Dirty laundry

One of the consequences of living in a rundown apartment, among other things, (ridiculously erratic temperatures, creaky noises, ghosts, etc.) is the fact that I get to join fellow Fort Atkinson-ites at the local laundromat.

I know what you're thinking. What a picnic!
You fools...

Fort Atkinson offers two laundromats. Although Quick Cleaners & Laundry is kept up and has an employee there cleaning and straightening all the time, the place sucks. It's farther away from my apartment, at least $0.50 more for each wash or dry, and they close at 9 PM. NO EXCEPTIONS. Last time, they kicked me out before my clothes were dry, forcing me to go to my new hot spot...

So, I started heading to Kelsi's Klothsline.

You might think that place sounds like it's in the FA hood. That's because IT IS. Nestled between the most pot-hole laden intersection in the city and the Mexican Grocery store -- this diamond in the rough offers two televisions (sans remotes) set up too high to change channels, faded inspirational posters, and, most importantly, cheaper laundry. Nevermind ensuring there's no hardened gum crusted to the dryers, or that the most INSANE INDIVIDUALS I'VE EVER SEEN hang out there.

Half the time, I'm the only person in the place. Otherwise, there's usually any number of the following: a mom, at least one younger couple, dude washing work clothes that don't get clean, and one entire family. I'm talking gramma, ma, pa and at least three juniors running around.

A couple months ago, I even had a chance encounter with a real one-armed man. I had been juggling my basket of clothes while unlocking my door as this shadow came walking through the parking lot ... but then he started toward my car. What the wha...? My heart started racing as I fumbled for my keys. He reached for the door handle and said, "Oh, I was just going to help you with your door..."

Got it! I'm fine... thanks. Thanks...whoa...

Oh, and then, there's the crazy lady that isn't really doing laundry. There are a couple of them, and they like to try and strike up conversations about how much the facility sucks. WHAT?! You're not even washing clothes. You're hanging out watching the free TV that you can't change the channel for, staying warm because it's only 25 degrees outside.

When I arrived around 8 PM last night, one woman kept talking to the TV -- loudly. She sat with a backpack and her winter coat and bright pink hat on, talking to the nervous couple, who were trying to keep to themselves. I think she was squatting there.

I showed up with my one overstuffed basket of dirty clothes -- pre-sorted -- loaded my washers, read my book, threw half the clean stuff in a dryer, grabbed the rest to hang up, and took off for home before she had a chance to linger over. Half hour later, I stopped back to pick up the rest and she still sat in the same place, talking to the TV.

I added "on-site laundry" as a necessity for my next apartment.

Dropping the ball

At the beginning of every January, my biggest concern is usually how massive my hangover headache will be, and how much Tylenol I'll actually be consuming to ring in the new year. I have slight justification, because my birthday is January 1 -- but as I get older, I realize that celebrating by mixing the trifecta of alcohols for one night is not only a terrible idea, but leaves me nothing else to look forward to. I got my practice in this weekend anyway. (Thanks MrB!)

Without further adieu, I've made a few resolutions for 2009:

Read books. Easy enough, right? Maybe... Ever since signing up for not one -- not two -- but five magazine subscriptions, I've had little to no time to catch up on what I really enjoy: Books. I've decided not to renew my NY Review of Books and New Yorker magazines, opting to spend my free time on the dozens of books I bought but haven't picked up in the last year. My goal? Finish at least one book a month, on top of my additional reading. (WI Natural Resources, Lapham's Quarterly and Time magazines.)

Participate in a marathon. Initially, I had decided to run a marathon, but because I pulled my quad back in October, I sometimes have trouble running. Even if I can't run the day of the race, I can still prepare myself for a large feat of athleticism with proper training. By training for something this big, I'll also be able to tailor my diet and work on cross-training with different equipment, including weight lifting, to stay healthy all around.

Visit another country. I left this a little broad, but my main goal is to visit Europe before the end of 2010. Now, I might leave the U.S. this coming February by taking a short cruise to the Bahamas when I go on vacation to Florida. (Apparently, you need a passport; which I have and haven't been able to use.) Otherwise, maybe India at the end of 2009, when my cousin gets married. Regardless of where I go, I want OUT.

Control my finances. Remember in college when you decided applying for a credit card would help solve all your money problems, because you could just pay it back later, when you had a real job? IT'S A LIE.

I've been plagued with controlling my spending since I became an adult. Now, it's time to budget. Mi madre graciously offered to help me, instead of paying credit card companies hundreds of dollars in finance charges, I'll make payments to her each month.

I also need to start budgeting. That means I can't just buy a new outfit at Express, or go out to eat for lunch three times in one week. I've got a set payment for my debt, as well as my car loan -- but how do I keep track of this beast? www.mint.com!

Mint.com is a free personal finance website to help track every aspect of my debt and income. I signed up a few months ago, only to watch my debt fluctuate while my stocks and retirement funds dwindled. AYE YAYE YAYE.

This weekend I took a closer look at how the site really works. After organizing and categorizing all my spending for the month of December, I could take a look at where most of my money was really going. I can track how much I'll set aside each month for my budget, including car payments, gas, groceries, other bills and extras.

I can set limits on how much I'll allow myself in each category, and get an email when I go over budget.

It's easy to set up, and I can monitor all of my accounts on one site, including my 401K, IRAs, mutual funds, credit cards, car loans, checking and savings accounts; instead of logging into each site separately.

Here's to looking up, and saving some this coming year.

Closing time

I closed up shop for the last time at my PT job yesterday.

After weeks of cutting hours and giving me only waitressing shifts, I decided it was time to hang up the towel and put in my notice. For my one last hurrah, I got to bartend -- which I enjoy doing just a little bit more than serving food. (I'm a terrible waitress.), and hadn't done since about mid-October.

While working there, I worked with and met some awesome people, made mad tips and got to know the town I live in a little better. That's all well and good, but bars and taverns have one of the highest turnover rates out of any service/retail job out there. I'll tell you why:

#1.) It's stressful. You deal with belligerent assholes on a nightly basis. You meet all kinds of drunks. Happy, sad, angry, oblivious... any emotion on the spectrum. When it's busy, you run around like a chicken with your head cut off. Stocking, shuffling, mixing drinks, spilling, yelling, breaking bottles. When you screw up an order, inebriated people are less forgiving, especially after they've waited 10 minutes for a drink.

#2.) Health risks. Steering completely clear of tobacco since August, I now find any type of smoke repulsive. My body shouldn't be subjected to 8.5 hours of secondhand smoke from not just cigarettes, but cigars. After that long of a shift, not only do your clothes smell like bar, YOU smell like bar. It seeps out of my skin 24 hours later for fuck's sake.

Live bands and loud music for hours on end make your cochlea want to explode. Tough shit if you have a headache, you won't be able to hear for the next three days anyway.

#3.) Getting hit on. OHH, you might be thinking, "How flattering!" NO. Well Rico Suave, after that shot of Jack, you suddenly question why I'm working at this shabby old bar. What do I do? Where else do I work? What's my social security number? ... I've received phone numbers on napkins, receipts, matchbooks, and leftover Styrofoam containers. I tell you I'm taken and not interested, but you continue to harass me -- even after I offer conversation segways about sports, weather or movies. This is my job buddy, not match.com.

#4.) Clientele change all the time. Now, you'll have your regulars -- Big Tom who never sits, only stands, at the bar drinking Bud Light. The Jehovah's Witness couple where the husband always orders the drinks and food for the wife. Peter, who works at the newspaper, always enters through the front door, orders only one glass of Pinot Grigio, leaves $0.60 in change and leaves out the back door...

But there are also a bunch of random people who try and get to know you -- after they've had a few. I'm awful at small talk and find it difficult to hold conversations with 40-somethings from small towns, whom I have NOTHING in common with.

#5.) Stingy assholes. This is by far worse on the waitressing end of working at a bar; some people just don't know how to tip. If you've been pleasant, served me in an efficient manner and I'm satisfied with my meal and drinks, I'll let you know. That generally means leaving at least 15, if not 20, percent of the bill for meals, and 50 cents to $1.00 for each order of drinks. Not $2.00 for a fish fry and an entire night of drinking. With you and five of your friends. Asshole.

What will I miss most? The money. Which sounds arrogant, haughty and greedy; but bartending is a tough job.

I've seen my share of bar fights, flying bats, cops, stumblers, flashers, snoozers at the bar, and some of F.A.'s finest, hammered.

All in a night's work.

Mystery meat

I'll be honest with you, I've never even tried the canned meat product SPAM.

Now, 1.3 million Hawaiians can't be wrong but to be frank, SPAM scares the crap out of me. Is something that looks like a soggy pink brick supposed to be edible?

I read an article in Time magazine last week saying sales of the pre-cooked pork shoulder concoction are up. (My favorite sentence from the article: "A Spam virgin, he blanched a bit when it plonked out of the can, all pink like a newborn mole rat." hahaha.) Apparently, some chefs have already worked with the "spiced ham" meat, and think it's light, airy texture can be used in a variety of ways. I'm not so sure.

The New York Times also featured an article on how Hormel has been producing more of the stuff over the last year. Because more and more people can't afford normal foods, they've started budgeting, and buying things like canned meat, mac and cheese, instant potatoes, and jello. Sounds kind of like my college diet, sans SPAM.


Here are a few facts about SPAM:

-- Hormel introduced SPAM during the Great Depression in the 1930s, as a substitute for real meat. Cheaper to make + cheaper to buy = wallet- and recession-friendly.

--Ingredients: Pork, ham, sugar, salt, potato starch and sodium nitrite. Gross.

--There are 12 different varieties of SPAM including Spam classic, Spam spread, Spam Oven Roasted Turkey (two different animals?!), and Spam with Cheese.

--McDonald's restaurants in Hawaii features SPAM on their menu.

--Some acronyms: "Stuff Posing As Meat," "Stuff, Pork And Ham" or "Spare Parts Animal Meat" OMNOMNOM.

-- SPAM is vacuum-sealed and does not require refrigeration. SPAM's website says it can last forever in the right conditions. I have my doubts...


Now I just have to bring myself to buy it. hmm...

Cube sweet cube

I figured everyone might want to see where the magic happens. Ahem, that means writing.

I tried as much as possible, to make my surroundings like home. I'm here at least 40 hours a week, so I mine as well spruce it up a bit.

Without further ado, I present to you: My cube.


There are a few pictures of my family, including the little cousins, and my Norwegian flag magnet :D

FYI: The motivational poster above the phone was a card my old editor gave me. It reads, "Motivation: If a pretty poster and a cute saying are all it takes to motivate you, you probably have a very easy job. The kind robots will be doing soon." hahaha. Robots can't edit.





This is what I stare at all day. Above and to the right, there's a calendar with all my deadlines. You can't really see it, but there's a map above the computer that has all the states I've traveled to.



To the right of the computer, you'll see where I store my snacks, and how I try to dress up my ridiculously large CPU. There's also a picture of Hulk, and a Post-it with a drawn coffee cup that says "HOW ABOUT A NICE CUP OF SHUT THE FUCK UP." Good morning!



Then, some archived issues of the magazines I work on.



Behind me, I started a collage of different pictures. It's a work in progress.



Then, my junk drawer. It's like the rug I sweep all the garbage under. Except, all the garbage is this crap. You'll find a bunch of napkins, loose change, candies from Halloween, a lint roller, socks, saline solution, an Altoid tin full of tacks, a couple sets of headphones, cords, and STACKER 2. (!)



And, last but not least, my toys. Chewbacca's protecting Leon (my philodendron). There's also a voodoo doll I picked up in New Orleans, the Michelin man, which I stole from the aviation magazines, and a gas tank clock from the show in Vegas last month.


Notice, too, how looking past the plant and figurines, is like looking into the abyss. Or, a tunnel you can't see the end of. Ahh... cube farms.

Foux do fa fa

Gregor reminded me today how awesome Flight of the Conchords are, by mentioning that he just watched Foux do fa fa -- my favorite FOTC video.

I'll admit, the first time I saw Bret McKenzie and Jermaine Clement trying to rap, I was a little put off -- but their absurd stories and witty songs always put me in a good mood. And make me laugh.

If you like Foux do fa fa, check out Business Time or She's so Hot.

The second season premieres on HBO Jan. 18. Fantastic.

Down to brass tacks

Making small talk is not my forte.

Once I get to know you, We might engage in thoughtful conversation -- maybe even joke around. Heck, we might even become good friends. But especially being a stronger introvert, I need to find some common ground with you, and get to know you first.

My professional career, however, involves talking to people I don't necessarily care to. So what the hell am I supposed to talk about...

The biggest conversation starter?

Weather.

Everyone sees it, and it's always different. Plus, it won't start any controversial discussions.

Some categories are naturally out of my league because I'm female (I'm not sexist, I'm frank); especially in a 40-something, male-dominated industry. Topics I usually avoid include: sports, hunting, politics and loose women.

I can sometimes discuss wine or food, but I'm no real aficionado. And, in-season, I might get by with a few comments about the Brewers or Packers -- but no lengthy discussions.

Sometimes I'll mention family -- but I don't have a husband or kids to compare stories and compete with, like every single other person. (Don't get me wrong. I DON'T WANT those stories. I'm almost 25, not 40.)

When I go to trade shows, I generally read up on whatever locale I might be headed to. This includes the local food, historical sites and keeping an ear out for interesting things happening in the news at the time. A huge topic was the Presidential election when I was in Vegas last month -- making a big exception to my previously stated rules.

It's a little easier on the phone. I worked in a call center for two years before my current job, so I learned how strike up brief conversations based on where the other person called from, like "Oh yeah, California? I hear those forest fires are getting a little wild." Or, "Wow, I heard some parts of Colorado got two feet of snow. Crazy!" But that's IT.

Now when I call a PR company, or someone to interview for a story, I try to make the introduction as quick as possible. After that, I tell them why I'm calling -- Send me a high-res image of your neat new product, or tell me about your magnificent tool box.

Roll with the punches

Yeah, I'm gonna complain. Deal with it.

After having the most exceptional weekend (:D), it becomes easier (and harder) to appreciate shitty days. Especially on a Monday.

Here's why:

*I woke up getting about half as much sleep as my body wanted. I even skipped my shower this morning to sleep in an extra 15 minutes.

*My car wouldn't start this morning. Now, I anticipated this. Friday afternoon the engine had trouble turning over, but still started up. Then, Saturday I had some trouble, but the car still got going. I had to wait until 9 this morning for Triple A to show up and give me a jump. Turns out my car battery had a bad cell.

*I dropped a Benjamin to replace said battery.

*Showed up at work around 10:30 AM -- 2.5 hours late.

*I thought I broke Gregor's monitor because it went haywire when I turned on his computer, and the screen looked like it did when your NES would take a crap and not play a game right.

*Apparently, after leaving three voicemails and two messages in one week, some organizations still don't understand the idea of returning a phone call. I need that PR now dammit.

*My chicken and bacon wrap for lunch from Subway tasted like ass. Also, Subway in general, tastes like ass.


So, I'm going to rationalize:

*I only didn't get enough sleep because of having such a great weekend.

*My car didn't die while I was in the middle of an intersection, or when it was -20 degrees outside.

*Money no matter.

*My editor kicks ass, and probably understands more than most because we work for an auto mechanic magazine.

*I did NOT break the computer.

*I got to enjoy and share 10 dozen cookies, eat Capital Grille and BW3s (!) this weekend. On top of seeing the MSO, making pancakes Saturday AND Sunday, going bowling and seeing a real life singing gnome.

I just hope Tuesday starts off a little better.

Driving my ice box

Judging by yesterday's blog, you probably think I'm content, sitting in holiday bliss with a hot cup of nog and some Manheim Steamroller on the radio.

Not so ... because it's FUCKING cold outside.

I headed out to my car around 5:30 this morning to head to the gym. I made sure to put on a hat and gloves, because I heard the temperature was dropping overnight.

I sat in my car as it warmed up. The hat and gloves were NOT enough. My fingers froze, my nose ran, my body shivered...

I looked at my car clock and thermometer. 9 degrees. NINE degrees?

Now, I can handle the mid-30s. I'll even deal with a meager 25 degrees, on occasion. But 9?

That's a single digit. I can count that number on my fingers. I thought, "There are more holy commandments than the weather is warm right now. WTF am I doing outside?"

On top of that, my windshield was completely iced over. I wasn't about to wait 15 more minutes, cutting my workout down to a measly 45. So what do I do? Crank the heat, turn on the defrost and GO.

I drove halfway there with my head ducked and aligned with the middle console, so I could peak out the center of the windshield, where the ice melted.

I made it and didn't die.

And it's only December.

Warm fuzzies

Last night I decided to get into the holiday spirit.

Since I've lived in an apartment by myself for the last couple years, I figured it's not really necessary to decorate for Christmas with the idea, "Who's really going to see this and appreciate it?"

NONSENSE. I figured I'll have a few visitors; plus, passersby can check out my decorations from the street. And, I'll get my own warm fuzzies when I come home.

Thanksgiving weekend, my mom packed up a box with a small fake tree already set up with lights, some ornaments, and a few other decorations. On top of that, I had some window clings and a wooden nativity set from my grandma.

I went to work and an hour later: Voila!

I still like to get into the kid spirit and get excited when I see Christmas trees lit up in windows, poinsettias at stores and garland wrapped around light posts down the main street of any small town.

It's also the only time of year where I'll really tolerate snow, and even get butterflies when a fresh coat covers the ground while kids are walking to school, or I head out to get some holiday shopping done.

In the next couple weeks, I'll start buying presents, and I think the decorating helped get me into the spirit.

Achoo!

This last weekend I went home to visit my family and friends over Thanksgiving.

Wednesday night Michelle and I picked up a variety six-pack of microbrews (BTW, try Breckenridge Amber Ale. Amazing.) and headed over to our friend, Amanda's, apartment to catch up and watch the Obama interview with Barbara Wa-wa.

Amanda takes care of two cats: Milly and Marty. Both are adorable, and have their own unique personalities. I knew my boundaries though -- because I had a cat in high school. After going away to college, every time I'd come home to visit, my eyes started watering and my head would get congested. The onset of becoming allergic to cats.

So at Amanda's, I kept my distance. I played with Marty for a little while, but gave up because after about a half hour, I noticed a tickle in the back of my throat and my eyes started itching. Enough of that.

Another hour went by and my immune system was in full-fledged attack mode. I started sneezing. My nose ran. My eyes watered. Part of it must've been the fact that there were two felines.

I hate taking medication, so I declined when Amanda offered.

Then on Friday, we headed back over to the apartment before going out to the bar. We ended up staying there about two hours waiting for some friends, and the itching, watering, sneezing started again. AGGH.

It's crossed my mind to find a pet for my apartment. Because I travel so much for work, I initially thought a cat would make the most sense. They're generally more independent and seem to be able to take care of themselves. Plus, I don't have to take them out to use the bathroom, or feed them as much.

But, I'm a dog person.

Number one: The thought of having a box full of festering crap in my house doesn't really appeal to me.
Number two: Cats can be bitchy and mean.
Number three? Cats make me SICK.

Rules of the road

It's that time of year again, when drivers get into their vehicles thinking it's 72 degrees and sunny. Perfect weather for a drive.

But wait a tick -- it's snowing, windy and 20 degrees.

Let me tell you something. It isn't a great day for a drive. In fact, it's downright terrible. So stop driving like it's the middle of the summer.

Another pet peeve of mine involves drivers who don't understand the rules of the road. Just because you have your driver's license doesn't mean it's your way, or the highway. (Very pun-y.)

Here are a few reminders I think drivers should follow, particularly during inclement weather.

1. Wear a seatbelt. Personally, I don't believe people should be ticketed for this offence. You're just putting yourself in danger. But it might just save your life.

2. Don't talk on your cell phone. I'm guilty of this on occasion, although I avoid at all costs, talking or texting when it's raining or snowing. If you really have to use your phone, get in the right lane, or pull over.

3. Use your blinker when you're turning or passing someone. This is especially important when you have three or more lanes of highway to drive on. I can't read your mind, give me some visuals.

4. I SAY -- slow the fuck down. Generally, I enjoy going about 10 mph over the speed limit. Not so if the weather sucks. I'm all for defensive driving, but I can only control my own car. Don't put my life in jeopardy by driving like a maniac.

5. Do NOT tailgate. The reason I slowed down was to avoid an accident and make sure I could maintain control of my vehicle, not so you could ride my ass. You hinder my ability to drive safely by touching bumpers and making sure your pearly whites are right in my FUCKING REAR VIEW MIRROR.

6. Don't tap your brakes incessantly. I can see the traffic ahead of you. You have eight car lengths of freedom. Don't make me white-knuckled and nervous every time the car in front of you hits the brakes. First take your foot of the gas and coast. It might also help you avoid swerving all over the place.

7. The left lane is for faster moving traffic. Although it's not a law, every time I drive longer distances, I come across at least two dozen assholes who don't know how to share the road with other drivers. The left lane is a passing lane. It should be used only in the event that the car in front of you is going slower than you. In which case -- use your blinker, move over, pass and go BACK TO THE RIGHT LANE.