Is actually scheduling time for blogging and housework and project time in my planner just too pocket-protectored, color-coded, anal-retentive? Because It feels like my To Do List always wins. I’m pretty sure he cheats, but I can’t prove it. One of these days I’ll invest in one of those Vegas Casino Security Cameras, but until then I’ll just self-flagellate. I suck ass.

When I checkmark something complete, I feel a tiny little *bing* of accomplishment. It’s like one *bing* in a 50 gallon drum full of *bzzzzzzzzzzt*. Maybe I’m expecting too much of myself. Maybe I’m trying to cram 50 pounds of flour in a 10 pound sack. But every day, no matter how much I did get done, To Do List, with an insolent roll of his eyes, flips me off defiantly. So anyway, I need to do something to totally pwn him and bring him down to his knees. Should I kick him in the nuts? Too harsh? Well, before you answer, consider this. I have items on him that I’ve had for literally years. Like finishing the vector rebuild in illustrator of my linear perspective picture from Drawing I in 2004. And scanning all my film negatives into digital files. And finishing the Sister Scrapbook I started in January 2006. And finishing the toy train montage in photoshop that I started in 2005. Some are just months old, like re-designing my other website with my online portfolio. And tagging the pics on my hard drive with people’s names so I can search easier/faster. And cleaning my basement. And gathering all those hastily scribbled post-its and backs of bills and bar napkins with friends’ new addresses and numbers, and getting my address book updated.

Hey, you remember the Friends & Family plan that MCI had in 1995ish? Just in case you don’t, that’s the long distance calling plan that worked like this: half of America called MCI and gave them the numbers of everyone they knew to get a .0271% discount off their long distance calls to them. The other half took the first half behind the barn and pounded on them a little bit with a weathered 2×4. While America was engaged in mortal combat over telecommunications, MCI telemarketers instantly had in their sales arsenal a tool that has been wielded since the first time Adam spaced off Eve’s birthday; that’s right, pack your bags, we’re goin’ on a guilt trip!

“Hi there, I’m interrupting your dinner tonight to share with you some very exciting news! Cousin Thelma has added you to her Friends & Family list! But, wait… I see here on my computer that you haven’t added her to your list. What on God’s green earth did she ever do to you to make you hate her so venomously? I don’t want to have to call her and tell her how much you apparently despise her very existance… she might cry. You really need to add her to your list or she’s liable to drive off a cliff and you don’t want that on your conscience, do you? Oh, waaait, you don’t have a list because you’re not an MCI customer. But if you’d like to sign up with MCI, you can put her on your list and she might forgive you for the time you put a baby garter snake down her parachute pants at the 1987 Jones Family Reunion! Wow, that was a close call! Get out your phone book, whaddya say?”

Yeah, that was awesome. I just loved being a corporate pawn in MCI’s little game. The customer would call in, recite the number and then invariably they would ask, “Now what’s the discount again?”

And I’d reply, “Can I interest you in a lecture in quantum physics instead? It might be a tad easier to understand.”

And they’d give me a derisive snort and hang up on me.

I loved hang ups. They make your stats look phenomenal. And after all, isn’t that what being an Inbound Customer Care Representative is all about, the stellar stats? Some pie-in-the-sky dreamer once said it was about doing what’s right for the customer, but they were sadly mistaken. I know this because all the supervisors cared about was our numbers. I can even remember one of the goals… AHT (Average Handling Time, i.e. the length of the call) was set to 213 seconds at one point. Man, I took the abuse from the customers for four loooong years; first, three years at MCI then another year at McLeodUSA. I can tell you that now because neither of these companies exist any longer. Well, that, and it’s my blog, and I’ll tell you anything I want to.
Ahhh, that’s back in the days I could still use a phone with an amp. Then I finally gave up my cell phone about a year ago because I was so frickin’ tired of the business-like “Pardon?” or the impatient “What?!” and the hopelessly resigned “Sorry, say again?” and then finally, “Here, just a second; tell Hunky and he’ll tell me.”

It was quite entertaining for me when some unsuspecting victim would ask me, “Hey, can I use your phone real quick?” then dial the number and hold it up to their ear. Two seconds later, they’re holding it at arm’s length and asking, “Wholly Crap, how do you take it off speakerphone?! I think my ear’s bleeding!”

“It’s not on speakerphone.”

[uncomfortable moment]

“Oh.”

We kept the phone for emergencies (it’s even bright red!) and (ok, and because those Sprint brother-duckers said they’d charge me a $200 early disconnect fee) the library calls it every time one of my holds become available. I keep forgetting to change the number on their records. Imagine that.

Upon the highly respected recommendation of City Girl (who I am beginning to fall a little bit in love with in a totally non-lesbian sort of way), I picked up gods in Alabama by Joshilyn Jackson, and it was fabulous! I absolutely shiny crimson heart her voice; it’s dry and sarcastic and sassy and all “Girlfren’, pleeeeeeze!” complete with neck roll. I’m looking forward to reading more of her books, but first I’m gonna read Devil in the Details as recommended by Ali. I’ve found that I like finding a cushy chair and reading through my lunchtime.

I’m not so much in love with being back in the rat race. I haven’t seen Hunky for more than five minutes at at time (except, well, duh, sleeping next to each other for a few hours) since last weekend. I miss my Hunkeroo. By the by, if you have a minute, give him a comment to encourage him, because between the part-time job and part-time internship and full-time school, his candle is so burnt at both ends you can’t even hold it without burning your finger off. And also because when I told you it was his birthday, he didn’t get any comments and he tried to act like it was no big deal, but he was bummed out. (bags… guilt trip… *ahem*)

Crap, where was I?! *blinks* *shakes head*

Ah, yes; back in the rat race. I’m working on a PC again for the first time in four years, and then when I get home on my Mac, I Ctrl-V to paste and it doesn’t work. Then halfway through a rip-roaring good tantrum, I sheepishly realize I need to Apple-V. Because it’s like speaking Russian to a Aussie.

And I totally abhor getting up early. That alarm goes off at 4:30am and I sit up, die a little bit, hit snooze once, and doze back off. When it goes off again, I force my lazy ass up outta bed and get ready. Then from 6am-2:30pm I type stuff . At 3, I pick up the boys from school and for the rest of the evening, I keep like a running countdown in my head. Only 4 hours til 9 … Only 2 and a half hours til bed… Crap, it’s 9pm and I forgot to put out clothes and lunch for tomorrow! etc. etc. and on and on and I try to cram as much into the time as possible. I hate it. I don’t get things accomplished like I want to do, so then I beat myself over the head with “How does everyone else do it? Blogging and housework and projects and quality time with the kids? What the hell is wrong with me?” et al.

Which brings us back ’round to…

Maybe I should put it all on my never-ending, cheeky, openly taunting, impertinent To Do list. And then knee him in the nuts.

Rip it, roll it, and punch it, dude. And [in meandering southern drawl] Thank You Again For Your Support.

And speaking of the Ellister… I’m going to assume that your reader just forgot to tell you about the Ghost Dog posts. Or maybe you all went on vacation simultaneously, or perhaps the tubes in the internet vacuumed the posts back up. Because it just couldn’t be that you didn’t find those funny. I mean, I’m a little embarrassed to admit it, but I was giggling to myself as I was sitting here writing it.

Just in case your reader might have possibly maybe malfunctioned, here is part 1… part 2… part 3… part 4… and finally, part 5. *slips a little nitrous oxide through the NetTubes to help the happy funny gas and the ensuing verbal cocaine comments along*

Rip it, roll it, and punch it, dude… because my name is Dory, and I am a comment whore.

For most of my girly life (i.e. puberty) I have been on a quest for the perfect bag.

Ladies, I’m sure you can identify. We begin our love affair with purses and they must be small and cute and sequin-y, requiring only space for the cellie and your shiny pink lip gloss, and your teeny tiny wallet with only $17 cash in small bills from baby-sitting that little demon-spawn next door.

Once you begin dating and move into married life, your purse must be a tad larger to accommodate not only the requisite emergency feminine hygiene products, your planner/PDA, and both checkbooks, but the significant other’s sunglasses, etc. as well.

Then you spew offspring and even though they come with a diaper bag, your purse must grow exponentially to contain not only hubby’s rewetting drops and small screwdriver set, but also a couple different rattles and large plastic singing keys; later, a pound of legos and/or a full hotwheels track, a dozen matchbox cars, and three Goldenbooks.

Your bag must be the perfect balance of practicality and style, yet each contender is found wanting in one way or another. This one’s too wide; that one barely holds lipstick and a tampon; this one’s too sparkly; if only that one’s pockets were a little bigger; wait, didn’t Grandma have one similar? and the search marches on. Upscale department stores, garage sales, discount stores, consignment shops, hand-me-downs from tasteful sisters-in-law; each carries the distinct possibility that you may find your consummate handbag.

In my search for my holy grail of satchels, I finally came to the conclusion that I was going to have to make it myself. Ladies, I present to you: The Bag. It boasts 13 pockets outside and 9 pockets inside, and (bonus plan baby!) Dory graces the bag with her cheerful presence.

It’s not perfect, but it’s as close as I’ve ever come, and I consider it a work in progress. I’ve already made suggestions to myself as to improvements as it gets real-world practice. For instance, instead of button holes, grommets; so as to have the hand cord slide a little smoother. Obviously, it’s not exactly the bag you would pair with a cocktail dress to the Country Club, but for everyday use, it’s the best I’ve ever had. And considering I lack both a cocktail dress and a Country Club membership, I’m not exactly developing an ulcer.

So there’s a fine example of If You Want It Done Right, Do It Yourself.

And now my world has a little more order.

Amen.

Next project: a Pooh quilt for my niece to be. She’s still cookin’. She should be making her debut mid-March.

May take some pictures while I’m at it and show you how I make a quilt. We’ll see. If you’re good.

What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever carried in your purse?

Tawk *ahem* comment amungst comment *ahem* yawselves.

Rip it, roll it, and punch it, dude. Hallelujah! Can I getta witness?!

So if you don’t blog for a few days, you get a post-it filled with scribble and you serve yet another piping hot bowl of Blog Stew. It ain’t much, but it’s filling.

It was an interesting weekend. Dory’s done it again. I took the last of my Wellbutrin on Friday and couldn’t find my big four month stash that came in October. We turned the house upside down all weekend looking for it. Then Hunkster called the office on Monday. Turns out I picked up the emergency ration that they gave me when they forgot to order it, and never picked up the big stash when it came in. So we picked it up yesterday and I’m back on track. How do I forget things like picking up my mind-altering pharmaceuticals?! D’oh!

Friday The Rockstar went to school medicated and came home and announced he had a very good day! Yay!!! He also said that he caught Wfgt reading my blog during small groups, so when you comment, say hi to her and thanks for being the grooviest Wfgt ever! AND also thanks again to the Intarwebb Angel, too!

Friday night we went to a CMA meeting…

…then out to Fifth Gear to see Strangely Familiar. Great time, but did two tequila shots and lost count of the beers, then remembered too late that it’s a bad, bad idea to try to keep up with The Kizzle. The Hunkster ended up driving us home, of course.

Saturday was spent nursing a headache in my neck and looking for my meds. My office is cleaner than it was, which is saying a lot. Over the weekend we all watched LotR 1&2 together. On the 50 inch with surround sound, just as God intended.

And we have a snow day today because of this huge ice storm coming through and I hate snow days. “Mom, can I…” “Mom, will you…” “Mom, let’s…” “Mom, he won’t stop…” “Mom?” “Mom!” “Mommmm?!” mom mom mom mom mom mom mom mom mom …ad infinitum…

Things I never thought I would have to actually utter unto my children but found myself rolling my eyes and stating:

2. “Stop licking your brother’s pillow.”

I thought I’d pass on this link from Jessica which will be very interesting for anyone touched by Asperger’s Syndrome.

Only 14 days left until Christmas and 8 days until my birfday! I still have to find something for my nephew, and then my Christmas shopping is done. I still have to find something for my mom and The Seester, but I don’t have to worry about that until we have our Christmas in January. Here’s Elli opening one of her presents last year. I hid her present this year on the shelf in my closet and the little spaz already spied it. She’s asked and asked for me to get it down and give it to her, but she’s just gonna hafta wait like the boys.

Rip it open, and “ooooo” and “ahhhhh” over it even if you hate it. It’s that time of year.

QotD: Music-wise, what was the first 45, single or download you bought?

ToneLoc – Wild Thing on cassette, and lemme just tell ya… I thought I was all that and a bag o’ chips. Around that same time, I was skipping school more than actually showing up. I was also diggin’ on Edie Brickell and the New Bohemians, Shootin’ Rubberbands at the Stars. I had just started dating The Girl Beater, and was already starting to ditch my best girlfriend to hang out with him, and she was not pleased. My parents third reconciliation was going bad, and I just wanted it to be over with. My dad had already asked me if I would live with him in town if he moved out. I didn’t get my first CD until my high school graduation party, along with a boom box with a CD player and a double cassette deck, so I could commit music piracy to my little heart’s delight. I was on Napster at 11:45pm the day it came down, my fingers smokin’ on the keyboard, furiously copying as much as I possibly could before midnight. After they took Napster down, I played with LimeWire a little, but pretty soon I quit the peer-to-peer “borrowing”. I have been paying for music since I got my first iPod in 2004. I’ll admit, I am not above borrowing a friend’s CD and importing it into my library. But I buy just as much as I borrow.

Ok, that was a QotD from 5 days ago, and today’s was… Ringtones: What’s yours and how often do you change it? Initially, I skipped it because I don’t have any ringtones. But… when people text or IM me, it vibrates like the bestseller at a Passion Party. Yet another perk of being almost deaf. I do change the Today screen on my ppc pretty often. Right now, this one is on there. Before I gave up my cell phone, “Chicken Dance” cued Nanner calling, “Pacman” belonged to Kizzle, “Super Mario Bros” meant The Seester was calling, and “Bach Minuet in G” meant Daddy was checking in. For the life of me, I can’t remember what Fiona‘s ringtone was. There’s a big surprise. The bigger surprise is that I actually remembered all the others’ ringtones.

My Packers beat the heck out of the Panthers today and that puts them at 9-1. My prediction: They’ll go to the Superbowl, they’ll win, and Brett Favre will finally retire. If they don’t, mark my words, he’ll just keep going like the Energizer Bunny, but he’ll be using a walker to get to the line of scrimmage, reeking of BenGay.

So I have my bright shiny new Shameless Comment Whore Blog Bling up… Whaddya think?! It gets top billing for a week or so, then I’ll move it down by the visitor count. Which, by the by, just broke 900! I’m such a happy little blogger! OMG, I am such a dork.

Rip it, roll it, and punch it, dude. Solid.