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Haiti Survivors

2010-02-10T08:12:00.000-08:00

So, today is February 10th. In Haiti this morning, a 28-year-old man was pulled from the rubble caused from the 7.0 Earthquake on January 12th. He is not in the best shape, he might lose his feet due to infection and sure he might not survive even with medical attention, but that is absolutely amazing. I am disgusted though as I tried to find out more information, I had to scroll down past 18 stories of Angelina Jolie and the assistance she is providing. Really, I am glad that help is getting there, but c'mon now. One month in rubble is an extraordinary feat. Is should never be shadowed by a such a glory hog. It's just gross.

This email conversation is one reason why I bang my head into walls everyday

2010-02-04T07:00:00.000-08:00

Monday 2/1 at 10:18

"Andrea
I just wanted to follow up with you. I was told to place an ad for your client in the President's Day section. The ad size will be 8x7 with spot color. There is a Monday placement and that ad is also 8x7."

MY RESPONSE 2/1 at 10:30

"Hi there,
8 columns or 8 inches. Please confirm.
Also, what is the date of the Presidents' Day section? Please confirm the 3 dates and provide artwork deadlines for each ad.
Thanks"

HIS RESPONSE minutes later

"Sorry, 8 columns by 7 inches"

MY RESPONSE

"OK. What is you 8column size in inches so I can re-size the ad. Also, what are the run dates and deadlines for the three ads? Please confirm."
Thanks

HIS RESPONSE

"It would be 9.655 inches by 7."

MY RESPONSE (I am pulling my hair out at this point)

"OK. Great. BUT what about the run dates and the artwork deadlines? Could I have these please?"

His Response

"Run dates are 2/12........" He gave me the run dates and deadlines.

I was super happy that I finally received the run dates, but realized I forgot to ask about running that same weekend in his sister publication. After picking my head up off of the desk, I typed in the following question:

"Thank you for these. Finally, if we were to run in your other publication, what would the cost of the 8c x 7 ad in that paper be?"

HIS RESPONSE. Here is where I flipped.......
"Yes."

This is why I hate people.

Super 88 is Great

2010-01-19T08:43:00.000-08:00

Super 88 is a supermarket geared toward the Asian Persuasian with a food court attached. After circling the stands to see what there was to eat, I was overwhelmed since I couldn't read about the lunch items available and was forced to select my meal based on photos, which can be disceiving. I think I had chicken with broccoli and water chestnuts. It could have been duck, but I told myself chicken.

I purchased a bottled water and while eating panicked. This seemed like the type of establishement that glued the caps back to already-used water bottles. To quench my thirst I attempted a sip from a Lollicup. If you haven't had one yet, you are not missing out. These cups are filled with either tea or slush, topped (or bottomed) off with tapioca or boba pearls. I don't like to chew my beverages but out of desperation I gave it a go. A pearl found its way into one of the two straws provided. Scared that it would fall back in (because I think that would be back wash, no?) I sucked a bit harder. 5 more of these muscus sacks slapped the back of my throat and I thought I was going to spit on the floor. Instead I took it like a champ and chewed the six balls of udder disgust while my so-called friends laughed.

Next came the grocery store. If you are looking to purchase items that still have thier faces attached, well this is the locale for you. Live eels...you got it. Putrid stench, check. Fish skin, sure thing. Hard boiled and salted duck eggs, vacuumed sealed for your convenient snacking pleasures, no doubt about it. Call me an ignorant American and pass me a Big Mac wrap and fries please.

Paul Keeps Me Going

2009-12-21T20:42:00.001-08:00

I arrived to Davis this morning, opening the first glass door to look up and see a sign that read, "NO HEAT Mon 12/21. Cutler has been notified." This fact, combined with a crack windshield caused when my defrosters blasted on to a high temperature against the cold glass after using my automatic car starter (why the fuck do I have this thing if I can't set the temp above the blue line on a freezing cold morning), froze me in my tracks as I looked to the ceiling with expectations of further let downs. The biting wind woke me, blowing me from the mental breakdown lane I was in, and pushed me inside.

In the break room, I found a bunt cake set upon a plate from my tableware from home, but I let that annoying fact go long enough to grab a slice of extremely moist, what-I-thought-was-coffee cake. My moment of happiness was quickly ripped away and was replaced by one of the worst tastes my buds have faced in a long time. I have heard of rum cake before, but never one like this. Lighting a flame near this confectionery experiment would have set the building ablaze, yes remedying the cold factor, but probably eliminating the stable paycheck I foresee in my future. Now, I am no baker by any means, but whoever created the cake must have forgotten to wring out the dough before sticking it in the oven. It was similar to eating a piece of rum-soaked cotton ball, which I never wanted to do in the first place.

Jennie tried a piece even after I warned her. She, too, was not impressed.

About 10 minutes later Paul is heard yelling, demanding to find out who cooked the cake. His voice grew louder as he came down our way when I hear him ask Barbie, "Did you make the cake in the kitchen." Her answer was quiet, but obviously yet because he followed with, "I should have known it was you. Stephen Albano is drunk!"

And that is when I realized that my day could be worse and laughed out loud, literally.

Dead Birds

2009-11-20T07:00:00.000-08:00

After my co-worker was shat upon by a bird, he must have carried on with his day with no other thoughts in mind. Days later (maybe weeks), he dressed himself with the same shirt without washing it. Dried cuh-cah was on his shoulder and I noticed it in the lunch room. Discussing poo was entertaining enough and then another co-worker walked in. He did not take part in the conversation taking place, but listened for a bit and intruded wit the most welcomed story ever imagined.

"They say shit is luck. I wasn't that lucky. Walking on the streets of Chicago a few years ago, I was hit hard by an object falling from the sky. Not certain what the object was, yet sure of the pain, I looked around the ground to find a dead pigeon next to me."

For those slow on the uptake, the man was hit with a dead fucking bird. This co-worker was many a thing, and a liar was one of them, but I believe this story to be true. His experience was honest.

But what about the bird? I wonder how it happened. We will never know but can hope that he/she caught the first worm of the day and spent life's last hours chewing and regurgitating said worm for its young who then flew the coop.

If we can't hope, what can we do?

Senses

2009-10-16T10:05:00.000-07:00

I saw a blind man and it made me wonder. Are deaf people allowed to have service dogs travel with them? The site re-raised the, "would I rather be blind or deaf," question and I realized that being blind with my bitch by my side 24/7 wouldn't be so bad. I love dogs and a trained companion is loyal and undying. So, if given the option to become either blind or deaf, as long as I have a dog, it doesn't really matter.

Light Reading

2009-10-13T13:52:00.000-07:00

I learned of a competition that Writer's Digest has each month. A prompt is provided and authors write an essay. This month's prompt reads, "A man walks into a bar. But it isn't a bar."

A man walks into a bar. But it isn't a bar. Not anymore. Long gone is the cacophony heard each day from men stopping in from nearby job sites for a few pints on thier way home. A real Man's bar where credit cards do not apply; only unpaid tabs and broken promises to the women left tending to unwanted weeds that survive the years of neglect, growing harder each day. Where the nicotene and smoke lingering in the stagnant air goes unnoticed. Years of the habit prefabricate this crowd immune to the stale scent wafting from cracked walls and yellowing clothing. The chemicals inhaled are the embalming fluid preserving hard pieces of black flesh once pink and soft. This air is for the sick, but the sick, providing a quick fix for those too broke to afford a cigarette of thier own. One deep inhale of this smog corrodes life's highways. Gray skin and wads of mucus highlighted with streaks of blood are proof that it is working.

The patrons lined up inside a bar like this are half-witted and mindless, unable to acknowledge that death is rapidly approaching; preying specifically on those who have full-willingly practiced years of self-abuse while ruining the lives of surrounding loved ones. "Self-medication," they call it. Numbing the inner demons and building walls to keep clear memories of past tortures from surfacing is a practice common with schizophrenics. "What mood will Daddy be in tonight," young children of the neighborhood question while fighting off both hunger pains and biting chills. "Have I grown to become him," ponders the mind of the men you find inside.

Not wanting to answer, another shot is knocked back to pass the days away. The person he is, is not the person he expected to be. How to transform? Pass out on the front stoop next to bags of ripe putrid trash (that wasn't picked up because he was to hung over to deliver them to the curb on time) after wife number two locked him out for throwing a bottle at little Ryan. When the back of his eyelids create the screen for the evening's movie, the dreamy role he stars in is much better that his own real-life tragedy. This unconsicous state becomes desired reality. Why wouldn't one return? Night, after night, after night, after.....

Night has fallen and inside this shell of a tavern, roaches scurry underfoot; gluttons for rot. Broken glass strewn across the dirty ground slices through sole-less shoes. Not one drop of moisture to be found. "What I would give for just one drink," he ponders to himself. He turns and notices the door walked through only moments ago was replaced with cement. Thorny branches punch through each window and the stars and the moon dissolve into midnight's sky. The bottles that remained whole explode and the stench of decay permeates, gaining pungency as the time ticks by. The sharp odor, a waft of moldy cheese and curdled milk makes him gag. Eyes burning he blindly stumbles, using the crumbling walls as a guide desperately searching for a way out. Unfortunately for our friend, this is just the beginning of his never-ending demise.

The Ecotarium

2009-08-17T13:36:00.000-07:00

http://geologyecology.suite101.com/article.cfm/fun_meets_learning_at_the_ecotarium_in_worcester

The Worcester St. Patrick's Day Parade

2009-03-12T11:20:00.000-07:00

Is like all other parades. It is geared toward humans that stand over the average height of 5'5". I, unfortunately, stand a little over 5 feet and do not enjoy staring at the backs of those standing in front of me. Being 30 makes it difficult to push children either out of the way or down without feeling guilty. So with that being said, for the hundredth time, the answer is no. I will not be going to the parade this Sunday, and will be find sipping on a pint at Galway Bay. All of you other Leprechauns should join me.

The Lack of Common Sense in Our Youth Disturbs Me

2009-02-27T13:08:00.000-08:00

Reading the Worcester Telegram this afternoon, I learned of an 18-year-old female in serious condition caused by severe burns. How did this happen, you ask? Well, apparently, our young lady friend suffered from lice. Instead of traveling to her nearest corner store for medicated shampoo, she decided to self-medicate and soak her head in gasoline. The pilot light for the water heater was trigger and set her hair ablaze. The person that lead this girl into believing that gasoline was a safe solution should be burned too. Idiots.

Next disturbing story starred not a young man, but equally as stupid. The 31-year-old felt as though his wife was favoring her 3-month-old kitten over him so he threw kitty down a flight of stairs, killing the animal instantly. He will serve 90 days in jail and two years of probation. I hope inmates read newspapers and spot this guy upon arrival and pound him. What a tool.

Valentine's Day greetings

2009-02-13T10:05:00.000-08:00

As miserable as I feel due to the Presidential holiday that transforms me from a kind and patient person into a miserable human being that points out others stupidity, Valentine's Day interrupts the hell week providing me with trinkets and candies. Presidents' Day is THE biggest sales event for all automotive dealers and people (car boys) are not nice when placed under stress. I am not a big fan of the holiday, believing that our money is better spent, but after dealing with automotive clients all week, I am cupid's biggest fan.

Working in Worcester

2008-12-05T11:43:00.000-08:00

On any given day in the city you will double-take and question if your vision is going, if last night's booze has worn off and if you really just witnessed what you saw. Today was not different for me. While walking back from grabbing a hummus wrap, a man on ol' school Huffy almost ran me into the middle of Main Street. Nothing outrageous there, however, as he passed by I heard him yell, "Jim, why don't you got any clothes on." Sure as shit, here comes Jim, a stout man in his early 40s with long hair on the sides but bald on top, walking on this early winter afternoon in a t-shirt with flip flops. You know the type. You can almost smell them before they approach. I felt sad for a moment, wondering if our friend was poor and couldn't afford appropriate attire for a New England day. The emotions dissolved quickly when Jim passed by, providing me with the opportunity to check out his fancy red toe-nail polish. Stunning, really, and those ten toes deserved to be seen.

Now, in high school, my friend Tim past out and awoke with red fingers and toes, created using a permanent marker. It was fourth of July weekend, and let me tell you, the boy looked fantastic in his sandals, smoking cigarettes the next afternoon. The color was a hit. Sorry Tim. Our friend Jim, on the other hand, has no reason for sandals today leading me to believe he just wanted to share his sexy feet with the world. Thank you Jim!

A Way with Words

2008-11-03T10:43:00.000-08:00

After a Saturday night spent at the bar with Stephen and drinking shots with liquor-induced friends, Sunday was tough. Asprin cured my symptoms, but Steve mixed vodka and redbulls with white russians. His belly was not happy throughout the entire day.

Deciding to leave Steve in a fetal position on the couch to play poker out in Webster, I threw on sweats, a hoodie, a scarf, gloves and my uggs. Since his car is a stick, I awoke him to move his car out of my way. He looked at me and said, "You look like the Salvation Army threw you up." Nice guy, huh. Jerk.

Placed 7th out of 12 players. I couldn't catch a hand and had a re-raiser to my left up until the two tables merged. Sucked.

Another Birthday is gone

2008-10-31T12:31:00.000-07:00

Another year older. The age hit me at first, but I have grown OK with it. I am blessed. I have a home, a man who loves me, two parents to annoy and love me, and grandparents to worry about. Life could be much worse and is for many. Why complain about a number?

Traveled to BU's Agganis Arena this week to see the So You Think You Can Dance tour. After getting lost for 2 hours, we hit traffic, traveling one mile per hour. Awesome. Our dinner-in-Boston became a slice of pizza inside after missing 30 mins of the show. Oh, and we were raped by the parking attendants. Full-day parking is $8. Event parking is $25. Sounds fair, fuckers.

Gay Men Do It Best

2008-10-28T07:26:00.000-07:00

Met my parents at Applebees last night. Yup. A chain restaurant that sucks, but that is where they had not only a gift card to use, but also a coupon for free shooter desserts, which literally arrive in shot glasses. Way to splurge owners of Applebees!

The man serving the table next to us was heterosexually challenged. Sweet as pie, just gay. I left my seat in search of the Ladies Room when he offered the, "grand tour." I said sure. I followed this man around the first turn around the booths and as he asked (with a lisp), "Are you looking for Applebees Car Side Servie or the Ladies?" Following behind him with a smile of satisfaction across my face, I answered, "the Ladies." This was service at its best. Some servers do not even smile after a joke. Along comes a queen willing to accommodate a peasant on her way to turn wine into amonia. He was fantastic! Seconds later we came to a door, labeled Ladies no less, and he turned with his arms out to his side and chanted, "So thus is the end of our journey," followed by a deep bow. Without hesitation I jumped a small step back, smiled widely, and began clapping loudly. Together, this stranger and I shared a deep belly laugh. That moment defines what life is about. As much as I love laughing with friends, enjoying a sincere laugh with someone foreign is a great feeling.

It is not that I hate everyone around me today,

2008-09-25T06:29:00.000-07:00

it is just that I am very annoyed and no one around me seems to have any happy tales to share to make things any better. This is the longest week of my life, and I even stayed home ill on Monday. Weaning one off of Dayquill and Nyquill sounds easier than it is.

Stick a knife through my heart, because I suck.

2008-09-04T12:45:00.000-07:00

My grandfather had his prostate scraped out and while my grandmother and I were waiting for him to come out of surgery, we ate an early lunch at the cafeteria inside of the Worcester Medical Center. Great building for those of you who have not yet had the chance (or unfortunate accident) to see it.

Since the hour was 11:30, breakfast was wrapped up and only a few lunch items were available. Because the hospital had its air conditioning on (summer and necessary), my Grams wanted hot coffee and a hot sandwich for warmth. What was on the menu at that moment? Your choice of a fried chicken or a fried fish sandwich, fresh from the freezer! Nummy! I chose chicken, Ruth chose fish.

The conversation spoken in between our bites led to the fact the since Gram stopped driving, my Gramps drives her nuts. She then looks up, holding her square fish sandwich with both hands and says, "this is a treat for me since grandpa won't eat out because of his shaking hands." My heart sank into my belly and I digested it. I no longer deserve a heart as I realized at that moment what a horrible granddaughter I am. Additional lunch dates outside of a cafeteria setting are in my future.