"Would the owner of a black Dodge caravan, license plate XXXXXX, please come to the parking lot – your car is moving!"
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Monday, July 28, 2008
Things I Didn't Expect This Weekend
1. My uncle downing FOUR martinis at dinner, then proceeding to talk VERY LOUDLY telling stories screaming non-PC terms
(if I could have hidden under the table, I would have)
2. My friend giving birth to her second baby IN THE CAR ON THE WAY TO THE HOSPITAL
(my first thought: "Eew! What a mess!")
((my second thought: "We are totally driving the next time we go out with them."))
3. Two strange guys* sleeping at my house on Saturday night
(*Okay, they were my husband's coworkers. But they were from another office. And he's only met them, like, twice.)
4. To skip my exercise class, then be made an example of (via an email from the instructor) to her entire address book.
(Granted, she didn't use my name when instituting the new "if you miss a class you pay" policy, but THAT email came right after the one telling me that if I miss a class I have to pay)
(if I could have hidden under the table, I would have)
2. My friend giving birth to her second baby IN THE CAR ON THE WAY TO THE HOSPITAL
(my first thought: "Eew! What a mess!")
((my second thought: "We are totally driving the next time we go out with them."))
3. Two strange guys* sleeping at my house on Saturday night
(*Okay, they were my husband's coworkers. But they were from another office. And he's only met them, like, twice.)
4. To skip my exercise class, then be made an example of (via an email from the instructor) to her entire address book.
(Granted, she didn't use my name when instituting the new "if you miss a class you pay" policy, but THAT email came right after the one telling me that if I miss a class I have to pay)
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Just The Facts, Ma'am
I work for a promotional marketing agency.
We have clients.
We are supposed to do everything possible to keep said clients happy.
Even when they are driving us crazy.
Even when they don’t know what they are talking about.
Even when they are making ridiculous requests.
We are supposed to smile and say, “No problem.”
But then, something like this happens, and you want to throw your ergonomically correct chair at them. Through the phone.
Here’s how it went down through emails. Which lead to a phone call. Which lead to more emails. Which lead to me losing my freaking mind*.
(sorry, incriminating details have been removed)
TO: KK
FROM: ACCOUNT PERSON
SUBJECT: SOURCES FOR COPY
Hi,
The client would like to know where we got our information for the tips we put in the piece.
Can you let me know?
Thanks!
(btw, I like this account person very much. Unfortunately, she’s stuck in the middle between the ridiculous client and my sanity)
TO: ACCOUNT PERSON
FROM: KK
RE: SOURCES FOR COPY
Sure.
That copy came from their website.
Thanks!
TO: KK
FROM: ACCOUNT PERSON
RE: SOURCES FOR COPY
The client said we still need to know where the info came from.
She’d like you to look into it.
This email leads to a phone call.
ME: “Hey, don’t they consider their website a reliable source?”
AP: “I guess not. We need to find out where they got their information.”
Oh, sure. I’ll just tap into my inner mind reading skills.
ME: “Don’t they have that information on file somewhere? How the hell am I going to find where they got their information for their website? I mean, really?”
Again: really?
ME: “What if it was a study done 10 years ago, before everything was on the internet and it only exists as a printed document in some old guy’s desk?”
AP: “I don’t know. I told them we’d look.”
The only thing I want to be looking for is a new job.
ME: “Fine. I just can’t believe that I have to tell THEM where they got information for their website. It’s ludicrous.”
Back to email.
TO: ACCOUNT PERSON
FROM: KK
SUBJECT: FUN FACTS
Okay, found a new fact and the source is WebMD.com
Woo hoo!
TO: KK
FROM: ACCOUNT PERSON
RE: FUN FACTS
Hey,
Don’t shoot the messenger, but checked with client and she said that WebMD isn’t a credible source, we need to know where THEY got their information.
Sorry.
WTF?
I’m starting to think I’m getting Punk’d.
TO: KK
FROM: ACCOUNT PERSON
RE: FUN FACTS
Just an FYI, they said if we can’t find facts with reliable sources then we can just leave them out.
Oh, no! I don’t THINK so!
I’ve dedicated over two months to this stupid job.
We’re NOT. Getting. Rid. Of. The. Facts.
TO: ACCOUNT PERSON
FROM: KK
SUBJECT: Factual Healing
Here are the latest facts.
Found on WebMD.
Who apparently got them from the New England Journal of Medicine. Who, I think, got them straight from The Lord himself.
I have hard copies if you need them.
And a urine sample.
*Source: kk’s fried brain
We have clients.
We are supposed to do everything possible to keep said clients happy.
Even when they are driving us crazy.
Even when they don’t know what they are talking about.
Even when they are making ridiculous requests.
We are supposed to smile and say, “No problem.”
But then, something like this happens, and you want to throw your ergonomically correct chair at them. Through the phone.
Here’s how it went down through emails. Which lead to a phone call. Which lead to more emails. Which lead to me losing my freaking mind*.
(sorry, incriminating details have been removed)
TO: KK
FROM: ACCOUNT PERSON
SUBJECT: SOURCES FOR COPY
Hi,
The client would like to know where we got our information for the tips we put in the piece.
Can you let me know?
Thanks!
(btw, I like this account person very much. Unfortunately, she’s stuck in the middle between the ridiculous client and my sanity)
TO: ACCOUNT PERSON
FROM: KK
RE: SOURCES FOR COPY
Sure.
That copy came from their website.
Thanks!
TO: KK
FROM: ACCOUNT PERSON
RE: SOURCES FOR COPY
The client said we still need to know where the info came from.
She’d like you to look into it.
This email leads to a phone call.
ME: “Hey, don’t they consider their website a reliable source?”
AP: “I guess not. We need to find out where they got their information.”
Oh, sure. I’ll just tap into my inner mind reading skills.
ME: “Don’t they have that information on file somewhere? How the hell am I going to find where they got their information for their website? I mean, really?”
Again: really?
ME: “What if it was a study done 10 years ago, before everything was on the internet and it only exists as a printed document in some old guy’s desk?”
AP: “I don’t know. I told them we’d look.”
The only thing I want to be looking for is a new job.
ME: “Fine. I just can’t believe that I have to tell THEM where they got information for their website. It’s ludicrous.”
Back to email.
TO: ACCOUNT PERSON
FROM: KK
SUBJECT: FUN FACTS
Okay, found a new fact and the source is WebMD.com
Woo hoo!
TO: KK
FROM: ACCOUNT PERSON
RE: FUN FACTS
Hey,
Don’t shoot the messenger, but checked with client and she said that WebMD isn’t a credible source, we need to know where THEY got their information.
Sorry.
WTF?
I’m starting to think I’m getting Punk’d.
TO: KK
FROM: ACCOUNT PERSON
RE: FUN FACTS
Just an FYI, they said if we can’t find facts with reliable sources then we can just leave them out.
Oh, no! I don’t THINK so!
I’ve dedicated over two months to this stupid job.
We’re NOT. Getting. Rid. Of. The. Facts.
TO: ACCOUNT PERSON
FROM: KK
SUBJECT: Factual Healing
Here are the latest facts.
Found on WebMD.
Who apparently got them from the New England Journal of Medicine. Who, I think, got them straight from The Lord himself.
I have hard copies if you need them.
And a urine sample.
*Source: kk’s fried brain
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
I'd Like To Thank The Academy...
And Fermented Fur for bestowing upon my little old blog the Brillante Award – thanks so much!
My turn to pass it on!
I bestow this award on the following blogs:
The Sorority
A Little Blog About Nothing
*Why, Hello Darling*
Jacks, Yurman And Bobbi Brown
My Friends Are Sluts
The TwentySomething Reality
Waiting For My Real Life To Begin
Sweatpantsmom
Happy reading...pass it on!
My turn to pass it on!
I bestow this award on the following blogs:
The Sorority
A Little Blog About Nothing
*Why, Hello Darling*
Jacks, Yurman And Bobbi Brown
My Friends Are Sluts
The TwentySomething Reality
Waiting For My Real Life To Begin
Sweatpantsmom
Happy reading...pass it on!
Have You Heard About Dumpster Muffin?
You haven’t?
Well, she’s all over the TV in California. She is the TOP STORY on the evening news out there.
Don’t feel badly, I hadn’t heard of her either. But we have some family visiting from California, and the other night when they were at our house, she came up in conversation.
(Of course they misnamed her "Meadow Muffin" when they were retelling the story – a name that is equally hilarious.)
Dumpster Muffin is a protester who has been living in a tree for over 18 months in Berkeley. Apparently she, and other protesters, are angry that plans for a new sports training center call for clearing a grove of oak trees.
Ms. Muffin et al are outraged, so they’ve been living in the trees so that the university can’t tear them down.
Ridiculous, right?
Oh, but the story get better.
First off, they’ve been living in the trees for 18 months. Obvious questions aside (which I will get to later), who the hell has 18 months of their life to dedicate to sitting in a tree 24 hours a day?
EIGHTEEN MONTHS.
That would mean they've been in the trees since late 2006. (which, if you think about it, seems like EONS ago, doesn’t it???)
Okay, now onto the immediate questions:
“How do they eat?” you may be wondering.
Well, the college is feeding them. Yep, that’s right. The college can’t imagine that these tree sitters would go hungry, so they are sending up food and water.
(There might be an answer here when students wonder why tuition has gone up for the Fall.)
“How do they go to the bathroom?” you may be asking yourself.
Well, they are going in the trees, somehow.
(If you’re also wondering “What do they do with it when they are done?” I have an answer for that, too: when people get too close to their trees on the ground, or try to climb up to them, they throw their feces at them. Lovely.)
Dumpster Muffin is their leader.
Apparently the college just doesn’t know what to do to get them out of the trees.
My solution: stop feeding them and giving them water. That way they’ll either:
a. come down when they’re so hungry they can’t stand it anymore or
b. just fall out when they die of hunger.
Simple enough, right?
(Hey, they are CHOOSING to be in the trees. They don’t have to stay there. They WANT to be there. IMHO, it is NOT the college’s responsibility to give them food and water. Hey, if they want to be in those trees so badly, then they should’ve had a plan on how they were going to eat. They should’ve thought it through a little more. Come up with a plan. That’s how the world works, people.)
So, in the midst of high gas and oil prices, violence and war, the Berkeley Tree Sitters are the top story out on the west coast.
I think the funniest thing from this whole ridiculous story, is the name “Dumpster Muffin”.
I guess if you’re going to be a professional protester (who else has 18 months on their hands?), then you need a cool protester name.
My protester name would be “Basket Case”.
What would YOURS be?
Well, she’s all over the TV in California. She is the TOP STORY on the evening news out there.
Don’t feel badly, I hadn’t heard of her either. But we have some family visiting from California, and the other night when they were at our house, she came up in conversation.
(Of course they misnamed her "Meadow Muffin" when they were retelling the story – a name that is equally hilarious.)
Dumpster Muffin is a protester who has been living in a tree for over 18 months in Berkeley. Apparently she, and other protesters, are angry that plans for a new sports training center call for clearing a grove of oak trees.
Ms. Muffin et al are outraged, so they’ve been living in the trees so that the university can’t tear them down.
Ridiculous, right?
Oh, but the story get better.
First off, they’ve been living in the trees for 18 months. Obvious questions aside (which I will get to later), who the hell has 18 months of their life to dedicate to sitting in a tree 24 hours a day?
EIGHTEEN MONTHS.
That would mean they've been in the trees since late 2006. (which, if you think about it, seems like EONS ago, doesn’t it???)
Okay, now onto the immediate questions:
“How do they eat?” you may be wondering.
Well, the college is feeding them. Yep, that’s right. The college can’t imagine that these tree sitters would go hungry, so they are sending up food and water.
(There might be an answer here when students wonder why tuition has gone up for the Fall.)
“How do they go to the bathroom?” you may be asking yourself.
Well, they are going in the trees, somehow.
(If you’re also wondering “What do they do with it when they are done?” I have an answer for that, too: when people get too close to their trees on the ground, or try to climb up to them, they throw their feces at them. Lovely.)
Dumpster Muffin is their leader.
Apparently the college just doesn’t know what to do to get them out of the trees.
My solution: stop feeding them and giving them water. That way they’ll either:
a. come down when they’re so hungry they can’t stand it anymore or
b. just fall out when they die of hunger.
Simple enough, right?
(Hey, they are CHOOSING to be in the trees. They don’t have to stay there. They WANT to be there. IMHO, it is NOT the college’s responsibility to give them food and water. Hey, if they want to be in those trees so badly, then they should’ve had a plan on how they were going to eat. They should’ve thought it through a little more. Come up with a plan. That’s how the world works, people.)
So, in the midst of high gas and oil prices, violence and war, the Berkeley Tree Sitters are the top story out on the west coast.
I think the funniest thing from this whole ridiculous story, is the name “Dumpster Muffin”.
I guess if you’re going to be a professional protester (who else has 18 months on their hands?), then you need a cool protester name.
My protester name would be “Basket Case”.
What would YOURS be?
Monday, July 21, 2008
Day Of Fun With Mom
Let’s talk about my beach outing with my mother.
I know I haven’t posted about my mom recently, but that doesn’t mean our endless bickering and ridiculous conversations have stopped.
Just the opposite, really.
(FYI, I'm an only child and my mother and I are both Aries. Sometimes, the situations can get tense.)
Setting: Friday afternoon, at work, on the phone with Mom.
ME: “Are you going to beach this weekend? I’d like to go. It’s going to be hot.”
MOM: “Yes. But I’m going early because I have to leave early for that party.”
ME: “Isn’t the party at 5pm?”
MOM: “Yes.”
Um, how much time do you need to get ready?
MOM: “I’d like to get to the beach BY 10:30.” She stresses this last part. Twice.
ME: “Okay. I have Grandma’s Corningware dish that I’m going to give you to give back to her.”
My Grandmother lives 1 minute from my mother. My mother has to drive by her apartment building in order to get home from anywhere.
MOM: “Does it have to be today?”
ME: “Yes. She needs it so she can put the eggplant that she's making us in it.”
MOM: “Oh.”
(Pause)
MOM: “Did you ask her to make your eggplant?”
What? Why does it matter if I asked her to make eggplant or not? (I didn’t, btw. For some reason, she just WANTS to make us eggplant.)
ME: “No, I didn’t ask her. She’s just making it. So, are you coming to get me?”
MOM: “I could just meet you there.”
ME: “Why on earth would we take separate cars? To the same place?? Don’t you know we’re in a gas crisis???”
Silence.
ME: “Why don’t you head my way and pick me up.”
Like we do every other time we go to the beach. Or shopping. Or to dinner.
My mother, god love her, is an AWFUL driver. She just doesn’t pay attention because she’s so busy talking (and gesturing with her hands – to me, not to other drivers).
Gas, brake. Gas, brake. Gas, brake.
A non-family member would probably dive out of the car the first chance they got. So anytime we go somewhere, even if it’s in her car, I will drive.
MOM: “I live closer to the highway.”
I am slowly losing my patience. Here’s why:
If Mom picks me up, we will hop on the highway at exit 6, then hop on 95 to the beach. If I pick HER up, even though she lives a little closer to the highway, we have to get on all the way back at exit 9. So I’m basically driving from exit 6 to exit 9 to pick her up, then driving back past exit 6 again.
ME: “Can you just please come and pick me up like normal?”
Jeesh.
Setting: Saturday morning, driving Mom’s car to the beach.
We are chatting about something. (I can’t remember what. Probably my mother complaining about my father being retired and not doing anything all day besides golfing, reading the paper and watching TV. Sounds like a good life to me.)
So up ahead about two house lengths I see the traffic light is turning yellow. I brake so that we don’t drive through a red light.
NOTE:
There is no one in front of us.
There is no one behind us.
There is no one coming at us.
I didn’t slam on the brakes (I was going 40mph and need to stop about 40 feet ahead.)
As the car comes to a halt, my mother THROWS HERSELF towards the dashboard.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
Her hands are against the dashboard and she's sitting forward in her seat.
ME: “Um, was that necessary?”
MOM: “It was just a reflex. Normally I try to grab the handle on the door.”
Mom also “brakes” from the passenger seat.
The setting: At the beach with mom
Surprisingly there’s a beautiful breeze at the beach, making the 90 degree temperature a little more bearable.
Mom is completely absorbed in her latest Fabio romance. I slip in my earphones and hit PLAY on my iPod. My super cool beach music mix begins. First up, “Alcohol” by the Barenaked Ladies.
(NOTE: this band’s website is bnlmusic.com. I’m just telling you so that you don’t have to Google “barenaked ladies” at work and get triple X-rated websites show up on your computer.)
((You’re welcome.))
The first chorus is just beginning when Mom starts talking to me.
I take out my earphone and look over at her.
ME: “What? I didn’t hear you.”
MOM: “Oh, I didn’t know you’re listening to music. It’s nothing. Nevermind.”
Back to BNL. They segue into Sheryl Crow.
(I heart listening to music on the beach!)
MOM: “Right?”
Earphones out again.
ME: “Huh?”
MOM: “Tonight. At the party. They will probably open gifts when we’re there, right?”
KK’s Law: Even if my mother is reading quietly, the minute I start listening to my iPod, she will start talking to me.
ME: “If it’s a shower, then yes, I would think so.”
Mom goes back to reading.
I go back to Blink 182.
MOM: “So...”
Earphones. Off. Again.
ME: “Yes?” Through clenched teeth.
MOM: “What are you listening to?”
AAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!
I know I haven’t posted about my mom recently, but that doesn’t mean our endless bickering and ridiculous conversations have stopped.
Just the opposite, really.
(FYI, I'm an only child and my mother and I are both Aries. Sometimes, the situations can get tense.)
Setting: Friday afternoon, at work, on the phone with Mom.
ME: “Are you going to beach this weekend? I’d like to go. It’s going to be hot.”
MOM: “Yes. But I’m going early because I have to leave early for that party.”
ME: “Isn’t the party at 5pm?”
MOM: “Yes.”
Um, how much time do you need to get ready?
MOM: “I’d like to get to the beach BY 10:30.” She stresses this last part. Twice.
ME: “Okay. I have Grandma’s Corningware dish that I’m going to give you to give back to her.”
My Grandmother lives 1 minute from my mother. My mother has to drive by her apartment building in order to get home from anywhere.
MOM: “Does it have to be today?”
ME: “Yes. She needs it so she can put the eggplant that she's making us in it.”
MOM: “Oh.”
(Pause)
MOM: “Did you ask her to make your eggplant?”
What? Why does it matter if I asked her to make eggplant or not? (I didn’t, btw. For some reason, she just WANTS to make us eggplant.)
ME: “No, I didn’t ask her. She’s just making it. So, are you coming to get me?”
MOM: “I could just meet you there.”
ME: “Why on earth would we take separate cars? To the same place?? Don’t you know we’re in a gas crisis???”
Silence.
ME: “Why don’t you head my way and pick me up.”
Like we do every other time we go to the beach. Or shopping. Or to dinner.
My mother, god love her, is an AWFUL driver. She just doesn’t pay attention because she’s so busy talking (and gesturing with her hands – to me, not to other drivers).
Gas, brake. Gas, brake. Gas, brake.
A non-family member would probably dive out of the car the first chance they got. So anytime we go somewhere, even if it’s in her car, I will drive.
MOM: “I live closer to the highway.”
I am slowly losing my patience. Here’s why:
If Mom picks me up, we will hop on the highway at exit 6, then hop on 95 to the beach. If I pick HER up, even though she lives a little closer to the highway, we have to get on all the way back at exit 9. So I’m basically driving from exit 6 to exit 9 to pick her up, then driving back past exit 6 again.
ME: “Can you just please come and pick me up like normal?”
Jeesh.
Setting: Saturday morning, driving Mom’s car to the beach.
We are chatting about something. (I can’t remember what. Probably my mother complaining about my father being retired and not doing anything all day besides golfing, reading the paper and watching TV. Sounds like a good life to me.)
So up ahead about two house lengths I see the traffic light is turning yellow. I brake so that we don’t drive through a red light.
NOTE:
There is no one in front of us.
There is no one behind us.
There is no one coming at us.
I didn’t slam on the brakes (I was going 40mph and need to stop about 40 feet ahead.)
As the car comes to a halt, my mother THROWS HERSELF towards the dashboard.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
Her hands are against the dashboard and she's sitting forward in her seat.
ME: “Um, was that necessary?”
MOM: “It was just a reflex. Normally I try to grab the handle on the door.”
Mom also “brakes” from the passenger seat.
The setting: At the beach with mom
Surprisingly there’s a beautiful breeze at the beach, making the 90 degree temperature a little more bearable.
Mom is completely absorbed in her latest Fabio romance. I slip in my earphones and hit PLAY on my iPod. My super cool beach music mix begins. First up, “Alcohol” by the Barenaked Ladies.
(NOTE: this band’s website is bnlmusic.com. I’m just telling you so that you don’t have to Google “barenaked ladies” at work and get triple X-rated websites show up on your computer.)
((You’re welcome.))
The first chorus is just beginning when Mom starts talking to me.
I take out my earphone and look over at her.
ME: “What? I didn’t hear you.”
MOM: “Oh, I didn’t know you’re listening to music. It’s nothing. Nevermind.”
Back to BNL. They segue into Sheryl Crow.
(I heart listening to music on the beach!)
MOM: “Right?”
Earphones out again.
ME: “Huh?”
MOM: “Tonight. At the party. They will probably open gifts when we’re there, right?”
KK’s Law: Even if my mother is reading quietly, the minute I start listening to my iPod, she will start talking to me.
ME: “If it’s a shower, then yes, I would think so.”
Mom goes back to reading.
I go back to Blink 182.
MOM: “So...”
Earphones. Off. Again.
ME: “Yes?” Through clenched teeth.
MOM: “What are you listening to?”
AAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Make It Work!
Hooray!
Project Runway is BACK!
It hasn't even been that long, but it was so nice to see Heidi and Tim, back together again.
(I heart Tim Gunn)
And what an interesting group of designers we have this season!
Um, how COOL was Kelli's vacuum cleaner bag dress? She totally rocked that challenge.
(BTW all you designers who used tablecloths? Come on! This is Project Runway, not a 5th grade school play! Where's your imagination? Kudos to Daniel for his Solo plastic cups dress – trés cool)
Can't wait to see what happens next week!
Auf wiedersehen!
Project Runway is BACK!
It hasn't even been that long, but it was so nice to see Heidi and Tim, back together again.
(I heart Tim Gunn)
And what an interesting group of designers we have this season!
Um, how COOL was Kelli's vacuum cleaner bag dress? She totally rocked that challenge.
(BTW all you designers who used tablecloths? Come on! This is Project Runway, not a 5th grade school play! Where's your imagination? Kudos to Daniel for his Solo plastic cups dress – trés cool)
Can't wait to see what happens next week!
Auf wiedersehen!
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