Doublespeak

A few words of advice for the slightly misguided (but I'm sure well-meaning and very nice) girl on Unnamed Dating Website: Before choosing your next user name, you really should run it by a friend, or even just read it out loud to yourself. I'm sure you are a hot, fun gal, but you're likely to get unwanted solicitation from Tinactin with a screen name like hotfungal.

That is all.

p.s. To those of you who have missed me (or even noticed that I've been gone), I am indeed still alive! I've been stricken with a serious lack of motivation lately, and I apologize for my blog delinquency. I'll try to post more often!

p.p.s. Stay tuned for an update on the neverending saga of Killy's Broken Toe: A Tale of Woe (a.k.a., How a Toe Injury Can Be a Pain in the Ass).

All the Rage

I'm not gonna lie: Working as a copyeditor can be pretty mundane, even for the most devoted grammar whore. To make my job more bearable, I seek out amusing things in the material I edit. I am thankful for the occasions on which I am assigned an article with completely ridiculous subject matter. This includes but is not limited to a study about the 21st-birthday drinking practices of college students, research on alcoholism that involved forcing the study participants to sniff beer (not just ANY beer, either; it was PBR) and measuring how much they salivated by stuffing their mouths full of cotton pads, and an article about the RAGE (Rating Scale for Aggressive Behaviour in the Elderly; this brings to mind images of ornery old folks shaking their fists ineffectually). I also derive glee from authors with unfortunate names, such as Assenheimer and Poon.

These are the little things that get me through the day.

Toe Up

At 3:00 tomorrow morning, it will have been exactly 2 weeks since I broke my toe. I'm still hobbling around with one crutch and an oh-so-chic "shoe cast" (velcro is so hot right now). I saw an orthopaedic surgeon, who told me that I don't need surgery, but I did manage to both fracture a bone AND tear a ligament in my left big toe (or "great toe," as it is properly referred to in the medical community--this has been the source of numerous "great toe injury" quips). I never realized just how much I rely on my toes. They're so small and seemingly inconsequential, but having one out of commission has given me a new appreciation for the importance of these undervalued phalanges.

That said, I still kind of wish I had a more impressive injury. When people see me gimping around and ask me what happened, their looks of concern tend to turn incredulous when I tell them that I broke my toe. It didn't even happen in a cool way--no skateboarding or moshing or heroic kitten rescue. Nope. I, graceful gazelle that I am, broke my toe while climbing out of bed. Granted, my bed is lofted and is therefore about 5 feet off the ground, but it's still a pretty lame story.

There are, however, some perks to being hobbled. The walk to the Metro station is rough, but once I get on the train, I'm pretty much guaranteed a seat (many thanks to the BBW who gave up her seat for me on the Green Line this morning, and a great big "fuck you!" to the yuppy asshole who ran over my foot with her big rolly suitcase at Union Station); people hold doors for me and offer to carry my stuff (a stranger outside the Union Station Metro offerred to carry my bag, but I didn't think that was such a good idea); it's wicked easy to get a cab; and I got an awesome seat at the bar for the Detroit Cobras show at the Black Cat last Sunday (thanks, Center!).

All in all, things could be a lot worse. So for now, I shall enjoy the hospitality (and pity?) of others. Once I ditch the crutch and the orthopaedic shoe, I'll just be another chick who walks kind of funny.

I'm not dead.

Nor have I been arrested for assaulting anyone with an umbrella (per my previous post). I have been busy. I was busy and then I was sick and then I was a lot of things I still haven't figured out quite yet, but I am ultimately okay and am definitely still alive and kicking.

So I will let this serve as a placeholder until I feel like writing again.

I shall return!

Rain Rage

Actually, my rage is only indirectly related to the weather. The recent deluge has contributed to my conclusion that I should not be allowed to carry an umbrella. I have to try WAY too hard to suppress the urge to fold it up and beat people senseless with it when they're being asinine, which is most of the time.

Maybe I should take up yoga or something.

Checks and Balances

A few months ago (the last week in May, to be precise), I went to New York for a work-related conference. My cheap nonprofit company shocked me by putting me up in the Marriott Marquis in Times Square (I'm still convinced that they had to resort to this ritzy hotel because they waited 'til the last minute to make reservations and nothing cheap was available) and reserving my plane ticket for me. What the company did not cover, however, were food, cab, and other incidental expenses. At the time, I didn't think much of it--I only dropped about $200 of my own, and I figured I'd get the money back in time to pay the next month's rent.

I should have known better.

Three months later, I haven't seen a dime of the money the company owes me. There are several factors that I'm sure have contributed to this delinquency; primary among them are the fact that I am no longer employed there and the fact that I've seen 9-year-olds run more efficient lemonade stands (my voluntary termination of employment is a direct result of the aforementioned inefficiency and incompetence).

I've corresponded with my former boss several times, and she has assured me that the reimbursement check is "on the way." As the weeks and months pass, I become less and less patient and understanding. If it wouldn't cost me more money than what I'm owed, I'd hire a lawyer to deal with it, just out of principle. But circumstances being what they are, I must resort to begrudging e-mail diplomacy. If that fails, I will move on to Plan B: Showing Up In Person and Refusing to Leave Without a Check in My Hand. I have a sneaking suspicion, however, that Plan B would necessitate a Plan C: Going to Jail for Trespassing and Assault.

I didn't want to go on the miserable business trip to begin with (I received NO assistance in planning for the conference, and the travel plans were all very last-minute, which is NOT how I roll), and although I am making more money at my new job, my budget is still tight. Considering my inability to build any savings during my year of slave labor with my former employer, I can ill afford to forfeit the missing $200.

Give me my damn money!!

This is why you can't retain employees!

Reason # 23,987 that I am awesome.

Last night, while making dinner, I picked up the open box of pasta from the wrong end and dumped uncooked angel hair ALL OVER the kitchen floor. That shit is NOT easy to pick up.

That is all.