I'm a mess.

Since I can use my own computer now, I am going to be in my room a lot more so I decided I should finally clean it. I must explain that I never really put anything away from my apartment because then I would have to actually admit to living at home. So basically all my crap is on my floor and it's a messy messy death trap up here. I have been slowly cleaning and sadly, moving in.

I have my double bed from school here and there was a lot of crap accumulated in there since I only sleep on half of it and apparently have been using the other half for storage. Here is what I found so far:
4 magazines
4 books (including the humongus newest Harry Potter)
2 CDs
2 sweaters
1 blazer
1 t-shirt (My pink Bermuda shirt that my mother said she'd throw away if she ever saw again. I think I meant for that to be in there.)
1 stolen pad of paper from the place I interned at
1 3rd grade jazz costume (I was going to wear it for Halloween but there were severe crotch issues with it)
956 socks

I can't believe I am admitting to this behavior over the interweb, but man that fucking bed was a mess. It's weird because I am anal-y neat about most things except for this one room.

I am a happy girl.

Hello, my name is Joanne and I no longer use dial-up.
Things are much shinier and faster over on the 2005 side of technology.

Yay to my Mom for the awesome Christmas present of DSL.

A Merry Holiday Tale.

Every year on Christmas we go to my Aunt and Uncle's house in Lancaster. This year was no different so we went over there yesterday for dinner and a present exchange. This year was spectacularly awesome because Domenica hand picked out my awesome present of pink shoes (That makes 2 pairs now) that completely kick ass.

However, this year also had its dark moment. My aunt does this German tradition of "hiding the pickle." (Suprisingly, no porn results like I thought I'd get for googling that.) Basically, it's an ornament shaped like a pickle and she hides it on the tree than all the "kids" get to find it one by one. When you find it, you get to hide it for the next group and you also get a pickle prize.

I completely suck at finding the pickle. I have no luck at all, every year I am last and usually someone has to tell me where it is. This year I was also last. However, this year I was beaten by a four year old and it was even more embarrassing. Then I couldn't find where Gabby hid the stupid pickle, she stumped me. In my defense, I would like to note that the green pickle is hid within a green tree...

It's especially delightful because everyone who isn't playing and who has already won watches you and makes comments about how much you suck. My personal favorite was my Uncle Joe with this gem: "No wonder you can't find a job, you can't even find an ornament on the tree." Then as we were leaving my dad kept asking me to find my sister which confused me because she was sitting next to him, but as everyone else except me and Domenica got, he was just making fun of me.

Oh, memories.

Gold Star.

I read this following bit at Pamie.com which got it from here and I thought it was interesting.

When St. Andrew's Episcopal School in Austin, Tex., was faced with an ultimatum—pull Annie Proulx's short story "Brokeback Mountain" from its reading list or lose a $3-million donation to its building fund—school officials chose to give up the money. That decision is reverberating far beyond Austin. Writers from around the country have been so inspired by the school's actions that they've formed a group of young adult authors called AS IF! (Authors Supporting
Intellectual Freedom).

The man who withdrew his $3 million opposed "discussion on pornographic material concerning deviant behavior."

I think it's really great that a school especially a parochial or private (whichever it is) school would turn down the money and say no to censorship.

Look at me using the fancy quote feature!!

I'm losing my mind.

I totally had something I wanted to say on here then my mom made me go upstairs to find this Tupperware container she wanted and it took like 16 hours because she told me she wanted "the plastic one with the round lid" which is like 98% of the containers she has. So I kept finding one and bringing it to her and she'd tell me no and add more helpful hints like "it's taller than that" but then of course the next one would be too tall. I finally found what she wanted. It was in the refrigerator already filled with tartar sauce... I had to do it because she is doing her Feast of the Seven Fishes preparation and I would like to be able to eat it. Plus she's my mom and she gave birth to me and that always wins every argument no matter what.

But yeah, so I forgot what I was going to say, but then I just posted this instead because I'm awesome like an 86 year old woman like that.

Oh, Christmas Tree.

My dad told me the other day that when I was little, about 2 or 3 or 4ish (How old are kids when they start to walk? 9?) I used to like to pull the Christmas tree down. I'd just yank on the bottom branches till it toppled over and then giggle or dance or something.

My dad solved the problem by tying the tree to the curtain rod and then I would just pull and pull until I got bored.

This is one of the many reasons why I was the "bad" child.

Kennett Square News Update

I find this interesting. From the Philadelphia Inquirer:

Rich Rowe found a wallet along Route 1 near Longwood Gardens on Friday. Fancy, tan Prada job. Opened it up: Credit cards. New York driver's license for Susan Weaver. Gold's Gym membership card in Weaver's stage name, Sigourney.

Ah. Sigourney Weaver's wallet.

"I didn't know what to do," says Rowe, 23, a maintenance mechanic for Phillips Mushroom Farms. "I wanted to get ahold of her somehow."

Rowe says he tried calling credit-card companies but could not reach a live human. He called Gold's Gym, but wasn't too keen on mailing the wallet to persons unknown in New York.

He thought that the actress was in Kennett Square for a reason and that a friend of hers might be listening to Paul Barsky's show on WYSP-FM (94.1). So the word went out, and lo and behold, a friend was listening. Weaver's husband and publicist then got involved.

Rowe brought the wallet to the station on Independence Mall, and Barsky producer Michael Cerio rewarded Rowe with tickets to Friday night's Disturbed concert at the Electric Factory. He also got to meet the band.

Cerio asked for a call-in from Weaver, and she did so yesterday. But the question remained: How did her wallet end up beside the road, 130 miles from home?

Aliens?

Something simpler, she said. She was visiting friends - remember that she was here in '04 to shoot M. Night Shyamalan's The Village - and stopped to shop for boots at Wal-Mart. "I must have put it on top of the car," she said. "I knew it wasn't stolen" because the cards had not been used, adding: "The Christmas spirit lives."

Besides the fact that Sigourney Weaver bought boots at Wal-Mart in Kennett Square (I told you all it was the coolest place we had), that Barsky ass still has a morning show and people listen to it!

Bada bing.

I watched Closer yesterday. Jude Law has really weird ears. I know he is supposed to be super hot and sexy and all, but he does nothing for me. Even before I noticed the ears, I never saw the appeal.

The world's greatest song may be "Too Close" by Next. It's a whole song about boners! What's not to love? It makes me laugh. It's a song I would write if I got drunk and tried to write a song. "I wonder if she could tell I'm hard right now..."

I do not now nor do I ever want to go to law school. If anyone brings it up again, I will cut them regardless if they are my grandfather or a stranger. I still also have no desire to sell Pepsi products so we can stop mentioning that one as well.

I really like Nutri-Grain bars. I could eat the blueberry ones all day. But does one Nutri-Grain bar actually satisfy anyone's hunger? How can people eat just that for breakfast? I would prefer to not eat anything over one Nutri-Grain bar.

I really need a job because I thought today was Monday. I also had no idea it was the 20th already, I thought it was the 15th or 16th. I am a loser.

The coldest winter in almost fourteen years.

I love how everytime winter comes people forget what cold was like and walk around saying stuff like, "Fucking hell, I've never been so cold!" and "This December is much colder than last year." And by people I mean me and by say I mean shiver out through chattering teeth.

That's my Flash catching snowflakes on her tongue. She really liked to eat snow. When we would shovel the driveway, she would help by eating it. Aww, I miss her.

Could anybody tell that I have been deleting old files and pictures off my computer and found a bunch of stuff I forgot about? I posted a lot of pictures lately.

It's me, Mario!

I am not in a Christmas-y mood at all this year and it depresses me and makes me even less Christmas-y than I already was and more miserable. Ugh, I usually love Christmas! It makes me so nerdily happy! But this year, I'm all Grinchy. I have no money so I can't buy people the cool gifts they deserve. My overused joke is that everyone is getting donations to the "Joanne needs a beer, motherfuckers" fund. It can't even be good beer! It will be PBR or Milwaukee's Best or something gross and watered down.

I'm stopping there. I hate when I get all diary-ish on this thing. That's not my intent with this. Here let's look at this crappy picture of me and the love of my life to cheer us all up.


I found this on my computer and thought it was funny. This statue is in Center City by the City Hall Wendy's and I drunkenly made Ram take a picture of me with it once because I heart Mario. I think it was in 2003. I kind of look Asian in this picture, I think I was laughing or maybe I just was Asian that day.

My neighbors are weird, Part 2.

Someone actually bought that sign and posted it on their mailbox... I don't really know what to say about it except that everytime I see a dead squirrel, I am tempted to pick it up and throw it on their driveway. Good thing dead squirrels are dirty and gross and thus I would never touch one.

I still suck at this.

Today is my one year anniversary of blogging. Who thought I would actually do this that long? I didn't. I never stick with anything. Well, except whining and complaining, but I'm adorable when I do those. Thanks to everyone who has read this and put up with me especially the people who came here seeking porn and my 5 dedicated readers.

It's somewhat funny that when I made this blog I always intended to give it a real name and I just wrote "i don't know, i'll think of something later" to fill in the box. One year later and I still haven't used my brain and named it. I'm going with it though, it's grown on me and I now declare that it's the official name.

So, I christen ye "i don't know, i'll think of something later." I'm going to smack a 40 on my computer tower to officially christen the site, but that will probably take me a year to do also.

Bitch will stab you.

I went Christmas shopping with Domenica today and learned about such interesting things as how to build a bear and that athletic apparel is quite expensive.

But by far the most important thing I learned is that Taco Bell should not give Domenica sauce on her fucking quesadilla. Girl will get mad and then yell at anyone in sight for it. If she gets quesadilla sauce (which by the way tastes like a sneaker dipped in spices) it will be your fault and then she will yell about the sauce for the entire meal and criticize the way you eat a taco just to make your meal as bad as hers.

Please, Taco Bell, next time she specifies no sauce give her no sauce.

PS. Please see Sara's post in reference to Fiona Apple and add a couple fucks and a part about her speech on bullshit that confused drunken me plus some more praising of her and how good it was and that it was a fun time and you'd get what I would have said.

My neighbors are weird, Part 1.

Who buys such ridiculous fucking things? My neighbors confuse me to no end. These are people who wait for you, flag you down off the street and ask if you have seen anyone drive an inch or two on their precious lawn, but then they proudly display creepy tree accessories.

Snow!

It's snowing! I like snow. It is all pretty and fluffy and white. You know until it gets all dirty and black and slushy. When I was little I had a kick ass yellow snow suit with a bubble gum machine on it from London Fog. Hmm, I wonder if I have some weird past psychoanalysis thing with that coat and that's why I hate gum. Maybe it wasn't kick ass!

I still like snow. I just don't really like the cold part of it. I never really owned sweaters until I got to college because I always had a winter uniform sweater made of super polyester, wool and metal fragments that itched like hell and made me hate sweaters. Plus don't even get me started on the fucking turtlenecks we had to wear under that did nothing to stop the itching and made my head feel like it was going to fall off at any second. I don't even really own real sweaters now. I buy really cheap thin ones at Target because I can't stand the bulky sweater and they aren't that effective so I usually just end up fucking it and wearing a t-shirt. I just really hate feeling itchy. God bless cotton.

Just another way Catholic school has somehow broken me.

My new cover letter.

Dear Hiring Manager,

I am applying for the XXX position that was on XXX as of XXX. I recently graduated from [University I Attended] and I really need a job. As you may know, money and health insurance do not grow on trees.

My past job experiences includes internships and jobs that are on my resume which is attached to this letter. If you want to know what I did and what my GPA was look at that. If that is too complex for you, I don't want to work for you anyway because you are an idiot.

I don't like idiots. I don't work well with them. However, I normally get along with most people. I don't talk too much at first, but give me a bit of time and you will find I am quite enjoyable and funny. I enjoy jokes about inappropriate subjects and am excellent at making awkward comments.

Some things I have achieved that are not on my resume include having read Books 1 through 100 in the Babysitters' Club series as well as Super Specials 1 to 10, dancing a top a bar and being offered a dollar, vomiting in a bathtub and being able to check my own oil.

I really like the colors pink and green. I also like to write and watch television. I can operate Microsoft Word like a motherfucker and will gladly show you how to make columns without rolling my eyes too much. I think Harry Potter and using proper grammar and punctuation is sexy. I don't know any other languages besides English, but I could probably manage a sentence or two in Pig Latin or in Whining.

Your company seems interesting mostly because you are hiring and will pay me. I promise that I'll do a really good job at whatever it is you want. I work hard and I drink heavily and it would be really great to include your company in the working part. Thank you for your time in reading this letter. Which by the way, I spent time writing so could you not be an asshole and actually respond. Good or bad news doesn't matter, just be a kind, courteous human and respond especially if we have an interview.

Sincerely,
Joanne

Another random story from my past.

Argh, mateys! Time to settle in after ye harsh travels across thee bastard sea for a tale mighty and true. Or just a kind of funny and nerdy tale. Like me!

So, a long long time ago (from 1999 to 2003 according to my old resume) I used to work at [Place I Used to Work At.] Basically, I was a cafeteria lady with a baseball cap instead of a hair net. It was a pretty horrible job at times, mostly because I worked my ass of and got little pay and no respect and/or recognition for my hard work. Plus I was the only one in the cafeteria who spoke English so also at times it was pretty lonely. After some close diagnosis, I believe that every low self esteem thought I have in regards to myself stems from my tenure there. But anyway, here is my somewhat famed (in Delaware, at least) story of one day at work there. Please keep in mind that in 4 years, this is probably the most interesting thing that ever happened to me there. Also, keep in mind that this tale is told awesomely in person and I hope it translates well here.

Alright, I am 16 or 17 and working in the Hot Foods section one night by myself and I was really bored. There weren't a lot of customers and it was kind of hot and I was hungry and generally cranky. Some customers approached me, neglecting the huge sign in front of their faces and the sample plates displayed prominently, and asked me what the entrees were for dinner. As I went over the 3 choices, I remember thinking that I could really give 2 fucks about serving these people food and I was having trouble completing my sentences. I thought it was just the boredom, but I began to see spots and then the general noise in the cafeteria got really wonky and freaky. I slowly backed away from the people, ignoring their orders and went to leave.

The next thing I remember is being outside the cafeteria on the dock out back laying on the cement with the kitchen staff surrounding me. Our work uniform required us to wear black pants, shoes and socks which I always did, except this day. I wake up with my feet above my head on a fruit box and my bright fucking white socks staring at me. Of all the things, about this day. I'll always remember the socks the most. Obviously, I was really confused about what was going on, but also really embarrassed about the socks. It was explained to me that I had passed out, but luckily one of the chefs, Omar, had been walking by and caught me before I hit the floor. (Thank god! That shit was dirrrty.)

I thanked Omar and tried to go back to work but no one would let me get up. They had called the security guards to come help me and I had to wait. Someone on the kitchen staff picked me up and put me in a roll-y office chair and made me wait out on the dock like an asshole with everyone staring at me while the guy came. I was super freaked out because I thought somehow I was dying and I started to hyperventilate a bit. The restaurant's general manager, who I absolutely hated, starting asking me how to contact my parents. I could not think of my own phone number or my dad's to save my life. So the guy who already thought I was stupid, now thought I was extra stupid. Finally, the nice manager told him to leave me alone and go look it up in my file.

The guard shows up and he has all this creepy medical stuff with him and I really start crying because no one would let me move and I didn't know what was going on with me. They wheel me through the kitchen crying and panting, in front of all the people who weren't already staring at me, and into the elevator.

The security guards at [Place I Used to Work At] are all usually retired police officers or just retired men and thus old. This guard was no different. He gets one of the kitchen staff to lift me off the chair and place me on the floor. He starts doing doctor-y things to me and I'm freaking out because he keeps muttering. He makes some "Uh-oh" noises and decides he needs the oxygen tank for me. This is when my sister Nina shows up. We live like 6 minutes away, but she must have sped like hell to get there for me. She sees me on the floor, crying, white as a sheet with a old dude fumbling with an oxygen mask on top of me and she gets a concerned look on her face. Seeing her look that way made me get concerned for her so I stopped crying.

At this point, the story turns humorous and I finally began to relax and realize this wasn't a big deal. So, as the guy is leaning down to attach the oxygen mask to my face, he farts super loudly. I look at Nina and she looks at me and she laughs hysterically while I try to not laugh and just breathe in my nice clean oxygen. Now, of course, my father shows up (Nina called him) and does his Lou thing of befriending everyone in the room while somehow finding a way to yell at me. The GM comes in and tells us that the ambulance is here to take me to the emergency room.

I had no idea that there was an ambulance called and have a mini-freak out again because I just want to go home now and have my mom make me spaghetti. But no, of course not. Next thing I know a gurney is being rolled into the room and these 2 female paramedics are strapping me to it. My dad gets in the ambulance with me and my sister follows us in her car.

Let me explain here that my dad is claustrophobic and doesn't really like hospitals and, you know, his daughter passing out and having to go to the hospital. I'd never been inside an ambulance before and I don't know how many of my 5 readers have, but there is minimal sitting space and it's definitely cramped inside. My dad is somewhat heavy (think Tony Soprano) and is forced to sit on this super tiny bench about 12 inches wide. The paramedics were pissed about having to come get me because it was chili night at the fire house and they wanted chili. (Thus why I associate chili with firefighters.) The one was driving super fast, changing lanes left and right and my dad kept sliding all over the bench and looking like he was going to vomit. It was odd me being strapped to gurney telling my dad everything would be okay and to breathe.

When we get to the hospital, they bust through the doors and wheel me to the front. I get a room right away which was completely ridiculous because I am totally fine at this point, just embarrassed and kind of glad I got off work. While Nina, my dad and I are waiting in our cushy room, a man is wheeled in who punched his arm through a plate glass door. His arm is completely shredded and oozing blood everywhere. We see bone. But he has to wait outside because I came in an ambulance. My dad almost throws up again at the site of bloody man and forbids me and Nina from laughing or speaking until the guy gets moved.

I get a bunch of tests like an EKG done and they take my blood which is the one thing I can't stand, but my dad holds my hand cause I'm a princess. It's like 3 hours after I passed out now and I really have to pee. No one has been in to see us in a while and we've determined that I'm not dying so I just decide to go. I get up and walk out to the bathroom. On the way there, I am stopped by my nurse. I think she was waiting for me. She tells me I have to pee in a cup because she thinks I am pregnant, but she didn't want to confront me in front of my dad. I tell her I'm not, but I will gladly pee in her stupid cup. I go to the bathroom and when I get back she is in the room telling my dad how I may be pregnant, but I didn't want him to know. She then gave me a lecture on birth control. You can imagine my dad's reaction to that one. He was nice though and told the lady I was a good smart Catholic girl. However, later he told me that I needed to keep my legs closed until he was dead.

We wait some more and the lady comes and tells us that I'm not pregnant. Duh. We hope to leave, but crazy nurse lady has another theory. She has decided that I have Irritable Bowel Syndrome. She explains it and asked me if I had to go the bathroom when the incident occurred. I tell her no. She continues on, ignoring my answer, explaining how she determined I had IBS. None of her reasons occurred in my situation at all. My dad tells her she is wrong because if there is one thing my family has, it's un-irritated bowels. She finally let us leave since she can't come up with anymore ideas.

It's funny because the people at work thought I was pregnant as well and it spread throughout the whole restaurant and apparently, someone at the restaurant was the father. But sadly the real truth is boring. Basically I passed out because I was overworked and hungry and had been standing for way too many hours. I scared the shit out of myself and my dad and Nina. But we got to have a unique bonding experience and learn about proper methods of birth control and my mom did make my spaghetti.

So there is my long ass story of my youth.

I never did find out if those people got any food.