4.30.2008
4.24.2008
My time is important too.
This is bullshit. I am sitting here for a proposed lunch meeting that was set up by somebody else. I have officially been stood up. I have ordered and am not waiting any longer.
I have been trying to volunteer my time and services for something that is going to benefit something local that I believe in. I have told the powers that be that I will do what I can and am at their disposal. The first event was set up (without my help) and not only was I not asked to help, but I wasn’t even invited (wouldn’t have spent the $500 per plate anyway - there are other ways to make money). 10 days before the event, then I get the email asking for my help to sell tickets. I didn’t bust my ass to do it, and I have no idea how the event turned out. Last time I heard, they had 40 tickets sold to a 100 person event. They wanted it to be “EXCLUSIVE”.
At the grand opening my friend & I practically begged to help on another event. I used to do parties for a living. Everybody who knows me knows I know how to do it. She used to fundraising events for a living. The powers to be agreed they needed help. There were even emails that went around talking about it. She & I checked our schedules, and gave them different times to meet - offering to come to their places of business to help them out. After all, their time is very important.
Finally, a day is picked where we can meet. THEY picked the time. I made sure I could make it and worked my day around it.
In the meantime, I have done a lot of legwork. I have people to help for the event. I have a location donated. I have a band donated. I have volunteers willing to donate their time.
And guess what? I’m sitting here at the restaurant, and I have clearly been stood up. Their time is obviously more important than mine.
Guess what else? I’m not begging to give my time for somebody who doesn’t even have the fucking decency to call me (or even email) to tell me they can’t make it.
I wonder where they are going to have the event.
I wonder who they are going to get to volunteer their time.
I wonder if they will be able to get a band to play at the event, at no charge to them.
I wonder how much money they are going to raise.
I wonder now if they think their time is more important than mine.
I have been trying to volunteer my time and services for something that is going to benefit something local that I believe in. I have told the powers that be that I will do what I can and am at their disposal. The first event was set up (without my help) and not only was I not asked to help, but I wasn’t even invited (wouldn’t have spent the $500 per plate anyway - there are other ways to make money). 10 days before the event, then I get the email asking for my help to sell tickets. I didn’t bust my ass to do it, and I have no idea how the event turned out. Last time I heard, they had 40 tickets sold to a 100 person event. They wanted it to be “EXCLUSIVE”.
At the grand opening my friend & I practically begged to help on another event. I used to do parties for a living. Everybody who knows me knows I know how to do it. She used to fundraising events for a living. The powers to be agreed they needed help. There were even emails that went around talking about it. She & I checked our schedules, and gave them different times to meet - offering to come to their places of business to help them out. After all, their time is very important.
Finally, a day is picked where we can meet. THEY picked the time. I made sure I could make it and worked my day around it.
In the meantime, I have done a lot of legwork. I have people to help for the event. I have a location donated. I have a band donated. I have volunteers willing to donate their time.
And guess what? I’m sitting here at the restaurant, and I have clearly been stood up. Their time is obviously more important than mine.
Guess what else? I’m not begging to give my time for somebody who doesn’t even have the fucking decency to call me (or even email) to tell me they can’t make it.
I wonder where they are going to have the event.
I wonder who they are going to get to volunteer their time.
I wonder if they will be able to get a band to play at the event, at no charge to them.
I wonder how much money they are going to raise.
I wonder now if they think their time is more important than mine.
4.20.2008
Cocktail Time - 1949 style
Good blog fodder for 50 cents at an estate sale yesterday!
They just don't make 'em like they used to. Fist off, the Columbia long playing microgroove is slated as "unbreakable". This was in 1949, mind you. Very hip and very cool - a record player and a martini. Practically guaranteed to get you laid. After all, who can resist songs like Cocktails for Two, I'll Be Seeing You, Oh Lady Be Good and the ever popular Stumbling. But just make sure you get her in the mood and ready to go either on side one or side two. There are only 4 songs per side, so please plan accordingly.
The only shame is that I don't have a 33-1/3 RPM instrument, which are designed to play columbia Long Playing Records. I have no idea how good, or bad, this really is. The LP microgroove record is a modern high quality musical reproduction worthy of special care. We are supposed to always keep it away from heat and in this protective envelope.
The agreeable ring of glasses across the sound of conversation is saluted in this collection of favorites played by The Dell Trio. Almost every evening, in cities across the country, the hours between five and seven find dimly-lit rooms filled with citizens pausing for relaxation and enjoyment, a pause frequently made more relaxing and enjoyable by music such as this.
For this is music that is pleasant to listen to, yet undemanding, music that stimulates light conversation, music that creates that subtle atmosphere that precedes a special evening. The small combination of the trio engenders an intimate atmosphere, and its composition --- organ, accordion, and bass --- permits a wide variety of color and effect, so that almost any musical effect can be obtained. Moreover, it is admirable adapted to the music most often heard at cocktail time --- show tunes, standard favorites, half-forgotten “special” melodies.
Whether you listen to it as an accompanimnet for an intimate gathering, or as one for a large group, or simply as a collection of fine songs deftly played, you will find it splendidly adaptable and a warmly enjoyable reflection of the colorful and exciting cocktail hour.
They just don't make 'em like they used to. Fist off, the Columbia long playing microgroove is slated as "unbreakable". This was in 1949, mind you. Very hip and very cool - a record player and a martini. Practically guaranteed to get you laid. After all, who can resist songs like Cocktails for Two, I'll Be Seeing You, Oh Lady Be Good and the ever popular Stumbling. But just make sure you get her in the mood and ready to go either on side one or side two. There are only 4 songs per side, so please plan accordingly.
The only shame is that I don't have a 33-1/3 RPM instrument, which are designed to play columbia Long Playing Records. I have no idea how good, or bad, this really is. The LP microgroove record is a modern high quality musical reproduction worthy of special care. We are supposed to always keep it away from heat and in this protective envelope.
The agreeable ring of glasses across the sound of conversation is saluted in this collection of favorites played by The Dell Trio. Almost every evening, in cities across the country, the hours between five and seven find dimly-lit rooms filled with citizens pausing for relaxation and enjoyment, a pause frequently made more relaxing and enjoyable by music such as this.
For this is music that is pleasant to listen to, yet undemanding, music that stimulates light conversation, music that creates that subtle atmosphere that precedes a special evening. The small combination of the trio engenders an intimate atmosphere, and its composition --- organ, accordion, and bass --- permits a wide variety of color and effect, so that almost any musical effect can be obtained. Moreover, it is admirable adapted to the music most often heard at cocktail time --- show tunes, standard favorites, half-forgotten “special” melodies.
Whether you listen to it as an accompanimnet for an intimate gathering, or as one for a large group, or simply as a collection of fine songs deftly played, you will find it splendidly adaptable and a warmly enjoyable reflection of the colorful and exciting cocktail hour.
4.18.2008
DMV is hell on earth.
I am SO annoyed. On Wednesday, I spent 2 hours of my life at the DMV that I will never get back. And I ended up leaving not getting what I needed to get in the first place.
They make you think it’s all efficient the way they have an information booth, and clipboards with pens on them, and they hand you numbers reminiscent of when your Grandfather took you to buy an ice cream. Remember when you took a number and you waited oh-so-patiently for them to call you so that you could get a bubble-gum infused ice cream cone (with sprinkles), because your Grandfather loved you (and secretly was getting back at his son by feeding you sugar). What are Grandparents for, right?
The number didn’t seem so bad. I got B-351. I mean, that didn’t seem so bad until they started to call G-524, and H117. Where the hell did the B’s go?
Let me back up a bit here. As you know, I bought Buckwheat on ebay from a guy who lives in New York. Each state has different rules and regulations for their DMV. You can find out lots simply by going on-line and typing in the name of the state and DMV (that will be important later). For those of you that missed it, we named the car "Buckwheat."
Earlier this week I went in to the same DMV and started at the information booth and handed the lady my “Certification of New York State Registration for Transfer of Non-Titled Vehicle”and the old registration document. The lady at the front desk told me I needed the title. I argued with her a bit to explain to her that the car wasn’t titled (see above), and New York said it was okay for Pedro to transfer the car (non-titled). She told me I HAD to have a title to even think about starting the registration process.
I went in later that same day and got a different person at the front desk. This time, I made Tim go with me. Different person, different answer. They handed me the form I needed to fill out, and handed me a number. There was never a question that I had a transfer form from NY DMV. That excursion ended badly because Tim wanted to spend only 30 minutes in there, and he was drumming his fingers and tapping his toes and jiggling his leg the ENTIRE time and making me crazy. Plus, I got a B number again, and every time they called G and H, he was whining. Long story short, we both walked out of there annoyed for different reasons. Maybe I should have started counting to three (see below).
So, I had all Wednesday morning and didn’t have to be anywhere until 12:30. I think that was my problem. I EXPECTED it to take longer. I got there shortly after 10:00am. I started at the window, and explained to the lady that I had my paperwork previously given to me, and a brief overview of what I was doing. I also told her that I wanted to get a personalized license plate. She handed me another form to fill out and explained that the DMV representative would be able to check on-line to see if the plate I wanted was available. Luckily, I had three choices and would be happy with any of them, and I had already looked on-line last week for some ideas. She looked at everything, made sure that I had it all filled out and handed me a number - B-351.
This time when I was handed the number I didn’t think about ice cream and my Grandfather at all. I thought about that scene in Beetlejuice where he is sitting in the case workers office and his number is 9,998,383,750,000. The head shrinker next to him has 4. They are currently serving 3. (watch the video here)
I went and sat in one of those little annoying plastic chairs and my mind again turned to movies. The Banger Sisters with Goldie Hawn and Susan Sarandon and they are having a conversation about life and color and Susan Sarandon says that Goldie is like a beautiful flower - all colorful and she (Susan Sarandon) is the same color as the DMV. Somebody was also paying attention to that movie, because the plastic chairs (hooked together in groups of 6) are blue, and not oatmeal colored.
But I digress. As I was sitting there, being annoyed at being there, I began to look around. I had to take a picture with my phone to show you because I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it.
The lady closest to me was asleep and snoring, and if you look closely at the guy just to her left? He’s blind. Now I ask you, does this bother you? I think this is cause for alarm. What the hell is a blind guy doing at the Department of Motor Vehicles????? He wasn’t with anybody, so it wasn’t that he was accompanying somebody on their DMV excursion. I’m just saying, I think there is something wrong with that!!!
And can we talk about the lady behind me who came in with all eighteen (or maybe it was three) of her children? They were being kids (as kids will be),and she had the annoying habit of counting when she wanted them to stop whatever it was they were doing. They were behind me and I didn’t want to turn around and stare, at the beginning of this fiasco.
“Cassie. CASSIE. Stop it. Stop hitting your brother. ONE. TWO. TWO and HALF.”
“RAY. Don’t hit her back. Stop it. ONE. TWO. TWO and a HALF.”
“CASSIE. Sit down. Right now. ONE. TW-OOOO . TW-OOOOO and a HALF.”
"Michael James! I'm gonna. ONE. TWO-OOO. TW-OOOOO and a HALF."
When she started making one syllable words into two syllable words I turned around and stared. I was just about ready to shout “THREE-EEEEEEE!”, when my number was finally called. It was 11:30.
I made my way over to the window where the pregnant lady was. She kept wincing and holding her belly. She wasn’t pregnant enough to be having contractions. In all of my pregnancy wisdom, she was maybe 6 months pregnant - just enough to show, but not enough to be rushed to the hospital. (This from the gal who has never been pregnant and doesn’t even really like children).
I handed her the paperwork. She looked at it, said, “You need the title.” I explained to her that there was no title (as the form in front of her from the NY DMV explained and NY state signed off on) and that this was the “Certification for Transfer”. She said, let me go check. She disappeared, grabbing her belly and wincing the entire way. She disappeared behind an oatmeal colored cubicle, and came back to me to tell me that I needed a bill of sale.
“How about the ebay receipt?”
“No, that isn’t a bill of sale.”
“How is that NOT a bill of sale? It states what the car is, where it was when I bought it, who I bought it from, what it was sold for AND who paid for it.”
“Let me go ask my manager.”
She disappeared again, wincing the whole way. When she got back, I was really worried about her. More worried about her than I was about getting the registration completed. I asked her, “Are you okay???”
“Yes, I just ate a piece of pizza.”
I wanted to say, well you aren’t dying, so quit acting like you are, but I didn’t. I smiled and said, “What did your manager say?”
“He said we need a bill of sale.”
“Do you think you could let ME talk to him?”
She sighed heavily and yelled across the room to him. She said to me, “I can’t walk over there again.”
She had a point. It was at least 15 steps there, so that made it 30 steps R/T. Way too much, especially for a pregnant lady who just had a piece of pizza.
She looked at the forms again. I had put in the mileage on the car: 49,578 and checked the box that said “mileage exceeds the odometer mechanical limit”. She peered at me and said, “There is only 50,000 miles on the car?”
I smiled sweetly and said, “I think there is probably 1,350,000 miles on the car. But I checked the box that said that the mileage exceeds the odometer mechanical limit. You'll notice on the form in front of you that it is a 1965 Mercury.”
“Well, we’re going to have to take a look at it. You need to pay somebody who is approved by the DMV to look at it and fill THIS form out.” She handed me another form.
I reached in my pile of f'ing forms that were sitting in front of her and pulled out the form she just handed me that was filled out by somebody THEY referred me to already. "Oh," she said, "Well, we will still need to take a look at it."
Because her manager was obviously taking his time walking the 15 steps over to her station, I handed her the form that said I wanted personalized license plates. I gave her my three choices:
Then she yelled across the room at her manager again, wincing and grabbing her belly.
He finally came over, looked at the forms and said, “We need a title.”
I explained to him that OBVIOUSLY it was a non-titled vehicle, as the NY DMV form explained, and that the registration was given to the car, as proved by the original copy of it attached to the form. I told him I had bought it on e-bay, and brought it into California. He then told me that if I paid more than $5000 for a 1965 car, then it was a completely different issue to register it. I explained to him that the sales receipt that they were not counting as a bill of sale was in front of him and he could clearly see that I did NOT pay more than $5000 for it. He repeated what he had told me, louder and slower. As if that was going to make a difference. All it did was piss me off more.
I returned the favor and said loudly and slowly, “The car is outside. Go look at it. There is no way that it is worth more than $5000 and there is also no way that anybody (including me) would try to steal it, or pull something over the DMV’s eyes. The receipt from ebay clearly states what I paid for it and who I bought it from.”
He then looked over his glasses at me (you know what I am talking about) and said incredulously, “You bought it on -line????”
I explained to him that my business is Comet Realty, and I wanted a 1965 Comet Station Wagon for it. I wanted to go on further and tell him that he should embrace the 21st century and get rid of the mullet and the knit polyester wide maroon tie, and step outside the box, but I didn’t.
He told me they needed a bill of sale, and a note from New York DMV that said it was a non-titled vehicle and that they had never issued a title for it. (I’d like to remind you that the form I have from NY is “Certification of New York State Registration for Transfer of Non-Titled Vehicles”. It has the previous owners signature and a place for who he transferred the car too - that would be me.) He also wanted me to prove that there were no liens on it and that it hadn’t been previously financed and wasn’t owned by a bank.
I again told him that he needed to go look at the car out in the parking lot and he would know in his heart that there were no liens on it, and that probably no bank would ever even take the car as collateral, much less loan money on it.
At this point, I knew that I wasn’t getting anywhere with this. It was now 12:15. I had an appontment at 12:30. I had been there for 2 hours. The pregnant lady sat there wincing and holding her belly and spinning in her chair. The mulleted man was sticking to his guns and glancing at the clock (must have been almost break time for him). I was sticking to my guns.
I walked out. Annoyed as hell. I revved up Buckwheat’s engine. I left rubber in the parking lot, and flipped off the building as I left. Childish? You bet! Did I feel better? You bet!
When I got home, I googled NYDMV. It clearly states that vehicles that are pre-1975 do not need titles to be registered in the state of NY. It took me 2 minutes to find the info and print it out.
I also went onto California DMV’s site to look up to see what personalized license plates I could get. Guess what????? Choice #3 was available. It took me two minutes to find the info, so I put in my credit card and ordered it for myself.
DMV is an asshole. The people that work at DMV? Asshats.
That is two hours I will never get back of my life. And Buckwheat is still not registered. And there is some blind guy driving around San Luis Obispo, so watch out.
If any of you are watching REAPER (and you should be - it's on CW) they say that any place that appears to be hell-on-earth, is. Therefore, DMV is hell on earth.
My friend Mike said that if I go to AAA (not to be confused with AA) that they would do it for me, since I am a member. You mean I can do everything I need to do there and they will handle it for me? Can it be that easy? I’ll letcha know.
And now maybe I do need an AA meeting, since I am also a member.
They make you think it’s all efficient the way they have an information booth, and clipboards with pens on them, and they hand you numbers reminiscent of when your Grandfather took you to buy an ice cream. Remember when you took a number and you waited oh-so-patiently for them to call you so that you could get a bubble-gum infused ice cream cone (with sprinkles), because your Grandfather loved you (and secretly was getting back at his son by feeding you sugar). What are Grandparents for, right?
The number didn’t seem so bad. I got B-351. I mean, that didn’t seem so bad until they started to call G-524, and H117. Where the hell did the B’s go?
Let me back up a bit here. As you know, I bought Buckwheat on ebay from a guy who lives in New York. Each state has different rules and regulations for their DMV. You can find out lots simply by going on-line and typing in the name of the state and DMV (that will be important later). For those of you that missed it, we named the car "Buckwheat."
Earlier this week I went in to the same DMV and started at the information booth and handed the lady my “Certification of New York State Registration for Transfer of Non-Titled Vehicle”and the old registration document. The lady at the front desk told me I needed the title. I argued with her a bit to explain to her that the car wasn’t titled (see above), and New York said it was okay for Pedro to transfer the car (non-titled). She told me I HAD to have a title to even think about starting the registration process.
I went in later that same day and got a different person at the front desk. This time, I made Tim go with me. Different person, different answer. They handed me the form I needed to fill out, and handed me a number. There was never a question that I had a transfer form from NY DMV. That excursion ended badly because Tim wanted to spend only 30 minutes in there, and he was drumming his fingers and tapping his toes and jiggling his leg the ENTIRE time and making me crazy. Plus, I got a B number again, and every time they called G and H, he was whining. Long story short, we both walked out of there annoyed for different reasons. Maybe I should have started counting to three (see below).
So, I had all Wednesday morning and didn’t have to be anywhere until 12:30. I think that was my problem. I EXPECTED it to take longer. I got there shortly after 10:00am. I started at the window, and explained to the lady that I had my paperwork previously given to me, and a brief overview of what I was doing. I also told her that I wanted to get a personalized license plate. She handed me another form to fill out and explained that the DMV representative would be able to check on-line to see if the plate I wanted was available. Luckily, I had three choices and would be happy with any of them, and I had already looked on-line last week for some ideas. She looked at everything, made sure that I had it all filled out and handed me a number - B-351.
This time when I was handed the number I didn’t think about ice cream and my Grandfather at all. I thought about that scene in Beetlejuice where he is sitting in the case workers office and his number is 9,998,383,750,000. The head shrinker next to him has 4. They are currently serving 3. (watch the video here)
I went and sat in one of those little annoying plastic chairs and my mind again turned to movies. The Banger Sisters with Goldie Hawn and Susan Sarandon and they are having a conversation about life and color and Susan Sarandon says that Goldie is like a beautiful flower - all colorful and she (Susan Sarandon) is the same color as the DMV. Somebody was also paying attention to that movie, because the plastic chairs (hooked together in groups of 6) are blue, and not oatmeal colored.
But I digress. As I was sitting there, being annoyed at being there, I began to look around. I had to take a picture with my phone to show you because I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it.
The lady closest to me was asleep and snoring, and if you look closely at the guy just to her left? He’s blind. Now I ask you, does this bother you? I think this is cause for alarm. What the hell is a blind guy doing at the Department of Motor Vehicles????? He wasn’t with anybody, so it wasn’t that he was accompanying somebody on their DMV excursion. I’m just saying, I think there is something wrong with that!!!
And can we talk about the lady behind me who came in with all eighteen (or maybe it was three) of her children? They were being kids (as kids will be),and she had the annoying habit of counting when she wanted them to stop whatever it was they were doing. They were behind me and I didn’t want to turn around and stare, at the beginning of this fiasco.
“Cassie. CASSIE. Stop it. Stop hitting your brother. ONE. TWO. TWO and HALF.”
“RAY. Don’t hit her back. Stop it. ONE. TWO. TWO and a HALF.”
“CASSIE. Sit down. Right now. ONE. TW-OOOO . TW-OOOOO and a HALF.”
"Michael James! I'm gonna. ONE. TWO-OOO. TW-OOOOO and a HALF."
When she started making one syllable words into two syllable words I turned around and stared. I was just about ready to shout “THREE-EEEEEEE!”, when my number was finally called. It was 11:30.
I made my way over to the window where the pregnant lady was. She kept wincing and holding her belly. She wasn’t pregnant enough to be having contractions. In all of my pregnancy wisdom, she was maybe 6 months pregnant - just enough to show, but not enough to be rushed to the hospital. (This from the gal who has never been pregnant and doesn’t even really like children).
I handed her the paperwork. She looked at it, said, “You need the title.” I explained to her that there was no title (as the form in front of her from the NY DMV explained and NY state signed off on) and that this was the “Certification for Transfer”. She said, let me go check. She disappeared, grabbing her belly and wincing the entire way. She disappeared behind an oatmeal colored cubicle, and came back to me to tell me that I needed a bill of sale.
“How about the ebay receipt?”
“No, that isn’t a bill of sale.”
“How is that NOT a bill of sale? It states what the car is, where it was when I bought it, who I bought it from, what it was sold for AND who paid for it.”
“Let me go ask my manager.”
She disappeared again, wincing the whole way. When she got back, I was really worried about her. More worried about her than I was about getting the registration completed. I asked her, “Are you okay???”
“Yes, I just ate a piece of pizza.”
I wanted to say, well you aren’t dying, so quit acting like you are, but I didn’t. I smiled and said, “What did your manager say?”
“He said we need a bill of sale.”
“Do you think you could let ME talk to him?”
She sighed heavily and yelled across the room to him. She said to me, “I can’t walk over there again.”
She had a point. It was at least 15 steps there, so that made it 30 steps R/T. Way too much, especially for a pregnant lady who just had a piece of pizza.
She looked at the forms again. I had put in the mileage on the car: 49,578 and checked the box that said “mileage exceeds the odometer mechanical limit”. She peered at me and said, “There is only 50,000 miles on the car?”
I smiled sweetly and said, “I think there is probably 1,350,000 miles on the car. But I checked the box that said that the mileage exceeds the odometer mechanical limit. You'll notice on the form in front of you that it is a 1965 Mercury.”
“Well, we’re going to have to take a look at it. You need to pay somebody who is approved by the DMV to look at it and fill THIS form out.” She handed me another form.
I reached in my pile of f'ing forms that were sitting in front of her and pulled out the form she just handed me that was filled out by somebody THEY referred me to already. "Oh," she said, "Well, we will still need to take a look at it."
Because her manager was obviously taking his time walking the 15 steps over to her station, I handed her the form that said I wanted personalized license plates. I gave her my three choices:
- 65Comet
- Comet 65
- Comett
Then she yelled across the room at her manager again, wincing and grabbing her belly.
He finally came over, looked at the forms and said, “We need a title.”
I explained to him that OBVIOUSLY it was a non-titled vehicle, as the NY DMV form explained, and that the registration was given to the car, as proved by the original copy of it attached to the form. I told him I had bought it on e-bay, and brought it into California. He then told me that if I paid more than $5000 for a 1965 car, then it was a completely different issue to register it. I explained to him that the sales receipt that they were not counting as a bill of sale was in front of him and he could clearly see that I did NOT pay more than $5000 for it. He repeated what he had told me, louder and slower. As if that was going to make a difference. All it did was piss me off more.
I returned the favor and said loudly and slowly, “The car is outside. Go look at it. There is no way that it is worth more than $5000 and there is also no way that anybody (including me) would try to steal it, or pull something over the DMV’s eyes. The receipt from ebay clearly states what I paid for it and who I bought it from.”
He then looked over his glasses at me (you know what I am talking about) and said incredulously, “You bought it on -line????”
I explained to him that my business is Comet Realty, and I wanted a 1965 Comet Station Wagon for it. I wanted to go on further and tell him that he should embrace the 21st century and get rid of the mullet and the knit polyester wide maroon tie, and step outside the box, but I didn’t.
He told me they needed a bill of sale, and a note from New York DMV that said it was a non-titled vehicle and that they had never issued a title for it. (I’d like to remind you that the form I have from NY is “Certification of New York State Registration for Transfer of Non-Titled Vehicles”. It has the previous owners signature and a place for who he transferred the car too - that would be me.) He also wanted me to prove that there were no liens on it and that it hadn’t been previously financed and wasn’t owned by a bank.
I again told him that he needed to go look at the car out in the parking lot and he would know in his heart that there were no liens on it, and that probably no bank would ever even take the car as collateral, much less loan money on it.
At this point, I knew that I wasn’t getting anywhere with this. It was now 12:15. I had an appontment at 12:30. I had been there for 2 hours. The pregnant lady sat there wincing and holding her belly and spinning in her chair. The mulleted man was sticking to his guns and glancing at the clock (must have been almost break time for him). I was sticking to my guns.
I walked out. Annoyed as hell. I revved up Buckwheat’s engine. I left rubber in the parking lot, and flipped off the building as I left. Childish? You bet! Did I feel better? You bet!
When I got home, I googled NYDMV. It clearly states that vehicles that are pre-1975 do not need titles to be registered in the state of NY. It took me 2 minutes to find the info and print it out.
I also went onto California DMV’s site to look up to see what personalized license plates I could get. Guess what????? Choice #3 was available. It took me two minutes to find the info, so I put in my credit card and ordered it for myself.
DMV is an asshole. The people that work at DMV? Asshats.
That is two hours I will never get back of my life. And Buckwheat is still not registered. And there is some blind guy driving around San Luis Obispo, so watch out.
If any of you are watching REAPER (and you should be - it's on CW) they say that any place that appears to be hell-on-earth, is. Therefore, DMV is hell on earth.
My friend Mike said that if I go to AAA (not to be confused with AA) that they would do it for me, since I am a member. You mean I can do everything I need to do there and they will handle it for me? Can it be that easy? I’ll letcha know.
And now maybe I do need an AA meeting, since I am also a member.
4.16.2008
4.15.2008
IMPROG: Alone is the word of the day
Today is the day I pull out Susan’s envelope and pull out a little slip of paper. I’m supposed to write about whatever is on it. Today’s word is ALONE.
As always, somehow Susan knows what word I will get, and when and exactly what I need to write about. Of course, she says the same thing about me. It must be that psychic connection we have.
And speaking of pyschic connections, has anybody else ever wondered why they have to advertise for psychic fairs? Shouldn’t everybody just know when it is going to be?
Meanwhile, back at the ranch:
The word alone means different things to different people, of course. For me? I often feel alone when I think about the cancer. It isn’t that I didn’t have most of my friends and family around me when I had it; quite the opposite, actually. The people that mattered were there for me---whether it was in a phone call, a letter or a postcard, a meal brought, a hand held during chemo, a shoulder to cry on, a pedicure to share, or a visit for the weekend from a far away place.
But cancer is still a very lonely disease.
Even after the cancer-free diagnosis, there are still things that make me feel alone. The weight gained, the hot flashes that are almost unbearable brought on by sudden-menopause, the back aches, the tingling in the arms, the dry skin, the fact that I still get really, really tired, the terror after you have another mammogram or a blood test or an MRI or even a headache and I know that I will never be the same.
I’m able to bring it up to my buddies that have “been there, done that” and would like to take the time to say thanks to Margerie for being there when I need her.
After this weekends photo shoot and the spectacular women I met, I don’t feel alone. I feel empowered. I looked around the room and listened to their stories and was reminded that I would never be completely alone.
They looked death in the face and kicked cancer’s ass, just like me. They lost their hair, just like me. They have scars that are a daily reminder of the fight, just like me. They are mad as hell that we can put a man on the moon and can’t cure cancer, just like me.
We were brought together for a reason. The reason was a man with a vision, and the women in his life that are helping him carry on his wife’s legacy. We are all going to do what we can to end the breast cancer that 1 in 8 women face. In the time that I have been thinking and writing about this word, there have been 4 women who have been diagnosed with breast cancer. If that doesn’t scare the shit out of you, nothing will.
I will be writing more about these spectacular women over the next few weeks. These phenomenal ladies who are each trying to do what they can to fight the beast. I know that I am not alone in my fight. We have banded together to make a difference in this world, and refuse to let women and men all over the world be alone in their fight.
If you, or someone you know, is going through a cancer diagnosis or treatment and need somewhere to turn, shoot me a message, and I will help you navigate through the circus of cancer.
As always, somehow Susan knows what word I will get, and when and exactly what I need to write about. Of course, she says the same thing about me. It must be that psychic connection we have.
And speaking of pyschic connections, has anybody else ever wondered why they have to advertise for psychic fairs? Shouldn’t everybody just know when it is going to be?
Meanwhile, back at the ranch:
The word alone means different things to different people, of course. For me? I often feel alone when I think about the cancer. It isn’t that I didn’t have most of my friends and family around me when I had it; quite the opposite, actually. The people that mattered were there for me---whether it was in a phone call, a letter or a postcard, a meal brought, a hand held during chemo, a shoulder to cry on, a pedicure to share, or a visit for the weekend from a far away place.
But cancer is still a very lonely disease.
Even after the cancer-free diagnosis, there are still things that make me feel alone. The weight gained, the hot flashes that are almost unbearable brought on by sudden-menopause, the back aches, the tingling in the arms, the dry skin, the fact that I still get really, really tired, the terror after you have another mammogram or a blood test or an MRI or even a headache and I know that I will never be the same.
I’m able to bring it up to my buddies that have “been there, done that” and would like to take the time to say thanks to Margerie for being there when I need her.
After this weekends photo shoot and the spectacular women I met, I don’t feel alone. I feel empowered. I looked around the room and listened to their stories and was reminded that I would never be completely alone.
They looked death in the face and kicked cancer’s ass, just like me. They lost their hair, just like me. They have scars that are a daily reminder of the fight, just like me. They are mad as hell that we can put a man on the moon and can’t cure cancer, just like me.
We were brought together for a reason. The reason was a man with a vision, and the women in his life that are helping him carry on his wife’s legacy. We are all going to do what we can to end the breast cancer that 1 in 8 women face. In the time that I have been thinking and writing about this word, there have been 4 women who have been diagnosed with breast cancer. If that doesn’t scare the shit out of you, nothing will.
I will be writing more about these spectacular women over the next few weeks. These phenomenal ladies who are each trying to do what they can to fight the beast. I know that I am not alone in my fight. We have banded together to make a difference in this world, and refuse to let women and men all over the world be alone in their fight.
If you, or someone you know, is going through a cancer diagnosis or treatment and need somewhere to turn, shoot me a message, and I will help you navigate through the circus of cancer.
4.13.2008
Part 2: Palm Springs Photo Shoot
I am such a dumasse sometimes! I wrote this when I came home on Friday night from dinner, and thought I had posted it. Hmmm...the blog fairies must have removed it, or something. I'm sure it wasn't operator malfunction. In any case, here it is. Pretend as if I posted it on Friday night, so I can talk more about the rest of the weekend tomorrow. I will gladly pay you Tuesday, for a hamburger today!
Wow. We just made it back from the wine tasting and dinner. There are some amazing women here from California, Washington, Virginia: one gal just sent a mammogram machine to Liberia, another published her poems and photography and is an artist, another one started a free camp for kids whose parents have cancer (yes, free). Each one of us got to tell our story and each one of us ended up in tears, along with the rest of the room.
This is truly an amazing thing going on here, and I am SO proud to be part of it.
For all of you, please remember, you are buying lots of wine with my picture on it. I think I am going to be on a red. The owner has met us all and is trying to figure out who goes on which label. I did tell them I don’t drink and they were totally cool with it.
Tomorrow morning is off to the photo shoot.
Every single one of the people in the room tonight have made a difference in the world, and are continuing to do so. All of us joining forces could move mountains, and this could prove to be an amazing thing for the cancer community, and the world in general.
Remember, you can make a difference, no matter where you are in your life. Do something you have always wanted to do, don’t just dream about it.
Love,
Hayley
Friday night, April 11
Friday night, April 11
Wow. We just made it back from the wine tasting and dinner. There are some amazing women here from California, Washington, Virginia: one gal just sent a mammogram machine to Liberia, another published her poems and photography and is an artist, another one started a free camp for kids whose parents have cancer (yes, free). Each one of us got to tell our story and each one of us ended up in tears, along with the rest of the room.
This is truly an amazing thing going on here, and I am SO proud to be part of it.
For all of you, please remember, you are buying lots of wine with my picture on it. I think I am going to be on a red. The owner has met us all and is trying to figure out who goes on which label. I did tell them I don’t drink and they were totally cool with it.
Tomorrow morning is off to the photo shoot.
Every single one of the people in the room tonight have made a difference in the world, and are continuing to do so. All of us joining forces could move mountains, and this could prove to be an amazing thing for the cancer community, and the world in general.
Remember, you can make a difference, no matter where you are in your life. Do something you have always wanted to do, don’t just dream about it.
4.10.2008
Palm springsPhoto Shoot Excursion
Some of you know, and some of you don’t know - I have been selected to be a model for a winery. It’s a high price of admission to be a model for this winery, and only 6 breast cancer survivors from all over America are chosen.
The guy who owns the winery lost his wife to breast cancer a few years ago and he is mad as hell. He has decided to donate 10% of the gross proceeds (not net, this is huge!) to cutting edge breast cancer research. You can read all about his story on his website, but this is my blog, so you have to listen to MY story!
It has been interesting getting ready for this trip. I was told the date to be in Palm Springs (all expenses paid), that I had to sign a model release, that hair and makeup would be taken care of by an award winning artist. None of that proved to be a problem. The problem was the wardrobe. Solid color cleavage baring tops, crisp white top and black pants. Guess what? I don’t own any of those. My neutral is brown - I have tons of brown pants. Crisp white top? Are you kidding me? I can’t keep the person next to me clean if THEY are wearing a white top much less one that I am wearing. And solid color cleavage baring tops. Alright, you know me well, the cleavage baring isn’t the problem, the problem is solid colors. My closet is filled with print tops and dresses!!!!!
You would think that this would be fairly easy to resolve. Let’s go shopping!!!! Apparently, prints are in (and not just in my closet). I had to search high and low for solid color tops in a color other than black and white (only because I am not a monochrome person as you know). I managed to score 4 awesome solid shirts, and we will see what the photographer picks for me to wear: olive green, red, teal and another red. You know I was searching hard for orange or lime green. Didn’t find any tops in those colors, but did find a fabulous pair of orange shoes to replace my other ones (you know what I am talking about!)
Crisp white shirt, that was a bit of a challenge cuz my boobs are quite a bit bigger than the actual size that I am. After trying white shirts all day on in Nordstroms (Santa Barbara), I was frustrated as could be. I did find a great one at Chico’s. I had them put it in a garment bag - hermetically seal it, and it is now hanging in the closet of my hotel. Hopefully I haven’t stained it by osmosis.
We got up early and drove to Palm Springs. My day started early because of course, I couldn’t sleep. I was too excited. I got everyting loaded in the car, and was ready to go. I dropped my almonds under the car and had to bend down to get them. As we were driving down the driveway, my husband started to laugh hysterically. In fact, he was laughing so hard he had to stop the car. Apparently, as I was leaning under the car, my face hit the tire. I had re-treads on my face. Remember Tattoo Face in 50 First Dates? Yeah, that was how I started the day!!!!
We found a great place to eat in Fontana, of all places. El Gorro Giro. Amazing, and Shirley & Mike, I will be bringing back tortillas that may rival Arvin.
We got to the hotel, checked in, it’s a great room, and there was this big basket of goodies for me: fruits and chocolate and nuts and water. I started to cry.
I have organized so many damn events and have put together hundreds, if not thousands of gift baskets together for clients. I had never gotten one!!!!!
Now that we are here (tears dried, clothes hung up, tire treads washed off my face), we are going to the tasting room in Rancho Mirage and then to dinner.
More on that later. Is now a good time to tell them I don’t drink?????
The guy who owns the winery lost his wife to breast cancer a few years ago and he is mad as hell. He has decided to donate 10% of the gross proceeds (not net, this is huge!) to cutting edge breast cancer research. You can read all about his story on his website, but this is my blog, so you have to listen to MY story!
It has been interesting getting ready for this trip. I was told the date to be in Palm Springs (all expenses paid), that I had to sign a model release, that hair and makeup would be taken care of by an award winning artist. None of that proved to be a problem. The problem was the wardrobe. Solid color cleavage baring tops, crisp white top and black pants. Guess what? I don’t own any of those. My neutral is brown - I have tons of brown pants. Crisp white top? Are you kidding me? I can’t keep the person next to me clean if THEY are wearing a white top much less one that I am wearing. And solid color cleavage baring tops. Alright, you know me well, the cleavage baring isn’t the problem, the problem is solid colors. My closet is filled with print tops and dresses!!!!!
You would think that this would be fairly easy to resolve. Let’s go shopping!!!! Apparently, prints are in (and not just in my closet). I had to search high and low for solid color tops in a color other than black and white (only because I am not a monochrome person as you know). I managed to score 4 awesome solid shirts, and we will see what the photographer picks for me to wear: olive green, red, teal and another red. You know I was searching hard for orange or lime green. Didn’t find any tops in those colors, but did find a fabulous pair of orange shoes to replace my other ones (you know what I am talking about!)
Crisp white shirt, that was a bit of a challenge cuz my boobs are quite a bit bigger than the actual size that I am. After trying white shirts all day on in Nordstroms (Santa Barbara), I was frustrated as could be. I did find a great one at Chico’s. I had them put it in a garment bag - hermetically seal it, and it is now hanging in the closet of my hotel. Hopefully I haven’t stained it by osmosis.
We got up early and drove to Palm Springs. My day started early because of course, I couldn’t sleep. I was too excited. I got everyting loaded in the car, and was ready to go. I dropped my almonds under the car and had to bend down to get them. As we were driving down the driveway, my husband started to laugh hysterically. In fact, he was laughing so hard he had to stop the car. Apparently, as I was leaning under the car, my face hit the tire. I had re-treads on my face. Remember Tattoo Face in 50 First Dates? Yeah, that was how I started the day!!!!
We found a great place to eat in Fontana, of all places. El Gorro Giro. Amazing, and Shirley & Mike, I will be bringing back tortillas that may rival Arvin.
We got to the hotel, checked in, it’s a great room, and there was this big basket of goodies for me: fruits and chocolate and nuts and water. I started to cry.
I have organized so many damn events and have put together hundreds, if not thousands of gift baskets together for clients. I had never gotten one!!!!!
Now that we are here (tears dried, clothes hung up, tire treads washed off my face), we are going to the tasting room in Rancho Mirage and then to dinner.
More on that later. Is now a good time to tell them I don’t drink?????
4.09.2008
4.07.2008
IMPROG: FOLLOW is the word of the day
Today is improg day. It’s time to break out the envelope. Have I mentioned the fact that Susan made me the envelope out of an old calendar? In case I haven’t, here is a picture of the front of it: 
Here is a photo of the back of the envelope/calendar. You can just barely see a few of the slips of paper I have left to blog about. See? Doesn’t it make you want to improg too????
Here is a photo of the back of the envelope/calendar. You can just barely see a few of the slips of paper I have left to blog about. See? Doesn’t it make you want to improg too????
Today’s word is FOLLOW. Hmmm...I wonder what she was thinking when she wrote that one down. For those of you who know me, following is not one of my stronger traits. In fact, I don’t even think I know how to follow anybody or anything. Not much of a lemming, this one.
The first thing that popped into my head when I read the word FOLLOW?????
I loved the Wizard of Oz. My friend, Natalina, grew up in Canada. The Wizard of Oz is mostly an American tradition apparently. She never gathered round the TV every September to watch the Wizard of Oz. And she never wondered why, at the beginning, that she thought the show was in color and why it was being shown in black and white. Consequently, she also never sang the songs over and over and over again.
And now, you will be singing the song, over and over again. Kinda sticks in your head, eh? Now if I could only find that helium filled balloon around here, it would be perfect.
For those of you who work in a larger office, the time has come to go grab that balloon that your co-worker got for his/her birthday (the one that is only half heartedly sticking above the cubicle because their birthday was last week and the balloon is starting to deflate), suck the helium out of it and sing! Sing loud. Sing proud.
Of course, you should also change your voice mail while you are at it.
Just don’t be a follower today, be a munchkin leader.
The first thing that popped into my head when I read the word FOLLOW?????
Follow the yellow brick road, follow the yellow brick road
Follow, follow, follow, follow, follow the yellow-brick road
Follow the yellow-brick, follow the yellow-brick
Follow the yellow-brick road
You're off to see the Wizard, the Wonderful Wizard of Oz
You'll find he is a Whiz of a Wiz if ever a Wiz there was
If ever, oh ever, a Wiz there was the Wizard of Oz is one because
Because, because, because, because, because
Because of the wonderful things he does
You're off the see the wizard, the Wonderful Wizard of Oz.
I loved the Wizard of Oz. My friend, Natalina, grew up in Canada. The Wizard of Oz is mostly an American tradition apparently. She never gathered round the TV every September to watch the Wizard of Oz. And she never wondered why, at the beginning, that she thought the show was in color and why it was being shown in black and white. Consequently, she also never sang the songs over and over and over again.
And now, you will be singing the song, over and over again. Kinda sticks in your head, eh? Now if I could only find that helium filled balloon around here, it would be perfect.
For those of you who work in a larger office, the time has come to go grab that balloon that your co-worker got for his/her birthday (the one that is only half heartedly sticking above the cubicle because their birthday was last week and the balloon is starting to deflate), suck the helium out of it and sing! Sing loud. Sing proud.
Of course, you should also change your voice mail while you are at it.
Just don’t be a follower today, be a munchkin leader.
P.S. I managed to use today's improg word 14 times. I think that must be some sort of a record.
4.05.2008
HOT DOG: mustard, ketchup or relish?
Let's say that it is your LAST meal (I don't know why it is and it really isn't germane to this post, although if your imagination isn't working, I will come up with a story for you in my next blog. Please alert me to that when you answer the question posted below).
You are given a HOT DOG, and a choice of ONE condiment. Only one. What do you choose?
You are given a HOT DOG, and a choice of ONE condiment. Only one. What do you choose?
Your choices are:
- Ketchup
- Mustard
- Relish
- Onions
- Mayonnaise
- Hot Sauce (and what kind?)
This will turn into a future blog, so please comment! And for those of you who are just reading this and don't have a blogger account, you can post as anonymous (and please do!) And for those of you who are vegetarians, you can pretend it's a tofu dog if you really must.
4.03.2008
IMPROG: Worry is the word
What a great word to pull out of my envelope today. Thanks, Susan!
WORRY - you may think that I don’t worry, because of my cavalier attitude, but, as only a true cancer survivor can do, I worry about lots of things.
I failed to write an improg last week, and I was worried that you might not stick around to read what else I had to say.
I worried that you wouldn’t believe my sister-in-law tried to make a cheesecake with brie.
I worried that my April Fool’s blog would make you not believe me. Of COURSE I am not in Mexico, people. Don’t you know me better?
I have piled on stuff to do this weekend and I am worried that I won’t have enough time to get everything done.
I am working at the Hearst Cancer Resource Center on Saturday (grand opening!!!) and I also have a memorial service for my friend’s son, Spencer, here at the house.
I am worried I won’t get the house clean, or that I won’t have enough food for 60 people.
I am worried about Shari, being that she lost her 14 year old son, and I worry about her family. I know they will make it through it, but I can’t help but worry. And if I could just stop crying every time I think about her, I will be able to be strong for her again.
I worry because I found a lump on my leg and I am convinced it’s a tumor. But don’t YOU worry, because I have taken full advantage of having my doctor’s email address and sent him a message. I’ll keep you posted.
I worry that if I don't clean out my fish tank soon, Fuckin' Lucky (that's the fish's name) is going to die.
I worry that I am going to be late to have lunch with Mechell, and that means I have to wrap this up. I’m meeting her at 12:30 and it is now 12:20.
PHEW. Now I don’t have to worry about improgging this week!!! It is officially done.
Hasta la vista, baby!
WORRY - you may think that I don’t worry, because of my cavalier attitude, but, as only a true cancer survivor can do, I worry about lots of things.
I failed to write an improg last week, and I was worried that you might not stick around to read what else I had to say.
I worried that you wouldn’t believe my sister-in-law tried to make a cheesecake with brie.
I worried that my April Fool’s blog would make you not believe me. Of COURSE I am not in Mexico, people. Don’t you know me better?
I have piled on stuff to do this weekend and I am worried that I won’t have enough time to get everything done.
I am working at the Hearst Cancer Resource Center on Saturday (grand opening!!!) and I also have a memorial service for my friend’s son, Spencer, here at the house.
I am worried I won’t get the house clean, or that I won’t have enough food for 60 people.
I am worried about Shari, being that she lost her 14 year old son, and I worry about her family. I know they will make it through it, but I can’t help but worry. And if I could just stop crying every time I think about her, I will be able to be strong for her again.
I worry because I found a lump on my leg and I am convinced it’s a tumor. But don’t YOU worry, because I have taken full advantage of having my doctor’s email address and sent him a message. I’ll keep you posted.
I worry that if I don't clean out my fish tank soon, Fuckin' Lucky (that's the fish's name) is going to die.
I worry that I am going to be late to have lunch with Mechell, and that means I have to wrap this up. I’m meeting her at 12:30 and it is now 12:20.
PHEW. Now I don’t have to worry about improgging this week!!! It is officially done.
Hasta la vista, baby!
4.02.2008
4.01.2008
April Fools Day jokes!
Greetings and salutations from Zihuatanejo, Mexico! I subscribe to the travel deals and when I looked on Travelzoo, they had a deal from LAX to Zihuatanejo. We turned back around to LA last night, and are enjoying the 85 degree sunshine! Now, I know what you are thinking. You are wondering if we are still going to go to Zihuatanejo for Tim's birthday next March, and the answer is YES. I will be scouting for locations and great things to do over the next 4 days. We will be home this weekend with lots of photos and we will each have a nice suntan and be well rested!
April Fool's sorta snuck up on me. I usually am great at pranks. One year, I called in late from work with the excuse that I had broken my wrist trying to snowboard. Never happened. My BFF Edna Medna Big Fat Pedna has, but I haven't.
Last year during Sapphire Moon's rehearsal, I hobbled for the first 45 minutes of rehearsal with a knee brace and crutches, claiming I tweaked my knee playing soccer, claiming "the show must go on!" Never happened. Don't play soccer. Didn't tweak my knee.
But my favorite of all time pranks??????? Luckily for you, there is still time for you to do this. Get the phone number to your favorite zoo (SF, NY, Denver...whatever floats your boat). Have it handy and call the person who you wish to prank. Now this works better if this person A) Has an assistant who can take the message (quick, call during lunch), B) is out of the office and has voice mail, C) doesn't answer their phone directly! It might be a hit or miss.
You need to, very professionally, say that you need to leave a message for _____(insert name here). This is Mr./Mrs. Lion (or you can use Bill D. Bear) if you wish, and ask that _____ return your call. Give them the zoo's phone number.
This gets two people at once. The person who you are pranking, and the poor person who answers the phone at the zoo. Uh, Mr. Lion can't come to the phone right now? Bill D. Bear isn't taking phone calls - he is still in his cage?
Anyway, caller id may have screwed us on the prank phone calls for this century, but if you play your cards right, you can still do some good ones for today.
Make a few for me. My cell phone doesn't want to roam and calling from Mexico is expensive. I'm going to get a taco and a cold coconut and lay on the beach.
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