Autumn. A-U-T-U-M-N. That's my name. I happen to like it. I think it's unusual enough to be memorable.
So why do people consistently call me Amber? (or April, or August, or...take your pick, really)
This happens with alarming frequency. This morning, for instance, a woman I've known and worked with for the past four years called me Amber. On Friday, someone called me Auburn on my voicemail after he'd had the opportunity to hear my name spoken twice (on my boss's voicemail message and then mine). The week before, another person I've worked with for years called me April. Almost every day, someone gets my name wrong. At an all-day meeting a few weeks ago, one guy even called me Amber, April, AND August throughout the day. He finally asked me to spell my name to help him remember.
Seriously: this happens almost every single day. And I can't figure it out! WHY is it so difficult to remember a name like 'Autumn'? Anyone out there have a clue? Because it's driving me crazy.
Showing posts with label Random. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Random. Show all posts
Monday, June 1, 2009
Thursday, January 1, 2009
Beardiness
Portland has decided that it is the 'beardiest' city in the United States. (It's so true; I was astounded by the sheer number of facial outcroppings I witnessed while I was there. It even provoked the creation of a game called "Homeless or Hippie?").
Here are couple of choice quotes from that first article:
"A beard is a scarf that works great while bike riding."
"A beard is a friend who is always there to give you a hug."
Man, I love Portland. For this and many other reasons.
Here are couple of choice quotes from that first article:
"A beard is a scarf that works great while bike riding."
"A beard is a friend who is always there to give you a hug."
Man, I love Portland. For this and many other reasons.
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Fear
Whoa, this is scary:
Rush-hour shooter kills 2 in Dallas
That right there is one of my top 5 fears. Seriously, I cringe almost every time I pull up next to a car at a stoplight or pass someone on the highway. I always thought it was completely irrational -- no way something like that would actually happen -- but here you go! A crazy guy shooting random, innocent drivers in my city. Those poor people (and their families! during the holidays!). I hope that this psycho is stung to death by angry bees, and soon.
Why do some people insist on confirming my worst opinions of humanity?
Rush-hour shooter kills 2 in Dallas
That right there is one of my top 5 fears. Seriously, I cringe almost every time I pull up next to a car at a stoplight or pass someone on the highway. I always thought it was completely irrational -- no way something like that would actually happen -- but here you go! A crazy guy shooting random, innocent drivers in my city. Those poor people (and their families! during the holidays!). I hope that this psycho is stung to death by angry bees, and soon.
Why do some people insist on confirming my worst opinions of humanity?
Saturday, November 1, 2008
Nightmares
Thank you, EW.com. The Hugga Bunch wasn't even on my radar until today, and now I'm going to have lifelong nightmares.
Oh, god, it's so horrifying!
Oh, god, it's so horrifying!
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
A long time coming
Dear Caffeine, I'll just come right out and say it: it's over. I'm leaving you for Decaf. I think we'll both agree that this has been a long time coming.
See, this hasn't been a healthy relationship for quite some time. Sure, it was all picnics and roses in the beginning -- in fact, I felt like I couldn't live without you. But you've given me nothing but trouble for years, and I can't believe it's taken me this long to realize it. So I'm done. I'm out.
No more headaches, dizziness, or nausea! No more brain fog or jitters! You're bad news, Caffeine, and I've had enough. I've learned my lesson this time. We're through, for good.
Love,
Me
P.S. Ok, so I might see you occasionally when I'm hanging out with Chocolate. But don't get any ideas, mister!
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Run, before he finds you
Apparently, when you type "Chuck Norris" into Google Search and select "I'm Feeling Lucky," magic happens.
Do it. I dare you.
Do it. I dare you.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Friday, July 18, 2008
Very yeah
I'm on Day 5 of a 21-Day Cleanse program, and so far, it's kicking my willpower in the nards. Hard. It requires me to eat nothing but fresh vegetables and fruits, at least half of them raw, and to completely cut out sugar, caffeine, alcohol, beans, nuts, wheat, dairy, and my will to live. This is harder than it seems on first appearance, and I'm no stranger to detox diets, fasts, and other extreme short-term tests of mettle. For some reason, I'm struggling to control some rather intense cravings this time. For god's sake, even fucking Wendy's commercials are making me hungry! That's a dire situation, folks. If you know me, you know how I feel about fast food. Ick. But seriously, all I want is to dive face first into a vat of pizzas. And then mainline Guinness and ice cream and chips for about two weeks straight.
The whole reason for the cleanse was to get me back into the habit of eating healthier, to reach for more vegetables and fruits and fewer delicious, salty chips and foamy beers. You know, get more nutrients, yada yada yada. I don't have to see this whole thing through to accomplish that. But now that I've started, I feel like I can't quit. I hate being a quitter! I want to feel strong and capable, even if it is just for completing a 3-week program. It's a pride & determination thing, and sometimes I hate it to death. I'm stubborn. And whiny.
At least one amusing thing has resulted from all of this. I went to the cafeteria at work today to buy a salad since I was too lazy to prepare one this morning, and I ran into my favorite caf employee, Kevin. Now, Kevin is a big stinkin' flirt, and he always makes a point to lay it on thick (suddenly wondering where that expression comes from...) when I come in. Today was no exception. I asked if they had any olive oil & balsamic vinegar for my salad, he asked why, I briefly explained the cleanse thing. Here's the rest of the conversation:
K: That sounds like a good plan. Not that you need it. You're looking...yeeeeeeaaahhh...these days. [Gives me a very slow, deliberate head-to-toe-and-back onceover. Twiceover? Who knows.]
Me: I look...yeah? Really?
K: Oh, very yeah. Believe me. [Leers.]
Now that's how you woo a lady, guys.
The whole reason for the cleanse was to get me back into the habit of eating healthier, to reach for more vegetables and fruits and fewer delicious, salty chips and foamy beers. You know, get more nutrients, yada yada yada. I don't have to see this whole thing through to accomplish that. But now that I've started, I feel like I can't quit. I hate being a quitter! I want to feel strong and capable, even if it is just for completing a 3-week program. It's a pride & determination thing, and sometimes I hate it to death. I'm stubborn. And whiny.
At least one amusing thing has resulted from all of this. I went to the cafeteria at work today to buy a salad since I was too lazy to prepare one this morning, and I ran into my favorite caf employee, Kevin. Now, Kevin is a big stinkin' flirt, and he always makes a point to lay it on thick (suddenly wondering where that expression comes from...) when I come in. Today was no exception. I asked if they had any olive oil & balsamic vinegar for my salad, he asked why, I briefly explained the cleanse thing. Here's the rest of the conversation:
K: That sounds like a good plan. Not that you need it. You're looking...yeeeeeeaaahhh...these days. [Gives me a very slow, deliberate head-to-toe-and-back onceover. Twiceover? Who knows.]
Me: I look...yeah? Really?
K: Oh, very yeah. Believe me. [Leers.]
Now that's how you woo a lady, guys.
Monday, July 7, 2008
Party observations
I have 15 mosquito bites on my feet. I don't have mosquito bites anywhere but my feet. This perplexes me.
Raw chicken sitting in the sink for almost 24 hours will produce a most unpleasant odor.
When one hosts one's family, one should not expect to step in blue gum the next morning.
Good friends will talk to your drunk, hopelessly lost brother for 20 minutes to guide him back to your house.
Sometimes, the quiet, conservative one will surprise you by smoking the hookah.
Good music unites. Drunk freestyle rap divides.
Fresh dog shit will end a game of frisbee in a hurry.
Raw chicken sitting in the sink for almost 24 hours will produce a most unpleasant odor.
When one hosts one's family, one should not expect to step in blue gum the next morning.
Good friends will talk to your drunk, hopelessly lost brother for 20 minutes to guide him back to your house.
Sometimes, the quiet, conservative one will surprise you by smoking the hookah.
Good music unites. Drunk freestyle rap divides.
Fresh dog shit will end a game of frisbee in a hurry.
Saturday, May 10, 2008
Hearts
Lately, I've been happening upon heart shapes everywhere I go.
It makes me happy.
Even when it's just a rusty stain on my back patio.
It makes me happy.
Even when it's just a rusty stain on my back patio.
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Men in Trees
Callie loves to bark at everything that moves. Children exiting school buses, construction workers, men, women, dogs, cats, squirrels...nothing escapes her notice. I've tried to break her of this bad habit to no avail, and have finally just learned to accept it. Since we've been in the house, she's gotten even worse (more windows! more street traffic!), and it's a bit exasperating. Until yesterday.
I was talking on the phone with my dad and decided to run out and grab the mail. As usual, Callie darted out as soon as the door opened. Normally, this is fine - she stays in the yard and comes back in once I call her. But this time, a man was passing by on the sidewalk, and Callie, startled, immediately ran toward him, barking hysterically. Now, I can understand feeling a bit panicked if a strange dog is hurtling toward you with apparent menace (even if that dog weighs all of 25 pounds). I tried to reassure the man that Callie doesn't bite, that she just sounds mean, she's really a very sweet dog...but it was too late. The man had already panicked. And jumped into our tree.
Jumped INTO OUR TREE. Not only that, but was trying to claw his way up. While shaking a stick at my dog. I don't know how I held it together long enough to get Callie into the house, but as soon as I did, I laughed until I cried. Here's a crude representation of the event (ignore the pathetic attempt at drawing in Word):
Oh, I will cherish these memories forever.
I was talking on the phone with my dad and decided to run out and grab the mail. As usual, Callie darted out as soon as the door opened. Normally, this is fine - she stays in the yard and comes back in once I call her. But this time, a man was passing by on the sidewalk, and Callie, startled, immediately ran toward him, barking hysterically. Now, I can understand feeling a bit panicked if a strange dog is hurtling toward you with apparent menace (even if that dog weighs all of 25 pounds). I tried to reassure the man that Callie doesn't bite, that she just sounds mean, she's really a very sweet dog...but it was too late. The man had already panicked. And jumped into our tree.
Jumped INTO OUR TREE. Not only that, but was trying to claw his way up. While shaking a stick at my dog. I don't know how I held it together long enough to get Callie into the house, but as soon as I did, I laughed until I cried. Here's a crude representation of the event (ignore the pathetic attempt at drawing in Word):
Oh, I will cherish these memories forever.
Friday, February 29, 2008
Week from hell, part II
It figures that a few hours after writing about my week from hell, the universe would reward me with fresh hell. This story is unbelievable. Even I still can't believe it. Here's how it goes:
After a long, difficult day at work, I arrive home, trudge up the stairs, turn my key in the lock, and...nothing. Door won't budge. I try it again, and again. No dice. Like the door's been deadbolted from the inside. I try the lock another 5 times, just in case I was hallucinating the first few times. That's when I start to laugh. Of course. Of course this is happening to me.
The apartment office doesn't give a shit about me. That's evident right off the bat, since they don't even ask my name, just my apartment number, and refer to me, impatiently, as "that lady" when talking amongst themselves. They send a maintenance guy over, then lock up behind me as I leave. They want to get home, relax. So do I. The maintenance guy arrives at my door a few minutes later with a tiny belt-pack of basic tools, probably thinking I'm just retarded and can't unlock my own door without assistance. He tries the key a few times, too. Then he starts trying to pry the deadbolt out of the lock, using screwdrivers and the like. I'm doomed.
I'm starting to despair at this point, not to mention trying desperately not to lose my shit and cry all over the place. Hector, the maintenance guy who clearly doesn't want to be here, is shushing my dog, who is practically hyperventilating on the inside. It's the panic bark; I've only heard it a couple of times, and it makes me want to cry even more. She's losing her shit, clearly. It's not helping the situation. 30 minutes pass.
I suggest trying to get in through the balcony, and Hector laughs at me, then tries to explain, half in Spanish, why that won't work. I wish I'd retained more of my high school Spanish.
Hector disappears for 5 minutes, then returns with a crowbar and some other tools. I start to think I might never get into my apartment. After all, if it were easy to break in with the deadbolt locked, what's the point of the damn thing? And now that I think about it, why isn't there an outside lock for this stupid thing? What if I deadbolted myself inside and then needed emergency medical attention? What would happen then, huh?
Hector is cursing and sweating, and I have no clue what's he trying to do. He notes my dog trying to claw through the door to get to me, and suggests that maybe she deadbolted the door. More on that later. The door has now been warped and gouged near the lock, but at least it appears to be budging a bit.
Success! After nearly an hour, Hector is able to pry my door open, and Callie has never been happier to see me. She's a nervous wreck, though, and a handful for the rest of the night. Both of us take a much-needed bathroom break.
Callie and I are finally able to relax. Once she's a bit calmer, I stand her up on her hind legs to see if she can even reach the deadbolt. She's too short, even on her tippy toes. The only way she could deadbolt the door would be to jump up and hit the lock with enough force and specificity to turn it ninety degrees to the right. I ask you, is that even possible? Doesn't that defy the laws of physics somehow? How can a short, 25-pound dog with no opposable thumbs lock a deadbolt? HOW? But then again...what else could have happened? I can't lock the deadbolt from the outside. No one appeared to have been in my apartment, because they would have had to escape through the balcony after deadbolting themselves in. The dog theory seems much more plausible.
Unless I have a poltergeist or something. With the ability to become corporeal and turn locks.
After a long, difficult day at work, I arrive home, trudge up the stairs, turn my key in the lock, and...nothing. Door won't budge. I try it again, and again. No dice. Like the door's been deadbolted from the inside. I try the lock another 5 times, just in case I was hallucinating the first few times. That's when I start to laugh. Of course. Of course this is happening to me.
The apartment office doesn't give a shit about me. That's evident right off the bat, since they don't even ask my name, just my apartment number, and refer to me, impatiently, as "that lady" when talking amongst themselves. They send a maintenance guy over, then lock up behind me as I leave. They want to get home, relax. So do I. The maintenance guy arrives at my door a few minutes later with a tiny belt-pack of basic tools, probably thinking I'm just retarded and can't unlock my own door without assistance. He tries the key a few times, too. Then he starts trying to pry the deadbolt out of the lock, using screwdrivers and the like. I'm doomed.
I'm starting to despair at this point, not to mention trying desperately not to lose my shit and cry all over the place. Hector, the maintenance guy who clearly doesn't want to be here, is shushing my dog, who is practically hyperventilating on the inside. It's the panic bark; I've only heard it a couple of times, and it makes me want to cry even more. She's losing her shit, clearly. It's not helping the situation. 30 minutes pass.
I suggest trying to get in through the balcony, and Hector laughs at me, then tries to explain, half in Spanish, why that won't work. I wish I'd retained more of my high school Spanish.
Hector disappears for 5 minutes, then returns with a crowbar and some other tools. I start to think I might never get into my apartment. After all, if it were easy to break in with the deadbolt locked, what's the point of the damn thing? And now that I think about it, why isn't there an outside lock for this stupid thing? What if I deadbolted myself inside and then needed emergency medical attention? What would happen then, huh?
Hector is cursing and sweating, and I have no clue what's he trying to do. He notes my dog trying to claw through the door to get to me, and suggests that maybe she deadbolted the door. More on that later. The door has now been warped and gouged near the lock, but at least it appears to be budging a bit.
Success! After nearly an hour, Hector is able to pry my door open, and Callie has never been happier to see me. She's a nervous wreck, though, and a handful for the rest of the night. Both of us take a much-needed bathroom break.
Callie and I are finally able to relax. Once she's a bit calmer, I stand her up on her hind legs to see if she can even reach the deadbolt. She's too short, even on her tippy toes. The only way she could deadbolt the door would be to jump up and hit the lock with enough force and specificity to turn it ninety degrees to the right. I ask you, is that even possible? Doesn't that defy the laws of physics somehow? How can a short, 25-pound dog with no opposable thumbs lock a deadbolt? HOW? But then again...what else could have happened? I can't lock the deadbolt from the outside. No one appeared to have been in my apartment, because they would have had to escape through the balcony after deadbolting themselves in. The dog theory seems much more plausible.
Unless I have a poltergeist or something. With the ability to become corporeal and turn locks.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Monday, January 21, 2008
Ready, set, shuffle!
My iPod gets me through most days. When I need a little distraction from boring household chores or rush-hour traffic or dull stretches of time at work, I just hit Shuffle, and boom! Instant entertainment. Though my iPod likes to torture me with long strings of sloooow ballads sometimes, it's usually eerily spot-on in matching my mood and accurately predicting which songs I want to hear.
Now it's time for a confession, so hit Shuffle, and then post the first five songs that come up. Think of it as a music swap. And no cheating!
Here's mine:
Blue - Symposium
I Don't Feel Like Dancin' - Scissor Sisters
Black Country Woman - Led Zeppelin
Say You Miss Me - Wilco
Let the Good Times Roll - B.B. King
Your turn!
Now it's time for a confession, so hit Shuffle, and then post the first five songs that come up. Think of it as a music swap. And no cheating!
Here's mine:
Blue - Symposium
I Don't Feel Like Dancin' - Scissor Sisters
Black Country Woman - Led Zeppelin
Say You Miss Me - Wilco
Let the Good Times Roll - B.B. King
Your turn!
Thursday, January 17, 2008
My new band
Meme stolen from Catherine:
The BAND meme:
1. en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Special:Random The first article title on the page is the name of your band.
2. www.quotationspage.com/random.php3 The last four words of the very last quote = the title of your album.
3. www.flickr.com/explore/interesting/7days/ The third picture, no matter what it is, will be your album cover.
Meet my new band!
Band name: La Ronde*
First album: Spring of Happy Quotations
Album cover: http://www.flickr.com/photos/chip1/2189299120/
*Band name is the name of a film (Roundabout) made in 1950, directed by Max Ophüls based on Schnitzler's 1897 play of the same name. It tells a series of stories about love affairs: at the end of each, one of the partners forms a liaison with another person, and so on.
The BAND meme:
1. en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Special:Random The first article title on the page is the name of your band.
2. www.quotationspage.com/random.php3 The last four words of the very last quote = the title of your album.
3. www.flickr.com/explore/interesting/7days/ The third picture, no matter what it is, will be your album cover.
Meet my new band!
Band name: La Ronde*
First album: Spring of Happy Quotations
Album cover: http://www.flickr.com/photos/chip1/2189299120/
*Band name is the name of a film (Roundabout) made in 1950, directed by Max Ophüls based on Schnitzler's 1897 play of the same name. It tells a series of stories about love affairs: at the end of each, one of the partners forms a liaison with another person, and so on.
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