don’t want!

That There is a Winner!

Posted on December 23, 2011
by Karen Fayeth
8 Comments

As the Holiday season draws to a close, just two days now until “The Big Day” those of us at work come together for our annual “What Did You Get From The Suppliers?” comparison event.

As I started my career working for the government, I rather enjoy being in private industry where we can accept small tokens from the companies we work with.

Now let me just say, I’m usually the big loser in these competitions because I work with the telco commodity. Those companies are as cheap as the day is long.

I thought I had a pretty good entry this year for Worst Present. I got this tacky plexiglass picture frame that sits in a weird base and when I put the plastic part into the base, it immediately broke.

And then, I got ANOTHER one in the mail the next day. Their sales team clearly didn’t coordinate.

So I brought that out and declared it the worst gift of 2011.

But I got trumped and trumped hard.

“Oh NO!” I heard from the corner. “I can beat that.”

Beat that, she did.

Behold:

Now, it helps to know that the recipient of this present is a very classy, stylish girl from the City. She’s quite Coco Chanel and Jimmy Choo.

To make this gift even more charming, it was handed to my coworker while still wrapped in the plastic shopping bag from the Dallas airport.

Obviously I had to concede the race. I reboxed my broken plexiglass frame in defeat.

By the way, the lady with the worst gift is also the winner of the most and best gifts too. She works in temporary staffing. Those suppliers fall all over themselves to give stuff away at the holidays.

I need to consider working in a new group. This annual defeat, even in the worst category, is gosh darn humbling.

And for as ungrateful as I may seem, I really do enjoy the little trinkets our suppliers send.
.
.
.
Especially when it is a box of See’s candy.

The Laws of A State Named Denial

Posted on December 8, 2011
by Karen Fayeth
15 Comments

So. Here we are. The eighth day of the month. No big deal, right? Just like every other 8th day of any other month.

People keeping saying something about an “event” or some something or other coming up at the end of the month.

I have no idea what they are talking about.

I’m sure it’s nothing. Some fake internet celebration like that one day where everyone was supposed to leave their bank and go to a credit union.

You know, I keep trying to schedule meeting for the last two weeks of the month but everyone’s calendars are busy! I mean, all day, every day.

There must be a training session or something.

Weird.

I cannot imagine what in the heck must be going on. This is just another simple ordinary month. Nothing special going on. Just another month in the year.

Not sure why, but there is a tree that has sprung up down the hallway from my office. Must be the company plant-care team trying something out. Perhaps I’ll call them and say I think it’s in the way. Hard to walk around it.

And the mail team must have dumped off some lost packages over there, because there are all of these boxes by that dumb tree.

I mean, we’re all trying to do a job here!

The grocery stores sure are playing bouncy music lately. Lots of bells. Maybe that’s the new trend in music? Sometimes it’s horns. Or heavy electric guitar. But these days, bells.

Seriously, am I missing something? It seems like everyone is up to something but I don’t know what.

Nope. It’s just another day in just another month and nowhere NEAR the end of the year because that cannot possibly be.

It’s like April, right? Of 2003? Or maybe 1999?

Because time cannot possibly be moving this fast.

It just can’t.

It can’t it can’t it can’t!!!

Greetings from the State of Denial. Population: Me.

This non-event thusly satisfies today’s Theme Thursday word: event

The More You Know

Posted on December 1, 2011
by Karen Fayeth
8 Comments

So there I am this morning, sitting in the harsh florescent light of the hospital white doctors office, with a paper not-really-functional garment wrapped around my mostly nekkid body waiting for the dr to show up.

I won’t go into too many details, suffice to say, this appointment was what I like to call the Lube, Oil and Filter change variety. The kind only girls have to attend. Is that descriptive enough?

So as I sat there a’waiting the inevitable prodding from a stranger, I tried to remain calm. A few deep breaths were at hand. Maybe some humming.

Then as I relaxed, my eyes began to wander to the décor of the room. I mean, there’s nothing else to do, right?

There on one wall was a BMI chart and a flyer about flu shots. Over there, a startlingly graphic chart of the female reproductive system. That’s always worth a few minutes of “well that’s just…weird….”

And then my eyes traveled to another wall and landed on this little piece of art:

My paper gown crinkled loudly as I shrunk back in horror.

Oh. My. God.

Ok, ok, look. I realize I’ve not had the opportunity to give birth in this little life of mine, but I am over 40 and fairly familiar with how all the parts work. I’m not naïve about the female body…….

But let me tell you this: that little candy mold looking thing is NOT encouraging any desire for birthin’ no babies inside of me at all.

That circle in the lower left corner? That thing is as big as a bread plate. I don’t want no watermelon coming though my bread plate! Hell, I don’t even want something in that part of my body to become as big as a bread plate!

And you know that the progression from the top left all the way to the right then down and back to the bottom left is going to hurt. You can’t take an orifice the size of dime and make it a bread plate without some massive amount of pain.

Personally, I think that when each little girl reaches that milestone in her life where she “becomes a woman” that she should be issued one of these little silicone baking dishes.

Just pin that to your wall, sweetheart, and take a gooooood look. If yer feeling frisky around those boys, just remember: BREAD PLATE!

I wonder if I can order two for my goddaughters? There’s still time to get ahead of this thing.

Meanwhile……

I appreciate that it is December and no where near Mom’s Day, but I’m just saying, if you still have a mom that walks this earth, take a moment to thank that nice lady for pushing your huge cabeza through her bread plate. That’s an act of love if there ever was one.

Note to my own dear, sweet Mom: I was your third watermelon. Whatever were you thinking? Both me and my huge pumpkin head thank you.

Ow Yoga Ow

Posted on November 21, 2011
by Karen Fayeth
4 Comments

“Show me on the doll where Yoga touched you in a bad way…”

Here…and here….and over there….oh yeah, and that place too.

In the early afternoon hours of this past Saturday, I traveled up to the city of San Francisco to take what promised to be a really wonderful yoga class. Entitled “Yoga for Writers” it was taught by a gentleman who is both a well known local columnist and avid Yoga practitioner.

I like his writing style and the price was right, so I signed up. I arrived in time for class with my brand new yoga mat firmly in hand and a lot of hope.

This class promised that through Yoga, through getting out of your head and into your body and tapping into your inner self, you might be able to write more smoothly, easily, and with lots of verve. (ok, I made up the verve part, but it sounds good).

While I’ve been doing a good job keep up with my blog, mostly, the fiction side of my writing life is suffering in a big way.

I have a confession to make. I have a scant 3,500 words on my goal of 50,000 for the month of November.

Um. There are only nine days left? Right? I’m utterly failing. I stare at the screen and I got nuthin’ to write. It’s very bad.

My writer’s block has become immense. Intense. It depresses me. So I really did rather hope that the yoga class would help free up the ol’ Muse and get her dancing.

I was in a TERRIBLE mood after having a god awful week at work, and so I was actually scared and nervous going into this thing. Would the class be chock full of hipsters? Would it be chock full of tiny yoga girls in tiny yoga pants?

Answer was yes on both counts.

I entered the yoga room and immediately wanted to pass out. Why is it so *hot* in there? Ok, yeah, I know, they keep yoga rooms warm, even if you aren’t doing the kind of yoga (Bikram) where you sweat your holymarymotherofgod off while you stretch.

Sitting there on my little mat waiting for class to start, I was already pitted out.

*sigh*

The class description said “not for absolute yoga beginners. Assumes moderate level of physical ability and yoga experience.”

Ok. That’s me. I’ve done quite a bit of yoga in my life, though not recently. I know my Tree of Life from my Warrior pose. I walk three to four miles a day.

I’m not an athlete but I certainly have a moderate level of physical ability.

My lard ass was actually NOT prepared for what lay ahead.

I thought this would be a writing class interspersed with yoga. This was instead a hardcore not-for-sissies yoga class with an occasional writing exercise.

In the three hour class there were three 15 minute writing exercises and one 15 minute stint of sharing some of what we wrote.

The other two hours were intense, almost brutal yoga.

Yoga never hurt me before. Why, overly large statue of Shiva in the front of the room, WHY?!?!?!

My god. This isn’t peace, love and butterflies. It’s agony served up on a rubber mat!

I hurt. I can hardly use the restroom because while sitting down goes ok, I can’t get back up off the toilet. I can’t be still for more than a few minutes at a time or I yelp in pain when I move again.

Look. I’m a writer! We’re notoriously pasty and out of shape!

When did yoga start hurting people?

I found this article titled When Yoga Hurts from several years ago (2007) with concerns that Yoga was being taken a wee bit too seriously (i.e. competitively) in the local health clubs.

I’ll say!

Ow.

(To be fair, the instructor was actually really good, just incredibly hard core. He’s that kind of guy who can balance a handstand on one pinky at the rocky tip of a mountain and hold it for an hour while thinking pure and spiritual thoughts. Whatevs. I’ll meditate on a bag of chips and feel just fine.)

Image from Icanhascheeseburger

The Marketing Department Needs a Hard Slap Across the Chops

Posted on October 27, 2011October 28, 2011
by Karen Fayeth
26 Comments

Several years ago I did quite a riff on stupid car names. It’s good stuff, go back and read it if you get a chance.

In that same vein comes today’s post.

Stupid cell phone names. Yup, the mobile phone manufacturers have gone well past idiot car names and have slipped into ridiculous.

Since I work way, way too much with mobile phones, I have to not only see these dumb names, but utter them aloud.

Here’s my personal top eleven list of “Someone Should Get Slapped for that Brand Name”

HTC Salsa: Seriously? Salsa? Because I’m going to dip a chip into the device? Bleah. Just Bleah!

Palm Pre: The suffix pre means before. So this is the phone that’s what? Before the actual phone? Before the demise of Palm? Before HP killed it?

Samsung :): Oh how I wish I was making that up. The actual name of the phone is :) How do you even go to the store and ask for that? “Um, yes, I’d like a sideways smiley please?” Lame. Lame. Lame.

HTC Rhyme : Rhymes with stupid.

Casio G’zOne Commando: First of all I can’t get over Casio, maker of tacky Dad-watches is also making phones. This is a kind of cool looking device, but godDAMN it’s a bad name. First of all, what the eff is G’zOne? And second of all, commando makes me think of going without chones. I don’t think my mobile device should evoke that.

Motorola Citrus : Mmmmm! Lemony!

Motorola Photon : I tested this device and I actually liked it a lot. But neither The Good Man nor I could stop pointing the device at each other and going “pew pew!” It is, after all, a photon. Pew!

LG Remarq : One, you misspelled it. Two, my remarks are “WHAT THE SEVENTEEN KINDS OF SAM HELL ARE YOU THINKING with this name?!?!” That concludes my remarqs.