Oh, Justin

Before I begin this story, let me just preface it by saying that I love Elvis. In case you couldn't figure it out/you are a moron.

So Friday night, I headed up to the Coeur d'Alene casino. Where winning is just the beginning.* I convinced a friend to go with me, who bravely went even though others tried to scare her off. The concert was entitled "Elvis and Friends." A fun-filled evening of tribute artists: Buddy Holly, Tina Turner, and, of course, the man himself.

First, I made friends with a cute little old man sitting in front of me. He goes by "Swede." Which is adorable. Actually, I probably wouldn't have continued any conversation with him if he hadn't mentioned right off the bat that he saw Elvis live in concert in 1957. His girlfriend (whose craziness became more and more apparent as the night went on) is a Patsy Cline tribute artist. Seriously.

But she did invite me to an annual party that two Elvis Tribute Artists throw. And apparently one of them can match me for Elvis shrines/memorabilia. So that's fun.

Ok, so "Buddy" and "Tina" were all right, but the Elvis guy was awesome! And I've seen a few ETA's in my day. He had everything down: the voice, the moves, the patter. Whew! So I made Lynette stand in line so I could get his autograph. Because I took my book on Elvis Tribute Artists (the 50 best in America) and Justin (this ETA) is in there.

After bonding over similar necklaces (TCB, thank you), he signed my ticket. And the photo I bought of him. And my book. And, Jesus, I just reread this and I know how cool I sound. I then received a kiss from him and I might have had a huge smile on for the next 48 hours. Lynette was forewarned that I give the crazy free rein at events like this.

So, it was awesome. Added to by the fact that at the bar in the casino afterword we were repeatedly hit on by a man I affectionately referred to as The Child Molester. Nice mustache, my friend. And if you are going to be creepy, at least buy me a drink.

Anyways. Fun times. Don't judge me.

*They have, hands down, the worst commercials ever. Their nearest competitor for this would be the Money Tree ads.

My rules

Sigh. I am no fan of public restrooms, and today was filled with multiple reasons why. Adding to that, some of us discussed proper bathroom etiquette last night and I witnessed numerous transgressions today.

First, in a public restroom there is no talking once you are in a stall, or once the other person is in a stall. Unless you have already discussed this, and are both okay with it. But don't assume that someone wants to talk while taking care of business.

Second, in my department there are three stalls in the ladies' facilities. If someone is in the first stall, always take the third if it is open. Don't go into the adjoining stall. And, if all three are open when you go in, don't take the middle stall because that is going to force someone to take a stall right next to you.

Third, don't comment on ANYTHING that happens while you are in the stall. Seems basic, but apparently people need reminders.

Fourth, flush. Maryanne told me that when she went into a stall today this rule had been broken. Eww.

Fifth, wash your goddamn hands. Seriously. People aren't doing this. Yuck. And, FYI anyone I work with, I keep tabs on who does and who does not. And I judge.

I'm just glad I'm not a man, because apparently things are much worse/more disgusting in their restroom. I would probably break down and cry if I had to go in there.

Ok, that's it for my bathroom lecture. And if you haven't given me feedback on the living situation (previous post), you need to do so. And no more lurking. If you read, comment on that post. This is a give and take type of blog, folks. And, while I pride myself on being a giver, it's time for all of you to step up.

Movin' on up

Ok, so I have to move, I've decided. My apartment is pretty ghetto (carpeting coming up, hasn't been painted since Ike and Mamie were chilling on Pennsylvania Avenue, wood paneling walls, etc.) and I don't actually enjoy it there. It's small. And expensive. Too great selling points.

And as much as I love Christmas, I still hate that tree. Hate it, hate it, hate it.

But I looked at a townhouse last night. It is only $70 more per month than what I'm paying for now (and slightly out of my price range, but hello one more year of financial aid!). So help me decide, people.

Pros: Not the ghetto. Neighbors aren't loud/messy. New paint. New carpet. Much bigger. Nicer in general. Closer to work. Private backyard (well, I'd share it with two other units, but it is isolated and my dining room would open onto it). Lots o' closet space. Not the ghetto (most important).

Cons: I'd only live there for one year and moving is a bitch. First, last, and cleaning deposit. I'd have free laundry, but not in my own apartment (which I currently have). More expensive. The cat would have to stay indoors because it is on a busier street. My bedroom would be upstairs (so kind of hot in the summer).

Thoughts? Comments? Please to be weighing in.

OCD meets bitterness

This story/rant might seem odd, since I watched 3 hours of Grey’s Anatomy yesterday (reminder to self: send thank-you card to Netflix for rocking), but oh well.

I hate lazy people. I really do. Hate them. There is nothing worse, in my opinion, than a lazy ass. Except for maybe Meg Ryan fans.

Now, we all have our lazy moments (see above mention of 3 hours of Grey’s Anatomy, which isn’t even that good, yet I watched it) or lazy days or lazy weekends. But a whole lazy lifestyle? No. Come on.

I hate messy houses. Granted, my room was always messy when I was in high school, but it was high school. And I lived with a complete slob for 8 years, so I just can’t handle messes anymore. I give people credit when their houses get cluttered up, especially if they work non-stop, but there is a difference between clutter and dirt. Clean your house. It will make you feel better, I promise. And it’s really not that hard.

Also, I’m sorry, but that goddamn Christmas tree that my neighbor refuses to cart the extra 15 feet to the dumpster? Seriously. Get rid of it. I keep debating on moving it, but I threw her trash away for a good year (she would just leave it on the porch for 5-8 days, ewww), and I don’t think I should have to clean up after another adult. Besides, Laura says I’m just an enabler if I do that. Some of us have bets on how long the tree will stay there (and our bets are by the month, not by the day, if that gives any indication).

It reminds me of those great 6 months that her smoke detector sat on the porch. Why was it out there? Because it kept beeping, and it annoyed her, so she placed it outside. Why, I wonder, would a smoke detector beep? I wonder if it has something to do with the batteries dying. Hmmm. But leaving it on the front porch seems like a good solution. For six months. Don’t feel too badly for the smoke detector, a dirty, food-stained cooler kept it company the whole time. It was a pleasure to come home to day after day.

Other laziness: people who don’t do the work assigned to them and then get others to do it. Look around any office. It happens hourly.

There were going to be more examples, but I just re-read everything and this post seems bitter enough. Uh, so sorry about that. I blame the tree. Ok, something nice and uplifting to end on: Air Supply is performing in a few weeks. Air Supply, as in “All Out of Love.” As in, I might just love them. As in, I’m probably going to this concert alone, yes? Someone go with me.

Mmmm, chocolate. And interest charges.

Wow, my posting has gotten sporadic. This week was busy. Again. And again, not fun busy. But here it is on a weekend, and I choose to not work for the next three hours (hello, o’ blessed TV).

Recap commences.

So my doctor has told me to eat more fruit, which I have been doing. Two pieces a day, including oranges, which I never liked before but am now enjoying. Except how long it takes to get to the damn fruit. Anyways, I typically have a banana, and it takes everything in me not to re-create the Colbert banana incident. But, as they say, practice makes perfect and you need to stay in shape. Which is funny if you’ve seen the clip.

Next. On Thursday, I wore a shirt that revealed a little bit more of my cleavage region than I typically do at work. So there they were. All day. I was sitting in my office, when a faculty member came in to talk to me, so he was standing and I was sitting. So he has that perspective. Our conversation:

Me: So what did you think of the first candidate? (we’re searching for a new professor)
Him: I thought he was ok, but I’d like to see what the breast of the committee thinks. **Here is where he turned bright red and shifted his gaze from the ladies up to my eyes for the rest of the conversation. I don’t think he looked away from my face or even blinked for the next five minutes as he contemplated what he had done/said. I’m assuming he meant “rest of the committee.”**

So that was fun.

Next. I attended a birthday shindig the other night, where I was introduced to a great game. I’m not going to sum up the game too much, but you tried to match words/people/events with adjectives. Man, that doesn’t sound fun, does it? But it was. Anyway, I discovered that people other than myself think Tom Hanks is useless. Because he is. He really, really is.

Finally, this cold weather and blechy snow better stop soon. I pushed two cars the other night. They got stuck in my driveway. And it was pretty funny. Maybe just for me.

Oh, finally part two. I saw “The Queen” last night. No, not Tom Cruise (don’t we all have our suspicions?). The movie about the week after Princess Diana’s death. It was ok. But I missed ten minutes of it, as I took a stroll down memory lane remembering my Princess Diana paper doll from the 80s. It rocked. So did my chocolate-covered raisins. By the way, I charged 66 cents last night. Who’s financially stable? Me.

Stupid basic cable

File this under "Conversations Ace has had that she has little to no recollection of." It's a pretty big file. My early onset has finally caught up to me, and I have been punished for forgetting whatever people tell me (which, I've been told, is pretty much everything. I typically need to be told something five times before I'll remember anything. Lack of memory, which is why I'm a historian). I have no idea why I have no short-term memory. Probably because I daydream when people talk.

Anyways, so I was a bit sick this weekend, which sucks considering it was a three-day weekend. But it allowed me to work on an article, get some research and other miscellaneous class-prep done, and watch a bit of TV. And by a bit, I mean lots.

Sunday I was excited all day for the 2 HOUR SEASON PREMIERE of 24. All day. Because I love 24 and am a bit addicted to it. And by a bit, I mean obsessed.

So I arranged my whole Sunday schedule around this show, making sure I was done with absolutely everything so I could thoroughly enjoy Jack Bauer kicking some terrorist ass. At 7:59 pm, I settled into my chair, snacks in hand, cozily wrapped up in quilt and prepared to enjoy 2 straight hours of pure entertainment. As the clock ticked to 8:00, then 8:01, then 8:02, I figured out something was wrong when neither Jack nor Chloe appeared on my screen.

After pouting for 10 minutes, I did some research and discovered that my local cable provider has decided to get rid of its Fox affiliate because of some financial negotiations. No Fox. No 24. No happy Ace. Who gets rid of Fox? I am willing to pay an extra $1 or so a month for this. Stupid Time Warner cable (and they got rid of this a few months ago, but I didn't notice until now).

After thinking on this for a while, it began to seem semi-familiar. It was then that I remembered a conversation I had with my sister about this over break, she complaining that there was to be no American Idol in her near future. And this is why I should pay attention when people talk and why I should remember conversations. Had I remembered this conversation, I might have been able to take steps to ensure a 24-filled evening last night and Sunday. I could have gotten digital cable or whatever.

Since I don't pay attention when people talk to me (typically I just put on my "listening face" while I imagine myself hanging out in the Jungle Room. Aren't I the best friend ever?), I wasn't able to avoid this situation. And that is my sad, sad story from this weekend. Maybe I've learned a valuable lesson. Which I'll probably forget in a few days. Or hours. Or minutes. Hey, I think I'll watch 24 next week!

Otherwise I've just been busy working. It's going to be a long, busy spring. But that's alright, since the light at the end of the tunnel is my August visit to Graceland. Donations accepted to help fund this trip. As an added bonus, if you give me money, when we next talk, I'll try to listen to what you say. Okay, probably not.

My unintentional brashness

This week is just flying by. After all the parties/commemorations for The King's birthday on Monday (did you remember to send me a present?), I've been busy working. Damn busy. Not fun busy. Semi-cranky-inducing busy. Stupid work.

And yesterday an old man yelled at me. Ok, maybe he didn't yell yell, but he did raise his voice and lecture me. In front of people. At Shop-Ko. In line. Ass-hat.

So I had to buy some semi-random things last night: a birthday card, some batteries, wrapping paper, a photo album, and "feminine hygiene" products. I go to check-out and place all of said items on the little conveyor belt, where they were visible to other shoppers. And of course old Mr. Nosey McSenile had to look. And judge.

He was apparently offended with one of my purchases. Guess which one? He then gave me a lecture, loud enough for everyone else in line to hear, on how "in his day" young ladies wouldn't so "brashly" display items that were of such a private nature.

I was so stunned that I literally couldn't say anything. Upon telling this story to someone else, he suggested that I should have taken one of the items out of the box and bitch-slapped the old man.

His little lecture didn't make me feel guilty for being so open about buying things, so much as it made me wish I had bought other items to toss on there. Like, I don't know, KY Jelly, lacy bras, some Trojans, edible underwear, a bikini wax kit, etc. Although I doubt that Shop-Ko carries some of these items, but what kind of douche bag (hey, maybe some Massengill now that I think about it) comments on other people's items? And I'm sorry if in the 1920s, women didn't purchase these in mixed company, but that's the benefit of not being 108 years old. I got to skip over the era where you hid these things. Because men shouldn't know. That's what Betty Freidan and Gloria Steinem fought for, my freedom to buy things at Shop-Ko. Or equal wages for equal work. Or something.

Okay, this post turned out to be more feminist-y than I meant it to be, and probably more descriptive than some of my male readers wanted to see. I just really wanted to comment on why, yet again, I hate people. And these people always find me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~January 8th~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Aren't holidays fun?

FYI, everyone, the Christmas season is over. And as much as I love Christmas and holiday decorations, it's over. Over. Take your tree, your lights, your stockings, your ornaments, and your nativity scenes down.

Besides Christmas decorations still up in January being a huge pet peeve to me (come to think of it, the phrase "pet peeve" is also a huge pet peeve of mine), they detract from the new holiday season which is upon us. And, no, I don't mean Valentine's Day (although according to every store in town, Valentine's Day is tomorrow and you need to buy your candy NOW).

I mean my birthday holiday season. Less than five months. And counting. Put Dee-Licious the Dog on layaway now.

Movin' on up

And 2006 is over. Highlights were many (being done with my exams tops this list, but this might be edged out by my "close encounter" with an Elvis tribute star), and we'll just ignore the lower points.

I rang in New Year's asleep in the back seat of a car. Which brought back some good high school memories. Uh . . .

I went to Boise yesterday to go to the Humanitarian Bowl, Miami vs. Nevada. By the way, how scary is Miami's mascot? He looked like Howard the Duck on crack, while being simultaneously possessed by the Dark Lord himself. And Howard the Duck is scary enough on his own.

Anyways, it was so freaking cold there. I'm pretty sure some of my lady bits froze and fell off. And that's a pretty image. David and Heather and I sat in front of some real winners, too. Best comment from them: "Dude, I think my taint is frozen." Eww. Makes the image from my frozen lady bits pale in comparison, yes?

We headed back to Pocatello after the game, and that's why I was asleep when 2006 turned into 2007. But I did get a drunken text message to wish me a happy New Year. And you know who you are. Please don't send me text messages--I hate them. You know I prefer drunken voice mails.

Ok, and a fair warning to everyone: if you tell me that your New Year's resolution is to not make a New Year's resolution, I will vomit. Automatic ass-kicking.

My New Year's resolution is to move out of my ghetto apartment, by the way. Any funds you could send me to help me achieve this goal would be greatly appreciated, too. Unless you want me to fail, which makes you a horrible, heartless person. Maybe your New Year's resolution should be to help your fellow (wo)man. Selfish bastards.

So happy New Year!