No, You Heard Me Right

This morning (after I was again awakened by a Midas customer), I desperately had to pee. I don't think this is a unique phenomenon. Many people pee first thing in the morning. The thing I find funny is that lying in bed, you don't have to pee. You stand up? Bingo - Peetown.

Regardless, I wandered into my bathroom and lifted the seat. In my morning blurred eyes, I thought there was a fly on the inside of the bowl. Well, that wouldn't do. I tried to encourage the fly to fly away. It kind of jumped back and forth. So I leaned in for a closer look. Well, what do you know? Spider. By now, the urge to pee had taken over my body. My only thoughts were of peeing. I didn't want to kill the spider, but it is way beyond my call of duty to scoop a spider out of my toilet bowl, for goodness' sake. So I did what I could. I flushed. I watched the spider thrown about by waves. Finally. Wait, what's that? The dying, struggling spider was only bashed by the waves, not actually taken down into the recesses of the bowl.

At this point, I was almost doubled over by the pain of having to pee. Hearing a toilet flush does nothing for the relief of a bladder. After the spoken consolation of "Well, spiders can't fly... Look out below!", I peed on him. That's right. It was him or me and I'm much bigger than he is. I peed on a spider. Is there a special section of hell dedicated to me? Not only did I try to drown him in a toilet, I then peed on him.

As the queen of all segues, I am glad to be getting out of this spider infested flat for a couple weeks. There better not be spiders in the whole of the United Kingdom. If there are, I hope I hear tiny spider voices as I approach saying, "Watch out for that one, she's a pisser." I'll leave you with that thought -- see you in a couple weeks. :)

Hello, Midas?

Customer service tends to be a bit unusual around here. Either I get someone who is SO helpful, or I get people that are worthless. When I was setting up my phone/internet, I got a guy who was above and beyond. He asked me what I wanted my phone number to be. I have never had a preference. I'll just learn it for a year and go on my merry way. But he insisted on something "catchy". I hesitate to put my number in a blog, so we'll creatively say that my number is basically 566 6667. That's a lot of 6's. Apparently, the number 566 6666 used to be a taxi company back in 2000 and we had an extended conversation about if that would be a problem for me. Boldly, I decided not. No one warned me about Midas.

Every morning for the past three mornings, someone has called between 8 and 9 am. I answer with a gruff morning voice to hear, "(pause)... Is this Midas?" I resist the urge to tell them that a gruff American girl with morning voice answers the Midas phone with an irritated "Hello?" Instead, I politely tell them they have the wrong number. I just looked up their number - 566 6676. Grr. Now it's not that I'm not awake at this hour. But it's the hour that I decide to either be productive, rising at 8 on the dot, or be lazy and roll out of bed at 9. These people have stolen my hour. Maybe I should help Midas advertise their number better. You know, put signs up around town.

Maybe then they'll let a girl sleep in a little, guiltfree.

Geography Lesson

My geography skills are wretched. I think I only had to learn geography in grade school and seriously, who retains that stuff? In order to demonstrate my ignorance, I would like to relate two conversations in my recent history:

Friend: Yeah, you can look on that map and see all the places we've been. Little colour coded pins, gotta love 'em.
Me: I am so bad at maps. I should buy one.
F: Well, take a look there and see where you're going to be soon!
M: Um.
F: Yeah?
M: I have a question. What is this little bit here?
F: That's Wales.
M: (pause) What do you call people from Wales?
F: Uh, Welsh.
M: Ohhh!! See, because I know Wales and I know Welsh, but I didn't realise they were connected.
F: ... I think I'm going to buy you a map. And you should read more.

The second scenario just occurred as I was telling my family of my flight path to the UK. I told my dad I was stopping in Dubai, which I thought was in India. Alas, my father pointed out to me that while I will fly over India, Dubai is in the United Arab Emirates. Ah. The things I learn. I still swear that travel agent pointed out Dubai in India. I mean, I might suck at maps, but I can find India.

For a "world traveler", I should really be smarter than I am.

Quotes - It's What I Do

I took this quiz on quotes. Well, this website has bunches of quizzes. I did one on superbowl trivia and failed. I took one on city nicknames and got 50% (which they said was pretty good). Then I see one entitled "Finish the Quote!" 10/10 baby!! But quotes are what I do. And they were friggin' easy quotes. You try and see.

And Again...

I have this tendency to fall in love with authors. Not in the sense that I should -- "Oh, this author is brilliant so I'll read more books and maybe a biography." Instead, I think: "Wow, this guy is a genius. I wonder if he's hot. (pause while I check the author photo) He is pretty hot. I bet we'd get along." This is not sane. Imagine my chagrin when I fell in love with the late Oscar Wilde. Of course, then I got a glimpse of his picture. Maybe he was 1800s hot. I was equally disappointed with Vonnegut. He just looks funny. But I bet he is funny, so maybe that worked out well for him. I was equally depressed with Tennessee Williams because he was gay and David Sedaris as well. I mean, break a girl's heart, why don't you? Well, this is my new author flash in the pan. I can't figure out if I think he's hot separate from the book. The book is really, really good. It sort of deals with that earlier midlife crisis thing that goes on. The character is 28 (and probably the author too -- it's clearly autobiographical. Maybe.) and is dealing with the what-is-it-all-about questions of life. He suffers from... (suspenseful music) indecision, which incidentally is the title of the book. Thought I wouldn't be psychotic and only put a picture of the author, so here's a mention of the book. :)

I am sure this author crush won't last, though I have been under the assumption that Dave Eggers just might be my soulmate for quite some time. Still, I always read another book, find another author. Maybe I should switch to only female authors for a while. But why? :) I enjoy my little crushes and I'm sure these men, alive or not, would be flattered.

Ooh, sobering thought: am I an author slut? Nah. Only hypothetically. And we're all hypothetically much worse people than in real life.

Linus

This post is a dedication to Linus -- just because I miss him. I battled with the stupid phones this morning. I had to call a "toll free number" to the States which costs me only half of my right leg. Then, this bank said, can I have the verification number? "What?" The verification number I specifically designed for phone banking. "So I made that number up, according to your specific requirements, three years ago, and I was most likely forbid to write it down?" Yes. "I have absolutely no idea what that friggin' number is, ma'am." We battled it out until we convinced her that I really am me... at international direct dialing rates. Sweet. Then I got a postcard from the post office. Sounds sweet, but it was telling me that I wasn't home sometime in mid-January when they tried to deliver a package from "USA". It will be here sometime tomorrow. Do I need to be here? "Probably." Can you give me a time that you'll be here? "That's not really my department." But, I mean... I work, I have meetings... "Yeah. I hope you're there when they come... click."

So sue me if a kitty pet would be nice. And here's Linus, coming at you from his bed (which he no doubt thinks of it as), making eyes. Who could resist? (A thanks to Beth for the picture.)

Remembering my Cheesy Roots

I found this comment while playing around on the internet today:

As a Wisconsin resident who lives near Milwaukee, I have to say that our quarter just serves to further promote our image of Cheeseheads. I promise there are people in Wisconsin who do not farm. There are actually people who don't even like cheese. --Anonymous

First, I was shocked and appalled that there was an article dedicated to complaining about how all our shiny new money looks. Secondly, no wonder this fellow here is anonymous! Granted, I grew up in Wisconsin, also near Milwaukee (and in Milwaukee for the youngest of those years), and I did not grow up on a farm. But you know who did? Most of the rest of the state. Yes, I realise this is a slight exaggeration. We would need to account for the fact that big (and I mean that semi-sarcastically) cities like Milwaukee, LaCrosse, Madison, and Green Bay will be more densely populated and also non-farmers. But a big chunk of Wisconsin's land is farm land and country land. It's part of its charm.

It needs to be said that I have no desire to ever go back to the grand old state of Wisconsin, but that doesn't mean I can't understand why others would. For someone in Wisconsin to say they hate cheese makes that person a huge (and most likely hated) minority. I grew up pretty lactose intolerant and still my mouth watered at the mere thoughsqueakyueeky cheese curds. Come on. You are bitter at Wisconsin. I mean, how can you not call yourself a cheesehead? It's practically part of the Packer fan uniform. I shake my head at you, Anonymous. Go to a different state.

Welcome to Blister Country

Soccer training started up right after the holidays. I was glad for it. I think I may be over my working out craze, though I do still love to be active and I adore soccer. I am trying to incorporate the gym again through new times of day, etc, but we'll see. The reason soccer training started up so early (the season doesn't start til March or April) is because of the big Masters games (which I think I previously mentioned at some point) that are this weekend. We have been playing some full on games against the older guys, which means that they are a lot better than us. It's fine and a good time, but my poor feet.

My soccer boots (don't laugh - that's what they're called here) are a bit too big. They told me to buy them a bit too big and I got them way too big and now wear three pairs of socks with them. Normally this does fine, but I think my feet shrunk since last season. I have a wounded foot with a blister that re-opens up every time I play. Then, yesterday, my other foot felt left out, so it decided to blister up too. At least now they're even.

This weekend will not be good for the feet either, I assume. We are playing five games (at least -- six if we do well. So probably five. :) ) in three days. Not only am I not up to the required fitness level, guaranteed, but this will kill my poor feet. I am excited though. It'll be like battle wounds. I haven't been in a tournament in ages and can't wait for that excitement again. Plus, it's apparently a big deal because there are flags and tents set up already in anticipation of the upcoming event. It's nice to be part of something big like that. Keep my team, and more importantly my feet, in your thoughts this weekend.