Wrong number?

So I’m sitting here, studying. My cell phone rings. The number says Texas but it doesn’t look familiar. I figure that it’s C calling from work for some reason.

Me: Hello?
Guy: Hi, do you happen to have a dentist’s chair?
Me: Um, what? A dentist’s chair?
Guy: Yeah, do you happen to have one?
Me: What?!? Why would I have a dentist’s chair? Who is this?
Guy: Sorry, I must have the wrong number.

Now, this is weird enough. But I still have a Louisiana number. So why is someone from the city I’m living in now calling a Slidell, LA number for this kind of thing? At 10:30 at night? WEIRD.

And THEN I reversed the number that called on switchboard.com and GUESS WHAT?  The number came back to the guy that we were trying to rent the house from.  WHAT THE HELL ALTERNATE UNIVERSE AM I LIVING IN?  And why does a guy who recently moved to San Francisco (I thought) need a dentist’s chair?!?!?

Thanks to Pajiba

I should start writing about some of my crap jobs.  They were kind of spectacular.  To get started, here is what I posted on the pajiba comment diversion that I mentioned in the earlier post:

I’ve had TONS of crap jobs. 2 weeks at an airbrush shop (oh yeah) where I burnt my hand on the heat press and the pothead “artist” wouldn’t let me go to the mall first aid thing because “we might get some customers in here, like, any time now.” I quit.

I was a personal assistant to a doctor for one day. I went to his house, he pointed to a monolithic stack of Playboy and Hustler (and something called Hairy Women) and requested that I order them by date and amount of vag shown in centerfold. They looked sticky, I left the house.

My last job was actually pretty cool. I worked for a private investigation company and watched surveillance footage of people who were supposed to be too hurt to work as they attended Mardi Gras parades and held people on their shoulders. What sucked about the job was a co-worker. She was a massive drunk. One day, I called in to work because I had been injured in a car accident the prior evening. She called me AT HOME and demanded I go in to work. This is how she started this conversation: “Sharon. Do you know how bad of a morning I’m having? I woke up this morning covered in shit. I shit myself while I was asleep and now I can’t go to work. You have to go. Do you hear me? I shit myself. Now go into work.” I told her that 1) she wasn’t my fucking boss and 2) I had 3 cracked ribs, so, you know, GO TO HELL, MISSY!!! She told EVERYONE in the office that she shit herself and we all made fun of her for months. Which is exactly what she deserved. So there.

Think you’ve got it bad?

This might help.  Since I’m a loving, caring person I just want to bring a little light and joy into the lives of my readers.  And to that end I’m supplying you with another brilliant comment diversion by Pajiba.  Go check out

The Worst Jobs Ever

You can’t help but feel better after reading some of these.  And you can, of course, read mine in there somewhere.

This is profoundly disturbing

Reality tv is just getting to be too much.  Yeah, I watch one show without fail. So You Think You Can Dance.  And anyone who knows about my obsession with dance movies isn’t surprised by this AT ALL.  If I can happily sit through stuff like Center Stage, Fame, or Breakin’ (1 and 2), then of COURSE I want to watch a dance show.  But then, I saw an ad for this show. CelebraCadabra, and my head imploded.

More funny things

Have you ever seen this video? Maybe you have, maybe you haven’t. M sent me this a while ago and I LOVE watching it, especially when I’m having a bad day. As a linguist, I should have something deep and meaningful to say about this (using one’s own phonological rules to interpret a different language, blah blah blah). As, um, ME, all I have to say is that I love love LOVE the outfit changes, the enthusiastic dancing, and the “hoodie move” seen early on. M, baby, this is for you!

Hormonal depression

Yeah, I’m depressed.  And it’s probably due to PMS because just 2 days ago I was perfectly fine and happy and now?  Now I think everyone hates me just because I haven’t gotten any emails or calls since Friday.  Which of course does not mean that everyone hates me, it’s the just the conclusion that my hormone-addled self came to while sleeping last night.

I braved the parking lot of Titaya’s last night, (site of the famous U-haul incident) in order to pick up some dinner for us.  It was amazing, as usual.  C gave me a funny look when I was putting in our order because I requested 2 Thai iced teas.  I got off the phone and she said “You know I don’t drink that crap.”  I said, “Of course!  One is for me on the ride home.  And the other one is for dinner.”  I’m not stupid, I knew that I wouldn’t be able to wait to drink the brilliant yummy that is thai tea.  And I also knew that I would be all disappointed by the time I got home.  And that if I made an effort to not drink the tea on the way home, that effort wouldn’t work.  And in my current state of mind, I just don’t need that sense of failure.  So . . . 2 teas, please.  As much as I love thai tea, I would have ordered 3. But there are only 2 cup-holders in my car, so there you go.

When the non-plans go awry

C and I were invited to the city-wide garage sale today. I declined . . . nah, we’re gonna be lazy today and just stay in. But I didn’t realize how exceedingly boring that would turn out to be. C keeps running upstairs to play Diablo and I’m trolling people’s blogs in an effort to stay entertained. I should be working, really, but I can’t muster the drive.

Plus, I am PMS-y as all get out. I’m overreacting to the smallest, stupidest things ever. C and I were making breakfast together and when I said that the eggs had a few more minutes to go (we were boiling them) she asked if I was sure. I got all huffy and asked “What . . . you think I don’t know how to boil an egg?” She just stared at me and I apologized. I’ve already emailed something like an apology today and then I had to give one this morning to C and now I’m over my quota for at least 3 months.

So we’re both bored but unwilling to do anything about it. There aren’t any movies out that I wanna see and I looked all through the entertainment of the Chronicle and UGH I can’t watch another hour of “Top 80s videos” on VH1. This is the lamest Saturday ever.

Like a journalist/savior

I have a favorite journalist and his name is Chris Rose.  I had always read his column in the Times Picayune growing up and beyond.  He was funny and sarcastic and biting.  I looked forward to every Sunday, waiting to steal the paper from my mother so I could read what he had to say.

After Katrina, Chris Rose changed his style a bit.  He had to, because the city he was writing in and the climate he was writing from had changed.  He adapted and wrote with an honest gaze about what was happening.  He broke my heart time after time and that was okay.  His heart was breaking along with everyone else’s.  We were all suffering, sometimes we still are.  Chris Rose didn’t mind admitting that he cried at things like signs and empty lots and cryptic messages.  We all did, but we didn’t want to talk about it.

And so I’m posting a link to his blog. Because I read it obsessively and I’m damn glad he’s still around.  My mother calls me randomly to tell me about something he’s written and that makes me happy.  Because I’m still homesick for Louisiana and I’m glad we’ll be going back for a visit soon.  And even though I’m having a good time in my new city, yeah, I’m nowhere near calling it home yet.  I might never be.

Hey, hey you

So one of my favorite writers, ever, is Erika Lopez.  EVER.  And it trips me out when I order something from her (like some really cool rubber stamps of some of her drawings) and get a little hand-written note or when I added her as a friend on myspace and get a little message apologizing for taking so long.  Because in my world, Erika Lopez is a HUGE freaking deal and this giant celebrity and I make everyone read her books because they just don’t know what they’re missing until they do.

If I had one wish, it would be to go drink margaritas and eat chips and salsa with Erika Lopez.  Because that would rock.

Anyway, go check out her cartoon-log (clog) here.

I feel like crap

At first I thought our A/C was on the fritz.  I couldn’t sleep last night because I was SO HOT.  And then I realized that I had a fever.  Which basically sucks.  I pulled my ass out of bed this morning and went to campus.  I got to my office, sat down, and promptly fell asleep in my cubicle.  I awoke a snotty mess and realized my first class had started.  So I went to M’s office (professor of my second class) and KNOCKED ON HER DOOR which is a big no-no in academia but whatever.  And then I apologized profusely for bothering her before asking if I could have my rough draft back for my presentation on Thursday because there was no way in hell I was gonna make it until her class at 2.  I was promised a scan and an email of my draft.  And now I’m home sucking on a Mocha Dream chiller because I’m sick and my throat hurts and it’s cold and I could get it from a drive-through window on my way home.  Don’t judge me.

On a happier note, this semester is almost over.  We’re leaving for Louisiana on the 15th, I think.  Spend a few days there, go eat at Court of Two Sisters, find some seafood.  It’s all about food, really.  And I want a daquiri!  I miss getting a huge girl drink in a go cup.  Chocolate mint daquiri, you shall be mine.  Speaking of which . . .

I’m posting this video because I hadn’t seen it in years until Molly sent it to me.   Girl Drink Drunk