Printa X

3:15 p.m. is typically the dullest time of the day, but not today, my friends... not today.

I had just started to fall asleep with my eyes open when I heard some sweet beats blastin' behind me. It was some new-age hip-hop (if that's possible). Before I knew it, I was tappin' my foot, bobbin' the head and waiting for the lyrics to begin. I figured my co-worker clicked on a YouTube link or something.

But just as I turned around to ask if it was Kanye, Timbaland, or even Vanilla Ice, I discovered it wasn't my coworker at all. It was the XEROX6200DP, aka, the color printer.

I sat back and relaxed until the print job was completed. I shall call him Printa X. The baddest beat-maker around.

Finger Painting

I went to the beach today with some friends to get some sun. Being the golden goddess that I was, I reluctantly put on 15 SPF sunblock mid-way through the tan session (only because of my fear of wrinkles and aging). Anyway, a quickly slapped some sunblock on, only to later realize I did an awful job.

First of all, I am completely red. One would describe the color of a tomato as "light red" in comparison to my skin. Also- I really should have asked for my friends to rub in the sunblock on the shoulders- as you can literally see my own hand print on each shoulder blade.

It's like those finger paintings - where little kids put their handprints on paper (and is inevitably later made into a father's day t-shirt or shitty coffee mug) You know what I'm talking about? Anyway- it's like that, but WHITE adult-sized hand prints on my shoulders.

I'm thinking of putting blush over the hand prints tonight when i go out--- hoping to blend it all together

I Like Grandma Candy

I really love that candy Good & Plenty. You know the one? The purple and white licorice candy?

Well I flippin' love it! But it's quite hard to find around here... some sources say it's a "grandma candy" and that's why it's not in San Francisco. But you know what? I see grandmas allllllll over the place. I mean, I just blogged about a dance party with a grandma the other night.

And what makes it a grandma candy? I mean, my grandma had candy, but I'll tell you right now she didn't have those little delights lying around. Nope, all grandma had lying around was shitty bridge mix (you know- the chocolate covered peanuts and raisins and stuff)and potatoes. Yep, potatoes. My grandpa (sneaky bastard) always said : It's CANDY!! I knew better. Even as a three-year old I knew that man was up to no good. Potatoes as candy = blasphemy.

Ugh, I'm getting off track. The point is: I heart Good & Plenty. And if loving grandma candy is wrong, then I don't want to be right.

The Homeless Guy that Saved Father's Day

Today I witnessed a Good Samaritan at work. A homeless man, who was really drunk on the 40 he was carrying around, was walking around the streets of San Francisco reminding everyone that it was indeed Father's Day.

"Have you called your father to wish him a Happy Father's Day?" is what he said when he approached me. Because I'm admittedly self-centered, I thought he only reminded me because I was special in some way. But no, I later observed him peering in store doorways, stopping at sidewalk cafes, and looking down at the dogs tied up to meters to reminding all to call our dads.

Drunk Homeless Guy: I salute You.

(Oh, and I'm really sorry I didn't give you any change. You had me panicked about forgetting it was Father's Day, so I immediately got on my cell phone.)

Bon Voyage, Phyllis!!

Today is filled with feelings of joy and sorrow, as Phyllis (former cube mate) has moved to a new building.

I am playing a video montage through my head of all the good and bad times we shared together. There were cheezits, stories of family genetic history, and loud breathing. Come to think of it, we didn't share much happiness together at all, but at least she gave me some good content for the blog. (Note: Blog will be less funny now that I have one less person to make fun-of consistently)

But let us put our differences aside on this blessed day, Phyllis. I honor you today.

Godspeed.

Dance Party

Last night I was walking home on a sports bar-ridden street at about 9:15 p.m., right after the Lakers and Celtics game and I found myself in the middle of an impromptu dance party.

The participants, however, were not the usual suspects.

Suspect A:

A mid-twenties, long-limbed, awkward Pakistani man who clearly could not hold his alcohol.

Suspect B:

An 80-85 year-old woman, approximately 5 feet tall frail lady with a little bonnet over her white hair, carrying a bag of groceries.

Suspect A, a clear Lakers fan, was parading through the street with his friends, dancing and doing twirls while singing. He and Suspect B crossed paths and he decided to dance up against her. As I was walking behind her, I had the perfect view of this shit show unraveling, but I was pleasantly surprised to see the grandma start dancing WITH him!

Oh sweet Jesus, it was an awesome site. I didn't know if she was also a Lakers fan, or if she just wanted to get down and dirty, but she had some serious hip movement. The story would have been so adorable if that was the end. But it's not.

Suspect A's dancing began to appear more like stumbling, and after a few seconds of blissful dance moves, drunken Suspect A lost his balance and fell on top of Suspect B. I, thankfully, was there to hold up Suspect B.

As Suspect A walked away I said to Suspect B, "I think he had too much to drink." She nodded, smiled and then said, "and that's the way it should be."

Awesome.

Attachment to Hairspray?

I woke up this morning holding a bottle of hairspray in my right hand and snuggling it against my face.

Was I sleep-walking? Was I sleep-hairstyling? Was I sleep-shopping at Walgreens?

I'm so confused. But my hair did look damn-good...

If You're a Doctor, You're Screwed

Today I'm going to do something I've never done before... I am going to post something that actually has statistical backing.

A study presented at the American Pain Society meeting has found that one in 20 patients have had the urge to kill their doctor. The survey questioned 800 Americans who were in pain, undergoing physical rehabilitation or seeking legal compensation for disability to find out their attitude towards their GP (general practitioner). Even in the control group who were not being treated for any pain, 2 percent said they had previously had the urge to kill their doctor.
UMMMMM is anyone else concerned about this? Let's break it down.

5% of patients cited in an actual scientific survey that they wanted to KILL aka MURDER their doctors. Disturbing much?

Even peeps in the control group wanted to kill their doctor.

I feel sad about humanity. But more importantly, I'm happy I was blessed with bad math genes, and hence too stupid to become a doctor.

Cookie is Live, but not Well

Breaking news:

Cookie is going to live. The ant poisoning really did a doozy on his stomach, he has a "strained face" when he's trying to have bowel movements.

He has to be on a very strict "innovation" diet (not sure what that is, but I'm sure I'll hear the details soon), and is now taking steroids.

I wish Cookie a safe recovery.

Smooth Jazz Makes the World Go 'Round

For those of you that take public transportation (no, airport shuttle does not count), you know that taking the city bus or subway is a place where you stepped on, sat on, screamed at, or at least find yourself judging other people's inabilities to wash themselves. Simply put, it's the most annoying part of the day. Well not today, my friends... not today...

As I boarded the 30x bus this morning I was greeted by one cool-cat bus driver, "Goooooooood morning, miss!" In addition, he was jamming some serious tunes. This wasn't just any music - it was smooth jazz.

I thought good for this guy, bringin some music for himself... but as I went to the very back of the bus I realized that either his secretly stored boom box had some serious range, or he had rigged the speakers on the bus to blast the saxophone melodies.

Note that city bus speakers are only used to verbally heard passengers like cattle: "For the convenience of the passengers, please move to the back of the bus," "Please reserve the front seats for seniors and persons with disabilities," etc.

But today, none of these messages were played. The bus driver preferred the sweet sounds of Kenny G. And so did I.

Keep Cookie in your Prayers

My arch-nemesis "Phyllis" (middle-aged, Cheezit-loving, loud-breathing cube mate) has already exceeded her average number (9) of daily personal calls.

The increase in calls can be attributed to her god-forsaken cat Cookie. Typically I listen to her personal life unfold throughout the day: her nephew's low-income housing applications, her husbands sleep schedule (lately he's been waking up at 1 p.m.), her grocery shopping list (cherries are on special at Safeway), her colonoscopy test results, etc etc. But lately, Cookie has been the special topic.

Cookie, formerly known as Pin Dragon, is her recently adopted Siamese cat.

I have some bad news: Cookie stopped moving this weekend. From the stories she tells I assume it looked like the cat pictured above.

Today, Cookie was taken to the vet, where they discovered he had devoured ant poisoning.

Stay posted to learn more about Cookie's pending death.