Battling the crazy

The worst part about having a case of the crazies is being aware of it. I must be PMSing or something because I am out of whack this week.

Situation #1

I watched the American Idol season finale. I watch the show, but I don't vote. That's the only way I can justify watching it. The only time and only person I ever voted for was my friend Patrick Lake in season 2. Actually, I ran into him yesterday- he is the manager of our Wal-Mart now.

Back to my point. I was watching the season finale and I actually misted up and got a lump in my throat when dear Constantine reappeared. This is really weird because, although I liked him, I'm not a crazed fanatic. I was surprised when he got the boot: it was inevitable, but occurred too soon. He had a great stage presence, but he wasn't as strong vocally as the others. So I'm on my couch, about to spill tears over this guy. This is where I realize there must be something wrong with me.

Situation #2

There is a situation going on right now in which a guy is standing on top of an 18-story crane in Buckhead. Read the story here. I was driving home from work on Wednesday and I heard on the radio that they shut down Peachtree St. because there was a jumper on top of a crane. (This was back when they thought it was a suicide attempt.) This is the very first thought in my head: "What a selfish jackass, blocking traffic like that!" A man wanted to end his life and I was pissed because he causing the closure of a major street. What type of person thinks like that?

Then we found out that he killed his girlfriend in Florida earlier this week. Now everybody has the same sentiment as me. Now people are gathering around watching him on top of the crane, which is also pretty lame. Officials are worried because he decided to do this in the hottest part of Buckhead and tonight everyone will be out partying and drinking around the crane where he is perched.

It would be funny if he fell.

What kind of person thinks this?

Egads!

The walls in my apartment building must be thin because I can hear... certain things. It doesn't bother me- good for them for getting some. Those sounds are few and far between for my neighbors anyways.

However, my downstairs neighbors bother me. They only engage in the act at 4 or 5 am. Normally I could sleep through this, but their headboard is about 2 inches too close to the wall. So they wake me up and I get to listen to them bang until the final scream and the headboard becomes silent again. I feel perverted, but I cannot sleep with pound, pound, pound against our wall. Several times I felt like taping a note to their door, telling them to move their bed back from the wall a bit, but I didn't want to be approached with the whole scenario.

This was just a minor situation until today. I walked my dog when I got home from work and I walked her past their apartment. The couple was sitting on the back porch. I saw the girl, a small mousy thing, and then I saw the guy...and threw up a little in my mouth.

He was one of the ugliest people I have seen in a long time. He looked like poor white trash. Redneck poor. He must have a job that requires working outside because he has tan, leathery skin: the kind you see on 80-year-olds.

Not only must the headboard be moved from the wall, but all banging must cease immediately. People who look like that must not bump uglies. The order of the world is out of whack when good looking people I know are virgins, not by choice, and Leather Man gets to spread his seed.

Finally, a post worth reading

I know my posts this week have been lame. I've been lame this week. Nothing has happened worth writing about and I've been scraping. I finally have a story: *cue music*

I ALMOST DIED TODAY

An ex boyfriend once told me why he believes in God: there is no way he would still be alive today if it wasn't for a higher power, he's done too many stupid things and has come close to death too many times. I remember reflecting on that sentiment with my own life: playing on the train tracks and not hearing that second train, car accident #1, diving drunk into the shallow end of a pool, etc. These are all reasons I should not be alive today.

I can add another story to the list.

Innocently enough, I was walking to my truck during my lunch break. As I stepped into the parking lot, I heard a engine revving at a very high rpm. I looked for a car, but couldn't see one. I stopped just in case. At that moment a car sped by as fast as it would go. It was one of our plant workers trying to look like a bad ass in his '88 Pontiac with a missing headlight. Perhaps the headlight was missing from hitting another body.

The car peeled out of the lot, turned on the road, and then sped as fast as he could to the red light. Ass. Forget my life, do you know how much gas he is wasting at these prices? I was a little shaken up, mentally thanking my mother for making me stop and look both ways before crossing a street, and I sat in my truck for a few minutes before going to lunch.

When I got back, I complained to my boss and pointed out the car. The president of the company walked up to the guy sitting in his car while he was on his break and told him if he does it again then he's fired. Wooha!

Sigmund Freud, I evoke you!

I know I'm really stressing out about work when my job invades my dreams. When I worked at the car dealership, sometimes I would wake up screaming, "Lower the interest rates!" No lie. Generally, I view this job as very mundane and boring with a lot of busy work, but I know I must be stressed because last night I dreamt about a product in a catalogue.

In the catalogue, there was an item with a strange name- I can't remember what it was called anymore. I approached my boss and inquired about the new item. "Oh that?" he says, "That's a phuckynu." I work in a Chinese owned business so this seems okay to me, but yes, it was pronounced like that four letter word. I asked why it wasn't labeled a phuckynu in the catalogue and he responded that people might be offended by it's name.

The actual product involved a draw string in some way or another, whether is was a cover for a chair or a bag.

I can analyze this dream as a cross culture problem, or a work problem, or even a sexual problem. All I know is I did not sleep well last night and I am grumpy today.

Secret single behavior

I decided to sign up for Blockbuster's version of Netflix. "Just for the summer," I told myself. I already have 30 movies in queue and I'm ready to cancel my premium channels. (I get all the premium channels but I've seen all of the movies. I need to cancel for a year and let the channels catch back up with me before I try that again.)

The first week of living alone for the first time in 2 years was pretty unbearable. But it's amazing what a trip to the grocery store can do. I'm back in my "secret single behavior" (as refered to on "Sex and the City") like I never quit. Granted, I have been talking to the dog a little more these days, but overall I'm back in my established single patterns.

I wish I had more to say tonight, but I already told it to the dog.

What my resume really says

I've been out in the real world just long enough to know that my college degree is useless and I'll never use it. I could have been in the working world 4 years earlier and probably be making more money by now.

I have an English degree which results in 2 things:

1) Everybody responds, "Oh, so you want to be a teacher!" My favorite is when they ask me while I'm sitting at my desk at work. I just want to look to my right, then to my left, look back at him/her, stare blankly, and say, "No."

2) I am schooled and hereby qualified... to read and think about what I read.

Last night I finished As I Lay Dying by Faulkner. To give a brief synopsis: An aging mother, who never loved her family, decides she doesn't want to live anymore. She goes to her hope chest and puts on a nightgown she's never worn and climbs into bed and waits to die. About 10 days later, she dies. Her surviving family (every one of them emotionally retarded) is the poorest family around and it takes them an additional 10 days of wandering around in the heat to finally bury the corpse. There's a lot more to it than that, but it gives you an idea of how messed up this book is.

Then I remembered: You read some pretty sick shit in college. Poe- effed up, Faulkner- effed up, Nabokov and O'Connor- effed up. I was pretty lucky to get a college degree, and all I had to do was read some books about incest, murder, death, and sex?

Score.

Sometimes rubbernecking leads to blog posts

I never "rubberneck" when I see accidents on the side of the road. I'm actually quite proud of this. I make it a point to stare straight ahead and keep my foot on the gas. Rubbernecking is such a problem in Atlanta that an accident could set you in traffic for hours.

Today I saw an accident scene that made me come to a complete stop in the middle of the highway.

I was traveling down the highway into metro Atlanta and I saw a helicopter fly to just in front of me and then do a complete 180 and turn around. Oh, that must be the traffic helicopter and this is as far out as it goes, I thought. I kept my eye on the helicopter and I felt like I was catching up to it. It was getting much larger and seemed closer to the ground. Indeed it was landing. In the middle of the damn highway (opposite side I was on.) There was a fireman in full regalia squatting on the highway while the helicopter touched down and a policeman was running back and forth across the highway waving his arms to stop traffic in the lanes.

"What the-" I said as I leaned over to look. I'd never seen anything like this before. Then I saw it. On the onramp there was a tractor-trailer. It was stopped with the driver vacated from the cab; it looked fine. Then I saw the back of the trailer. An old Chevrolet Silverado was smashed in the back of the trailer and the front was completely crumpled right up to the steering wheel. The cab of the pick-up truck was compacted into itself. The driver-side door was open and there was another fireman by the truck: the man was still in it, with space enough to see him. The cab was completely enclosed around him. This is where I came to a complete stop.

I looked back at the helicopter. It was a rescue helicopter, probably taking this man to a specialty hospital like Emory. I thought of how after WWII they decided that every other mile on a highway must be straight in case of emergency plane landings. Although it was a helicopter, this was the first time I'd seen that in use.

I checked out a news website a couple of days later to see if there was anything on that accident- whether the man had lived, or was missing limbs etc., but I never saw anything on it.

My mom says I'm getting smarter

I haven't done this in about a year, but I locked my keys in the car today. I was reading and I completely forgot the keys were still sitting in the ignition. Luckily I didn't notice this until after I got off of work, otherwise I would have stressed about it the entire afternoon.

I cracked my windows but there was no way I could have fit an arm to the ignition. Coat hangers are in the car so that doesn't exactly help. On a stroke of luck, I left my sunroof open. I climbed on the back bumper and realized there was no way I could climb on the roof of my Explorer in jeans. Pantsless, it would have been easy, but I'm in the parking lot at work and my boss's window faces my car.

I'll just have to risk the hood, I thought and I circle my car and climb on the front bumper, gingerly feeling my way across the hood, staying as close to the side as possible so I won't dent it. I walk up the front windshield and stare at the sunroof. By this time I have accumulated a small audience. Gymnastics style, I tilt in and hang upside-down so the only thing people can see it my ass hanging out of my sunroof. Completely dangling upside-down I attempted to hit the unlock button on the door handle, but it was a bit of a stretch. Then I realized I could just grab the effing keys.

I pulled myself back out with my abs to a small applause. Yeah, I can still be an idiot like that.

An ode to Craiggers

I would draw hearts around this picture if I could.


That's better.

So my dear roommate moved out today. He's headed to Tampa, Florida to run a restaurant (Zaxby's) and to open several others. And to break some hearts. Of course. This is the best picture I have of him so the ladies can get a sneak peak at what's headed their way. It never occurs to me to take pictures of some of the people I see often; I never consider the possibility that things won't always be that way.

In the meantime I found a bottle of wine he left on top of the fridge. I'll take it as a sign he wanted me to have it. Also the apartment has now been dubbed "Nakedville" and I'm the mayor! Pantsless Wednesdays, an old college tradition, can recommence.

I better end this now before it gets even more ridiculous and I start rhyming.

Karma Cleanser

So guess what?

The receptionist at work was fired today.

Turns out she was being a bitch to everyone.

It's a karaoke revival!

Every Tuesday for 3 years my friends and I have attended karaoke night. My roommate is moving to Florida next week, I'm moving in August, and our bartender got promoted to manager so we decided to have one last blow out and call it quits with Tuesday night karaoke. We got the entire gang together, including people that haven't been out in over a year to say goodbye to Craig. "It's a karaoke revival," I said into the phone. People laughed and said it was a good reason as any to come out one last time.

It was a very emotional night. 20 oz. rum buckets were involved and I realized that this is my last chance to see some of these people as well. Some still go home for the summer and I'm moving in August to Atlanta, so I'm not going to see these people again either. A lot of booze, a lot of laughing, and a lot of hugging. I wish Craig brought out his video camera, or someone was smart enough to bring a camera to mark the good times.

Craig was sick but he sang anyways. He sang, "Let's Get It On" and I had to ask the guy I was dancing with to stop spinning me because I thought I was going to get sick. Two hours later I sang my signature "Who Will Save Your Soul" by Jewel and got a great response. I'll have to take that show to karaoke bars in other cities!

I woke up this morning and felt like crap. Like I fell directly out of a butt. It was worth it.

I'm not one for these things but I liked this one

Your Linguistic Profile:

50% Dixie

35% General American English

15% Yankee

0% Midwestern

0% Upper Midwestern

What Kind of American English Do You Speak?

Borrowed from frog princess

The hot pants plan: day# 19

I haven't seen my favorite aunt and uncle in 2 and 1/2 years. They are in town tonight and I have plans to eat dinner with them. I wanted to look nice for them so today I ditched the tennis shoes and jeans and I brushed the hair and put on the heels.

I normally wear tennis shoes because I work at a manufacturing plant. Actually I work in the front office of a manufacturing plant. Regardless, I have to run into the plant several times a day and dodge fork lifts, saws, and machines with big cords. Wanting to keep all of my toes, I wear shoes that will protect my feet, not ones that cause my clumsy ass to trip over anything.

I walk in and it's the first thing everybody notices: Holy shit, Jamie is taller! Gasp, we can see her feet! (My favorite receptionist made several stabs at my beloved New Balances.) All of a sudden I feel like I have to explain myself- What? These old things? Hell, the dog chewed on them or I wear heels when I'm not at work.

One lady exclaims, "Did someone make a trip to Payless?" That was the exact moment I lost my "no care" attitude. "Payless? PAYLESS? Girl, these are Steve Maddens!" Snapping of fingers and head waving may have occurred.

I'm just so sick of everything being a big deal around here.

On why I don't like the receptionist at work

1) One time she said, "Who's going to buy me a drink from the vending machine?" I was in a good mood (or on crack) and volunteered. At that time I got a phone call that took me about 15 minutes to muddle through. She sent me the call. By the time I finally got off the phone, she says, "I'm tired of waiting, when are you going to buy my drink?"

2) She approached me and asked me for money. After incident number 1, I lied and told her I didn't have any. I felt bad and directed her to another co-worker to which she replied, "Oh I have money, I just didn't want to go through my purse to get it."

3) She makes comments to me like, "Don't be late to the meeting tomorrow."

4) She gives me work to do when she doesn't want to look it up herself.

5) I handed her a list of people coming that day to pick up orders. She asked us to do this for her. I gave her the stack of papers and she gave me a dirty look and snarled, "Why are you giving me this, Jamie?"

6) I brought Krystal to work with me for lunch yesterday, causing this conversation:

Mean Receptionist: Do you have any Krystals left?
Jamie: No.
Mean Receptionist: (scoffs) But you bought a Sackful!
Jamie: I bought 3.

And what if I did buy a Sackful? What if, God forbid, I was hungry and bought a Sackful? Do I deserve to be treated poorly because I didn't share? If I was hungry enough, would I deserve scoffs and looks?

Every time something like this transpires, I want to yell at her, "Go answer the phone you phone-answering receptionist!"

Weekend in Oxford

In Oxford, there was a Confederate Memorial Service for Ole Miss. Apparently, Ole Miss had to close its doors during the Civil War because the entire student body died in battle. They had a parade that consisted of about 6 people dressed in Confederate attire ...AND GENERAL LEE AND SENATOR COOTER FROM "THE DUKES OF HAZZARD!"

(I say "Senator" Cooter because he is now in the Georgia State Senate. Besides, it's more fun to call him Senator Cooter.)

I grab my camera phone and get my picture with the car as seen here:

As you can see, I gingerly rest my hand on th car. I am now going to tell you about Robert and his experience with "The General."

Robert is in line to see the car and the person in front of him is a police officer. She sits in the car. Robert is next and, thinking it's okay, grabs the roof of the car and attempts to jump in the window like the boys did in the show. The wife of the man who owns the car starts screaming "You can't do that! You can't do that!"

She was wearing Tennessee's prison orange (to match the car I'm assuming) and she's big and looks like she could kick some ass.

Robert clumsily scrambles back out the window of General Lee and, in the process, cuts his knee open on the side view mirror- almost ripping it off. (The mirror, not his knee.) He's embarrassed and we leave the ceremony. His knee is cut pretty badly: it's bleeding through his shorts and you can see tissue hanging out. It probably needs stitches. Instead one of the boys yells, "Don't put Neosporin on it Robert! You want a scar from General Lee! What a great story it will be!"

Robert never did get his knee stitched, nor even washed it if I remember correctly, and henced the story is relayed here.