Name: La Nina
I'm a Jersey girl without the big hair or the accent (well, most of the time anyway), but with all of the bad driving and the penchant for weekly manicures.
Oh, and I'm an interior design student. That's how all of the weird terminology comes into play.
"I hope that's not what I look like when I'm wearing my hat." I thought to myself with a touch of panic in my inner voice. Then I told myself to shut up because she seemed like a nice lady and nobody should have to care what they look like when it's this friggin' cold and I'm hardly a fashion maven anyway.
Lucky girl me received an Ann Taylor gift card for Christmas. Ann Taylor is my most special place -- well, save for pretty much any home store on the planet which actually maybe makes it my 287,513th most special place -- and of course I was thrilled. Well, last week I finally got around to using that bad boy online. Lo and behold they were (And still are! Hurry ladies!) having a super cashmere sweater sale! Fantabulous!
You see, I I luuurve cashmere, I loave it, I luff it, two F's, yes. It is so super soft and warm and holds such brilliant colors. So after some deliberation, I picked out this sweet little number:
Oh, it HAD to be green, didn't it Nina? Do you like any other colors? At all?
When I got home last night there was a notice on the door that DHL tried to deliver my package. My heart sank. Why on God's green earth (yes, more green -- get over it) did they have to ship via DHL? They're the only shipping gig in town that doesn't have a backup plan in the case that the recipient, oh I don't know, has a job during the day and won't be home to sign for the dang thing.This would have been so much easier. Just give 'em all wings, goofy grins, and homing devices so that the packages can just come and find us if we're not at home.
As I was saying, as much as I'm not looking forward to it, it shall be done. All for cashmere. Beeeeeyoooooteeful cashmere. I shall enjoy wearing it while I'm in Boston this weekend.
Question of the Day:
Clothing obsessions are fun (or funny, whichever you prefer). Please share with me your favorite clothing item. You know, the one that you buy in triplicate or subject yourself to bodily harm in order to wear said item. Examples of instances like these are fun to share as well.
On Monday I was on my way home from Boston and was dealing with some really yucky weather, so I'd have to give my windshield a little splash every couple of minutes. Well, whaddya know, I discovered that when you do that a lot, you run out of wiper fluid. So what did I do?
I refilled it. Myself. Without assistance from anyone and really having no idea how to do so going in. Oh, yeah. I am AWESOME.
Check me out! ... Not you, Hasselhoff, you helmet-headed cheeseball. (And that's not actually me. That's Patricia McPherson. Okay, I thought it was funny at the time.)
Now I'm also here to let you know that I did not do this without trials and tribulations. I bought the fluid. That was no problem. Then I popped the hood. Now the fun begins.
So I go to the front of the car in order to lift up the hood and rest it on that little arm thingie (Hey, I managed to complete the task; I don't need a quiz on the components.), and the hood's stuck on something. What the heck is it? I try just pulling on it really hard. Usually the simplest method is the best method, well, most of the time anyways. Not here.
I squat down and peer into the crack. Dang latch is stuck on something. Or maybe that is the latch. Oh, I don't know. As I stare at the mechanism, I grasp that the hook end of the latch has to go up in order for the hood to be able to open. I get to work on lifting the hook end. Crikey, this thing isn't easy to lift, and I think my face is turning red from the effort. Not good. What's Plan B?
Plan B turns out to be the "stare at the latch some more" plan. I proceed with Plan B for a good five minutes. Then I realize that the latch has a push-down mechanism. Plan B successful. Rawk!
The little arm thingie part goes without a hitch. That's a relief. It was certainly easier than looking down at the engine and realizing that I have no idea where the fluid is supposed to go. Time to modify Plan B. What feels like hours pass. Then I find this in my engine:
DISCLAIMER: This picture in very few ways resembles what I actually saw in my engine. The colors aren't even close, it was a lot smaller, and the cap was kinda roundish and not rectangular in the least. The symbol's right though.
By now I've been in the freezing cold for like, twenty minutes, I'm filthy, and I've totally ruined the paint job ... on my nails. And now the friggin' cap won't come off. The only thing I can think of at this point is to start cooing to the old girl. "C'mon baby," I purr. "I know I call you a piece of s&*# all of the time, but you know I don't mean it, so c'mon and open for me, okay?" And golly gee willikers it works! Note to self: keep on file as Plan C.
After much spilling of fluid, closing all of the things that need closing in swift succession, and a quick (and thoroughly awesome) test run, I'm back on the road. How cool is that?
It's just occurred to me as I write this as to precisely why I am so pleased with myself. A year ago I wouldn't do any manual labor. I don't think it was out of snobbishness per se. In fact I think it was the opposite. I just completely lacked the confidence to do it. And now I paint with aplomb, do the hammer and nails thing with ardor, and now I can maintain my car. If that's not a huge step in personal development, I don't know what is. Have to say it one more time: that is so awesome.
A Couple of Quick Updates:
1. Thank you for your concern over my Diet Coke consumption. For the most part, I have cut back to 1-2 servings a day.
2. The Cow has relented! I have a phone appointment this evening with Cow Tech #13, during which I will make arrangements to ship my cruddy computer to them at their expense and they will either fix it or send me a new one. Phew!
A few of you may have noticed that I have not been blogging much or visiting other sites as of late. A good portion of that has come from my inability to work out my differences with The Cow. I've spoken with three more Cow Techs and everything seems to be up and running except for the Internet (okay that's a biggie) and the fact that my monitor only now displays 16 colors (also a biggie). I've had Ataris that looked and worked better.
So let's just say that it's been a very slow process. I wonder if I can beat the hell out of the thing and get a replacement since it's still under warranty. Maybe I could throw a little party like these guys.
The rat takes the cheese, the rat takes the cheese. Hi-ho, the derry-o, the rat takes the cheese.
Furthermore, my current hatred of all things with a motherboard has been compounded from a well-intended act of kindness. You see, content spammers managed to collectively overwhelm Ryan's site and now he's had to have it upgraded, redesigned, and he's had to manually re-insert a lot of his content. He was understandably upset about it and so I thought I would try to cheer him up by sending him an e-certificate from Apple's iTunes store. This was on Monday. He still has not received it.
Note that I am not linking them. That's because they are resplendent with idiots.
Now the order tracking page is indicating that the order is complete, but Ryan hasn't gotten it yet. I've made two phone calls and filled out two customer service online forms, but haven't managed to make contact with anyone who can sort out this mystery. Where's Scooby Doo when you need him?
The thing that disappoints me the most is that Ryan's surprise has been ruined. He has long since gotten over his bad day and the romantic spontanaeity of the whole thing has past. I hope this doesn't become the story of my life. That would suck.
So I desperately want to just give up on my computer (don't worry, P-Dookie, the hissyfit you told me to have at them is forthcoming) and now I'm seething over online shopping as well. Is there anything else that I could possibly spew my blistering venom of tech hatred on?
Okay, fine. My Launchcast station keeps crashing and thinks that I want to listen to Limp Bizkit and Boyz II Men. I'd love to fry them too.
That should just about cover it.
UPDATE: The damn thing finally arrived! In his email, not at my house! Now all I have to figure out is why the billing and shipping address were both listed as my apartment. Then again, maybe I should leave that one alone.
SECOND UPDATE: Figures that as soon as I write a long post about how I hate technology, my site becomes so damn popular that I finally know what it means to destroy my bandwidth. Coincidence? I think not. Actually, it probably is a coincidence but a conspiracy theory is much more interesting.
It starts in the morning, as I take my breakfast with caramel coloring. This is because I don't like coffee. I know a lot of you fine folks out there loooooooove your coffee, but I think it tastes like bitter crap. No offense. I have to say, having a Diet Coke with an egg white omelette wrap is really really weird and I totally recognize that. However, I'm getting that energy jolt that other caffeine addicts generally get from their java.
Then there's the two I have during lunch. My choice of beverage seems to make a little more sense here, if only I would try to be a little more adventurous with my epicurean selections. I mean, perhaps I could try a seltzer every once in a while?
The mid afternoon energy crash requires yet another DC. I'm beginning to sense a pattern here.
Dinner = Diet Coke x 2. Perhaps I could substitute those with a martini and a valium. Only that concept conjures up images of face masks, caribou-lined robes with kitten heels, chain smoking, and a serious case of ennui. *thinks for a bit* Carbonated aspartame it is.
As somewhat distasteful as my current habit is, I know I'm not alone, and I'm not the most hardcore either. There are blogs whose titles reflect the writer's junkie status, for goodness sake.
The swatchdogs, the Diet Cokeheads, and me!
(Not to mention my mad Photoshop skillz. Whatevs.)
Also, check out this quote I found in a piece entitled The Cult of Diet Coke:
"I have been told 'if you knew what was in them, you would never have another one,' but I don't care," says Janis Chamoun, director of marketing at the Regis Corporation, who has six to eight cans a day. "I don't smoke, don't drink coffee, don't eat junk food. My Diet Coke addiction is my only vice. When I ask for a Diet Coke in a restaurant and they say, 'Is Diet Pepsi okay?' I say, 'No, just make it water then.' And then I make a note not to go there again."
At least I can handle Diet Pepsi if need be. I guess that proves I don't have a problem.
Now if you'll excuse me, I think that the soda machine wants to tell me something.