Why Technology Hates Me

I actually don’t know why technology hates me, I just know that it’s true. It is my personal belief that if computers really did take over the world, like in Terminator, I would be the first to go. Especially since they can’t ever seem to catch that wily John Connor.

Some of you might have noticed that I didn’t post at all last week. I like to fool myself into believing that someone out there looks forward to reading my blog and that you would notice if I skipped a week. Sigh. Perhaps not.

Anyway. My lack of posting is directly related to my ongoing conflict with electronics. It seems like all the electronic devices in my life mounted a coordinated and systematic attack following my move. It is as if they could somehow sense that this was the precise moment when I was most vulnerable. I have just moved to a new city, I don’t know a lot of people, I have no family close by, and I am financially strained after the move. Therefore, I cannot really defend myself.

Let me give you the rundown. Since my move the TV went wonky, the VCR/DVD stopped playing movies effectively, one of my stereo speakers stopped working, my IPod broke, and my ongoing cell phone problems became worse. And this is just a list of the malfunctioning electronics that I brought with me. They quickly enlisted the support of my household appliances and within a few weeks of moving into my new apartment the refrigerator broke and the heat stopped working (believe it or not this actually an issue in Sacramento in February, especially at night.). All of the above items, with the exception of the IPod, were eventually fixed, but it was still a lot to deal with on top of a big move and a new job, especially with the aforementioned lack of support system. Therefore, I almost had a complete breakdown when my computer joined the enemy camp last weekend. It has been having trouble since the move, but last weekend it completely died. I had to pay to have it fixed, (with the money I don’t have, of course), but I guess I can be grateful that they were at least able to fix it. So far so good, anyway. So what if it takes me until 2020 to pay off my credit card debt? I just hope all of this shit is worth it in the end.    

Have any of the rest of you ever felt like you were on the hit list of an electronic army?

Dance Camp/I Am Too Old For This Shit!

In hopes of meeting new people other than my coworkers, I signed up for a Meetup Group called the Sacramento Singles. This was my first mistake. My second mistake was RSVPing “yes” to the Dance Camp Event. My third mistake was actually attending the Dance Camp Event.

Don’t get me wrong. It was a good idea in theory. There is a fabulous little place in Sacramento called The Ballroom. They teach all forms of partner dance: salsa, tango, merengue, bolero, waltz, ballroom, swing etc. On this particular Sunday, one could get in for only $1 and take back-to-back classes in the various forms of dance. Each hour a new instructor would teach a different form of dance. It was a great way to see what instructors you like and what forms of dance you might be interested in learning. See, good idea in theory.  

The trouble is that the problems we women faced at high school dances apparently still exist.

1. There are always more women than men at these types of events.

2. The ladies all want to dance whereas most of the men apparently do not (So, why the hell did they go?!).

3. When you do get a chance to dance it is always with a man who is shorter than you are and creepy and obsessed with your breasts.

At the start of each lesson, the instructors had the women line up on one side of the room and the men line up on the other (junior high gym class flashback!). Then, they would show the dance steps first to the men and then to the women. After this, the instructor would tell the women to go find a partner.

This is where all resemblance to junior high vanished. There was not a single woman who stood there timidly staring at her shoes. Nope. It was like a stampede of horny buffalo charging the last remaining men on earth. It was as if someone had just said “you better hurry or no procreation for you!” I seriously was almost trampled the first time. After that, I just got out of the way. I was not about to claw and scratch and elbow my way toward one of the few men in the room. I wanted to dance as much as the next woman, but I still have my pride. I ask you, why did the women always have to be the ones to find a partner? Did the teachers get a kick out of watching the desperation?

Occasionally I would manage to snag a weak one on the outskirts of the crowd, but in most cases I was left without a partner. Obviously, this sucked! Those of us who were left without a partner were told to stand in between couples and then rotate in. This worked fine until people stopped rotating. However, I did discover one benefit to being without a partner. The instructors would often demonstrate with a leftover woman. This was particularly beneficial in the case of the sexy salsa instructor.

After 45 minutes of formal instruction for each lesson there was a free dance period where we were supposed to practice. That is when my little friend would track me down. Of course, it was nice to finally dance with someone. He was just a little too old for me (older than my Dad!), a little too creepy and a little too interested in my breasts (hey, buddy, my face is up here!). He also refused to rotate, which made it difficult for me to chat up the cute salsa instructor. Eventually I decided to duck out. I ended up missing the last lesson of the day, merengue, but I had enough. L

Every other Meetup Event has been a bust as well. Guess I will be fine with not meeting others besides my coworkers for now. Plus, my coworkers are awesome!

The Cat Who Won’t Live to Be Two

. . . otherwise known as Troilus. For those of you who knew him during the first year of his life you will understand me when I say he has reverted to his naughty kitty days. I swear I didn’t sleep at all during the first six months of his life. It was a lot like having a new baby, at least from what I remember of year one with Alyssa, Jenna and Riley.

Well, Mr. Man has decided that I am not entitled to sleep after uprooting him and disrupting his life. He has been keeping me up all night every night since I moved to Sacramento. Some nights are worse than other nights. To put it mildly, he is not adjusting well. I feel bad for him until about 3 a.m., and then I am done. I have tried shutting him out of the bedroom, but then he just cries to get in and Cassandra cries to get out. If I shut them both out I hear him terrorizing her up and down the hall all night and I can’t sleep anyway.

The other night was particularly bad. He was running around the room, knocking things over, pouncing on Cassandra, playing with the blinds. Finally, he began to calm down. I had just fallen asleep when he pounced on my face. THAT WAS IT! I leapt out of bed and chased him around the apartment with the squirt bottle. I must have looked like a crazy person running around in my rumpled P.J.s, my hair flying everywhere, screaming at my cat and wielding a loaded spray bottle. Of course I never caught him, but the good news is that we were both so worn out that I was able to sleep for the remaining three hours until I had to get up for work.

Seriously, I don’t know what to do about this cat. He will be one sorry little kitty when I lose my job due to falling asleep at my desk and the tuna and treats dry up.

Any suggestions? Does anyone else have a crazy pet who keeps them up all night?

West Sac and the Penis Truck

Last Saturday I had to journey to West Sacramento at 6:30 a.m. for work purposes (good thing I decided not to pursue a career in broadcasting because of the required early morning shifts. Really dodged that bullet didn’t I?). It turned out to be an interesting morning for more reasons than one. I am so glad that a little thing like sleep didn’t cause me to miss out.

The radio station folks were all very sweet and helpful, and they provided doughnuts and coffee. Plus, the interview included a witty and charming conversation with a very sexy musician who called in live from Germany (where it was NOT 7 in the morning). It also ended with me receiving an invitation to attend the Bockbierfest for free.

I rushed out of the station so I could head back to East Sac in time for the early morning Zumba class that I have always intended to get up in time for. As I was preparing to merge onto the freeway I noticed a site that woke me up completely for the first time that morning. The truck in front of me had what looked like a pair of silver testicles hanging right below the tow hitch on the rear bumper.  Upon closer inspection, while miraculously avoiding a collision, I clearly saw that it was exactly what I thought it was. Someone had intentionally hung the little decorative object under the tow hitch in order to make it look like the truck had the full array of the male organ displayed prominently on the bumper.

With no consideration for the rules of safe driving I frantically grabbed for my phone to get a picture of the penis truck before I had to exit. Alas, my efforts were not entirely successful. You can see the truck pretty well, but you can’t really see the. . .ah. . .goods.

Has anyone else ever seen this particular “attribute” on a truck? In West Valley perhaps?

I Googled it when I got home and it turns out that these little items are call “Truck Nuts.”

Needless to say, I have never seen any such thing in Downtown Sac, Midtown, or East Sac. In Utah we have a saying that goes “only in West Valley.” Well, I guess the saying around these parts is “only in West Sac.” Good times.

Witty Little Wines!

The other day I was shopping in Target and I came upon an interesting new discovery (pause…I can shop at Target! Goodbye Cedar City!). In the produce department there was a display of wines that were on sale that made me stop in my tracks, and not just because I can actually buy wine at Target (goodbye Utah!).  The brand that caught my eye is called the Middle Sister. Wait, it gets better. Each blend has a name too, and I am not just talking cabernet sauvignon, etc. They had five blends on display (all on sale!): the “Mischief Maker” (cabernet sauvignon), “Wicked White” (white blend), “Drama Queen” (pinot grigio), “Rebel Red” (red blend), and “Smarty Pants” (chardonnay).

Each wine had an adorable description of each “Sister’ who inspired the wine. Check of the description of the “Drama Queen.”

“Have you ever dated brothers? Worn leather pants to a wedding? Paired white wine with red meat? Then you just might be a mischief maker. You keep us up after bedtime on a school night. You change your hair color like most people change their socks. You make lives more complicated, but less boring. You'll be in the stories we tell our grandchildren. You love trouble. And we love you.”

I couldn’t resist! I had to try some. I showed restraint and only bought three: “Drama Queen,” “Mischief Maker” and “Rebel Red.” All in honor of my little sis J (you know who you are). I will let you all know how they taste. I am guessing they will be delish!

As a marketer, I immediately had to google this clever, little company. They have an adorable website and even more wines, and Sisters, from which to choose. The company has also done some amazing things with social media. Check them out: http://www.middlesisterwines.com.

Has anyone else sampled these witty little wines? Do any of you know a middle sister who fits one of the descriptions? I know several. My mom is a middle sister too . . .

The Lent, St. Patty’s Day, Mardi Gras Connection

Since we are fast approaching Easter (when did it become April?), I started thinking about a conversation that I had with my boss a few weeks ago. My boss, who is an Italian Catholic boy, proposed an interesting theory. The timing of St. Patrick’s Day is part of the reason the Irish are so confused. The reason: St. Patrick’s Day falls right in the middle of Lent, and Catholicism is the dominant religion in Ireland and among Irish immigrants.

Being from Utah, and not being Catholic, I have never given much thought to Lent (for you other native Utahans out there, Lent is the period between Ash Wednesday and Easter). I have noticed it once or twice listed on a calendar, but that is about the extent of it. The first time I actually gave it any thought was on March 9^th of this year. My boss came into the office and asked each of us, just in friendly conversation, what we are giving up for Lent. My answer: “I lived in Cedar City for three years. I have sacrificed enough!”  My co-worker had a great answer. He is giving up “hope” for Lent (this was meant to be facetious). No one else offered any comments.

My boss, in keeping with his good, Catholic boy training, is giving up liquor for Lent. Coincidentally I had just seen him at Burgers and Brew the night before having a beer and burger. When I brought this up, he said that was his last beer until after Lent, and boy did he enjoy it. His philosophy is that giving up liquor during Lent will allow him to “live-it-up” during Mardi Gras without feeling any guilt. Nice. Perhaps many Catholics share this logic.

On St. Patrick’s Day I asked him what he was going to do. How can you not have a beer on St. Patty’s Day? It is a matter of principle. He said, “I know! St. Patrick’s Day is part of the reason that the Irish are so confused.” He is married to an Irish lass, so I guess he is entitled to make this comment. I really wouldn’t know.

Do any of you have any insights about the Lent, St. Patrick’s Day, Mardi Gras connection? Have any of you given up something for Lent?