Seriously, scammers? Don’t bother calling me.

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This is a new one…

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Caller: May I speak with the person who would be responsible for using the computer in the household?

Me: That would be me.

Caller: I’m calling from Microsoft Office business (blah blah) and your computer has been sending error messages.

Me: Really?  So, Microsoft has been getting error messages from my computer?

Caller: Yes.  You will need to go and make sure your computer is on.  It has been receiving viruses.

Me: So, you have been getting these messages from my Microsoft Office applications?

Caller: Yes, I am calling from Microsoft Office services and we have been receiving these warnings.

Me: Just to be clear, you are getting these error messages from the Microsoft tools on my computer?

Caller: Yes.  Your computer has been breached and we need to act fast.

Me: You do know that I don’t have Microsoft on my computer, right?

*click*

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Do people actually fall for this shit?

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Rock & Shock ’em

Yesterday I went to Rock & Shock.  I am not sure how to describe it, but it is geared towards horror fans.  It consists of vendors with goods to sell, celebrity guests signing autographs, plus panels and discussions.  I went with Shalisha and Corey – probably my only friends who watch horror movies.

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*Note: I can thank my mom for my love of horror movies AND my imperviousness to being scared.  And probably a few neuroses.

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I had so much fun!

First of all, when we walked in there was a huge booth dedicated to Troma merchandise.  Hallelujah, Redneck Zombies!!

It was so exciting that I found myself acting oddly cheerful.  For example, I saw a 3 3/4″ figurine and started squealing, “Look at the tiny Leatherface!  Look at him!  Who’s the tiny Leatherface, who is?” – as if I was talking to a toddler.

And not 5 minutes later, I beckoned to Corey to come look at the Extreme Horror booth’s featured movie “Fetus” and exclaimed, “Look!  It was banned in Germany!  You know how much you love movies banned in Germany!”

extreme is right

We were told Germans don’t take kindly to movies featuring decapitated fetuses.

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Other items seen at vendor booths:

a birdeater tarantula (fuck no)

legless lizards (why is that not just called a snake?  no idea)

tiny zombie gnomes (hell yes, I got one)

a giant tortoise (I don’t get it either)

a vintage figure of the Zuni fetish doll from “Trilogy of Terror” (and all I could do was keep screaming, “it’s life sized!  it’s life sized!”)

my name is "He Who Kills"

He may be small but he will ruin your night.

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The highlight for me was getting autographs!

The first one we got was Laurence Harvey – he of Human Centipede 2.  One of the most graphically disturbing movies I’ve ever seen.  It makes the first Human Centipede look like a Disney movie.  (I said that to Laurence Harvey and he looked at me and said, “Oh yes”.  Creepy?  Oh, yes.)  Shalisha almost cried because he scared her so much.  She took my picture with him, and, unbeknownst to me, he whipped out a stapler for the photo (see the movie to get the significance – if you dare).  This caused Shalisha to shake in fright and all the pics to be slightly blurry.

He was very nice, however.  At least, I think he was.  Here’s how he signed my movie:

what.  the.  fuck.

“I’ll be thinking of you (with barbed wire in my hand!)” – CREEPY
The heart was a nice touch, tho.

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I was the most tongue tied when I spoke with David Naughton.  This is most likely because I kept vaguely insulting him.

I love David Naughton – of “American Werewolf in London“, Dr. Pepper commercials, and a hardly watched 70’s TV show called “Makin’ It”.  In an attempt to express this love, I started off with, “I know I don’t look this old, but I watched your TV show Makin It.”  This old.  He gently said, “I don’t look that old to have made that show.”  Me: “No, YOU DON’T.”  Shalisha told him I made her watch the video of him singing the theme song (of the same name) so then I said, “You were a Renaissance man!” (were?  were??)  “You ARE one.  You are one NOW.”

Jesus.  Just shoot me now.

David Naughton, if you read this, I AM SO SORRY.

what a douche I am

David Naughton – very nice, and talented, and willing to pose with a douchebag

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I was equally as excited to meet Danny Trejo!  Who is so cute you could put him in your pocket!  Until Shalisha reminded me he might cut me.

He was very gracious.  He even insisted we get a group photo!  And I would not budge one inch from him when we did it.  I was gonna have me some Danny action.

squeeeeeeeeee!!

looks nice, kicks ass

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The last autograph I got was….are you ready?… ANTHONY MICHAEL HALL.

YES.  IT WAS.

Holy hell.  I was not prepared for him to seem so…. tall.  And soft spoken.  And genuine.

Seriously, his handshake was friendly.  His eye contact was unwavering.  Sincere.

Perhaps this is why, after he shook my hand and sat down, I blurted “I love you!”.  And I did it in a tone that said, “let’s just get this out in the open…I love you”.  He smiled graciously.

But.  I.  Kept.  Going.

Because.  Because I remembered how he was the iconic geek boy and then one day – BAM! – he was not.  I think it was when I saw “Edward Scissorhands” that I first noticed AMH had filled outIn a good way.

So, I said, “you know, as you got older, you got better and better looking”.

He replied, “that’s very nice of you to say”.  I insisted that I could not possibly be the only person who said this to him, but he still thanked me as if it was the first time he’d ever heard it.  Maybe it was.  I don’t know.  I cannot even think because I was talking to ANTHONY MICHAEL HALL.

And you guys?  His eyes are the most incredible blue.  Like, I may have visited heaven when I looked into them.

ANTHONY MICHAEL HALL!

What’s important here is that ANTHONY MICHAEL HALL IS TOUCHING ME.

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All in all, I’d say it was a great day!  Can’t wait until next year!

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7 Days of Positive Thoughts – Day 3

Ooh, I am hedging into day 4…it’s very late.  But, here goes…

Day 3 Positive Thought:  Sometimes I exceed my own expectations.

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I never thought I’d run.  For anything.  I figured I’d have to be chased by an axe murderer or running from a fire to… RUN.  But this is apparently not the case.

Today, I did more than I could have thought possible.  For me, anyway.  And it is truly amazing.

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Every time I think I know my limits, I prove myself wrong.

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Don’t call me, I’ll call you. And by that, I mean I won’t. – UPDATED

Conversation between me and the person who called my home phone for a political survey:

(For the record, they call my house in the evenings every half hour until I pick up the phone.  I have asked twice to be removed from the call list.)

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Unsuspecting Survey Person: “Hello, may I speak to Heather?”

Me: “No.  Sorry.”

USP: “We are doing a political survey of people in your area.”

Me: “Still no.”

USP: “When might we call back to speak to her?”

Me: “Probably not ever.”

USP: “Excuse me.”

Me: “Probably not ever.  As in, NEVER.”

USP: “Ooooh….There would be no follow up call after the survey.”

Me: “Ok, then.  Bu-byyyyyyyyye.”

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I know.  I am cranky and don’t feel well.  But, honestly?  STOP FUCKING CALLING MY HOUSE.

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UPDATE:

Someone from this line called me again.  Just now.  (Every half hour, like I said.)

Here’s how that conversation went:

Stupid Asshole Caller: “Hello, may I speak to Heather?”

Me: “Someone from this number just called me a half hour ago.”

SAC: “Yes, well we are doing a survey in your area…”

Me: “Someone from this number called me a half hour ago”

SAC: “It is very important to us to have your input to…”

Me: “You people call me every half hour all the time.”

SAC: “I am sorry about that, ma’am.  But once you do this survey, we will no longer…”

Me: “SOMEONE FROM THIS NUMBER CALLED ME A HALF HOUR AGO.”

SAC: “I know ma’am.  I was asked to call you back…”

Me: “DON’T CALL THIS NUMBER ANYMORE.”

SAC: “Ok.  Thank you.”

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Now let’s see if they call in another half hour.  I think I’ll go get my whistle.

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No one is chasing me and nothing is on fire.

I started doing the Couch to 5K program a few weeks ago.  The basic idea is that you gradually go from no running to being able to run a 5K.  It’s an interval training program and I think it’s brilliant.

But I still hate running.  I have not learned to love it.  Yet.

I asked a friend who runs how long it will take before I have that “addiction” that runners have.  She said she did not want to tell me because she did not want to discourage me.  So, I am just going to assume it takes six years.  GAAAAAAAHHHH.

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Fortunately for me, I have someone to run with.  This is very motivating.

This is exactly what I said to my running partner this morning:

I am glad I have you to run with, because, if I didn’t, I would not have gotten up this morning.  Furthermore, every time I ask you to run, I really don’t want to.  Every time you ask me to run, I really don’t want to.  And every time you ask if we’re still on for our next running date, I want to say no.  But I do it anyway.

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But, no worries.  I am still running.  And it still sucks.

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Did I ever tell you you’re my hero? Without scaring you?

We all have heroes.

One of mine is The Bloggess.  Also known as Jenny Lawson.  Also known as someone who wrote a NY Times bestselling book.

And on June 8, I GOT TO MEET HER.

I went, along with some friends, to her book signing in Brookline, MA.  We sat in the basement area of a bookstore, along with what looked like hundreds of other people.

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*Side Note*

To the girl who decided to polish her nails while we waited for The Bloggess to begin speaking: Enclosed spaces?  Not the best place to emit toxic fumes.  FYI.

Same goes to the guy who decided not to wear deodorant.  You know who you are.

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Jenny Lawson was delightful.  Her cute smile was matched with a cute little voice, which made her frequent profanity all that much more amusing.

Jenny read a chapter from her book, and then answered questions.  I especially liked her answer to a woman’s question regarding how one balances motherhood with having a chronic illness.  To summarize her answer: she basically said that you have to accept that there will be things each day you will be good at, but there will be something you’ll need to accept that you are just going to SUCK AT.  To accept that you won’t be perfect and it is ok.  Best advice I have ever heard.

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As Jenny wrapped up her Q&A and got ready to go upstairs for the signing, she mentioned that she had Copernicus with her.  (Copernicus is a stuffed monkey with a half decomposed face and you will just need to read her blog post about it.)

This remark elicited a collective gasp from nearly half the crowd (myself included), accompanied by reverent whispers passing back and forth of “Copernicus is here“.

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To avoid the mad rush, my friends and I decided to go have a beer and then come back.  Little did we know that Brookline has few bars near the bookstore (prompting me to yell things on the street like, “I know people in Boston drink!  Where do they go?”) and that we’d end up at a bar that had no AC and slowly moving fans (prompting my friend to remark that they reminded her of when they shut off the fans in Total Recall in order to suffocate the mutant population).

The combination of humidity outside and me sweating inside the bar made me unkempt and slightly damp all over.  So much for impressing my hero.

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Meeting Jenny (who I really think would be fun to hang out with) was fantastic.  I applaud the bookstore employees for getting things to move so quickly, but as a result I found myself hurriedly trying to tell The Bloggess what I liked about her book, relaying a personal connection to it, and then asking if I could have my picture taken with her…and Copernicus.

And then, because I am that person who just…says shit……  as I stood up from the picture taking, I told her that I hoped I didn’t smell because I had been sweating and I apologize if I did.  She was gracious and just laughed.

Nothing says, “I admire you” like telling someone you smell and you hope they don’t mind.  I am such an idiot.

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Seriously though, Jenny Lawson, if you wanted a new friend, I’d totally make a spot for you.  Keep me in mind.  Because you are hilarious and genuinely nice.

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from left to right: me (trying not to sweat on anything), Copernicus, and The Bloggess
New best friends, perhaps?

Things I Just Don’t Understand

1) When Someone Comments on Something Online and Asks what an Acronym Means

You know, someone will be talking about ASPCA and some assmunch will supply the comment: “what does ASPCA stand for?”

Why is this confusing?  Because this person, whoever he or she is, is on a computer.  A computer that is a virtual font of information.  It will also usually be in amongst a string of comments, where somewhere someone else has already spelled out the acronym.  I don’t expect this person to scroll back down, but…hello?  One word:  GOOGLE.

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2) When Someone Calls You and Then Talks to Other People in the Background

Rude.

Seriously, unless your home is burning to the ground, etiquette dictates that you focus on the person on the phone.  This probably has its roots in a time when we paid dearly for every minute we were on the phone – you know, once we were able to get to a phone and turn that rotary dial.  But nowadays it’s just common courtesy.

And also?  If someone is that busy, I would hope they would be taking care of that shit and not calling me.

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3) People Who Circle Like Hawks to Find the Closest Parking Space Possible…to the Gym

This confounds me.  You’re going to the gym, presumably to exercise, and you are riding your ass around the parking lot in stalker fashion to snag the space opening up right next to the handicapped spot?  Bitch, please.  Does that make any sense?

If I had any say, all gyms would be located about a mile from the nearest parking facility and a chainsaw wielding redneck would run at patrons forcing them to make a mad dash to the gym doors.  Weight loss and cardio complete.  You are welcome.

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4) When Friends on Facebook “Like” a Negative Status

So, I have yet to figure out, I guess, this whole “like” thing on Facebook.  I had been using it to express my pleasure at the actual content of a status update or comment.  As in, “I like what you just said because it contained a positive event or humor.”  I have noticed, however, that sometimes friends like a status or comment because of the way it was written.  I guess.  I am making this up.  I don’t really know.  Because I have seen stuff like this:

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Facebook User I woke up today and I was inexplicably bleeding out of my eyeballs.  I look like the Crying Clown of Hell!

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There are people who, rather than express concern that this person is bleeding out of his or her eyes, will “like” this because it has a random witticism in it.  Go figure.

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5) People on Dating Sites Stating He or She is “Down to Earth”

Why?  Dear lord, why?  I wish I had a buck for every time I have seen this on someone’s profile.

What the fuck does this even mean?  And why should this be a draw for a mate?

Does this mean the person is tethered to heavy objects so he doesn’t float away?  Aren’t we all “down to earth” because would anyone say “I am up to the sky”?  (Though I admit if I saw someone write that, I’d propose to him immediately.)  Is “down to earth” meant to entice a mate because it means you know how to till farmland?  I am confused.

I totally feel like Inigo Montoya talking to Vizzini.  People keep using these words and I do not think they mean what they think they mean.

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Mem-ries…….like the corners of my mind…

I went to visit my family this past weekend.  Specifically, I went to see my mom so that we could go through some things at my grandmother’s house.  She is still in her home, but does not use the upstairs and stuff is getting old and dusty from not being used.

We also took her out to lunch.

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My grandmother used to be 5′ 1″ but has shrunk from age and poor posture.  She’s also legally blind and mostly deaf.  Outings consist of a lot of screaming and slow methodical movement.  When we got to the restaurant, my mother asked me to bring her in so she could enjoy a cigarette (and perhaps to mellow out after a screaming car ride).  As my grandmother took my arm in the wind, she hunkered down against me.  This made me laugh and when she caught me laughing she said, “If your grandfather was here, he would call me a humped up turd.”

HUMPED UP TURD.

You guys?  That may be the funniest expression ever in the history of the world.  And I could totally hear him saying it.  Humped up turd.  Perfect.

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This prompted us to remember all my grandfather’s other pet names.  Chief among them was the phrase “goddam peckerhead” (pronounced “peckah-head”) and (my personal favorite) calling my grandmother Lo-Ass (her name is Lois).

I know it sounds like he was kind of crappy, but really these were terms of endearment.  If he did not call you something, well…you just weren’t important.

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Furthermore…my grandmother?  She kind of deserved it.  When we sat down in the restaurant a girl walked by and asked my grandmother, “Can I take your cane and hang it up so no one trips on it?”  To which my grandmother replied, “I’d rather have someone trip on it.”  The girl laughed.  My grandmother gave the girl a nice little grimace to give the impression she was joking, but… my mother and I passed a glance – we knew she was not joking.   Lo-Ass indeed.

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Anyway, I love my family.  Not in spite of the mean streak, but because of it.  🙂

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Spam – not just for breakfast

This is the best spam comment my blog has received in a long time:

“Wow that was odd. I just wrote an extremely long comment but after I clicked submit my comment didn’t appear. Grrrr… well I’m not writing all that over again. Anyways, just wanted to say fantastic blog the information provided about brand generic viagra is incredible congratulations great job!”

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First of all, props for trying to look like a real person… grrr.  And this comment was left on the post mentioning Lindt balls.  I can only assume the spambot thought it meant “testicles”.

Second, it IS a fantastic blog.  Thank you very much, viagra spambot.

Third, although I do not specifically mention viagra in my post, I was thinking about it.  Uncanny!

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NEWS…and some more evidence of my douchebaggery

I got laid off one week ago today.

I was at my company 12 years.

So, that’s that.

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On a lighter note, I found another long lost journal!  Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

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Mar. 21, 1984 (I was 13 yrs old)

I broke up with that ninth grader.  What  a jerk!  He got all mad and upset (tough, ain’t it?).

I still like that other kid a lot.  He’s very nice.

I have a book report due in less than a week, and I haven’t even read the book!  I probably won’t be able to get it done and I’ll get an F.  I think I’ll get it done, though.

My friend has been acting like a real jerk lately!  She ignores me and is very insolent.  (And ignorant.)

Speaking of ignorant, that ninth grader I was going with can’t spell or even make complete sentences!

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Wow.  I was an elitist bitch.

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Awesome.

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