It's all about me...

It's better to be pissed off than pissed on.

Friday, September 30, 2005


I thought I'd try and one-up my Death post with one equally morbid. Last night I found out that when Grandpa was in the hospital, he also had a minor stroke. It was diagnosed yesterday. We contributed the slower speech to him simply not feeling well but the doctor sure proved us wrong. Then I was told my uncle and his significant other have decided to go their separate ways. To say I'm saddened by that is the understatement of the year.
In essence, I'm coming to terms with the fact that nothing lasts forever no matter how wonderful it may seem. Gramps isn't immortal as I previously believed. One day he'll simply no longer be there to tell some old and likely dirty joke or a story about Maine. No one will call my Gran "Annie" or "Darling" in that special way.
Thankfully, my parents are still married so I've been ignorant to the pain that is divorce. The closest I've been to knowing that kind of hurt is the end of a five-year relationship with who I'm beginning to wonder may have been the love of my life. People used to stop us on the street (honest to God) to tell us we were a great looking couple or how happy we looked together. Then, to find out he cheated on me and have him dump me on Valentine's Day (for a second time) was as heartbreaking as anything could be.
Break-ups are interesting... you know you need to side with your family member or your friend but what about the other person? Didn't they become a part of your circle? Don't you share a special bond with them, too? It seems that you almost have to pretend they never existed to protect the feelings of the ones closest to you. Just another goodbye.
So ending today's workday with a post about "The End" seemed appropriate. Even if this post didn't make any sense at all, it made me feel better. Color me selfish. TGIF.

The Queen of Inappropriate

To quote Usher, "These are my confessions." There's something you should know about me if you care to take this any further. I have a tendency to say things that are not "politically correct" or in some cases are "socially unacceptable." In high school, people used to call me racist (and in one instance, Hitler) because we (if by we I mean I) would not be shy about bringing someone's ethnicity to attention in a not-so-nice, but mostly sarcastic and joking, manner. Mind you, I have maybe a total of 2 white friends so I truly don't believe that I'm a racist. "Some of my best friends are black" so to speak. More than likely, my friend's don't think I'm a bigot either. And while I wouldn't stoop so low as to blame the media for my actions, 95% of my dialogue and speech pattern is Simpsons based thanks to a childhood obsession with the program. I thrive off shows like the Family Guy (and Asian correspondent, Trisha Takanawa). Dave Chapelle in all of his white-bashing glory is an inspiration. Grandpa is also a great influence to have because he is probably one of the most blatant in his slurs because he's "old school." I know I'm throwing around a lot of quotation marks here but bear (bare?) with me. So while I'm not justifying my ignorant behavior, I just wanted to warn you ahead of time that even though I say some dumb shit, I still love to love you, baby. And it don't matter if you're black or white. Ebony and Ivory. It's a small world after all. And all that jazz.

Thursday, September 29, 2005

mmm... Massage

Lately I've become more conscious of the tension in my neck, back and shoulders. After being at a desk job for coming up on 5 years, doing repetitive movements like typing all day long, you start to ache. So I'm not saying I'm applying for worker's comp or that I wear one of those carpal tunnel wrist braces, but I do feel my work in my body. So I pamper myself with a monthly massage rather than break down and face the fact that I absolutely must go to the gym and build up my back and ab muscles to avoid more strain. Most of the time I go to the boujie salon near my house but this time I ventured outside my safety zone and got rubbed down by an amateur courtesy of a gift certificate. Then again, maybe I shouldn't call it rubbed down so much as beat down. For an hour I had my toes flexed, trying to stifle my gasps as she twisted every square inch of my flesh until it burned. She literally winded me a couple times and used stones to knead out my knots that may or may not have left internal bruising. I will seriously stand by my theory that you get what you pay for. The schwanky salon, deep tissue massage (at $75/hour) leaves me drooling on the floor, floating out of the room in a dream-like state. The free Swedish massage in the office building (usually she charges $50/hour) left me unable to bend over and pull my pants on without groaning like an 80-year old. So there you have it. Another lesson learned.

Wednesday, September 28, 2005

Grossest. Commercial. Ever.

Never in my life have I been a part of anything more disturbing than Digger the Toenail Fungus Monster that Lamicil created to haunt me while I'm awake and asleep. And why they have to play the damn commercial every time I'm at the dinner table is truly beyond me. When he lifts that crusty old toenail up like a trapdoor and hops right in to party down with his other nasty friends, it literally acts as a catalyst for my gag reflex. I am no less than revolted. This is coming from the same girl that can watch the Two Headed baby story for an hour and be unable to look away... the very same girl that used to spend days looking at (which I refuse to link lest I clue you into how truly unwell I used to be mentally).
Maybe it's because Digger brings back memories of my ex who had a long but successful battle against the infection that is toenail fungus. Thanks to a case of athlete's foot (he loved him some workouts and Harley Davidson motorcycle boots), his toenails grew to resemble corn chips. But after using the aforementioned product, he was healed! ExOrCise the demons!
Why am I telling you all of this on a most important hundredth of posts? I'm a firm believer that one should face one's fears in order to conquer them. Perhaps, on a less heroic level, it's comforting for me to know that you will be uncomfortable as well. Thanks, blogworld. I needed that.

Is It Just Me...

... or does everyone talk to themselves when they're alone? And I'm not just referring to the times you damn yourself for leaving the house without a jacket, I'm talkin' full on conversations. External banter with yourself that actually makes you laugh out loud. Sometimes I wonder if I've gone off the deep end because of how much fun I am able to have all. by. myself. Mostly I'm making fun of something stupid I've done or I'm screaming in a fit of road rage but I'm still having a darn good time of it all alone.
As I was leaving Starbucks this morning with my deliciously indulgent Hazelnut latte, I heard a man carrying on a one-sided conversation and I was comforted knowing I'm not the only nutty one roaming the streets. He wasn't talking to anyone that I could see, but upon closer look he had one of those cockamamy earpieces in for his cell phone while he was walking around the parking lot. Is it so hard to hold your hand up to your face and cradle a phone against your ear? I get the earpiece in the car, after all, safety first. But while you're walking from the ATM to your car? Whatever.
My co-workers even have those rhythm nation headsets for the office and they wander the halls with them on. I have to assume they even tinkle resting easy that they can answer the phone anywhere they want. No, I can't tell you're in the bathroom by the sound of the running water and echoes. Silly.

Tuesday, September 27, 2005

Born With Two Heads

Last night I had insomnia due to the fact that I had basically slept 10 hours the night before and had taken two 2-hour naps during the day. Isn't being sick neat? I felt like a puppy. Wake up, eat, sleep and repeat. But I digress. Since I couldn't fall asleep I ended up watching a program called Born With Two Heads on TLC. It was about an Egyptian baby born with a parasitic twin attached to her head. If you would like to read more about the situation and see a picture, click here unless you have a weak constitution. Seeing something like this really opens your eyes to how much worse things could really be. It fascinates and amazes me what modern science is capable of achieving. And it was quite a surprise to me that the same procedure was performed a couple years before in the Dominican Republic by a doctor from Los Angeles who was considered the best of the best, and they failed. Yet in Egypt, where they only had basic equipment and a doctor who volunteered his services free of charge, they succeeded.
Please, discuss amongst yourselves.

Monday, September 26, 2005

Blechie Monday

WARNING! This post may literally cause you to fall asleep at your desk. Please be aware that drooling onto your keyboard may cause short-circuiting. Proceed at your own risk.

Have you ever woken up with a splitting headache and a bout with nausea? And I don't mean after a night of drinking and debauchery. When you rolled over in your bed and looked out the window were you greeted with gray skies and falling leaves? You know it is a good day to call in sick when the first 5 minutes of your day start like that. As if that wasn't enough, I have a billion hours of biology reading ahead of me to prepare for my test tomorrow. Nothing like waiting 'til the last minute.
SPOILER ALERT (for anyone living in a cave that is):
Did anyone watch Desperate Housewives last night? What was up with the new family having someone chained in their basement? I truly love this program but all I could think of was Sloth in the Goonies movie. Baby Ruth?!?!

Sunday, September 25, 2005

The Anti-Reunion

Last night I went to a serious dive bar to see a couple of guys from high school's band play. You could literally cut the white trash in there with a knife. Pool hustling girls with tattoos on their forearms. Guys that are probably named Jeb or Cletus. And I definitely saw a flannel or two.
A couple people that didn't make it to "my" reunion were there and it was pretty good to see them. At first. Then I remembered that these were the same kids that were too cool for school in the 90s. One girl in particular, we'll call her L, was there. In middle-school she was the flirt and even though she's not cute per se (she actually looks like a pig/person hybrid), all the boys wanted to be with her. She was the tease and the cookie-cutter blonde type. Fast forward 15 years and she's married but she's still "that girl." I asked L if I could take her picture and she sat still for a whopping 11 seconds and when her husband went to kiss her for the picture she actually ran away. Yah. Ran away in a bar. I'm sorry... what? Her friend literally put her in a bear hug to return her to said photo shoot to which L twisted and squirmed until she was able to retreat to the bar for another shot.
Then, as we were seated, listening to the actually good music Regal Beagle (yes, that's the band's name. Three's Company much?) was producing, W walks in. W dated my adorable yet psycho friend Krystee a hundred years ago and took me to my prom. Then one day in '95 he got lippy and I told him to scram and so began the ultimate silent treatment. I saw him a couple of years ago at the ol' community college and we were civil but last night he didn't even acknowledge my "hello." The best part of the encounter was seeing his fugly fiancee and knowing he is at least 5 years older than me but is kicking it with the kids from my high school class.
This is a rambling vent of a post, I know, but the moral of this story is: it's comforting to know some things never change. Isn't it nice to walk away having learned a lesson?
Some names have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent and obnoxious.

On another note, I'd like to credit my friend Oly for being one helluva make-up artist (and I promise not every blog from here on will have a picture of me in it):

Saturday, September 24, 2005

I Know Huh?

Bet you don't know where I was last night! Oh, only watching the most hilarious stand-up comedian I know of right in the very front row of the dang theater! At first I was skeptical about spending $60 for a comedy show but George Lopez is seriously worth every penny. All I know is the cramps in my abdomen that I'm feelin' this morning are definitely not from a workout or from my period but from laughing for 90 straight minutes. There is a very good chance I pulled a muscle in my cheeks and/or jaw. So while I wouldn't recommend G-Lo to everyone, if you have ever had an intimate relationship with a Latino family, go.
Random highlights: my brother Curtis, all 6'4" of him, caught the towel George Lopez threw into the crowd at the end of the show. And who gets the front-row harrassment? Curtis's Double-D girlfriend or Flatty McNoBoobs? Yah you got it. Yours truly. The opening act said something about my "cleavage" (if you can even call it that) looking like a midget under my shirt bending over and mooning him. Sure it did.

Friday, September 23, 2005

Bye, Bye, Hair

Mind you my hair only had this alleged volume after countless products and endless blowdrying.

It kind of brings to mind Madonna in her Papa Don't Preach phase and maybe is reminiscent of The Legend of Billy Jean. G-dammit I heart the 80s. The way I look at it, I'll look less "dikey" (for lack of a better word. butch?) once the ol' bangs grow out a tad. All in all, though, couldn't be happier with my hairstylist. Way to go, Sally!

Grandpa Watch 2005

(I told you he was a pervert! Look at his hand on Granny's boob!)
I thought I should update you, 6 readers, on the condition of my grandpa since I mentioned his ailing a while ago. Initially he was admitted because of what the doctor thought was bronchitis. It turns out that putting him in the hospital saved his life. He had a blood clot that ran the length of his hip to his knee. When a piece of that clot broke off and traveled into his lungs, it gave him the symptoms of bronchitis. He's been on blood thinners for a few days now and it seems that clot has now diminished to the length of about an inch down from nearly 2 feet long. He's a quick healer that one. You can tell he's feeling better when he starts talking about telling the doctor to fuck off if he thinks he's going home with an oxygen tank.
But there's also been a change in him that leads me to believe his body was abducted by aliens. On Tuesday night the chaplain came in and asked if he needed any spiritual services and a wee tear sprang to his eye. The rest of the family, however, wasn't quick to invite Jesus into the room because there were already like 7 of us in there. Yesterday he actually called me "baby doll" and asked the male nurse, Juan, "Isn't my granddaughter beautiful?" Then again, he's been trying to marry me off for the last 8 years so maybe that was his feeble attempt to repay me for the hospital visits every night this week...
I guess when you know you were this close to sitting down to dinner with death you make some changes. It's just too bad that it takes a tragedy to remind us to treat other people like we want to be treated. And that concludes my Friday gospel.
TGIF, bitches.

Thursday, September 22, 2005

Lookin' For A New 'Do

If you've ever met me you'll know that I love letting my hair grow to maybe just below my ears or above my shoulders then hacking it off until I resemble a 14-year old prepubescent boy, or my worst fear, a raging bull of a lesbian. Not that there's anything wrong with that. So tomorrow I'm going in for a drastic haircut and thought I would refer you to a hilarious website The 50 Worst Hairstyles Of All Time and show you an idea of the look I'm going for:

If you need the before picture, just scroll below and you can get an idea of my current 'do if you can just look beyond the tongue. I'd love to hear comments but please fight the urge to tell me I look nothing like Keira Knightly (as if I didn't already know).

Wednesday, September 21, 2005

Bad Boys

How cliche is it that the good girl will inevitably be drawn to the bad boy? Upon recent reflection, I see that I too have gone down the most predictable path as far as this is concerned. And it's not just guys I've dated, it's even the ones I've had crushes on. For instance, when I was 12 years old I went to visit my grandma in North Dakota. Needless to say, this is my white-trash side of the family. We were swimming at the dam (no, not a lake or a river, a dam) one day and a cute boy caught my eye. He had on his leg a weird design and I started to draw it on my notebooks having nary a clue what it was. Well my dad saw this design and totally reprimanded me and told me to never doodle it again. It was a swastika. Yah. That's right. I'm 12 and I'm in love with a white supremacist. Jesus Christ.
It's only downhill from there: skinheads, eses (a.k.a. Mexican "gang bangers"), guys that happen to be on probation and/or driving on a suspended license and are WAY too old to be dating a high school girl, alcoholics, cheaters, liars, oh and for God's sake don't forget the drug dealers! The list goes on and on. So now I'm being wooed by a nice, funny guy who just happens to be a few years my junior and BFF says he doesn't sound like he's enough drama for me. Well listen up world, from the words of Mary J. Blige, I don't want "no more drama in my life."
Now I just have to wonder, Bad Boys, Bad Boys, whatcha gonna do without me trying to save you from yourselves like some egotistical maniac while putting my own needs aside? Maybe this time around the nice guy doesn't have to finish last.

Tuesday, September 20, 2005

Stormy Little Raincloud

The weather outside today is perfectly dark and gloomy with just enough rain for you to take notice, spiced up with a dash of thunder and lightning. Hopefully the Red Cross is ready to respond to L.A. drivers' hysteria and their imagined hurricane situation. It's a good thing I just happened to have purchased a delightful leopard-print rain coat and rubber boots to match to keep my tootsies dry from puddles. Nothing like a little flair to lift your spirits. Add to that a triple venti hazelnut extra-foamy latte from Starbucks and you've got yourself one happy camper. Maybe not happy but content.
You may be wondering, "Why the long face, Randi?" Well, I was born that way (Celine Dion walks into a bar and the bartender asks, "Why the long face, Celine?" badumdum). No really.
First of all, I'm at work and if that wasn't reason enough, my gramps is in the hospital. Seems they found a blood clot in his leg and an irregular heartbeat. So while Grandpa's heart is literally broken, mine is figuratively breaking on the inside. It's sad to know that someone you love is not doing so well. I'll be playing hooky from school tonight to visit him so that's a bonus for both of us. Wow... this post sucks so I will stop torturing you with it now.
Caution: Drive or operate heavy machinery at your own risk after reading this blog.

Monday, September 19, 2005

You Down With OPD?

Yeah you know me! Today's a big day for me because I dropped off an application to work for the Oxnard Police Department as a Records Technician. Ever since I was wee, I have always wanted to be employed by a Public Service Sector. After seeing Backdraft, I was convinced I would become a firefighter. While I doubt I could pass a psychological evaluation that would convince the higher ups that my possession of a firearm wouldn't be a liability, I know that I love the authority that goes with a uniform. In high school my friends and I would be all rebellious and smoke packs of cigarettes and down coffee after coffee at the local doughnut shop, oggling the police officers, silently taunting them to handcuff us and frisk us in the back of their squad cars. Nothing fascinates me more than true crime stories and prison exposes. Another setback to the process becoming an actual officer of the law would be my inability to lose weight and high unlikelihood that I would be able to pass a physical examination. I simply don't see myself running for long periods of tme... unless of course I was being chased or if I was chasing the ice cream truck. So it's a baby step and the process of being hired in the city is a long one but at least it's a step. Life's too short not to follow your dreams.

Sunday, September 18, 2005

Party Tricks

Last night I went to The Spanish Kitchen on La Cienega for Pooter's birthday and it reminded me why I decided living in L.A. wasn't my bag. The following is three reasons from my seemingly endless list: I don't do the air kiss on the cheek thing, spending $9 on a cocktail is ludicrous and my boobs are real. So since this was a "party" naturally my mind went to party tricks. Kitty can put her fist in her mouth. Not an easy task. Some people are double jointed, other people go for the French Inhale. While my thing isn't a "trick" in the truest sense and more a gift, I thought I'd share it with you here today. I'm kind of falling in love with my digital camera again and was feeling goofy so there you go.

My tongue is really long. Which is funny because when my brother Curtis was small he was sort of tongue tied so to speak and couldn't even really stick his out of his mouth. I was going to put a picture up of it touching my nose but it's pretty ridiculous. Oh well... what the hell.

Have a great Sunday and never underestimate the good times that come from making stupid faces for the camera.

Saturday, September 17, 2005

And It Was All Yellow

Now that my room is all done, new shutters and all, I wanted
to show it off on the world wide web. That little yellow bird
just happened to have flown in to my window and when I looked
up to laugh at it, I realized it was cute. Photo op! You can tell I'm
a professional because you can see a reflection of me and my flash
in the picture on the wall. Enjoy.

Friday, September 16, 2005


Hello, heavy topic! Where did you come from? The seed for this piece of dwellminding was planted a couple of days ago when my grandfather was in Urgent Care for what my mother told me may have been a minor heart attack. While Grandpa can at times be the only person to make me feel as small as a grain of sand, he is married to my favorite lady, Gran, so there must be something redeemable about him. He taught me songs when I was little that went something like this: Well she whistled and she farted and she shit upon the floor and the wind from her ass blew the kitten out the door. I probably sang this little ditty while we played "alley" near the local 31 Flavors. He tells dirty jokes, flirts with waitresses and is an all around cad. He's not afraid to call me and my friends "fatty." He remembers everything about growing up and spins yarns about people named John the Pipe and tells in detail the things he saw while a Navy man away at sea during the war. When I heard he was sick, my heart froze in my chest and all that was racing through my mind was "what will I do if he dies?" Luckily, Grandpa only had bronchitis but it was quite a scare for a hot second there.
All of this is basically leading to a book recommendation for The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold. This is a delicious ghost story about a girl who is murdered and the aftermath she is witnessing from her gazebo in heaven. It's a tale about family, first kisses, falling in love, friendship, community and grief. Reading it felt like a hug and a reassurance that there are angels watching over us even if at times we don't know it.... or even if sometimes we do.

Thursday, September 15, 2005

Stop and Smell the Roses

Or how about pause and look at the intricacy of a spider web spun on the leaves of a no-longer-blooming nightblooming jasmine plant. Take a deep breath and inhale the subtle scents and tastes of the air around you. Appreciate the way the leaves on the trees are turning a golden red and shedding their green coats. Feel how the air is crisp and cool and see how night seems to be falling earlier with each passing day. Enjoy the way the cool sheets snuggle against your body while you rest peacefully in your bed. It seems to me that there are times in my life where I forget to take in all the good around me, when I fall into the trap of playing the victim when in reality life has the potential to be much worse than it is. It's called being in a rut and sadly I find myself there again. I know I'm there when I disrespect my body by not exercising and find myself indulging in food that is simply hurting me. I know I'm there when I throw pity parties for myself because I don't have a boyfriend and rely on my friends WAY too much for entertainment. I know I'm there when I cry at the drop of a hat. I'm no stranger to this cycle but I just have to remind myself that it really isn't that bad and that tomorrow is a new day. So I'll take comfort in a good book, a sad song and by counting my blessings instead of obsessing about the things I don't have.

Wednesday, September 14, 2005

15 Years Ago Today...

...I was at Dodger Stadium for the New Kids On The Block Magic Summer Tour at Dodger Stadium. My next door neighbor and I were chauffeured there by her very religious mother in the minivan. On the way up, we were pleading with passing motorists not to smoke and to toss out their cigarettes. Such activists at the ripe age of 13! My outfit for the day was "hot" to say the least: a white, belly baring tube top and blue and white striped shorts. Probably some blue socks and white Keds to complete the look. Maybe an NKOTB button for the cherry on top. There I was, looking like a skank in front of Rose-O, a woman from whom Jesus Christ Himself takes personal phone calls. Memories of sobbing while Donnie Wahlberg thrashed on the drums are still as vibrant as ever. And as ashamed as I am to say it, I still have the concert book I bought that day proudly displayed (or should I say "hangin' tough"?) on my bookshelf. It's funny because I remember each of my friends loving a specific Kid... for Christine and Denise it was Joey Joe McIntyre, Claudia loved Jordan Knight stalker style, BFF & I loved Donnie D. I'm sure that Danny Wood and Jon Knight were the object of someone's desire but no one comes to mind. And do kids today still wallpaper their rooms with pictures from Bop magazine? Christine was so dedicated she'd buy 2 of the same issue so she wouldn't have to miss the opportunity of plastering Joe's face on the wall if it was on the back of another page. Nary a sliver of wall to be seen. The best part about all of this is I literally found the "Hangin' Tough" VHS last week and another friend of mine had just watched it with her sister whilst sippin' wine. Ha! This is going no where, just trippin' down memory lane.

Monday, September 12, 2005

Givin' A Little Back

So I'm not trying to brag but I feel good about giving some ends in the wake of Katrina. I chose to support the Red Cross and the Humane Society and though I didn't give a phenomenal amount of money, every little bit helps from what I hear. Giving blood is also a way I chose to contribute. I've been donating for a year or so now and totally dig it. Considering I'm a pretty big wuss for the most part, it's shocking that I can actually watch my blood being drained from my body into a clear bag. Well this time, I couldn't donate the regular way so I just gave the red blood cells and had them give me back my plasma (side note: when I say "plasma" it almost always sounds like how Dr. Evil says "magma" in Austin Powers). Said procedure is a total trip because they take the blood, return the plasma and then repeat. It's only about 80% of what you'd normally give but it's what they really need because it's strictly red blood cells. Uncomfortable side effects may include major shivers due to the below body temperature of the returning plasma, numb and tingly lips and blue fingers.
That said, this is the second time I've given blood at the United Blood Services in Ventura and the second time I've left with the phone number of a phlebotomist and plans to meet up for a date. Krystee said it sounds like I must be giving a lot more than blood at the old blood bank. I think it's because mostly old people give blood so the younguns get excited to see someone their own age in there. One must give off the aura of being generous and kind. Plus they have the added bonus of knowing the donor's got to be clean and clear of STDs in order to give right? Put that in your pipe and smoke it.

Friday, September 09, 2005

Unofficial Resume

1. Babysitting - finally retired after a live-in stint and 15 years. Enough's enough.
2. Hallmark - friends stole from me there on a regular basis, did acid during work once.
3. Best Products - stocked shelves, made out with the boyfriend who I lost my virginity to in the warehouse on a semi-regular basis.
4. Beeper Store - boss stole money from me this time but I got to work with one of my good friends, spawned "sucky cupholders."
5. An Environmental place - receptionist for a horny group of men and rowdy women before I left for college.
6. Blockbuster Music - met the boy who would rob me of 5 yrs., made out w/ my manager, had a gun pulled on me.
7. Staples - while I worked there El Nino flooded my pad and wrecked my stuff, met Jimmy Kimmel and John Silva from The Young & The Restless.
8. Sportmart - my boss was a drunken, tattooed Irishman, thought lunch at McDonald's every workday was acceptable, saw my first serious weight gain.
9. Home Depot - Saw Fabio there, helped a chick from Charmed, met 2 more peeps from Y&R, also saw Joey from Blossom, got many offers for sex from co-workers and contractors alike.
10. Camp Ramah - Catholic, German girl gets job at Jewish summer camp, hilarity ensues
11. Starbucks - met Peter Tork from The Monkees and Gillian Anderson from The X-files. Walked out twice rather than give notice.
12. An accounting firm - packaged tax returns during tax season for a raving lunatic.
13. Security guard - lasted one day, earned the title "Jam Guard" from BFF's hubby, Babe as it was for Smucker's.
14. Veterinary Clinic - saw lotsa dogies die and had to put them in a fridge for the hottie dog corpse collector to pick up.
15. And now I'm working for the Citay and that wraps it up.

Wow, huh? 15 jobs since the age of 12. Not too shabby.

Thursday, September 08, 2005

Well Whuddya Know?

Psst... here's a secret. About once a month I go to a therapist to rant and rave even though I firmly believe there is very little wrong with me other than your run of the mill anxiety and "dramatic" reactions to pretty much any "out of the box" situation. This started when I wasn't in school and not doing much with my life so I started to feel helpless. Then, I volunteered for everything that came my way, started going to the gym and dieting and re-enrolled in school. Basically, the "too much time on my hands" was taken away and the anxiety let up. Also, I blame the reunion because it stressed me out. I was so worried about it not being a success (for no reason) that it would fully throw me into depression-mode. Anyhoo, it's been about a month since my last appointment and I really didn't feel like going tomorrow afternoon so I called her to reschedule and she said "Maybe you're ok now?" You know what that means right? She doesn't want to see me any more! Haha. Rejected! So I told her really it's the PMS that makes me a psycho sad lady for the most part and she said that my OB/GYN would prescribe me a mild dose of Zoloft that should take care of that straight away. Who knew?!?


My television is pretty much either on A&E or Court TV at all times because I firmly believe I am addicted to true crime stories. It's the way they start with a serious problem and it is neatly wrapped up in a matter of 30 minutes to an hour. I can no longer tolerate the mind-numbing stupidity of sitcoms on network television with their canned laughter and lame story lines. Desperate Housewives is probably the best show on network television, in my humble opinion, because it has interesting story lines and likeable characters. It doesn't dumb itself down to entertain. When I was flipping through the channels one night I came across Nip/Tuck on FX and saw a nude sex scene complete with ass and a side-view of some tits. Wow. I had no idea that was even allowed on TV. Then I got to MTV and was sucked into the sort of rubbernecking you might find on a freeway as cars meander past a crash scene. That's the only way I can describe Laguna Beach. It sucks you in because you have no idea if it is really a reality show. Well it's not real. It's a fake teen drama full of whiny rich girls and their cheating boyfriends. And on the topic of MTV, WTF happened to Mariah Carey? Ever since she decided to go skank I cannot for the life of me understand a word she sings. And what happened to playing music videos on MTV and VH1? Every time I turn them on it's a reality show or some kind of retrospective. Sorry, just needed to get that off my chest. Whew.

Wednesday, September 07, 2005


Last night I had one. An epiphany that is. It was just after I took my Biology test. What I learned is, and I hope you're sitting down for this one cuz it's a biggie, studying pays off. That's right! For the first time in my life I actually cracked the damn textbook open and kept up with the required reading on each and every chapter. I even did the study guide. I have no idea what alien life form has taken over my brain and body but it's truly shocking. Answering the questions was a breeze and I even had the ability to correctly identify parts of a cell and name the different systems of the body for extra credit. Not like I'm bragging BUT I TOTALLY AM! Now I'm just waiting to get the old test back on Thursday to see if I'm too big for my britches or if I'm dead on the money, honey.
Happy Hump Day.

Monday, September 05, 2005

My Grammar Bees Ebonics

As I was sitting on the patio this afternoon I discovered a huge beehive that came to ruin our plans for an outdoor bbq and birthday celebration for my Dad on possibly one of the most beautiful days we've had all summer. We called The BeeMan of Agoura Hills to come and take that big ol' swarm out of our tree. He said there were maybe 2,000 bees in that cluster but it was nothing compared to the one he brought down earlier today that had TWENTY THOUSAND BEES in it. What the? I don't know if you have ever held a box of bees but they buzz like crazy, so much so that it vibrates the box, and the smell that comes out of there is as sweet as can be. They all get on top of eachother like that to keep warm because that's the only way they can stay alive. The best time to catch them is in the evening because they are calm. He literally snipped the tree branch and the whole swarm just plopped in there. The BeeMan actually takes the bees he captures out to a ranch in Camarillo and sets them free because, get this, there is a bee shortage right now. The farmers are having a hard time pollinating their crops because of the African Killer Bee problem. Who knew?
Props to my brave brother Curtis who had no qualms about getting under the bees to photograph their hive while his cowardly sister hid around the corner and squealed.

Happy Labor Day

Favorite Quote about Labor Day to date:
"Labor Day is a holiday I can really get behind, sort of like your mom"

Sunday, September 04, 2005

What's Grosser Than Gross?

It was a game we all used to play when we were kid. One of my favorites responses to this question was "cutting yourself while shaving and diving into a pool of alcohol." Well something else happened in the pool that now tops my list. The other night I decided to go for a swim. Without hesitation I plunged off the edge into the heated water and swam without regard to anyone or anything around me. Swimming is a very relaxing exercise I've found and very good for the old skeletal system. After about 20 minutes I got out and as I was walking poolside I happened to glance into the water. While I'm not positive, I'm pretty sure there were 3 turds sitting on the pool floor. What the hell has the world come to when people poop in public pools? And what on earth could I have contracted by swimming with it? Ew. Needless to say I immediately ran home and took a hot shower. Then I started to think about more serious things. The victims of Katrina had to walk through waist-deep water. Do you have any idea how hard that is? Go to a pool and try it. Then think about the fact that you are in a bathing suit, not fully clothed, and you aren't carrying your children or your most precious belongings while doing so. And 3 turds in a pool are nothing compared to people living in the Superdome, stepping down on urine-soaked astroturf without the "luxury" of a shower afterwards. Yah. What's grosser than gross now?
Go make a donation to the Red Cross ( if you haven't done so yet. No, I'm not the boss of you, but it'll make you feel a whole lot better. And I care about how you feel.

Saturday, September 03, 2005

I Remember When...

... you used to be able to fill up your tank for $12. On Friday I spent $34 at the gas station. That ends up being roughly $130 a month. Add that to my $125 insurance and my $450 car payment and it costs me over $700 a month to drive my beloved black 2003 Volkswagen Turbo S Beetle with two-toned leather interior and alloy accents as well as 6-speeds (also known as my vehicular manslaughter and the love of my life). For that much money I'm considering turning it into my place of residence. And why the heck not?
In order to avoid spending all of my money on my hot set of wheels I've sort of committed in my mind to take the old bicycle to work on the days that I'm don't have school in the evenings. This morning I timed my ride and it was exactly 20 minutes. So not only will I be saving precious resources and my money, I will more than likely rid myself of some of the excess ass I've been carrying around. It's amazing how good a bike ride feels. You get sunshine on your face, fresh air and a warmed up body. People you pass on the street actually say "Good Morning" and wave. Sweet. I highly recommend it. And to convince myself I'm serious about the bike, I actually went to Target and got a lock and a wee little holder for my water bottle. I accessorized the bike.
Oh and in case anyone cares, in 2 days since I started dieting I've already lost a pound. Nice.

Friday, September 02, 2005

Asking for Support

While I am completely aware that Katrina is also asking for your money and is without a doubt a far more worthy and pressing cause, I would like to bring to your attention a fundraiser in which I will be participating. It's the American Cancer Society's Relay for Life. It's taking place on October 8 & 9 in my hometown of Oxnard and it is my goal to raise $500 by then. My older brother, Christy, lost his life to cancer before I was even born. My beloved Gran is a breast cancer survivor. I walk in his memory and in her honor. I don't know how to do fancy links but my fundraising page is at the following web address:
Thank you in advance for your support and generosity.

And God bless the people in N'awlins. I can only hope that we as a nation get our acts together and help those people out pronto. While I can't stand behind senseless looting and violence, I know that for every 1 bad seed there are hundreds of people that are desperate for us to save not only their lives but their livelihood.

Thursday, September 01, 2005

Da First of Da Month... cash yo' checks and get up. Man, did I love Bone Thugs 'n' Harmony when I was in high school. I loved a lot of things back then. And while I didn't at the time, now when I look at those pictures of when I was 18 and all glammed up for Prom, I LOVED MY BODY. In 1995, when you couldn't convince me I wasn't a whale, I was 23 pounds lighter than today. That's what happens when the body of a child morphs into that of a woman. How are teenage Randi and a board different? A board has bumps. Badumbum. Hips and boobs I can deal with, it's the backfat and the dimpled buttocks and thighs that I simply can't accept. The double chin that shows up unannounced in pictures. It's the Italian grandma arms that sway in the breeze. Am I obese? No. Is this a pity party? No. This is my umpteenth declaration that today, on the first of this month September 2005, I am starting yet another fitness and/or weight loss program. The South Beach diet actually worked for me when I tried it a while ago so I'm doing it again and the clincher this time is I'm not going to cheat. I also joined a new gym so I'm hoping that will improve my attendance average. So here goes, people. Official weigh-in (that you will only be tortured with each 1st of the month): 168. And know what my prize will be once I shed 15 pounds? A thousand dollar shopping spree for a new wardrobe. Wish me luck!