Judge not, lest ye feel bad about it later

On Friday, I found myself waiting for an elevator at work. (This happens rather frequently as there are not nearly enough elevators for a building as large as the one I work in, but that's neither here nor there.) Anyway, when the doors finally opened, I found myself making a not-so-kind judgment about the people getting off the elevator. You know, one of those gut instinct sort of thoughts that you chuckle about to yourself but wouldn't ever say out loud. Then two things happened in rapid succession:

1- I immediately felt guilty for indulging in such stereotypes. I must be a bad social worker.

and, 2- I entered the elevator, and my original judgements were solidly confirmed.

So, the question is: is it still wrong to make a nasty judgement about someone based entirely on biased assumptions if it turns out I'm right all along? Or does that just make me incredibly intuitive?

ILUVU4URAQT

I don't want to talk about whether I do or do not currently have a festering dry socket in my mouth that may, according to my coworkers, eventually lead to endocarditis and/or bilateral leg amputations. I want to tackle the serious issues.

Question:

Why does the text message function on my phone recognize the words "absorptionality" and "disenfranchised" but cannot handle "salsa"?

(The first person who answers this question with "idk" is dead to me.)

Welcome, Mr. President

God bless America, land that I love!

Stand beside her and guide her

thru the night with a light from above.

From the mountains, to the prairies,

to the oceans white with foam-

God bless America, my home sweet home!

God bless America, and hail to the Chief.

Today is a good day.

Gum holes

Thursday, January 15- 2:00 p.m.:

Witnesses report 4 widsom teeth brutally torn from their little nestled little homes inside local woman's mouth.

Alleged victim: "It hurt."

(Rewind: 1:00 p.m.- Victim eats final meal at Taco Bell.)(Taco Bell? Why Taco Bell?)(Not sure. Sort of disappointed, really.)

Evidence:

Exhibit A: Victim before incident

Exhibit B: This little piggy went to market...

Exhibit C: I like the gas...


Exhibit D: Victim after incident (reclined in car in pharmacy parking lot.)

I'm only still smiling because my entire mouth is numb.


Don't worry, I'm fine. Mostly. In my nitrous induced haze, I neglected to get a shot of the offending teeth. Trust me, I grow some mighty fine ones. They looked mostly like this:

only better and less squiggly on the bottom. Oh, and mine didn't wimp out and break into chunks like one of this guy's did. Loser.

I've been surviving on a diet composed of my mother's hot cereal and Jello Pudding Snack Packs. It's not such a bad life, really.

Also, I discovered that I shouldn't become a Lortab addict. Not so much because it's illegal, though. Mostly because it is impossible for me to remain conscious for longer than 5 minutes at a time.

Quote o' the week: "Mom! There's rice in my gum hole!"

Currently Reading:
Night by Elie Wiesel
Holidays on Ice by David Sedaris
The Alchemist (haven't gone back to B&N...)

Free Meal!

Let me get this out in the open before we begin: I loves me some Cafe Rio. Let's be honest here, everyone loves Cafe Rio, and if you try to convince me otherwise, I'll assume you're either a) lying, or b) have neglected to try the pork.

(One of the reasons I love Melinda so much is that on her holiday Cafe Rio eating poll there was not even an option for 'zero times'.)

So anyway, the other day I rode Trax downtown to meet up with el Hub-ster. After spending most of the ride chuckling quietly to myself at the high school-aged gang members* talking about how freakin' awesome it would be to go to Area 51 that night, (I'm guessing the club rather than the governmental off-limits zone, but maybe I'm just judging there) I hopped off the train near the downtown Cafe Rio.

That's when I overheard a rather animated discussion taking place behind me weighing the various merits of the Rio. One of the females was quite obviously a fan (and therefore presumably not a liar.) The other, after exuding a heavy sigh, began to patiently explain to Girl #1 that she "hadn't eaten real Mexican food until you've lived in Texas."

Errors in this argument:
#1- Who said anything about real Mexican food? I thought we were discussing Cafe Rio.
#2- Texas? Bummer.

As a side note, I could mention that at most of the Cafe Rio locations where I have stuffed my face many of the food preparers appear to have been of Latin descent. I assume they actually prepared my food (because I watched them actually prepare my food) and therefore could make the argument that the food was, in fact, "authentically Mexican". For the purposes of our discussion, however, we'll ignore that.

We can also ignore the fact that Paddy assures me that I would not actually want to eat much "authentic" Mexican food what with the cow stomach and the parasites and the like.

And now I'm just rambling.

The point: You don't eat at Cafe Rio in order to partake of deliciously authentic Mexican cuisine. You eat at Cafe Rio when you to belly up to the table with a burrito so huge they'll have to roll you out the front door when you're done. I thought that was understood and well-documented.

In closing, I present the following piece of evidence for ex-Texan Girl #2:

Pork Burrito, black beans, enchilda style, medium sauce. Side of limes, please.


*Later, these upstanding members of society were forced to make a panicky and hasty exit from the train when bandana-wearers of a different color were spotted waiting to board. Yes, even in Salt Lake City.

GoodReads

Adrianne introduced me to GoodReads today. This has prompted the following dilemma:

Can I classify as "currently reading" a book that I read half of while waiting for Husband to wrap up at BestBuy but didn't buy because, hey, I'm half way done and only want to own it if it's good but I can't judge that until I've finished it?

Well, I did. (It's The Alchemist, since you're dying to know.)

Anyway, I also secured a card to the local library yesterday. Felt like a better tribute to my mother-in-law than all of the flowers I've ever left for her. I borrowed 4 books and felt like I was back to being myself again. (And also it'll save me money at Costco.)

And one more thing:

Ever hear a song, sing along, and then realize the only reason you know it is because of Guitar Hero?


In a new but (hopefully) on-going part of the blog:


Currently reading:

Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs by Chuck Klosterman
The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho (counting it again)

Bedtime Routine

Some families have children to settle at night. Some families have romantic snuggle time at night. Our family has a needy labrador at night.

As close as I can tell, this is pretty much the mental dialogue that occurs nightly. For the sake of context, this part happens right after the frantic "I-CAN'T-BELEIVE-YOU-LET-ME-BACK-IN-THE-HOUSE-BECAUSE-I-THOUGHT-YOU-HAD-STOPPED-LOVING-ME-AND-TO-SHOW-MY-GRATITUDE-AND-SHOCK-I'M-GOING-TO-RUN-AROUND-PANTING-LIKE-A-CRAZY-PERSON" routine and the "Hmm, I should sniff every inch of this room again- just in case a cat or stranger has some how entered the bedroom since I was in here four hours ago" number, and right before she takes a long draw out of the toilet bowl. That's smooooooth.

"Scratch my ears. Scratchmyearsscratchmyearsscratchmyears, puh-leeease!!"

"See the frantic look in my eyes? I swear I'll paw your face off if you don't scratch my ears immediately. I'll do it, too. Ya'll haven't taken me to the groomers for a nail trim in months."

"Getting there, you minion... getting there..."

"Finally... success! And get that &#!%$ camera phone out of my face. I'm trying to enjoy this."

And, lights out.

{Editors Note: Don't judge me because my dog drinks out of the toilet. She loves it. It's just her height and the ceramic keeps the water cool. And also, I figure- hey. She's eating poo when she's outside anyway. What difference does it make?

Also, until you've owned a labrador, don't judge me because she eats poo, either. She's a freakin' poo-eater, and what exactly am I supposed to do about it?}