Opinions

Right before team meeting this morning FamilyMan noticed the nose ring and asked if I had it done over the weekend. Sure did. That was about that, until just as the meeting was about to end Carnivore said, "I think Granola needs to go get her I.D. photo re-done, since adding that nose ring!" This led to loud talking and everyone asking about the shape of the ring and if it hurt, etc, etc, as well as the general teasing that goes on. Then Carnivore said, "Well, now we know why she was asking everyone's opinion last week!"

"No, it wasn't that, I just wanted to know how I should break the news to my mom. I already had the appointment when I was asking."

MyBoss then exclaimed, "Wait. You asked everyone's opinion, except mine?"

"Not everyone, just Carnivore, FamilyMan and someone else."

"You should have asked me, I'd have given you my opinion."

"Well," I shrugged, "oh well."

Five minutes later I was sitting in his office getting some information from MyBoss. "So, what's your opinion?"

"On what?" He asked trying for innocence, but failing as he smirked.

"On the weather today!" I rolled my eyes, "You know."

He went on to try to not violate the BOP, but what he ended up saying was something like this: "Well," uncomfortable shifting in his chair, "How can I put this? I think," smile, "I think they are se... I think they look ni... I kind of..." More shifting. "Well, given our culture," he finally resorted, "I'd have to say they are kind of a bit out there. How's that for a good non-committal answer?"

We went on to have an interesting conversation about the social stigma placed on some seemingly minor things here in Happy Valley. Actually, we also talked about how some people have already treated me differently. For instance, last night the guy who lives downstairs was talking with us briefly. He asked if we were students, my roommates said, yes, they go to BYU. I said, "No. I'm not in school." Instead of asking what I was doing (like most people do), or where I was working (another highly popular option) he said, "Oh, just hanging out then?" I didn't dane to respond; let him think what he will.

MyBoss talked about how he got that, too, when he had long hair. We also talked about my decision to do it, etc. Anyway, it was a good chat. Then he said, "Yeah, the next item of business I was going to address was to ask you if that was one of those magnetic things, or if you really did it, but Carnivore beat me to it!"

"Yeah? You thought it might be a magnet?"

"Well," he replied all friend and no boss, at this point, "honestly, it kind of surprised me that you would do something like that, but then, it doesn't really surprise me either. I mean, you're zanny enough that you would just go and do it. But, I don't know. In Utah County, it's pretty out there!"

Anyway, so, there we have it. My boss thinks my nose ring is sexy, but in an effort to not violate the BOP he couldn't quite say it like that. No worries, I'm prone to agree, they are sexy (on girls, and when not huge or grotesque).

Mumsy, Predictable Mumsy

I wasn't quite sure how to break the news of my new bling to Mumsy, which is, quite honestly, the reason you are being inundated with posts about it — I wanted to wait until I told her before posting it. Frankly, I think it's the only honest way I could have gone about it.

I called her up late Sunday night, after the usual chit-chat I said, "Guess what Mom? I got a something pierced!" "Oh Granola! I don't want to hear about it!" I went on to tell her anyway, "I got my nose done." Her response? "Your daughter got her nose pierced!" She hollered out to my dad. "The one just older than Granola?" "No, Granola!" I don't know what he said after that, Mumsy was too busy telling me how gross she thought it was, and how she was "very disappointed" in me. She's over it now, I'm sure. I guess I can thank my brother — the king of sick piercings (in our family) he has pretty much dulled her towards them.

Church

Today was my first day out in BYU land with the nose ring. I wasn't sure how it would be taken, as I hadn't really interacted with anyone since having it done.

My roommates and I went to church (Stake Conference, so I didn't get to experience the new ward just yet). It all went well and good, at first. I saw a guy I used to go to school with. He did a double-take, but said nothing. Then, as we sat through some boring speakers, my roommate and I joked about what nose rings I should wear on the holidays. She suggested that for Presidents day I should get a little face of Presidents Washington and Lincoln. For Pioneer Day maybe a hand-cart. We got a little silly, but it was fun to joke about it with her.

After church we were all walking out to the parking lot, and I noticed a lot of people staring at me, some were even glaring a little bit. Not nice. I thought we were supposed to be a non-judgmental people. Oh well. I can understand, I mean, for Utah County I really am stepping out of a lot of social norms to have my nose done.

After church the Relief Society president stopped by to tell us that there was a Ward Dinner at the Bishop's house. We all jumped in the van and headed up.

While there we met some guys who live two doors down. They are really nice and funny. Actually, I think one of the guys is going to be spending a lot of time hanging out with me. I'm excited. He's hilarious, and we already get along really well. Right before my roommates and I left he was sitting next to me and said kind of low, "By the way, I really like the nose ring. I think a lot of people around here are going to have a problem with it. But I think it looks good." Thanks! My first ward complement! It was really nice to get, since I'm positive I'm going to get an uber-crappy calling this semester. You know, the love-her-back-into-the-fold kind of job. Probably Door-Greeter or Activities Committee Member. No good calling for Granola this semester. Basically, I can kiss Sunday School Teacher good-bye.

New Found Freedom

After leaving the tattoo parlor I had to stop by the store to pick up some supplies to keep the nose clean and well taken care of. As I was leaving the store I saw a guy I used to work with. I called out to him, and we stopped and talked briefly. Then he pointed to his nose and said, "This is new." If only you knew. "Yeah." "New found freedom?" He asked, implying that it was a response to not having to conform to the standards set forth by the University we both worked for and attended. "Something like that." was all I said.

In actuality, it's not that at all. Getting my nose pierced was not the first thing I did after graduation. In fact, it's been months. A lot of guys grow beards/goatees right after graduation (since they are against the dress and grooming standards), so I can see how my friend might think that. Honestly (MOM), it's something I've wanted to do for a while, and I just decided to go for it. I'm an adult, and I really don't think it was that rash of a decision. I did my research, studied it out, and since I think that they are really beautiful I decided to go for it.

Don't worry, I'll take it out when I'm visiting you, Mumsy. I respect your opinion that they are gross. Just as I appreciate that you respect my decision to do it.

Explanation

Friday was an interesting day for me. After lunch some of us were discussing facial piercings (as brought on my Carnivore's recent problem), and then after joking about it for a while FamilyMan asked me if I had ever had my nose pierced. I couldn't really answer the question because while, no, I have never had my nose pierced I did have an appointment to get it done that evening.

I drove up to a tattoo parlor, and was really impressed with how clean everything was. The man who did my piercing even made sure I saw him wash his hands really well, and he put on gloves and everything. Honestly, I wouldn't have let him touch me if I hadn't seen things come out of sterile packages and had he not been wearing gloves.

After we decided where to place the piercing and everything he eased the needle through my nose. Then he asked, "Do you want to see it with the needle still in?" "Yeah." "Somehow I thought you might." Yeah, right. I'm sure you ask everyone if they want to see it, and those who do get that response, the others get, "Yeah, I didn't think you were the type, but I thought I'd offer anyway."

As is normal for nose piercings (I discovered when doing the pre-stupid-act research) my eyes watered a little bit, even though it didn't really hurt. "Oh, you have a little tear. Let me get that for you." the body artist said tenderly, as he wiped my cheek with a tissue. With that he threaded through the new nose ring, gave me some care instructions and sent me on my way.

I told my roommates, and their reaction was actually pretty cool. They didn't say anything committal either way, just "Oh! You did it for real? Cool." The thing I liked about their responses is that they weren't judgmental about it at all. Actually, I don't really know how they feel about it.

Unintentional Foreshadowing

Last Friday my old roommate got that piece of cartilage in her ear pierced. She thinks it's beautiful, and I'm prone to agree with her, though I did my duty and tried to talk her out of it. With that on the mind I asked Carnivore yesterday what he would do if his teenage daughter showed up with her nose pierced.

"I rip it out, and then ground her!"

Today at lunch he sat down next to me and asked, "So, why did you ask me that question yesterday?"

"Um, no reason. I was just wondering. Why? Did something happen?"

"I got home and she showed me her new tongue ring."

"You're kidding!? No, I swear I didn't know. She didn't call me up and ask me to prep you for it. If she had, I would have been a whole lot more subtle. That, or a whole lot less: 'Carnivore, you might want to consider beating your daughter when you get home tonight...'"

He told her she could either keep it, or keep her cell phone and car keys. She gave him the bar bell. Her mom took her cell phone, anyway.

The funny thing is, had I gone home with a tongue ring I know my dad would have freaked, but I think Mumsy would have demonstrated her disappointment, then taken me to the store to get Listerine to make sure it didn't get infected. What would you have done, Mumsy?

Lasting Impressions

My cousin sent me an invitation to myspace about 6 months ago. I went ahead and signed up, it's free. ok? Anyway, I haven't really done anything with it, or thought about it much; until this week. I got a message from someone asking if I was who she thought I was. She indicated that we had had an English class together in high school, and, by the way her name was ThatOneGirl. I had a vague inclining who she might be, but I wasn't positive, ok, I had no clue. Tragically enough, the picture on her profile was taken when she was about five. We exchanged a few emails, with the last one telling me that she always thought I was easy to talk to in high school, and that doesn't seem to have changed much. I ran home, dug out the old high school year book and flipped through it, looking desperately for someone named ThatOneGirl. I found one girl with that name (not an unusual name, just a small high school) that was in my class. The odd thing is, I don't remember ever having a conversation that was much more than small talk or poetry reading. Apparently, I made some sort of impression.

The next day I lugged the year book into the office, just in case I was thinking of the wrong girl. I poked around her profile, hoping that she was in contact with some of the same kids from high school that would give me some clue as to who she is. I discovered that she had more than just the one picture, and in taking a look at those I discovered that she was a different girl than I had originally thought. Thankfully, this girl and I had actually had some conversations. Shhesh.

I looked around and found another friend from high school who I have now exchanged a few emails with. The odd thing is, so many of them are still in contact. Does that happen a lot? I can think of two people from high school who I still keep in touch with, and we went to church together, and each came out to the BYU.

Oddly, I can't decide if it is depressing that they have kept in touch, or that I haven't.

Why Is Everyone Talking About Your Bed?

Monday morning a few of the guys who have been out of town for the past few weeks finally returned to work. In our 10 am stand-up the guys who had helped me out were giving me a hard time about having to climb on things to get on my bed. As we started the meeting MyBoss announced, "And Granola has a new bed. How is it?" We discussed how great and wonderful and comfortable it is, then he asked how I managed to get into it. I told him (and everyone else, really) that I just climbed up into it by using a step stool. After the meeting one of the guys kind of stopped me as I was heading back into my office, "Um, so, how does everyone know so much about your bed?" "They helped me move it. It was really sweet of them." I think he was relieved that MyBoss and I aren't having an affair, and that everyone else had been there at the same time to help me out with that one.

Misunderstanding of the Awkward Kind

As mentioned before, the bed is a queen. When my roommate and I set up the bed frame in anticipation of my new bed we thought we set it up for a queen, however, when we got the box spring into my room we discovered that I had set it up for a full. No worries, it was easy enough to change. The great part was, I didn't have to do any work. I just told the guys how to do it, and they took care of the whole thing. After we put the box spring down the guys put the mattress on top of it (duh). Oh, now might be a good time to tell you that I have my bed sitting on cinderblocks which are standing on end — for storage reasons. After we got it all set up and took a look at it we all began to laugh. The top of the bed is, no joke, about 4 feet high! Someone made the observation that I was going to have to use a ladder to get on my bed. Well, no. I use a step stool.

That night I called Mumsy as I laid upon by huge-plush-ultra-comfortable bed and exclaimed, "My bed is huge!! And, the guys are awesome!!"

"Uh," she slowly and tentatively asked, "what do those two things have to do with each other?"

"I didn't tell you?"

"No."

"I didn't blog it?"

"No."

"Oh, back story!" Now you know why you got all of this information a week late. Sheesh, I need to keep better track of what I blog and what I tell her.

BOP

Here at BigNameCompany we have what is called the Business operating Procedures (BOP, for short). BOP covers everything from sexual harassment to regular harassment to embezzling, etc. When one is in violation of the BOP it is referred to as a BOP. I don't know why, grammatically it's all wrong. However, since I didn't make it up, we're stuck with it as is. Generally all BOP's committed are sexual harassment —— be that crass comments, or comments based on gender, we get both.

On Friday we took a long lunch to pick up my bed and move it into my house. Wonderful, wonderful coworkers of mine! We ended up with a group of 6 total (so, half the guys came). When we got to the furniture store MyBoss said, "Oh, we're picking it up from the store? I thought we were just moving it from your old place to your new place." "Nope, brand-new!"

After I let the receptionist know I was here to pick up my bed we all milled about waiting for someone to bring it to us. When the guy finally came out to the dock I gleefully (yes, gleefully!) exclaimed, "We have BED!" The guy laughed, and glanced around at the five guys standing near me, "You must be Granola." He stated, rather than asked. "Sure am." He laughed and then made the required comment, "Wow, you brought a whole crew! Most people just show up by themselves." I resisted the urge to tell him that I didn't bring a crew at all, and these good looking gentlemen would be enjoying the new bed as much as I. I said I resisted, didn't I?

We loaded the bed and hauled it to my house. While we were maneuvering it into my room MyBoss glanced at my night stand. Sitting on the top was the book I'm currently reading (More on that later, I'm sure). He nodded to it and said, "I think the title of that book is a BOP." I nonchalantly replied, "I think you being in my room is a BOP."

"Touche!" he laughed.

You Work with 10 Guys

On Wednesday at lunch I was talking with FamilyMan about my new bed, and lamenting that I had been unable to locate someone to help me pick it up, so I was going to have to pay for the delivery. He looked at my like I had lost my mind. "You work with 10 guys," he needlessly informed me, "If you can't find someone to help you move your bed you're doing something seriously wrong!" Carnivore was sitting next to us, and said, "I'll bring my truck down on Friday, and we can use MyBoss's trailer, and take care of it on our lunch break." They totally rock!

When MyBoss joined us I said, "So, MyBoss, that trailer of yours...?" He then launched into a very long explanation of how it is actually his parents, and they share it with someone else, and the other guy was using it. No worries, I assured him. Carnivore offered up, "We've moved my queen bed in the back of my truck before, it'll fit." "Oh, what's up?" MyBoss queried. "We're having a team bonding experience on Friday — moving my bed."

A minute or two when by, then MyBoss asked a question that he had, apparently, been pondering, "So, Granola, as a single individual, how much stuff do you have?" "I have so much crap!" I exclaimed. "Well, if I bring my van, and Carnivore brings his truck, and you have your van, do you think we could do it quickly during lunch?"

"Oh! I've already moved everything, I just have to get my bed." I replied with a smile. How sweet is that? They were willing to help me move everything.

BED!

I've found that I assume Mumsy just reads my blog and gets all the information that is going on in my life. I've also found that I think I blog everything, and if I don't get around to telling Mumsy, I figure she's read it on my blog, so I can just go on as if I had already told her. This works until I fail to blog something, and assume that I told her. The next few entries are a result of this.

Upon moving into my new house I decided to buy me a new bed. Around here most places come furnished, so I haven't had my own bed in years. While my new place is the same, the beds left something to be desired, so I took the plunge.

I went to a few mattress stores and didn't find much. Finally I went to R.C. Willey (known to be a bit over-priced, but desperate salesmen on commission will do a lot for a sale). When I got there I found a bed that looked appealing enough, and it was on sale from $1000 to $600. Not too shabby, I thought. I took the information down, and went home to google it. The salesman told me he would probably have it sold that night, so once I decided to buy it I headed back to the store. He was happy to sale it to me (naturally). As we were heading over to fill out some paperwork he asked if I needed a mattress cover. Being as cheap as I am I told him no. He asked if I was sure, and I said, "Yes. Well, how much are they?" "$60" "Yeah, then I'm good." His reply came as a surprise to me (but, it probably shouldn't have), "I'll tell you what, since you're buying the floor model, I'll throw that in for free." Wonderful! We turned to head over to another computer, when a different salesman came up and asked if I was buying the bed. Sure enough, I was. He told my salesman that he had just sold it five minutes ago. Ouch! Never fear -- the desire for commission took over, and my salesman took me around the showroom, and stopped in front of two very lovely beds. "I'll knock $100 off of either of these for you." I looked at the marked price — $800 each, down from $1200. Basically, I would be paying an extra $100 for a better bed, oh, and they were both cleaner than the one I was going to buy. Sold! I picked my new bed, took care of the paperwork, and paid for it. He asked if I wanted it delivered, a $35 plus tip fee. I told him I could handle it; figuring I could borrow MyBoss's trailer, and TheModel and I, with the use of his SUV could pick it up.

Look, Mom, New Favicon!

I got bored of looking at the same ol' white 'B' in an orange box, so yesterday (mid JezzBall games) I made my very own favicon (some say fAv-icon, I prefer fev-i-con). Providing you're not running Internet Explorer, and there really is no reason you should be, if you look up in the URL bar (where you type web addresses, Mom) you should see a pretty tree. Yippy!

Denise

Soon after I got my new mobile number I started getting calls for Denise. At first I was polite, "I'm sorry, you must have a wrong number." Finally someone got bold and tried to sell me on their product. "Would you be interested in working from home?" Ahhh... the old work-from-home scheme. "No, thank you. I have a wonderful job." However, I asked the caller a variety of questions and determined that Denise (whom ever she may be) had put my phone number down on an online form requesting information about working from home. Thanks.

After that I mounted an aggressive Stop Calling My Cell Phone attack. Each individual calling for Denise was told that, no, in fact, this is not her number, and please remove me from your list. This has been working wonders and calls have all but disappeared.

Last week I got another call for the ever elusive, and perpetually unemployed, Denise. I explained to the caller that Denise is a retard and put my number down, and would he mind removing me from his list. Sure, he said, no problem.

Today I was sitting at my computer mindlessly playing JezzBall when the phone rang. "Good afternoon, BigNameCompany, this is Granola."
"Who is this?" Ok, quick aside, few things annoy me more than the 'who is this?' question from the caller. You called me you ninny! At least give me your name before demanding to know who answered the phone.
"Granola."
"This isn't Denise?"
"You're looking for Denise?"
"Yes, Denise HerLastName. Is she at this number?"
"Uh, no. May I ask what this is in regards to?"
She hemmed and hawed, and finally I said, "I've been getting calls for another Denise at this number, and I'm just trying to determine if it's for the same Denise."
"Oh, this is Jane from Budget Rent-a-Car."
"Ah, ok thanks. Must be a different Denise."

After I hung up I realized, she called my work phone, not my cell phone.

Denise, whoever you are, I hate you.

You've Got to be Kidding Me

As per habit, I am perpetually signed into my instant messenger, even at the office. My profile has my city listed, and that's it. Apparently, that is titillation enough, and massive amounts of men send me messages, sight unseen. While I find this habit amusing at best, it can be down right offensive at worst.

Last week I received a message from someone, and, (again) per habit, I checked his profile before replying. The guy was "married and looking" so I closed the window and ignored him. Apparently he didn't get the message, because today he sent me another message. I took it upon myself to share a little insight with him.

Normally people posting these sorts of exchanges bore me, thus I understand completely if you want to skip this post. Otherwise, read on:

For the curious, his profile can be found here.

michaels_agency: Hi , my name is Mike, I am 30 and live in Orem UT, I am looking for a friend with benefits and I would really love to chat with you, I you would like I can send you some pictures, please let me know what you think, I hope to hear from you soon

Me: Yeah Mike, Here's what I think: (1) I didn't reply the first time you sent me this *exact same* message, maybe there was a reason? (2) Sure 'nough, the reason is YOU'RE MARRIED! I'm not into sharing spouses, and shouldn't you be working on trying to save that rather than looking around for another piece of a--? (3) Grow some balls. If you want out of your marriage -- get. a. divorce. Cheating is seriously not cool, and monumentally un-sexy. (4) If you want NSA-sex, first you have to lose the strings (you know, wife, etc...) (5) get a life or at the very least troll in a "married but looking" chat room rather than just im-ing every woman in the area who is online.

ME: Um, I think that about sums it up. Did I leave anything uncovered? Or, do you need clarification on any point?

michaels_agency: I understand, and thanks for writing me back, so how do you get on a married but looking chat room?

ME: Um, yeah, clearly you failed to comprehend the gist of that message. So I'll say it really slowly: I'm. NOT. going. to. help. you.

ME: if you can't figure it out on your own you're s.o.l.

michaels_agency: I see, and thank you, you have been knid to me, thank you

Somehow he defines that as "knid." I, on the other hand, define it as Cranky. Hello! People like that piss me off. Why can't he keep it in his pants or, at the very least, look for someone else who is looking. I mean, really, does he honestly think he's going to find a willing participant very rapidly by spamming the entire female population of Utah County? Prick.

Recon

As I have previously mentioned, but you (undoubtedly and not surprisingly) did not believe, my father is a clown. Complete with red nose and big shoes. He does parties and grand openings, and pretty much everything shy of "Adult Entertainment" and working on Sunday.

Now, Mumsy-poo is having a mid-life crisis a few years late, and is thinking about moving out here to fair P-town. My dad is having a really hard time seeing the benefits, plus, if they uproot now he'll have to rebuild his clowning business in a new state. A daunting task, for even the most talented clown.

Mumsy and I were talking about this very issue, so I picked up the phone directory, flipped it open, and found clowns in Salt Lake City. I called up a very helpful woman and did massive amounts of recon. 10 minutes of talking with a complete stranger about clowns and trying to sound like the only thing I cared about was if my (non-existent) five year-old little boy (who is positively adorable, by the way) would like the clowns she had to offer.

After completing my recon mission I emailed Mumsy all of the information that I had gleaned. Her response?

Give me the #and I'll call for more recon(so she doesn't hear your voice again).

How many clowns in SLC?

wonder how busy they are? Next time *grin* ask how far ahead you need to reserve the clown?

Do you see where I get it? It's all her fault!

Another Game (Much More Innocent This Time)

Unlike the last game I posted, when we played this game Mumsy was completely aware, and had no problems with us playing.

This game was not surprisingly called "Dress-up." No rules, just dressing up. Dressing up was tons of fun, and we played it a lot when we were really young. As the only boy my brother had no boy playmates, and often played dress-up with us. He even had a favorite outfit. A little purple dress with white polka dots and lace.

When I was home for Christmas one year we found a photo of him in his dress. It was so cute. Later I was teasing him about it and jokingly said, "I found the cutest photo of you in a little blue dress." (I thought I'd spare him the humiliation of pointing out that it was purple — let the guy save some face.)

His reply? "It was purple with white polka-dots."

Naturally. We still joke about it, always laughing. Thankfully he is well adjusted and realizes that it was a childhood game.

The funny thing is, however, that the boys-in-dresses theme isn't' limited to just him. When my three year-old niece and nephew play dress-up together he has his own "pretty dress" that he likes to wear. Per family tradition, it is a more feminine color (pink) and is very frilly. Tragically, however, he is getting too big for it. I wonder if my sister is going to buy him his own new one, or just let him still a different one from my niece.

Childhood Games -- Not as Innocent as We'd Like

Disclaimer: The information that follows has been deemed to be unsuitable for children of all ages. The events related below occurred when the majority of sportsmen played at the stick-pull and rolled wheels as high entertainment. In the same time period as this kids had to walk to school barefoot, in the snow, up hill both ways with their little sisters on their backs, and backwards — to confuse the Indians. If you have never participated in any of the above activities, for the specified reasons, you may not read this post. If you are under 18 the following information is seriously boring and contains Latin words such as Arachibutyrophobia. You could read on, but due to the lack of entertaining material, the author (and her lawyers) suggest you just skip this one.

Growing up with three sisters and one brother we were seldom at a loss for playmates. We played all sorts of games that my parents never knew about (and have to learn about by reading my blog).

Few games had names, but one, in particular, which my brother and I enjoyed the most follows:

Objects necessary for play:
Rope. The more the better.
A timer.

Number of Players:
Two, similar in age

Rules:
1) The victim may not struggle until the assailant declares themselves satisfied with the job at hand.
2) If at any time the victim announces they are in pain the assailant must loosen the rope until they can fit a finger between the victim and the rope.
3) The timer is set for 5 minutes, any longer is no fun for the assailant, removes a lot of the challenge for the victim, and gets frustrating for all.
3a) If the victim cannot extract himself in the given time frame the assailant must free him when the timer goes off. No excuses
4) The assailant may not be in the room whilst the victim attempts to free himself.
5) This game only works if there is no malicious intent.
6) No rope, may ever, at any time, ever go anywhere near the neck and/or head of the victim.
7) The victim can end the game at any time by announcing their desire to do such. The assailant must then untie the victim, regardless of the amount of time elapsed.
8) Each player takes turns being the victim or the assailant.

To play the game:
The victim lies on the floor and must move as the assailant dictates.
The assailant then ties the victim up, observing strictly the above rules.
The assailant may utilize as much or as little rope as deemed necessary, and any knots they can think up.
Once the assailant is satisfied with his work he declares himself finished, leaves the room, and starts the timer.
The victim then attempts to free himself.

Notes:
The quicker the assailant frees himself the better he does. There is no scoring in this game, and the only sure win/loss is in the event that the victim does not manage to free himself, or frees himself extraordinarily rapidly (to be determined by players).

This game use to be suitable for all ages, however, it was best when the players were similar in age, as the knot tying/untying skills developed on about the same level.

Above all, remember this is just a game, if the players are ever not having fun the game is over and the assailant must untie the victim. Remember, safety is key, and the rules must be followed at all times and are not subject to modification.

Yeah, we played this all the time.

Moving — This Time Literally

Well, I've had enough of mushrooms sprouting in my washroom, mold ruining $1000 worth of text books, my roof leaking, the shoddy paving job in the drive way (more on that to come), junky heating, and moss on the roof.

I've found me a better place. Admittedly, my rent is, well, increasing a lot but, it's worth it. You know what they say, you get what you pay for; and when you're paying $55/month for rent in the Summer and $150 in the Winter — you really get your money's worth. The new rent will be $200/300. Quite the expense jump, but I'm so ready for it!

I'll be moving Saturday morning, so if anyone wants Karma points, or to see the dive, drop me a line, you're more than welcome to help a sistah out!

Chicken

Today's lunch was fast food Italian. Yes, there is such a place. No, it's actually not as bad as it sounds.

I ordered whole wheat penne with marinara sauce and spicy onions and peppers. What I got was all of the above, plus and order of chicken. That's a $1.00 value. Not bad. Except, I didn't want the chicken. I discovered this, naturally, after I had picked up my food and sat down. I excused myself and went to the counter to ask someone to fix it. The manager was more that a little surprised that anyone would complain about the mistake, but said he would take care of it.

Moments later, another bowl arrived in front of me. This one with out chicken. Pleased, I tucked in. Two bites into it, we started joking about how they probably just took the chicken out and gave me the same bowl over again. Two bites later I discovered that to be the case as I came across a piece of chicken. I thought to myself, I should take this up there, put it on the counter, and ask the manager, 'Did you at least use gloves when you were digging around in my food?' I pointed the chicken out and MyBoss laughed, "Are you serious?! They just put more marinara over the top? That's hilarious! You know what you should do? (And you have the personality to pull this off) You should go up there, complain about the chicken, and demand that you get your meal free."

"I'm half tempted too. How does he know I'm not allergic or something?"

"You should do it," He egged. "Actually, you should demand that we all get our meals free, for the trouble it caused!"

"You just want to watch!"

"Yeah, and? Or, I could go up there and tell them that you are having an allergic reaction to something and they must have just taken the chicken out and given you the same dish back, and they had better call 9-1-1 immediately."

"Yeah, you should! I could fake a severe allergic reaction!"

I ended up just eating around it.

When I came home and related the events to my roommate and her (vegan) boyfriend she had almost no reaction. He, on the other hand, was incensed that they would do that at all, and annoyed that I didn't complain, and more annoyed that we had joked about doing so. Man, I don't like him. at. all.

I'm going to be sad to loose my roommate when I move, but so glad that I won't have to see him ever again. Thank Heavens he's joining AmeriCorpse, so they are breaking up!

Two Things

Sunday night I went over to a friend's house and hung out with a bunch of people, eventually leaving around midnight. Another friend (Korea) and I walked home together, stopping in my driveway to talk. We were there for about 30 minutes chatting about my failed love life: including one of the gay men that I have dated (that one lasted three or four months —— just ask if you want more details) and ExOfNote. As we were talking I saw TheModel arrive home. "Excuse me," I said, "I have a problem and his name is 'TheModel'." Then I hollered out to him, and the three of us stood around talking for a bit. He and I flirted as is standard protocol for us. He told me that he was thinking of going back to New York, or LA and doing the modeling thing again. Sure, the money is great, but the lifestyle isn't. I worry for him, if he takes that road.

During our conversation TheModel's landlord came up, I mentioned to Korea that he and I had dated (briefly) and asked if he (the landlord) had finally come out of the closet. "What can I say?" I asked rhetorically, "I'm a fruit fly." TheModel started laughing, "Can I help it if I'm a Fag Hag?" he mimicked. Cringe I really hate that term, though they are the same thing. I don't know if it's a good thing or a bad thing that he's familiar with both terms.

After he left us Korea and I went back to our conversation. "Two things," she said, "One, he seems to be really into you; and two, are you sure he's not gay?"

Facts of Life

Fact:
It is impossible to look remotely sexy in a 1994 Minivan with pealing paint. I don't care how clean the car is, or how good your hair is; it simply is not possible.

Career Advancement Advice

Pay attention, I'm going to give you some invauable advice on how to get yourself noticed be management.

On Tuesday a bunch of us were standing in the hallway near the elevator waiting for Carnivore to join us so we could head down to lunch. Bouncer was busy giving me crap, and after a bit I got all up in his mug. Which is to say, I raised my voice and asked forcefully (whilst attempting to grow an extra foot to make up our height difference and stand close enough to come across as threatening, but far enough away to actually not cross that comfort bubble) "Do you want me to get in your face? 'Cause I will!"

I think we should pause here and discuss what Bouncer looks like. Basically, big, bic-ed, and goteed. In his interview before he started here his now-boss asked what was the most difficult thing he found in working with other people. His answer? "I'm big, bald, and scary; and people are intimidated by me." Yes, very much so. In other words, I wouldn't stand a chance against him.

While thus engaged someone exited from an elevator and walked up to us in an effort to walk down the hallway we were blocking. "Excuse me." He said politely. I backed up, said, "Sorry." and then leaned back against the wall. After he was out of ear-shot GoteeBoy quickly said, "Dude, Granola, that was senior level management!" @#$%^&*()!!! Why didn't someone warn me?!?! We all laughed, what can you do at that point?

When Carnivore arrived the story was related to him. He laughed and said, "Well, that's a CLM!"

"Uh, what's a CLM?"

"Career Limiting Move. Nice working with you, Granola."

On Thursday we were at lunch and were talking about this particular manager when someone started laughing and making reference to the incident. MyBoss, who had not been present for the encounter, asked what was going on. GoteeBoy quickly jumped to explain, "Well, Granola was yelling at Bouncer when he walked by..." MyBoss just started laughing!

Once he stopped laughing MyBoss managed to say, "I'm sure that one look at Bouncer and he knew that Granola must have been provoked. He also knew that she wouldn't stand a chance against him!"

The beauty of it is, none of us really think he cared all that much. How do I get away with this crap?

Well, that's one way to get senior V.P.'s to notice you. Not, however, a course I would recommend.

Anyways

I am a grammar freak. I blame my folks and grandmother. Grammar was a vital part of our formative years, as was vocabulary. Generally I heard the words "Why don't you look it up in the dictionary. It's spelled ----." at least once a week, sometimes more. My parents and grandparents (as well as the assortment of adults who frequented our home including my aunt) made it a point to not use a lot of small words when one big one would do. Not that they were going for ostentatious vocabulary points, it's just that these words were a part of their everyday language and they saw no need to change that just so the children would understand them more readily. As a result (not surprisingly, perhaps) my siblings and I have rather extensive vocabularies. In addition to this, they made absolutely certain that we never got away with asking the question "where is she at?" or other such grotesque grammatical and vocabulary errors.

Growing up I took it as par for the course, now that I'm an adult I understand that it most certainly is not normal. However, I am also immensely grateful!

The other side of this is that incorrect grammar really, really, really bothers me. Usually I try to not correct people outside of immediate family, but sometimes it just happens.

GoteeBoy, apparently, did not have the same fortune as I growing up, and as an adult still commits some basic (albeit hyper grating) mistakes. For example, he believes that it is pronounced "suposebly." He is also in favor of "these ones" and "anyways". In the interest of not being a jerk I keep my trap shut. However, at lunch yesterday a bunch of us were discussing words that drive me nuts. I don't remember how we got on the topic, but I'm sure I brought it up. We all had a good laugh at my neurosis. Thankfully, we deviated to generally misused words/phrases that bother other people — including "irregardless" and "I could care less".

In light of this, when I got an email from MyBoss that (due to his grammar) I did not fully understand I sent him an email for clarification. The exchange went thusly (slightly modified to continue to protect my anonymity, and for clarification for the reader):

Him: Did anyone see any strange (product name) problems yesterday?

Me: Define "strange (product name) problems". Are you asking if (product name) was acting up or if we saw some problems that we entered into (product name) that were strange? Seriously, I'm not just being a dork here, I'm confused as to the question.
-Granola

Him:Did you have any problems using it, login in etc.
btw. I think you are a dork irregardless anyways
myboss

Me:In that case, no.
P.S. I think you're a dork, too.

Him: lol. I'm glad we've got a mutual understanding.

Ahh, the maturity level we operate on here at BigNameCompany is amazing.

More on how I made a huge CLM (career limiting move) tomorrow.

Flexitarian

My sister called me the other night to give me some good news. In the health food magazine she picked up at the health food store they had defined my eating habits. Apparently I'm a "flexitarian." Why must we label people? I mean, is it really that hard to say, "No thank you, I don't eat much meat." Why must I be an-anything-atarian? If I liked to eat shoes would they label me a shoeatrarian? Probably.

On that note, at the wedding reception Saturday night there was plenty of meat and shrimp, and quite a bit of cheese. The selection of other items, however, was more than a little limited. I commented to my roommate (not the former-now-married roommate) about this. When she and her boyfriend -- who happens to be vegan (more on him in a future post) -- picked me up from the airport she felt compelled to tell him that I was more upity about the food selection than she had been. I hadn't been upity, I had just commented to her, but whatever. Anyway, after she told him that I made a slightly defensive comment and she said, "Oh, he's all about being upity." Yeah, that could be one of the reasons I don't like him all that much. I'm not about spending time with peoples' superiority complexes.