What's Mine Is Yours

Tuesday, July 19, 2005

There Ain't No One Gonna Listen If You Haven't Made a Sound

Two weeks ago, it was recommended to me that I contact my local police department to request extra security patrols past my house and in my neighborhood (the reasons behind this recommendation will be conveniently left out).

I obtained the number. I left a message, stating my name, my reason, my address, and my phone number in case an officer needed to speak with me further.

Two weeks went by and I assumed my request went through. I slept 0.05% more soundly at night.

Meanwhile, over the past two weeks, the offending situation has -- mostly -- resolved itself, or at least gotten to a place where I feel extra police patrols are no longer necessary.

Which is, it turns out, a great coincidence. Because tonight, my local police department called to let me know that starting on Wednesday, they would begin extra patrols in my neighborhood. They left a voicemail so I didn't get a chance to ask the obvious question, which is, clearly, "WHAT THE FUCK TOOK SO LONG?" and instead I just called them back and told them not to even bother anymore.

Thursday, July 14, 2005

It Turns Out..

...that no matter how anonymous your blog, some things are too frightening, too threatening, too strange, too hurtful, too sad, too unexplainable and too shapeless to write about.

So you sit in silence.

And that really sucks.

Tuesday, July 12, 2005

You're Disgusting, And You're Nasty

Brett and I bought a Dyson -- our first major split-down-the-middle purchase as a soon-to-be-living-in-sin couple. We went around to a bunch of different stores two weeks ago and couldn't find the one we wanted, so we bought it online.

It just came today. It's sitting in the box right behind me in my cubicle.

All I can think about is how hard I'm going to clean my apartment tonight.

"Apartment, I'm going to rock your world. You aren't even gonna know what hit you."

Which sounds much more dirty than I mean for it to sound, which ends up being ironic in and of itself.

Sunday, July 10, 2005

Flame On!

Brett and I went to see Fantastic Four yesterday. The trailers looked awful. Absolutely horrible. Yet, I was intrigued (oh, who am I trying to kid? I couldn't wait to see it). I kept thinking, maybe it could be another X-Men 2, which is by far my favorite of the comic-book-to-movie movies.

It wasn't.

It was dull and flat and shiny for the sake of being shiny. The superheroes had nothing to be super for, they had no overarching reason to be superheroes. And for all everyone says about Jessica Alba, I find her to be nothing special to look at -- in fact, she's bland. There. I said.

However. Johnny Storm? Me-owwwwwwwww.
(Or something.)

Overall, though, I have to say it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. But it was still bad. Really, really bad.

Bonus DVD feature -- my favorite part of the movie:
When Von Doom was proposing to Susan, I reached over and elbowed Brett as hard as I could, twice. The two frat guys behind us busted out laughing.

Friday, July 08, 2005

We All Live in the Space Age

I have a daily 9 a.m. meeting. About three-fourths of the team gathers in a conference room, we open the room to a speakerphone conference call so the other fourth of our team (who either have shitty commutes or difficulty waking up on time), and we go over things that are missing, things that might change, things that are new in our editorial calendar.

This morning we were talking about an image for road rage that our photography department hadn't delivered yet, and we described the kind of feeling we wanted the photo to have.

The conversation paused for a second, and someone on the phone shouted, "Fuck you!!!"

And the conference room went completely silent. We all stared at each other, dumbstruck. Finally, after about thirty seconds, the team priss trilled, "Excuse me?"

There was another pause.

"Oh. My. God. I thought my cell phone was on mute. Someone just cut me off." Embarrassment dripped off her words -- her being the quietest, most reserved, most professionally unflappable member of our team.

I love accidentally finding out things about coworkers that you'd never suspect based on their work demeanor. Paulette has a potty mouth! JJ does coke! Courtney is bulemic! Stewart cheats on his wife!

As long as no one finds out about the bottle of Absolut Mandarin I have stashed in my desk drawer, everything will be fine.

Tuesday, July 05, 2005

I Ought to Just Phone It In.

I use text messaging to a fault.

I would rather send you 14 text messages than have an actual telephone conversation with you.

I hate talking on the phone. It makes me feel like an awkward teenager all over again.

Thus, Brett and I use text messaging fairly frequently, though we've scaled back recently -- there was a stretch of time a few years ago when we'd get into drawn-out arguments. Now we just use it for little things.

Tonight, we had the following exchange.


Brett:
I can't wait until we live together -- I'll be the official cook of our relationship!

Anna:
Ooh! Will you make arab bakers on Thursday?

Brett:
What?

Anna:
Arab bakers!

It turns out, that when you do laundry and make a quesidilla and text message, that you may not pay explicit attention to the predictive text function of your telephone.

Turning crab cakes into arab bakers, particularly if you are prone to holding down the seven key for an extra split second.

Yum. I can't wait to have arab bakers on Thursday! Brett makes them so moist and delicious.