. It makes me feel better about my own pathetic existence. But I missed what was arguably the best twist ever in a reality show, called "Average Joe" (3/2/04):

I walked into work trying hard to keep a straight face this morning. That's because I had just heard about the "Average Joe" finale. They were talking about it on the radio this morning and I have to say, the "bomb" that Larissa dropped? BEST. TWIST. EVER.

For those of you who didn't watch the show (I didn't either, so don't feel too bad), apparently, Larissa picked the "Hot Joe" and then had to make a stunning confession to him about someone she dated in her past.

Wait for it... wait for it...

Fabio.

THE Fabio.

I can't believe it's not... Fabio.

And, what's even better, the Hot Joe freaked out and dumped her! Oh, how I wish I'd seen it.

We discover that Christmas is every day of the year around our house, thanks to our cat, Domino (3/4/04):

If we ever figure out the elusive language of animals and are able to communicate with them, the first thing I am going to ask my cat Domino is going to be in regard to the fetching of the Christmas stockings.

Ever since we took down all the Christmas decorations and boxed them all up and put them in the Scary Basement (that section of the basement where I fear to tread), the stockings have been finding their way back upstairs, specifically, into our bedroom. We'll wake up in the morning and the Stocking Fairy will have brought them back. We'll take them down to the Scary Basement again but somehow they always end up back upstairs.

This was going on for awhile with some Halloween devil horns, until I threw them away because red glitter from the devil horns were turning up all over my living room carpet, in the kitchen, in the bathtub (a favorite Domino hangout) and in our bed.

There have been other objects retrieved from the Scary Basement, including a dirty sponge, a lint trap, and a huge ass bag of rubber bands.

I'm sure he's just trying to be helpful -- why would we put such useful items downstairs when we can enjoy them in the middle of the living room floor? What were we thinking?

So I think we'll just keep celebrating Christmas until Dom decides we can move on.

A problem plaguing many Americans is that pesky fitted bed sheet. My take on it, from March 9, 2004:

One thing I noticed during Sunday night's hotel stay, and that I've noticed on prior hotel stays, is that most hotels have forgone the fitted sheet on the bed, and instead have put another flat sheet to cover the mattress.

I am notoriously a tosser and turner. More so when I'm not sleeping. So on Sunday, by about three in the morning, the sheet had slipped, bringing my person into direct contact with the hotel mattress.

I've seen Oprah. I know that the mattress is a breeding ground for creepy crawlies, undesirable stains, and untold diseases. Even in nice hotels. That fitted sheet is like a layer of protection, a barrier between me and those unmentionables. I don't want to be rolling around on that, not even in a rubber suit.

And speaking of the fitted sheet, I have never, ever, EVER been able to fold that thing. In our linen closet right now there's a shapeless blob that could possibly be a fitted sheet, but either myself or my husband probably abandoned trying to fold it and just shoved it on a shelf.

As elusive as it might be, the fitted sheet is my friend. When it's not there, I take note.

This isn't the same without the photo, which I think I have deleted off my photobucket, but I stand by my decision, also from March 9:

My husband recently posed the question to me if I'd rather wake up in the morning with 12 inches of snow on the ground or wake up next to [entertainment reporter] Cojo.

I chose the snow.

Y tu?

Sometimes I make bad jokes, and then sometimes I make REALLY bad jokes (3/12/04):

I guess Colby didn't know jack about what was going to go down at Tribal Council.

Get it? Colby? Jack?It sounded much funnier in my head.

OK. Not really.

It never fails to amaze me some of the stupid questions I get. You'd think that I would not be surprised by this, but there's always someone who can outdo the former person in stupidity. An example (3/16/04):

My boss pulls me out of a meeting because someone at our parent company is having trouble with a CD I sent them. This is the second CD I sent because they said the first one I sent was blank.

The contents of the CD are one executable file, sort of like a Power Point presentation but done in a different program, but it should open and one should be able to use the arrow key to look at the different slides.

So I pretty much know before I even pick up the phone that they just don't know to use the arrow key.

"It won't open," she says. "I just get a white screen."
"OK," I explain, "Now all you have to do is hit the RIGHT ARROW KEY to start the presentation."
"I'm clicking it and it won't do anything!"
"The RIGHT arrow key?"
"Yeah, I'm clicking it."
"Clicking? Are you clicking the MOUSE?"
"Yeah."
"OK, don't click the mouse. On your KEYBOARD, there are four directional keys. Press the RIGHT arrow key."
"Oh! Now it's working!"

Yes, folks, I work miracles here on a daily basis.

And we really think this marriage is going to work out? (3/18/04):

Rather than the soft romantic sappy music the Survivor producers decided to play during the Ambuh/Baaaaston Rob "love" scene, I was expecting more of a "bamp chicka wah wah" kind of thing. Was it just me? I mean, are we to believe that Rob is actually capable of having feelings for her? "Ambuh is slammin'," he says. "... And huh ass is smokin' too." My heart is a-twitter.

More amazing assininity! Funny, this project never panned out. And it would have been such a great campaign, too! (3/19/04):

I just got out of a meeting with someone else, who seemed normal enough, until I reached a point in my portfolio where I had a postcard with a picture of a cute bunny on the front. She lit up. "I have rabbits," she told me. "My husband is a magician."

Trying hard to contain the "huhhhhh?" factor, I said, "Oh, really?" And then before I could stop myself, I said, "Well, have you ever considered having photos taken with the magician's hat and the rabbit? We could say something about 'working magic' in your service to your clients... ?"

Needless to say, she is totally geeked about the idea.

On March 24, I got my 5000th visitor, but as it was me, it was a non-event. I'll document many more non-events, as this look back in Sketch Factor history continues!