Vaguey McVaguerson and her opinion

I know I have a really -- no, I mean, Really -- terrible track record when it comes to marriage and relationships, but it seems to me if you're hacking into your husband's e-mail to see who his contacts are, you may have trust issues. And your marital problems are bigger than you may realize.

I also know the person I'm talking about doesn't read my Blog, but just in case: I have my own shit to deal with, honey. I don't want your husband.

Thanks. I feel better now.

A Big F-U from Our Government

I don't usually get political here at Rambling Pam. I just don't think this is the forum for it. But I felt compelled to share this little tidbit, especially because Earth Day was just last week.

The S.O., feeling politically and environmentally responsible, sent a letter to our local representative, expressing his support for pursuing alternative energy sources. Yesterday, he received a (form) letter from said representative. Below are parts of that letter.

Dear Mr. S.O.,
Thank you for contacting me with your thoughts regarding alternative and renewable energy development in the United States. I appreciate hearing from you on this important matter, and I share your interest in developing alternative and renewable energy for the future.

So far, so good.

I support domestic energy development legislation that will lower prices today, while producing alternative energy for tomorrow. I also would consider legislation that takes federal revenues from oil and gas leasing and puts it into research and development of alternative and renewable energy.

Hmmm. Why am I starting to suspect this is political doublespeak?

I am a strong supporter of increasing our own domestic energy production through drilling in the Outer Continental Shelf of the United States. Additionally, exploration and development of other rich oil and natural gas reserves can take place in our public lands.

Wait. What? Finding alternative places to drill for oil does NOT equal finding alternative energy sources.

He goes on to say that "drilling in this small reserve of land (in Alaska's Arctic Coastal Plain) can be both environmentally sound and provide Americans with 10.4 billion barrels of oil." I'm not so sure about the "environmentally sound" part. But I'm not a big ol' politician either. I'm also not a creature who lives on that coastal plain ... and neither is he.

I appreciate that this proposed idea would "provide unprecedented levels of funding for development of renewable energy at no cost to the taxpayer" but at what cost to future generations? The whole letter smacks of "Thanks for writing, but I'm going to do whatever the hell I want to do, regardless of you as a voter want."

Eh. Maybe I'm too much of a liberal because I don't mind paying for alternative and renewable energy research. I also wouldn't mind paying for street lights and garbage cans. But that's just me.

Big Mouth - A Rant

I work with a woman who is an obnoxious know-it-all. The one good thing is I only have to see her about once a month, but in that hour or so, I really want to punch her in the face. Yes, I know how violent that sounds, but she is horrible -- and totally disrespectful.

Yesterday, during our monthly meeting, she interrupted people, put in her two-cents worth whether it was wanted or needed, rolled her eyes at other people's suggestions and told her bosses their idea was a waste of her time.

One of the things she loves to do is going to stop, and she is not happy about it. The funny thing is she somehow thinks this thing that's actually a totally separate thing and takes extra time is better than the new thing that will be integrated into our daily schedule. She actually said she doesn't have time to do anything extra, yet that's exactly what she's doing now. And I happen to know that the thing she's doing is totally stressful for the other people who have to do it.

Our bosses asked us to have some thank-you cards made for donors. It's a nice thing to do and shouldn't take more than a few minutes, and it's not even something she herself has to do. That was when she did the most appalling thing, she said to our boss, "When I saw that come through my e-mail, I said, 'Screw that. I don't have time for that.'"

My jaw almost hit the floor. You don't have time to ask someone to make a thank-you card for the people who essentially pay your salary? Holy crap! I seriously almost came out of my chair and I can't believe she wasn't asked to leave. She must be really good at her job otherwise. She sort of changed her tune when pretty much everyone there berated her for her attitude. Yet, even then I don't think she thought we were right.

Thank goodness I don't have to see her for another month. In the meantime, I know whose face I'll picture next time I take a boxing class.

Big Red Nose

Allergies suck.

Apparently, the entire country is experiencing record high pollen counts. I guess I'm selfish because I don't really care about the rest of the country. I just care about my raw nose.

For me the worst part is that I never even had allergies until I was in my late 20s. Now I never know what might trigger them. Dust? Definitely. Animals? Some. A dog with any amount of Lab in its blood will set me off like nothing else. Even my own dog (who is certainly Lab free) will sometimes cause me to break out on my arms.

I never really thought pollen was my problem. And around these parts, it might not be pollen. With the high winds, it might just be dirt and dust blowing around. All I know -- and I don't need a doctor or some other expert to tell me this -- is allergies suck.

Big time.

Big Oops - or not

This is my horoscope today:

Capricorn - You are provoked to express your passionate perspective every chance you get as the Moon joins ruthless Pluto in your 1st House of Personality today. You could go out of your way to make sure that someone knows exactly where you stand on a controversial social issue. But a volcano derives its strength from the intense heat that it holds beneath the surface. Likewise, you have a chance to increase your power by choosing what to say on your own terms. Carefully controlling your message gives you the career endurance that you desire.

I read this after shooting an e-mail off to the guy who coordinates my freelance work with the paper. A week or so ago, I told him I needed to have all the information for my stories by the Friday before my deadline (which still cuts it close). He passed that along to the powers that be and they agreed. This morning, I get an e-mail saying here's the info for this week's story. So, I forward it to him, saying, "What part of Friday deadline do they not understand?"

Maybe I should have read my horoscope first -- or maybe not. I've been looking for a reason to stop doing these stories. Maybe this is it. I complain about the assignments. I complain about the people who won't call me back or completely blow me off. I complain about the last minute BS. Maybe it's time to step away. It's a lot of stupid stress for not a lot of money.

I don't really think I can burn bridges with this guy or even with the paper. I was kind of a bitch when I left and I still got freelance assignments. Maybe rather than a big oops, this is a big wait and see.

In which I contemplate a chicken/egg scenario

A couple days ago, I received a catalog from Colorado Cyclist in the mail. It is addressed to me, and I get it because I have purchased bike stuff from them in the past -- bike stuff for me. Remember that. It will be important in a second.

Flipping through the catalog this evening, I noticed something odd. There are six pages of women's clothing and 30 (three zero!) pages of men's clothing. And one half of the six pages of women's clothing is bike shoes -- the only women's shoes in the catalog, mind you.

I know men are -- in general -- more into cycling than women. But that's a very, very, very large generalization. And I wonder, are there so few pages of women's clothes because women really don't cycle as much as guys OR do women not cycle as much because there is so little out there in the way of cycling clothes, equipment, etc. designed specifically for us.

Chicken? Egg?

In which I once again talk about the weather

Dear Colorado,

If I wanted to live somewhere with sub-zero temperatures and snow-packed roads, I would have stayed in Illinois. Yes, you have those lovely mountains, but what am I supposed to do with them if I (1) can't get to them because you've made the roads treacherous with your snow and ice and such and (2) can't stand to be outside for more than a few seconds at a time?

I know tomorrow is supposed to be a balmy 27 degrees, but at the moment the thermometer is sitting quite firmly just below zero. That's quite enough of this silliness, Colorado. It's time to get serious and raise that temp up to the 30s or 40s. The mountains will still have their snow, and I'll be able to drive to it and enjoy it -- without freezing my butt off.

Thank you and have a nice (I mean it!) day,
Pam

Ha. Ha. You can stop now

When I moved to Colorado nearly 10 years ago (!) I was told how temperate the weather is here, how cool the summers and how mild the winters. "Oh, yes, it snows," they told me, "but it melts off the very next day." Something like 300-plus days of sunshine, they told me. It's mostly warm and dry, they told me.

They forgot to add, "Unless, of course, it isn't." They forgot to mention that the weather will do whatever the hell it wants, whenever it wants, just like every other part of the nation. And it will do it on the days you really need to get stuff done. Yeah, they forgot to tell me that part.

Granted, I wouldn't want to still be living in Central Illinois, where you can go a full month without seeing the sun. But promises were made, people. I expected sunshine. Where's my effing sunshine?

Just get on with it, would you

Come on, weather. Snow or don't snow. This half-hearted stuff is just not cutting it.

I see snow in the air but I think it's just blowing around. And does it really need to be this cold? 18 degrees? Really?

The worst part is I have to go out in it in about 10 minutes. Yuck.

Chestnuts roasting on an open FAIL!

I guess I thought I was Martha Stewart, imagining that I could cook my own chestnuts for my Thanksgiving dinner. Silly girl. I followed directions (from a recipe Web site) for roasting them in the oven -- to no avail. I followed the S.O.'s experience with steaming chestnuts -- nope. They are hard little rocks. Not something that will evoke thoughts of home.

So, despite my best efforts to have everything I need for tomorrow's dinner, I have to run back out to the store.

In which I get controversial*

Yesterday, I read something that reminded me a billboard here in town that shows a young boy leaning against a disembodied pregnant belly. The sign says, "A person's a person, no matter how small."

I hate that billboard with a passion and it makes me so angry every time I see it -- because of its imagery and for highjacking Dr. Seuss for a self-righteous, misguided message. You see, the message I take away from it is this: A person's a person, no matter how small -- unless it's a pregnant woman. Then she's just a belly -- a vessel for carrying the real person.

Ugh.

*to some people

I think God would edit this

There's a church near my house that always has a "clever" saying on its sign. This week's says:

If a grave I'm nexting, it's because I drove while texting.

I have grown to accept that "texting" is now a real word -- as is "texted." I don't like it, but I'll accept it. I will not -- ever -- accept the word "nexting." What exactly is that sign even supposed to mean?

I would have accepted: If a grave I'm next in, it's because I drove while textin'. Or even a skewed rhyme of next in/texting. But not "nexting."

Because if that's the way our language is headed, there is no God!

UPDATE: I drove by the sign again yesterday, and tt's worse than I had originally remembered. It actually says, "If a grave I'm nexting: It's because I drove while texting." Made up words AND bad punctuation. God help us.

I whine about the same old things

I will readily admit that I am a huge procrastinator. It's practically an art form. I will sometimes wait until Wednesday mid-day to finish up -- heck, start -- a story that's due by close of business Wednesday.

Still, I don't like being made to wait. For the past several weeks, I've gotten my test drive assignments at the last minute. Last week, I got the contact's name at noon on Wednesday. I can't push my deadlines back too far because these stories go to print Thursday.

This week, I got the contact information this morning (Monday) and called right away. Then called again a few hours later. I'm still waiting to hear back from the dealership. So, can I drive the car tomorrow or will it have to be Wednesday morning? On top of that, it looks like next week's test drive is still up in the air.

If I procrastinate on making phone calls or starting my story, I can only blame myself for feeling rushed. When I'm waiting around for other people who are procrastinating, I can blame them. I'd rather blame myself. Whining is so unbecoming.

The cat came back

Our sneaky little night visitor made another appearance -- today at 2 a.m. This time, the little bugger made himself quite at home inside our house.

The S.O. -- suffering from insomnia -- was up playing computer games, when he heard the dog door flap. He says the cat was making himself at home then zoomed out through the doggie door without hesitation at the site of the S.O.

Makes me wonder how many times the little bugger has visited us.

Seriously? Why?

Someone made what I thought was a joke on a site I was reading earlier. He said there's a Marmaduke movie in the works - you know Marmaduke, giant dog, terrorizes the neighbors, eats everything, one-panel "comic" strip that hasn't been funny since I was a child -- and probably wasn't actually funny then.

But it isn't a joke, people -- Look!

The worst part for me is that Lee Pace is going to be in it -- the Pie Maker, he of the beautiful eyebrows. Look, Lee, I already took Jason Lee off the list for "Underdog" and "Alvin and the F***ing Chipmunks." Now, you? After "Wonderfalls" and "Pushing Daisies," you've come to this?

Thanks a lot, Hollywood.

But wait. Maybe it'll be great. Maybe it'll be Oscar worthy. Yes, maybe. And maybe I'll win a Pulitzer Prize for this blog entry and they'll turn it into a movie. And the part of Pammeey will be played by Winona Ryder and Lee Pace will be played by Jake Gyllenhaal and the blog itself will be played by Jack Black.

Hey, I've seen worse.

How to tell if you're wearing too much cologne

If your scent is wafting out of your car window and can be detected by a person in another vehicle on a crowded road, going more than 50 miles per hour, you might be wearing too much cologne.

The waiting is the hardest part

One of the things I do to help pay the bills is write vehicle reviews. Well, "reviews" is a loose term. What I really do is drive cars, trucks, vans, SUVs, then write glowing articles about them. I don't really get to critique them. I do get to drive a new vehicle every week, and it does give me some money.

The worst part about this particular job is waiting around for some car dealer's general manager to call me back. Some are better than others. And some car dealers just have me call a marketing manager. There are a couple dealers that I won't name who are notorious for not returning phone calls. I understand being busy, but delegate. And the fact that this is part of your advertising budget, should mean something. They act as if they're doing me a favor.

So, I'm sitting here this morning -- the day before my deadline -- waiting to see if I'll hear from the dealer. And yes, I've already checked with the sales rep at the newspaper and my "editor" to see if someone -- anyone -- can light a fire under this guy.

Those of you who know me, know patience isn't one of my strong suits. But I'll wait. And wait. And wait.

*slow burn*

I'm going to stick with kids' movies

Or just keep reading books.

Yeah, I know I should never hold out hope that a movie will live up to the book it's based on. But I still do ... sometimes. "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" was great, right?

I wanted to see the movie version of "The Time Traveler's Wife." But based on this information, I won't. Happy ending? Bleh.

Thanks to the Internet, I won't waste my time. Oh, I'm sure the movie version may jerk a few tears, but they'll be sappy, happy tears -- tears of joy, even. And I don't appreciate a movie that tries to hijack my emotions. Eff you, movie version! I will stick with the book.

Goodbye, Earl

So, another show bites the dust. NBC has canceled "My Name is Earl." Ok, sure the show didn't live up to its first-season greatness (I blame the bleeping writers' strike that put a kink in most scripted shows) but it was still better than the reality-show dreck we're being fed. Wasn't Stephen Baldwin on "I'm a Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here" before? Do we really need to see more of Stephen Baldwin or they-who-shall-not-be-named from The Hills?

And it's true that I had to take Jason Lee off "the list" for his parts in "Underdog" and "Alvin and the (effing) Chipmunks," but I still had a soft spot in my heart for his portrayal of Earl -- so cute, so sweet, so dumb.

I guess I'm just tired of reading about all the scripted shows (my love for "Pushing Daisies" is well documented) that have been canceled and all the new reality shows. I get enough reality every day. Television is my escape. Thank goodness for USA Network. Although I don't want to say anything too loudly. If they find out how much I love "Burn Notice" and "Psych," they may cancel those shows, too.

Here's a nice little tribute to "Earl" from Gael Fashingbauer Cooper of Pop Culture Junk Mail.

The Shape of things

I subscribe to Shape. But as each new issue comes, and I look at the cover model in her bikini and read the (often contradictory) stories inside, I'm starting to hate the magazine.

February's issue offers up a story titled "How I learned to love my body." The subhead says, "These nine women share a trait we all should have: positive self-image." That's on page 38. Page 150 gives us a spread of naked women of various shapes and sizes and says, "Banish those body issues. These women have and with these surprising yet simple strategies, you too can feel more confident -- inside and out!" The story offers some good thoughts on being good to yourself.

Then page 157 of this same issue tells us, "Drop 10 pounds this month." Because even though you have a positive self-image and you've banished your body issues, you're still 10 pounds too heavy, fat ass. And if you were starting to feel really good about yourself, there's the fashion section with the super skinny model eating a hot dog (riiiight, she eats food) at the back of the mag to bring you back down to your overweight, flabby, self-loathing earth. Seriously, my skeleton is fatter than that model.

The March issue gives this tip: "If you're feeling truly exhausted, it's more beneficial to ditch your workout." It's better to get the sleep you need and not risk injuring yourself, the story says. Yet, once again, in the same issue, "'Even when she's tired, Jaime (Pressly) comes to the gym motivated,' says trainer Mike Jones." See, Jaime Pressly can make it to the gym and be motivated, even when she's tired, so why can't you? Jaime Pressly also has an Emmy, and you don't.

It's not all bad. I take good things from the magazine from time to time. For instance, in this month's "Weight-loss diary" entry, the writer says:

"I was really having trouble putting an end to my mental trash talk. So I asked my life coach, Lauren Zander, for advice on how to nip it in the bud -- for good. ... She devised a three-part plan to help me change my mind-set. The first step: to give my inner critic a name, which would help me differentiate if from the healthier, more nurturing me. I immediately dubbed mine 'Cindy.'"

I too have decided to name my inner critic, which I think is also the voice that wakes me at 3 a.m. to make me freak out about all the things I have to get done before noon Wednesday (which inexplicably doesn't include writing blog entries or playing solitaire). My inner critic is "Doug." Why Doug? Well, K didn't seem to want the name for her iPhone, and it just feels right to say, "Shut up, Doug! I don't want to hear it."

Thanks, Shape!