Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Ohmygod what a cutie!
If you know me at all, you know I love critters. This is about the cutest little critter I've seen in awhile.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Whip it
When I drove home for lunch today, I heard Whip It by Devo on the radio. It reminded me of a nickname I earned based on that song. Here goes a pointless story that exists now on this blog for no reason other than to reminisce. (I have to admit, as I was typing that word, reminisce, I thought to myself that I've never written it before. I wondered if I was spelling it correctly. Firefox didn't underline it, so I'm guessing that I guessed correctly. Woot!)
When I was 20 years old, I got a job at Victoria's Secret so that I could have more spending money during college. Oddly, I have no idea what I really intended to spend that money on. Reality is that most of that paycheck went right back to the store I worked at. I had a thing for cotton pajamas. And lots of other stuff. Anyway, the idea of wearing black suits and standing on my feet every day wasn't so appealing, so I ended up opting for a job in the stockroom. I loved it.
My supervisor, at least at first, was a woman named Danna. She was a true Kentuckian. Take that to mean whatever you like, but beyond your preconceptions, know that she was funny, straightforward, and hardworking. At first, most of my time "in the back" was spent with Danna and LeVonya (until a year or so later when Big Al--who really wasn't big--and Boy--whose real name I can't recall for the life of me--were hired, breaking up the female stronghold). We also had a radio with--wait for it!--a single CD player. High tech. When the radio reception didn't want to come in, we resorted to CDs. One day Danna was in charge of the radio station, and Whip It came on. I immediately broke out and sang along with every lyric. Danna and LeVonya were amazed. From that day forward, I was known as Whipit. I think Danna actually wrote it as Whippet though.
It wasn't long before Danna bought a Devo CD so that we could listen, dance, and sing along to Whip It whenever we pleased, or whenever the craziness of the day forced us into taking an insanity break. (You have no idea how crazy a stockroom can get! Okay, it's not that bad, especially compared to my current situation at work, but still... I was 20. It felt crazy sometimes.)
I miss those days. I don't miss getting paid $5.50/hour, but I miss the bizarro fun we always had. Nobody has ever called me Whipit since I left that job. Alex, if you're reading this, that is *not* an invitation to call me Whipit. Same goes for everyone else, too.
That's all.
When I was 20 years old, I got a job at Victoria's Secret so that I could have more spending money during college. Oddly, I have no idea what I really intended to spend that money on. Reality is that most of that paycheck went right back to the store I worked at. I had a thing for cotton pajamas. And lots of other stuff. Anyway, the idea of wearing black suits and standing on my feet every day wasn't so appealing, so I ended up opting for a job in the stockroom. I loved it.
My supervisor, at least at first, was a woman named Danna. She was a true Kentuckian. Take that to mean whatever you like, but beyond your preconceptions, know that she was funny, straightforward, and hardworking. At first, most of my time "in the back" was spent with Danna and LeVonya (until a year or so later when Big Al--who really wasn't big--and Boy--whose real name I can't recall for the life of me--were hired, breaking up the female stronghold). We also had a radio with--wait for it!--a single CD player. High tech. When the radio reception didn't want to come in, we resorted to CDs. One day Danna was in charge of the radio station, and Whip It came on. I immediately broke out and sang along with every lyric. Danna and LeVonya were amazed. From that day forward, I was known as Whipit. I think Danna actually wrote it as Whippet though.
It wasn't long before Danna bought a Devo CD so that we could listen, dance, and sing along to Whip It whenever we pleased, or whenever the craziness of the day forced us into taking an insanity break. (You have no idea how crazy a stockroom can get! Okay, it's not that bad, especially compared to my current situation at work, but still... I was 20. It felt crazy sometimes.)
I miss those days. I don't miss getting paid $5.50/hour, but I miss the bizarro fun we always had. Nobody has ever called me Whipit since I left that job. Alex, if you're reading this, that is *not* an invitation to call me Whipit. Same goes for everyone else, too.
That's all.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Mr. Repo Man is at the wrong house
One night a couple weeks ago, someone knocked on our door, which was a little strange. Marc answered it to find a guy with a tow truck from a repossession company asking for someone named America Lamas. He got our address from a finance company. Marc assured the guy that nobody by that name lived here, and the guy had a flashlight which we're certain he was using to check the contents of our garage, so he knew the car he was looking for wasn't here.
We thought (hoped?) that would be it.
Then one day last week, I came home for lunch and found another tow truck parked on the street and a different guy at our door. He too had our address and was looking for someone named America Lamas. I let him know that we were the only people who've ever lived at this address and showed him my ID. He said he'd let the finance company know that they had bad contact information for this person. So far, we haven't had any more encounters.
I guess this is better than having our identities stolen, but it's still quite annoying. I wonder how someone goes about picking a random address like ours for this type of fraud?
We thought (hoped?) that would be it.
Then one day last week, I came home for lunch and found another tow truck parked on the street and a different guy at our door. He too had our address and was looking for someone named America Lamas. I let him know that we were the only people who've ever lived at this address and showed him my ID. He said he'd let the finance company know that they had bad contact information for this person. So far, we haven't had any more encounters.
I guess this is better than having our identities stolen, but it's still quite annoying. I wonder how someone goes about picking a random address like ours for this type of fraud?
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