Friday, July 13, 2007

But if I was going to kill anyone ....

it might be mary from my guilty pleasure "Age of Love." ohmigod. she cries. all the time. ALL THE FREAKiN' TIME. it hits my up-chuck/irate factor, which is tough combo to get out of me. tipsy and fast talkin', yes. laughing and sarcasm, a given. but to make me get slightly angry and want to throw up, almost impossible. it's something about mary, and not in the good cameron diaz way.

she's unbelievable. i don't know how she's made it this far. she has no respect for the cougs ( BTW i'm rooting for maria or jen. i think maria is too smart for him and if jen kisses him more i think she has a shot, based on their last week kiss.)

god i can't believe i'm discussing this. it's friday the 13th, i'm allowed to be weirder than normal. although that sounds like something the stupid frat boys said during the gopher hockey riots.

oh gopher hockey -- hats off to thee.

back to killing mary. oh geez, just take a glimpse for yourself. and if you can make an episode without rolling your eyes around her, with you are a more patient person than I.

happy weekend, everyone. off to the lake again. so no it's some work, a lot of play and minimal blogging. unless of course it rains.

Do I have the power to kill?

That sound morbid. But it's not. Lemme explain.

Last week I was having a conversation with a friend and I referenced Lady Bird Johnson. Which caused the conversation to project into another conversation -- I know, go figure. Was Lady Bird Johnson still alive? Did she happen to die and we missed that headline? And if she is alive, she's gotta be close to 100. This conversation occurred last Saturday.

And what happens this week. Lady Bird Johnson dies on Tuesday or Wednesday after 95 or so years on this earth. Coincidence? Perhaps. Did I cause her death? No. But it's a bit eerie that she died 96 hours after discussing if 1.) she was still alive (turns out not for much longer) 2.) yes she was close to 100. 3.) didn't miss the headline in the Strib or online.

This really chokes me to admit it but I went 0-for-4 yesterday in softball. Pre-game I was moved in the batting order and choked that I wouldn't get a hit, since I wasn't hitting behind my lucky charm CB. Turns out, fairly accurate. Two walks, to infielder's choices and one lone RBI.
Do I have the power to hex myself? I think I've had it since I came sliding out of the womb.

But here's the last one. I mentioned a girl of a friend of a friend who is in the same business as I am in. I was meeting with a mentor. And I knew she knew of this woman, but it turns out she thought of her as she was driving to meet me. Strange. Here's were it gets really kooky. After meeting mentor I check email. I get this thing from IABC and the person I mentioned, and the person mentor was thinking of was highlighed in my email.

So if I have these powers for evil and strange, is there a way I can reap benefits from them? Could I get a Harry Potter wand, have a game of Quibbage and someone score a "real-job"? Prolly not. So instead I'll be a little more careful with the death comments, cause I don't want to ever have the power to kill anyone. Kill thoughts yes -- racism, and most other isms, but not folks. Unless of course I kill the with kindness, and I think that ability is way out of my powers.

Read at your own disclosure (might be graphic for some readers)

So we are at the softball fields last night, staying long after they shut down the lights. So as we are sitting in the dark, drinking and conversing, naturally I have to be at around 11:45 p.m. So I drop sweats and squat behind a pole. Having broken the seal on a many occasions, I can tell if I've had too much by how balanced or unbalanced I am at squatting. Last night, I could have gotten a perfect 10 on the balance beam for my squat. I finish business and look up at the starry, pleasant night, glad I have my OFF on so to not inquire a mosquito necklace or anklet, and then it dawns on me. This feels like underage drinking in high school. The finding a spot to pee where no one can see you, peeing in generally on the grass, being out past midnight on a school/work night. All memories that were repeated fondly in my youth.

Thursday, July 12, 2007

Jesus Christ on the Cross, I'm pathetic.

So freelancing has it perks. And as for those of you who need my tangents and refuse to comment, you know I've been looking for a full-time, health care included place of employment.

While I have money coming in for projects those checks aren't going to come until the first Monday in August. And because bills still pile up at the end of the month and being the good credit score girl I am I don't want to bounce anything. So what have I been doing since I woke up this morning? Burning CDs onto my I-pod so I can sell them at Cheapo. I thought the point of getting out of school and gaining five years of work experience was suppose to get you out of the situations? Jesus Christ on the Cross at this rate tomorrow I will be donating plasma. Sad. Pathetic. But I'm too proud to ask parentals for a small loan of sorts. So here I sit downloading and lamenting. Although on the positive, it truly puts into perspective two things. 1.) Less shit to haul when I move which is always a perk and 2.) Those CD that I am keeping are because I have to like most of the album when I go on a road trip. Which is a pretty good indicator if you ask me.

But still I feel pathetic. All these side steps I've been taking recently or step backwards as my folks like to remind me, when soon I will catapult ahead of my classmates. Well, at least that is what I keep telling myself when I twist my invisible evil mustache. Riiiiiiiiiight.

Miss Nonprofit 2007

That's me. Well at least that feels like me these days. Since I've been working from home for the last while (aka getting final interviews and tanking them apparently on a frequent basis) I've been doing freelance work for nonprofits. I'm also on a few board of directors, which I always find amazing and ridiculous. Sort of like these folks are seeing my upside potential and that in 25 years I will be ruling the Twin Cities scene. JK. I don't think that, except I do strive to (someday) be in The Business Journal's 40 Under 40 and is it a nice feeling to be a respect Board of Director, where people appreciate what you can bring to the table. Because I definitely lacked that at my last two jobs.

Why do chicks in power find me intimidating?

I'll never understand. As I was saying.

Oh yea, my little miss nonprofit crown. The distinctions, besides playing a sweet ass piano recital and being able to lay out a plan for world peace I've been involved with the following organizations in the last two years:

Big Brothers Big Sisters
Red Cross
United Way
The Arc
Junior League

All good organizations in their own way. Plus I can twirl a mean baton and my sash is never out of place or wrinkled and I inspire little girls across the Twin Cities as a role model.

Who am I kidding? I'll never be Miss Anything, except Miss Smart Ass. And now that's crown I wear with my head held high. And I've self-labeled myself Ms. Minne and I'm not giving up that title. Nope, I'm gonna be like Roger Federer at Wimbledon and not let anyone snatch away my title on my favorite surface ( aka the Twin Cities and esp MPLS) So if there are any female Rafa Nadal's out there -- good luck trying to snag my name and title. Ha!

Ok, I just had an "aawww snap moment" and it's not even 7:45 am. Christ, I'm crazy.

Wednesday, July 11, 2007

It's the Sound of Silence ... or Sex.

"Hello darkness, my old friend. I've come to talk to you again," sings Simon and Garkunkel. So while watching the All-Star game last evening I fell asleep on the couch. No surprise since it was kind of a boring game, although Ichiro's inside the park homer was kinda cool. Too bad, due to him and Johnny Damon, the Twins don't have a shot at keeping Torii Hunter, unless he takes a very good hometown deal. So I wake up around 11:30 and head to bed.

I'm tossing and turning for about an hour. And I'm just on the cusp of falling asleep, when I start to hear a mattress noise. And it's not mine. That's right, the 19-year-old-Aveda-in-training upstairs neighbor is having sex. And her mattress is taking a beating.

I've been scarred with sex stories since high school. And I really think it's because I never want to know anyone's stories that this stuff happens to me. Luckily, upstairs girl and her friend weren't making any noises, only the mattress was. But still. All I could do was put my pillows and holler "LA-LA-LA-LA-LA" at the top of my lungs, hoping with my window open they would hear me and at least tone it down.

I don't know if it's their age, if alcohol was involved or if they heard me, but exactly three minutes of my "La-LA-La-ing" it, silence returned. And yes, the sounds of silence were my friends. And I went to sleep, eventually.

Tuesday, July 10, 2007

"You Can't Catch Him, You Can Only Contain Him"

Good-bye Dan Patrick. ESPN employee, anchor and all-round good guy. Made "the big show" with Keith Olberman and started taglines and phrases before it became the thing to do. I will miss his Dan Patrick back page of The Magazine and will miss the occasional times that I hear him on KFAN.

I've been without cable the last five years. But I can tell you my high school diet of television was saturated with Dan Patrick, Keith Olberman and Craig Kilbourne along with My So Called Life and prolly an Ally McBeal sidedish.

Wow, ESPN without Dan Patrick. I wonder if he has been my favorite anchor. Prolly. My least favorite is Linda Cohn and she's still there. I'd start a campaign against her, but that would be like kicking of Leslie V. of Monday Night Football and replacing her with Melissa Starks. That move is worse than Linda the female monarch anchor.

What else? So literally after I published yesterday's post on Social Commentators, I got a position where I get to be one! It's blogging for a site and paid per blog, but how hilarious is that! And a minute after that happy celebration, a job I sent in the mail and would arrive today, I found out from sources it's prolly gonna be filled by an internal candidate. Huh? The post went up last Friday. And yesterday I sent my stuff and you're telling me someone has already got it. LAME. LAME. LAME.

Yeah, but I get to be a social commentator. It kinds makes me feel like Carrie Bradshaw only without the manolo blahniks. Although for the sake of keeping it real, I'm a cross between Miranda and Charlotte. Weird combo, I know, but I'm weird and proud of it, damn it.

The negotiations with the social commentary are photos. They want to have me as a face on their blog. I object to this for several very important reasons.

1. Have you seen the Cyndy Burcato billboards? I don't my face to be the size of my duplex. Good God, how could I cover up all of my pores?

2. Sticking with those billboards, if anything I am a producer or a reporter, not the face of anything and I can do more than just look pretty, hit my sports and read cue-cards, so I don't want to be the "anchor" of a blog or the face of anything.

3. Now if there was a jacket sleeve, I'd proudly put my mug on that, but this is a website. When possible I keep tight control of where my face is on the internet. Words, not so much, but face definitely.

4. I'll get paid a standard fee. But if I drive traffic to site, more money for me. Good for me, yes? But it ruins my anonymity for blogs and the other blogs I can contribute to. Maybe I'll take pictures of my body and cut them off at the neck. Although ironically, my face is prolly my best feature, but it's worth it to remain anonymous.

5. I'm going to be writing under a moniker -- I hope -- so I know feel more than a person, I feel like a brand. Kinda like J-Lo, except, well I have nothing in common with J-Lo, except the whole self-branding thing.

So has things get going, I'll keep everyone posted. I can't believe I got a gig as a social commentator. I don't think I'll ever run out of ideas. Shit, I prolly just cursed myself with that comment. But if both Sox teams can win the World Series after their curses, I think I'm golden.

Monday, July 9, 2007

Social Spectator or Social Commentator?

Social spectator or social commentator, it does beg the question of which one I consider myself more of. Without a doubt, it's social commentator. I partake in the world, but you would never find me standing on the sidelines. Instead I'd be on the bench, never taking a swing (but most definitely a swig of alcohol or listerine) and providing the color commentator to the daily activities of the world.

Is that a job -- daily commenting on the world -- if so, put me in cold coach, I'm ready to play. TO-DAY!

Ohmigod, can you image the hilarity on just making comments as you walked around Mpls? Holy, hilarity!! Maybe I could put that on craigslist and get a taker to pay me to be a social commentator. The only job more cush than that would be Sports Guy Bill Simmons, and I don't see him relinquishing that post any time soon, unless the Sports Gal uses her powers to the nth degree or the City of Boston sinks into the Atlantic Ocean.

So that is what I am going to put in the next resume I send. Past/Current Employment

Marketing, Web Site Development, Financial Development, Public Relations and Social Commentator.

Hey, anything is worth a shot these days.

Ground Control to Major Tom OR Clown control to Mao Tse Tung.

Yep, that's what kind of Monday morning I am having. Took me over an hour for my damn Firefox to connect itself to this thing we call the internet. WTF? is that all about. Your job is to connect Firefox, why were you not connecting? Whatever. I'm so over that and onto my next fit of anger.

And I don't even like being irritated. It ruins my aura and spirit. Damn it. It's not even 9:00 a.m.

Hennepin County. It's on my shitlist. If I could I would leave the county and take up quarters in Ramsey County. But alas, moving is one of my least favorite things in the world to do, so instead I complain like the good natured American that I am. I needed that out of my system and if I tell the story regarding HC, I might end up at HCMC. There is not even a silver lining of humor in the damn thing. F'ing ridiculous.

What else has me worked up this a.m.? Stupid Roger Federer winning another Wimbledon title. I'm sick of seeing him, and I'm even more sick of seeing him and Tiger Woods in various commercials -- Nike, Gilette shavers, angst, I tell ya, angst. So I'm rooting for Roddick of Blake on US soil and might take a trip for the ATP in Cincinnati, just so I can cross Ohio off my list of states to visit.

Boy, did I love it that the Buckeyes choked in both the national football game and basketball game. Sure it would have been great for the BIG TEN, but not great for my morale. Can't stand Michigan or Ohio State. ick!

Why do blonde-haired folk grow mustaches? It never looks good on any of them, women included.

I need to power yoga or something to get all this bad energy out of my system. Luckily my i-pod is malfunctioning, so I get to take a stroll to the apple store. Maybe the walk will work over my irritation. Or Lord only knows what the rest of this F'ing Monday will entail.