I am the type of person who requires some sort of white noise in the background at all times.  The news on while I’m cooking, the stereo on while I’m scrubbing the toilet, or even just the radio on while I’m driving. 

I was transporting my 16-year-old daughter to school today when Timberland’s, “The Way I Are” came piping through the speakers.  Have you ever listened to the words of this song? It’s a duet about a scrub and some skanky chick’s acceptance of his scrubiness.

I would like to take a moment to address Timberland and clear the air about what is acceptable, and what is not. 

It goes a little somethin’ like this:

*Verse 1* (Timberland)
I ain’t got no money
I ain’t got no car to take you on a date
I can’t even buy you flowers
But together we’ll be the perfect soulmates
Talk to me girl

Ok, first, if you have no money and no car, what are you gonna do?  Are you gonna walk to my house with the intentions of gettin’ a little lovin’?  And trust me, even if you were lucky enough to hitch a ride with a homey, even if you hit the bell with flowers in your hand, you still ain’t gettin none.  And to even consider that we might be soulmates is blasphemy.  Soulmates are connected.  I gots a job, I gots a ride.  Accept your destiny, pal,  walkin and beatin off.

*Bridge* (The chick)
Oh, baby, it’s alright now, you ain’t gotta flaunt for me
If we go there, you can still touch my love, it’s free
We can work without the perks just you and me
Thug it out ’til we get it right

Now, I’m no gold-digger by any means.  But, if the boy ain’t got a job, money, or car, what hell would he have to flaunt in the first place?  And to think she’s gonna consider “going there” with him… for free… without the perks?  What perks?  Massage oil?  Happy Jack Rabbit?  Sweet Jesus.  I am going out on a limb here… she’s got to be very horny and/or very desperate to reproduce.

Let’s skip her part from here on out.  It’s repetition of the previous desparation and her forgiveness of his slackeristic nature.  Let us explore the remaining 2 verses of this mockery of man-li-ness.

*Verse 2*
I ain’t got no Visa
I ain’t got no Red American Express
We can’t go nowhere exotic
It don’t matter ’cause I’m the one that love you best
Talk to me girl

I wouldn’t care much that there is no plastic, so long as he has a J-O-B that results in some sort of cash flow.  It’s nice if a man has the money to give birthday and Christmas presents that aren’t from a Cracker Jack box along with small tokens of his affection through-out the year.
No exotic trips?  It’s mandatory to go somewhere to have sex, other than ones own bedroom, at least occassionally.  A trip to the Keys.  A trip to Vegas. Sex is good in Vegas.  But, still he spouts that he’s the one she loves best.  Again, most likely her poor self image.  Get therapy.

*Verse 3*  (The finale)
Baby girl, I don’t got a huge ol’ house
I rent a room in a house
Listen baby girl, I ain’t got a motorboat
But I can float ya boat
So listen baby girl, once you get a dose of D.O.E.
You gon’ want some mo’
So listen baby girl, when I make it
I want you back, want you back, yeah

He rents a room.  Nice.  A room in a house where other people live.  Which means either the home owners are going to hear the headboard bangin’ and the naughty sounds coming from the room or we’ll only be gettin busy in my house.  Uh, No.

No boat floating from  you until you get a job, a car, flowers, some select pieces of jewelery.

Thanks, Mark!  Looks just like me!

** The name of the company in question has been changed.

Ok, kids.   I have been doing my bestest trying to be nicer to people.  This has been going on for some time now.  However, nothing gets the better of me than those annoying ass automated phone calls from Joe Solicitor.  Or the calls you get from Sally Salesperson where they ask for you by first name and try to act like an acquaintance…  Dayum.  I thought that shit was borderline illegal on a harassment level.

Anyway, today I turned the tables.  I got an automated call from “Kelly”.  She was offering us the moon and stars and possibly the sun too if we would “press one to stay on the line for a representitive”.

So, I press one.  I hold for a brief 20 seconds or so, expecting “Kelly” will pick up personally and explain to me this great pitch of hers.  A pitch I intended to let her waste her time giving before asking to have all of our business numbers removed from her bullshit auto-dial system.

All that went out the window, when rather than “Kelly”, some deep voiced, crankity, old british dude picked up. 

“You’re not Kelly.”  I say to him, agast that the wool was pulled over my eyes.

“No, that was a recording.  Are you interested in learning more.”  He blurts out in harsh monotone.

“Uh.  No.  Actually.  I’m really, really tired of you people calling us and would like you to remove our number from your database.”

“Done.”  He said as he disconnects my call.

OH NO HE DIDN’T.

God bless *69.  I annoy the shit out of many-a-telemarketer when I can actually get my hands on the number they called from.

So I dial *69 and get the number.  I press each digit and the little british weasel that hung up on me answered.

**”First Asshat”  He answers.

“Yah.  I was connected to you to be removed from your call list and you hung up on me.”  I lament.

“Well, I didn’t hang up, but you have been removed.”  He sneers.

“How the hell am I removed when you only called one of our numerous numbers, sir? Can you explain that?  Do you have a list with every company that notes every number within that company?” 

I’m ready to fight with him by this time. 

“We have them.”  He hangs up again.

So, me (being me), I dial them up again.

“First Asshat”  It was some uptight manly sounding british woman this time.

“I’m calling to be removed from your call list.”

“Yes, that’s why I answered, I heard the conversation with my employee.”  She says.

“It’s pretty simple.  Remove all of our numbers, now, or I will call you 500 times a day until Jesus comes back.”  I tell her.

“They will be removed.”  She retorts as SHE hangs up on me.

Needless to say, I have spent the last hour randomly picking up the phone, dialing the number and saying…

“Hi it’s me.  Only XXX number of the promised calls left today.”

I kind of wonder if I can get in trouble for it.  If anybody would like to have the same big ball of fun as I am, and help me annoy the shit out of these people, I’d be glad to share the phone number with ya.

Happy dialing!

Or not.  It might just be my man snoring as he sleeps.  I was blog browsing today when I came upon a blog by Zoning Out Again – Can A Uvuvla Be Cut Out While Someone Sleeps?  and it brought back memories of nights that border on semi-insanity from the lack of sleep. Sleeping is one of the most important things in your life, sleeping well can improve your life and health, one of the best ways to sleep better is using the best CPAP Mask.

First, I am so glad that I am not the only person who has a semi-glazed look on her face sometimes from a lack of a good nights sleep.

Second, Anthony still swears I’m insane because he’s never heard himself snore.  But he does.  He must be deaf if can’t hear that.

Actually, he was a sport and went to the sleep clinic to get it all checked out after this particular night. The doctor made a few recommendations. Tony’s favorite is a snoring mouthguard; he  made a little joke about contact sports in bed. I blushed so hard, we were still in the doctor’s office!

When Tony and I first started dating, we generally would see each other when we could.  Then we progressed to staying weekends at one another’s house, since we lived nearly an hour away from each other. This guide provides the best practice guidelines on how to install hardie board come primed and painted for your color.

We had went to bed after we had watched a movie and cleaned up the kitchen from dinner.  We lay there all snuggled and quiet when it started.  At first it was just deep, deeep, deeeeeeep breathing.  But after about 5 minutes, it sounded and felt like an earthquake.  After lying there for a few minute and assessing the situation, I realized he would breath in really deep, quit breathing then exhale.  This attibuted to the volume of the snoring itself.

Well, the snoring set off the dogs, which are caged at night.  The two dogs took turns howling and barking.  I got up, opened the door  and they barked even louder.

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So, there I am, in fairly unfamiliar territory, in my PJs, standing in a scary dark hallway with two caged and barking dogs.

I covered my ears and closed my eyes, but when I opened them, I was still there.  It’s not a dream.  He’d snore in really loud, the dogs would freak and bark like crazy.  All of this at 1:30 am.

I made my way down the hall to the couch only to find his son sleeping there instead of his bedroom.  So, I went in his room to find my daughter had called claim on the bed, which is why the boy was on the couch to begin with.

By this time, the symphony of loud snoring and dogs barking was making me insane. I really thought I was losing my mind, since all this racket didn’t seem to be bothering anybody else.

I had no other choice.  I had to escape.  I fumbled around and found my way back to the bedroom.  Somehow I located my purse and shoes by the side of the bed.  I grabbed the small throw blanket from the bottom of the bed and took off.  Back down the dark and scary hallway I went.  Feeling my way along until I made it to the back door.  Yes!  I made it!  This was December and it was cold out.

I found my keys in my purse and got in the car.  I fired up the car, cranked up the heat, pulled the blanket over my me.  No sounds but the sound of the radio as low as it would go and me still be able to hear it.

Somewhere around dawn, Tony realized I was gone, but saw the headlights shining through the livingroom window.  He came outside to find out what had happened, so I told him.

Needless to say, he made the appointment and went to the doctor over it.  He told the doctor he had to fix it or I’d never marry him. So now it’s time for some snoring treatment by Zquiet.

Ain’t that the sweetest thing you’ve ever heard???

A good friend of mine used to say, “This is a very simple game. You throw the ball, you catch the ball, you hit the ball. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose, sometimes it rains.” Think about that for a while.

— Coach “Nuke” LaLoosh, in Bull Durham

     Speaking of Rain…

     I am reminded of a man dubbed by Science as a “Quasi Supernormal Incremental Precipitation Inducer…”

     Rob McKeena was a miserable bastard and he knew it because he’d had a lot of people point it out to him over the years and he saw no  reason  to disagree with them  except  the  obvious  one  which  was  that  he  liked disagreeing with people, particularly people he disliked, which  included, at the last count, everyone.

   …

     It wasn’t that he was naturally predisposed to be so surly, at  least he hoped not. It was just the rain which got him down, always the rain.
     It was raining now, just for a change.
     It  was  a  particular  type  of  rain  he   particularly   disliked, particularly when he was driving. He had a number for it. It was rain type 17.

…

     He had read somewhere that the Eskimos had over two hundred different words for snow, without which their conversation would probably  have  got very monotonous. So they would distinguish between  thin  snow  and  thick snow, light snow and heavy snow, sludgy snow, brittle snow, snow that came in flurries, snow that came in drifts, snow that came in on the bottom  of your neighbour’s boots all over your nice clean igloo floor, the snows  of winter, the snows of spring, the snows you remember  from  your  childhood that were so much better than any of your modern snow, fine snow, feathery snow, hill snow, valley snow, snow that falls in the  morning,  snow  that falls at night, snow that falls all of a sudden just when you  were  going out fishing, and snow that despite all your efforts  to  train  them,  the huskies have pissed on.
     Rob McKeena had two hundred and thirty-one different  types  of  rain entered in his little book, and he didn’t like any of them.

…

     And as he drove on, the rainclouds dragged down the  sky  after  him, for, though he did not know it, Rob McKeena was a Rain God.  All  he  knew was that his working days were miserable and he had a succession of  lousy holidays. All the clouds knew was that they loved him  and  wanted  to  be near him, to cherish him, and to water him.

— Excerpt from Chapter 2 of Douglas Adams’
“So Long and Thanks for All the Fish,”
the fourth book in the not-so-aptly-named
Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy Trilogy

     It’s raining cats.

     No dogs, fortunately.

     Dogs tend to cause a lot more damage, mostly because they don’t land on their feet.

     Of course, neither do some cats…

     *shrug*