I have noticed that all sites that require you to create a username and password now judge "Password Strength".
I'm big on the acronym password. But I like to make them the longest acronyms possible. I recently praised myself for the password Iasfsatohtcapjtbafpos! Which of course is an acronym for "I am so fucking sick and tired of having to create a password just to buy a fucking pair of shoes!" While I was busy praising myself the website told me my password was only of medium strength. WTF?
I use all encrypted passwords at work...which I keep straight using an acronym passworded spreadsheet.
A co-worker of mine once called me from out of town and said, "Hey yank such and such off my computer and email it to me."
"Ok," I say, sitting as his computer....which is locked. "What's your password?"
"Don't you know it," he asks.
Seriously, I think......why would I know this information? It's a PASSWORD thus making your computer secure. "No. Why the hell would I know your password?"
"I just thought you had everyone's passwords."
"Unless you physically came and gave it to me I wouldn't know it. Office Manager does not also equal clairvoyant."
"Right. My password is 'clownpenis'."
"WHAT? That sucks. Why is that your WORK COMPUTER PASSWORD?"
"No one can guess it."
"I should hope not!" And I'm scarred for life.
I guess I should be glad it wasn't 1234.
01 July 2011
20 June 2011
Paternity Practice
Father's Day was this weekend and I have issues with what is great 'gift ideas' for dad.
Braun had a whole section of ads promoting how their Series 7 electric shaver was the perfect Father's Day gift. Is this what men hope to get? Here, dad, you look like crap. Shave for a change.
The website iamastuffedanimal.com has this extremely disturbing personalized stuffed animal made to look like you...and this is a great idea for Father's Day??? I know lots of men who just can't wait to put their favorite stuffed animal up against the pillow after they make the bed (satire) and do you want to display a stuffed animal made to look like 'dad'? My darling daughter would have to ask them to produce a stuffed human replica that is either screaming or making the 'straight face'.
The standard tie, shirt and wallet says, "Work more so you can open this wallet and grand contents will fall out into our hands."
All men really want for father's day is to practice what it takes to actually become a father.
That's what my husband got from me for father's day. And I'm super at peace with that.
Braun had a whole section of ads promoting how their Series 7 electric shaver was the perfect Father's Day gift. Is this what men hope to get? Here, dad, you look like crap. Shave for a change.
The website iamastuffedanimal.com has this extremely disturbing personalized stuffed animal made to look like you...and this is a great idea for Father's Day??? I know lots of men who just can't wait to put their favorite stuffed animal up against the pillow after they make the bed (satire) and do you want to display a stuffed animal made to look like 'dad'? My darling daughter would have to ask them to produce a stuffed human replica that is either screaming or making the 'straight face'.
The standard tie, shirt and wallet says, "Work more so you can open this wallet and grand contents will fall out into our hands."
All men really want for father's day is to practice what it takes to actually become a father.
That's what my husband got from me for father's day. And I'm super at peace with that.
17 June 2011
I Have Gas
I'm a firm believer in the thought that you purchase a new car so that car trouble isn't an issue. The trade off of the car payment is the fact that car doesn't have problems.
I've had plenty of 'cash cars'. You pay your cash. You are amazed for 30-120 days. The car needs work. End of story.
That's fine. I'm good with that. But technology being what it is today, if I'm making a car payment there should be no reason for me to need 'repairs' outside of tires and brakes.
I'm driving to work a couple of weeks ago; minding my own business just enjoying the smell of my venti Americano from Starbucks that I plan to down as fast as I can as soon as it's cool enough when I hit the gas pedal and. . . . nothing seems to happen. I look at all my gauges and items that are supposed to light up. Nothing. Hmmm.... try again and "ping" the check engine light comes on.
Are you fucking kidding me?
Where the hell am I? In less than 5 miles I'll hit No Man's Land. Not a shoulder. Not an exit. Nothing. It's one of those awesome sections of freeway where they smash everyone in together and say "good luck!" I punch the gas again and get notta thing. The "check oil" light pings. Dammit.
I put on my hazards and see a sign saying my next exit is 6 furlongs away. (For those who don't follow horse racing...a furlong is 1/8 of a mile. When I give distances, it's in furlongs. You do the math.) I hope to make it...
Thankfully I do make the exit and drift off the freeway at a whopping 2 mph. I call Hub to tell him what's up. First words out of his mouth are, "Do you have gas?" Um. Well DUR. I'm not stupid. Of course I have GAS. Are you kidding me? I examine every single gauge ....I have a little more than a quarter tank of gas, check engine, check oil, not over heating, not smoking, not smelling funny....just not running. He says, "Where are you?" I tell him. He says, "Sit tight. I'm calling a tow truck. I'm on my way to wait with you."
I sit tight.
Fourteen minutes go by and my phone rings. It's Hub. The following comes over the phone, "Well. I've had a blow out. I'm ten minutes from you but I need to change my tire." Seriously? Baby, just change the damn thing and go to Discount Tire. I'll call you when the tow truck arrives.
Fast forward to almost lunch time. Hub has a new tire. My car's at the shop. I'm at work; Hub's at work. We're waiting on the verdict. Cell phone rings. I answer. "Ma'am?" I hear. "Yes." I say. A kindly voice says, "Well, we know what's wrong with your car." "OH?" I say. The voice says, "Yes, ma'am. You ran out of gas."
WTF????????????? I say, "Um. NO WAY. I stared intently at every light and gauge on the dash! It never said I was out of gas!" The voice says, "No. It wouldn't. Your gas gauge is broken."
So, I'm one of those folks who waits for the **ping** and the lighted symbol of a gas pump. Not any more. I fill up at 250 miles w/o fail.
So.....$65 dollars later.....I'm at peace with being a dumbass.
I've had plenty of 'cash cars'. You pay your cash. You are amazed for 30-120 days. The car needs work. End of story.
That's fine. I'm good with that. But technology being what it is today, if I'm making a car payment there should be no reason for me to need 'repairs' outside of tires and brakes.
I'm driving to work a couple of weeks ago; minding my own business just enjoying the smell of my venti Americano from Starbucks that I plan to down as fast as I can as soon as it's cool enough when I hit the gas pedal and. . . . nothing seems to happen. I look at all my gauges and items that are supposed to light up. Nothing. Hmmm.... try again and "ping" the check engine light comes on.
Are you fucking kidding me?
Where the hell am I? In less than 5 miles I'll hit No Man's Land. Not a shoulder. Not an exit. Nothing. It's one of those awesome sections of freeway where they smash everyone in together and say "good luck!" I punch the gas again and get notta thing. The "check oil" light pings. Dammit.
I put on my hazards and see a sign saying my next exit is 6 furlongs away. (For those who don't follow horse racing...a furlong is 1/8 of a mile. When I give distances, it's in furlongs. You do the math.) I hope to make it...
Thankfully I do make the exit and drift off the freeway at a whopping 2 mph. I call Hub to tell him what's up. First words out of his mouth are, "Do you have gas?" Um. Well DUR. I'm not stupid. Of course I have GAS. Are you kidding me? I examine every single gauge ....I have a little more than a quarter tank of gas, check engine, check oil, not over heating, not smoking, not smelling funny....just not running. He says, "Where are you?" I tell him. He says, "Sit tight. I'm calling a tow truck. I'm on my way to wait with you."
I sit tight.
Fourteen minutes go by and my phone rings. It's Hub. The following comes over the phone, "Well. I've had a blow out. I'm ten minutes from you but I need to change my tire." Seriously? Baby, just change the damn thing and go to Discount Tire. I'll call you when the tow truck arrives.
Fast forward to almost lunch time. Hub has a new tire. My car's at the shop. I'm at work; Hub's at work. We're waiting on the verdict. Cell phone rings. I answer. "Ma'am?" I hear. "Yes." I say. A kindly voice says, "Well, we know what's wrong with your car." "OH?" I say. The voice says, "Yes, ma'am. You ran out of gas."
WTF????????????? I say, "Um. NO WAY. I stared intently at every light and gauge on the dash! It never said I was out of gas!" The voice says, "No. It wouldn't. Your gas gauge is broken."
So, I'm one of those folks who waits for the **ping** and the lighted symbol of a gas pump. Not any more. I fill up at 250 miles w/o fail.
So.....$65 dollars later.....I'm at peace with being a dumbass.
16 June 2011
Numb
As I claw my way through another day I find that more than anything else I wish to be numb. If you don't feel you don't hurt. If you don't hurt you don't cry. . . . . . .but if you don't cry . . . . are you human?
I freely admit to a charmed life. My parents doted on me. They did everything they could for me and to this day I can call either one and know when the conversation ends they will say, "I love you, honey." It scares me that by even 1% I may be in the minority on that one.
My husband loves me. He comes home every night. He doesn't hit me or our kid. I know there are probably hundreds of thousands who would almost kill for that.
I have a great job with a great boss who pays me well and doesn't freak out or make me feel inferior. I listen to people complain about their jobs every day.
I have a child who is bright and funny and healthy and sensitive and beautiful. There are mothers all over the world who put flowers at their children's graves every day or sit at hospital beds praying for God to take the disease from their baby and give it to them.
How in the world could I, who has truly everything, be so selfish to wish for nothing else but to be numb?
When I am not worried I wonder what I forgot to worry about. When I am worried I compound it with extra items that are beyond my control.
Weird that I have a box inside my head that looks like a pirate's treasure chest. In it lives The Black Ooze. The Black Ooze looks like that creature from the movie "The Blob". It threatens to take over. Envelope me. I try to keep it locked in the box I created for it yet sometimes it leaks out.
Why can't I let go of the things that make me so angry? I brought this up to a person close to me and they said, "What you need to do is figure out what you need to forgive yourself for. You know what it is. Stop beating yourself up. The past is the past. Let it be there."
The freedom symbolized in those words I could actually taste. All the anger. All the self-loathing. All the mistakes. Can I leave them behind?
If I let them go, do I have an identity? Have I let the 20 years of anger consume me to the point that I am condemned to fighting the Ooze?
Suddenly fighting for freedom doesn't mean war on a global scale. Sometimes fighting for freedom is allowing yourself to make terrible mistakes. And then forgiving yourself for it.
Odd how you hear songs when they come out and then years later they mean something completely different:
I've put my trust in you
Pushed as far as I can go
For all this
There’s only one thing you should know
I tried so hard
And got so far
But in the end
It doesn’t even matter
I had to fall
To lose it all
But in the end
It doesn’t even matter
If I could go back I'd change everything. I can't go back. How do I go forward?
No peace today.
I freely admit to a charmed life. My parents doted on me. They did everything they could for me and to this day I can call either one and know when the conversation ends they will say, "I love you, honey." It scares me that by even 1% I may be in the minority on that one.
My husband loves me. He comes home every night. He doesn't hit me or our kid. I know there are probably hundreds of thousands who would almost kill for that.
I have a great job with a great boss who pays me well and doesn't freak out or make me feel inferior. I listen to people complain about their jobs every day.
I have a child who is bright and funny and healthy and sensitive and beautiful. There are mothers all over the world who put flowers at their children's graves every day or sit at hospital beds praying for God to take the disease from their baby and give it to them.
How in the world could I, who has truly everything, be so selfish to wish for nothing else but to be numb?
When I am not worried I wonder what I forgot to worry about. When I am worried I compound it with extra items that are beyond my control.
Weird that I have a box inside my head that looks like a pirate's treasure chest. In it lives The Black Ooze. The Black Ooze looks like that creature from the movie "The Blob". It threatens to take over. Envelope me. I try to keep it locked in the box I created for it yet sometimes it leaks out.
Why can't I let go of the things that make me so angry? I brought this up to a person close to me and they said, "What you need to do is figure out what you need to forgive yourself for. You know what it is. Stop beating yourself up. The past is the past. Let it be there."
The freedom symbolized in those words I could actually taste. All the anger. All the self-loathing. All the mistakes. Can I leave them behind?
If I let them go, do I have an identity? Have I let the 20 years of anger consume me to the point that I am condemned to fighting the Ooze?
Suddenly fighting for freedom doesn't mean war on a global scale. Sometimes fighting for freedom is allowing yourself to make terrible mistakes. And then forgiving yourself for it.
Odd how you hear songs when they come out and then years later they mean something completely different:
I've put my trust in you
Pushed as far as I can go
For all this
There’s only one thing you should know
I tried so hard
And got so far
But in the end
It doesn’t even matter
I had to fall
To lose it all
But in the end
It doesn’t even matter
If I could go back I'd change everything. I can't go back. How do I go forward?
No peace today.
15 June 2011
"Kind" is a 4-letter word
I'm on this low-carb diet. Except for missing bread and cereal and pasta and pizza and ice cream and milk and potatoes and fruit it's pretty awesome. I've dropped quite a bit of weight and while it may SOUND like I'm bitchin', I promise I'm not.
I carefully plan my meals and make sure I'm within my limits every day. Unless, of course, I forget my frakking lunch sack at home .... which I did today. No worries, I can improvise. Jack in the Box is, shockingly, permitted as long as you forego all breaded products (including buns), potato anything, and katsup (who the hell knew tomatoes were loaded with sugar....eff me). So when I give up from starvation and head to JITB for breakfast I'm thinking, "Fine. Meat and eggs sans bun just means I can't stuff it down my throat driving back to the office."
OH. Important side note. The area in which I work can be accurately described as "The 'Hood". Police activity with full lights and sirens is the norm. If I don't hear an hovering police helicopter at a minimum of once a month I worry that the thugs and drug dealers have gone soft. I don't fear for my safety (I'm packing) but it is what it is and I am quite cautious at all times.
I pull through the drive thru at JITB....order my sausagey-eggy concoction that I plan to rip apart on a plate when I get back to my desk...and as I complete my order I see a bedraggled, filthy human standing by the drive thru line.....two small objects in his hands. I watch the 2 patrons before me wave him off.
My initial response is to push the button, roll up my window, and just ignore. But something tells me no. I look at this man; he holds a package of double A batteries in one hand....and a tiny pocket Bible in the other. He explains that he is a drug addict trying to reform and could I help him and buy batteries from him. I never have more than $20 in cash on me. Ever. And nearly never coins. Today I have exactly $0.62 in the cup holder in the car and zero cashola. I grab the coins, extend them to this man and say, "Sorry, hon. This is all I can give you. You can keep the batteries."
He smiles, takes the change and says, "Miss. Do you have any water?" I'm floored. I say, "No, I'm sorry. I don't." Very kindly he says, "Thank you for your help."
When I got to the window to get my order I am watching others behind me ignore him. I say to the young man working the window, "I need a large cup of water and another breakfast sandwich please." I pay for the items and pull around the building. His back is now to me and I roll down my window and say, "Here, sir!" I give him the food and glass of water and say, "Have a good breakfast! I'm hungry, too!" He takes the cup and bag and looks at me and say, "Oh, miss. Thank you so much." And behind me a woman whips into the parking lot and immediately starts honking at me to move out of the way. She was honking before she came to a stop behind me.
Am I a sucker for feeding the "reformed drug addict"? Maybe. Is the $3 extra I spent on breakfast going to redeem me or save my soul? Probably not. But sometimes the fellowship of mankind must be recognized. He was still thanking me repeatedly as I drove off. I'm not particularly religious. I don't spend a lot of time in church nor reading the Bible yet the verse below somehow leapt to mind. Was he an angel? Nope. Probably not. The woman dying to get to the frigging drive thru window was clearly not. Am I? Nope. Not a chance.
I'm at peace with that.
I carefully plan my meals and make sure I'm within my limits every day. Unless, of course, I forget my frakking lunch sack at home .... which I did today. No worries, I can improvise. Jack in the Box is, shockingly, permitted as long as you forego all breaded products (including buns), potato anything, and katsup (who the hell knew tomatoes were loaded with sugar....eff me). So when I give up from starvation and head to JITB for breakfast I'm thinking, "Fine. Meat and eggs sans bun just means I can't stuff it down my throat driving back to the office."
OH. Important side note. The area in which I work can be accurately described as "The 'Hood". Police activity with full lights and sirens is the norm. If I don't hear an hovering police helicopter at a minimum of once a month I worry that the thugs and drug dealers have gone soft. I don't fear for my safety (I'm packing) but it is what it is and I am quite cautious at all times.
I pull through the drive thru at JITB....order my sausagey-eggy concoction that I plan to rip apart on a plate when I get back to my desk...and as I complete my order I see a bedraggled, filthy human standing by the drive thru line.....two small objects in his hands. I watch the 2 patrons before me wave him off.
My initial response is to push the button, roll up my window, and just ignore. But something tells me no. I look at this man; he holds a package of double A batteries in one hand....and a tiny pocket Bible in the other. He explains that he is a drug addict trying to reform and could I help him and buy batteries from him. I never have more than $20 in cash on me. Ever. And nearly never coins. Today I have exactly $0.62 in the cup holder in the car and zero cashola. I grab the coins, extend them to this man and say, "Sorry, hon. This is all I can give you. You can keep the batteries."
He smiles, takes the change and says, "Miss. Do you have any water?" I'm floored. I say, "No, I'm sorry. I don't." Very kindly he says, "Thank you for your help."
When I got to the window to get my order I am watching others behind me ignore him. I say to the young man working the window, "I need a large cup of water and another breakfast sandwich please." I pay for the items and pull around the building. His back is now to me and I roll down my window and say, "Here, sir!" I give him the food and glass of water and say, "Have a good breakfast! I'm hungry, too!" He takes the cup and bag and looks at me and say, "Oh, miss. Thank you so much." And behind me a woman whips into the parking lot and immediately starts honking at me to move out of the way. She was honking before she came to a stop behind me.
Am I a sucker for feeding the "reformed drug addict"? Maybe. Is the $3 extra I spent on breakfast going to redeem me or save my soul? Probably not. But sometimes the fellowship of mankind must be recognized. He was still thanking me repeatedly as I drove off. I'm not particularly religious. I don't spend a lot of time in church nor reading the Bible yet the verse below somehow leapt to mind. Was he an angel? Nope. Probably not. The woman dying to get to the frigging drive thru window was clearly not. Am I? Nope. Not a chance.
I'm at peace with that.
"Let brotherly love continue.
Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers,
for thereby some have entertained angels unawares."Hebrews 13:1-2
14 June 2011
And then . . .
Well, she pressured me into it. She knows who she is. I've rejoined the blogging world.
Do I have anything to say that will be interesting? Maybe. Do I have any sparkly bits of information or thoughts that will make you a better person? Doubtful. But I will do my best to entertain.
The whole idea behind the title of the blog is me trying to find peace. Peace with myself. Peace with this world. It's a tall order. I'm not sure if I'll be able to achieve either. But we'll try. But know this....I'm not always polite and I curse (a lot) so if you are too tender then away with you.
I do not have peace with the cost of toiletries. This weekend's shopping excursion ended with the somewhat chipper check-out girl proclaiming, "Your total is $389." What? The pile of snacks for a teenager + friends aside, I scan the mile long receipt and run a tally in my head. Over $100 of the bill was from the frigging toiletries portion of the store.
Having two menstruating females in the house is stupidly expensive. Three boxes of lady stuff is over $20...too bad the cash isn't very absorbent. I'd save myself the time and use a fiver in my undies instead.
Also, I want to know what in the hell is inside body wash that it should cost $9.99. I actually took the lid off and looked for flakes of gold. Ok so pick a cheaper brand, you say. Right. I'll save myself even more money and just use fucking lemon scented Ajax dish liquid. That'll be awesome on the loofah.
Toilet paper, which I'm going to do unspeakable things with, costs more than last two pairs of flip flops I bought and the flops are going to last WAY longer. The alternative I suppose is to use a wash rag but I could never talk myself into tossing that repugnant mess into my washing machine. Not without having to replace the machine directly after.
Alas....we all smell good and are wiped with a puffy cloud.
So, maybe I'm at peace with the $100 after all.
Do I have anything to say that will be interesting? Maybe. Do I have any sparkly bits of information or thoughts that will make you a better person? Doubtful. But I will do my best to entertain.
The whole idea behind the title of the blog is me trying to find peace. Peace with myself. Peace with this world. It's a tall order. I'm not sure if I'll be able to achieve either. But we'll try. But know this....I'm not always polite and I curse (a lot) so if you are too tender then away with you.
I do not have peace with the cost of toiletries. This weekend's shopping excursion ended with the somewhat chipper check-out girl proclaiming, "Your total is $389." What? The pile of snacks for a teenager + friends aside, I scan the mile long receipt and run a tally in my head. Over $100 of the bill was from the frigging toiletries portion of the store.
Having two menstruating females in the house is stupidly expensive. Three boxes of lady stuff is over $20...too bad the cash isn't very absorbent. I'd save myself the time and use a fiver in my undies instead.
Also, I want to know what in the hell is inside body wash that it should cost $9.99. I actually took the lid off and looked for flakes of gold. Ok so pick a cheaper brand, you say. Right. I'll save myself even more money and just use fucking lemon scented Ajax dish liquid. That'll be awesome on the loofah.
Toilet paper, which I'm going to do unspeakable things with, costs more than last two pairs of flip flops I bought and the flops are going to last WAY longer. The alternative I suppose is to use a wash rag but I could never talk myself into tossing that repugnant mess into my washing machine. Not without having to replace the machine directly after.
Alas....we all smell good and are wiped with a puffy cloud.
So, maybe I'm at peace with the $100 after all.
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