Studying Is For Peasants

As part of my general education courses, I have to take some silly things that don't really relate to my major. It's stupid. I end up paying hundreds of dollars to take classes that are a.) boring and b.) information that there is no possible way I am going to retain after the final exam. You need to know the chemical reaction that occurs in humans when they "fall in love"? Sorry, can't help. My Human Sexuality course ended two semesters ago and that information is long gone.

But, because it's higher education and they're just after your money (and your braaaaaaains!), they insist you take these assface courses. Something about having a well-rounded education. I don't know, I'm not a professor.

One of the classes I'm taking that at least somewhat relates to what I'm studying is Spanish. I have some major issues with Spanish. The first of which being I am Mexican. That's right, third generation, baby. I know more Spanish swear words that I know what to do with (probably why there's no room for real information in my head). I watch novelas and know my way around Sabado Gigante. But I'm not fluent.

That's right: I'm a fraud.

An impostor.

A pretender. A poser. A big, fat phony.

I have a huge arrogance complex with learning Spanish. I refuse to put my 100% effort into it because I feel like I should already know it. It's embarrassing, especially living in the southwest. Especially living in the southwest with a Mexican name. Especially living in the southwest with a Mexican name and having a family who SPEAKS PERFECT SPANISH. And the Mexicans hate you when you're one of them and don't speak Spanish. They look at you and you can see it in their eyes. They're thinking, "You're not one of us, gringo. You can only say donde esta la biblioteca and un mas cerveza, por favor in Spanish. Pinche pendeja."

It sucks. I'm willing to do anything to learn Spanish except actually dedicate the time to sit down and study it. My pride simply will not allow it. Thus, I'm dedicating the time I would normally set aside for learning Spanish to making a time machine.


Roads? Where we're going we don't need roads!

Why? Because if I can go back in time, I'd insist that my parents teach me Spanish so I could avoid this whole situation. Plus, if I made a time machine I could patent it, sell it and pay someone to learn Spanish for me. Everyone wins.

Think About It, Hollywood

Holy God, it's freezing in my office! I just spent the last five minutes in the bathroom washing my hands because the water that comes out of the faucet is warm. Sweet, warm bathroom water.

Seriously, this is ridiculous. I realize it's Christmas week and nobody gives a shit, but it'd be really nice if I could make it to Thursday without getting frostbite or hearing Morgan Freeman narrate March of the Penguins because it's so cold there's actual penguins in here. In fact, I propose that someone make March of the Penguins 2 and film it in my office. Real people, real setting. I even made up a poster* for your consideration, Hollywood:


"I wish I could tell you it wasn't so cold in that office and that Karina fought the good fight and the cold just let her be. I wish I could tell you that- but the office is no fairy-tale world."

Just sayin'. You could film it guerrilla style and pay myself and my co-workers to act in it. Although you'd probably have to haul in some penguins and maybe some snow. And Morgan Freeman. And probably a script. But other than that, I think it's a pretty solid idea.

*I think it would be in my best interest to learn Photoshop. Don't get me wrong-- Microsoft Paint is awesome. But to take my time wasting skills to the next level, I think I may need to learn how to alter photos and paste someones head on a body that's not theirs like the pros.

Let's talk about me!

Sorry for not writing in a few days. I've been busy and in all honesty, not really in a blogging mood. I haven't really been in a "I'm going to accomplish something today!" mood in a while. I blame the holidays. Christmas rolls around and it's just an excuse to check out early.

"Hey Karina, did you get that file I asked you for?"
"No. I've been busy preparing for the holidays. I completely forgot."
"I hear ya. Christmas is coming up quick this year!"

It's those seven magical words: I've been busy preparing for the holidays. It's like civilized code for "Hell naw, I ain't done shit since December 1st!" I know this cause I haven't. I've got an incurable case of the lazies. Sure, my body has gone to work, school, out with friends, hill climbing and treadmill running, but my mind is where it always is: wondering when I'm going to be able to lay around in bed all day and watch movies. Because that's mostly how I want to spend every minute of every day for the rest of my life. Is it possible to have a job where one just lays around and watches movies all day? Like my own personal Mystery Science Theater 3000 except (sadly) with less robots.

However, I will settle for being a professional Channel watcher. Someone could pay me six figures to sit around (with or without pants) and watch The National Geographic Channel, The History Channel, The Discovery Channel and The Discovery Health Channel. Hell, I'd even throw in the TLC channel for no additional charge. Really, you're the one getting the deal. I'm just the lady who's been wearing the same tank top for three days watching TV on your couch. Just sayin'.

Anyhoosie, I'll try and get around to writing more this week. Maybe about something meaningful, but no promises. I've got to prepare for the holidays, you know.

P.S. There's a new blog on the blogroll over on the right. A friend of a friend, who has requested to remain anonymous, has started a little blog about the life of a worker bee. Inside the Hive is just getting started but it's looking to be a good one. Check it out!

It's not Christmas until it sparkles

Today at work, this happened:

Co-worker: Hey, how was your weekend? Have you done any Christmas decorating?
Me: Not really. I've been kinda busy, which is too bad for Christmas because the way I decorate would make Santa cry and elves sing.
Co-worker: Really? Why don't you put up the Christmas decorations for the office? The decorations are in the box in the basement.
Me: Uh, well I'm kinda busy and I don't have the basement key right now and--
Co-worker: I'LL GO GET THE BOX!!

Crap. Did I say I could decorate? I meant to say that I can watch others while they decorate and provide helpful comments ("That balloon is a little lopsided", "The table cloth is wrinkled", "I'm hungry"). Decorating freaks me out because there are just too many options to commit to. Should I put the Christmas tree in the center of the room or off to the side? Should I wrap garland around it? What if I moved the coffee table over to make room? Should I move the rest of the furniture around? There are literally limitless options when it comes to decorating. It's like the old choose-your-own ending books. I don't want to chose my own ending. You're the one who wrote the book!

But, I didn't want my co-worker to think I was a dirty liar, so I bit the bullet and decorated. And let me tell you, I decorated the crap out of the front office. I used the only fool-proof technique that I know for Christmas decorating: wrap things in sparkly garland.



That snowman was boring and kind of off-putting before the sparkly garland. And the pine cones? Puh-lease, forget about it. I fell asleep twice trying to wrap garland around those bad boys because they were so dull. And now? Well, let's just say that once you lay down in a bed of sweet, itchy garland, you never go back.

Don't judge me

Second to a Sitcom was feeling a little too pink. I'm messing around with the layout. Sorry the blog is a mess. It's just, I didn't know you were coming and I didn't really have any time to pick up. And my roommates left a total mess and..and...I'm working on it. Just have a seat anywhere. Except on that chair. It's not safe.

Procrastinators Unite

Go figure. The day I plan to write about being a slacker I spend all day doing actual productive and meaningful work. Ha ha, good one, Universe. But the joke's on you Big Guy. Thanks to the magical wonder that is Wikipedia, I will always have a reason to put off doing something productive.

My friends, let me tell you about a little game called 7 Degrees of Wikipedia. It's the best game you're not playing. I know this because if you'd already heard of this game, you'd have no time for this blog because you'd be spending all your time trying to connect Erik Estrada to pie. Alas, I'm getting ahead of myself.

An old co-worker told me about this game and it's simple, easy to follow rules. It requires only two things: a love of wasting time and a working computer with Internet access.

First, pick any two subjects. It's better if it's two totally unrelated subjects. Example, Elizabeth Shue and actual shoes.

After you have decided on your subjects, head on over to paradise in the form of Wikipedia. Type in the first subject. So in this case, it's Elizabeth Shue. Now, here's the fun part. Since everything on Wikipedia is clickable, you have to connect Elizabeth Shue to actual shoes in 7 clicks. You can click on anything on the page. Any word that you think will get you closer to your goal, click it. You click on stuff 'til Kingdom Come! But don't worry baby diapers, I solved his one for you. Sit back and observe.

Step 1: Type Elizabeth Shue into Wikipedia
Click 1: "girl next door"
Click 2: "girly girl"
Click 3: "dress"
Click 4: :"shoe"

BAM! No need to thank me. The idea of everyone secretly playing 7 Degrees of Wikipedia on their work computers is thanks enough.

My Gift To You

Do you ever have one of those days where you wake up and feel like a gigantic mutant? And none of your clothes fit right and your hair looks like a tumbleweed and you're pretty sure you could be in a comic book as a big blob of grossness? It's 10:16 in the a.m. and I'm pretty sure I'm saying eff this day already. Good thing The Office is on tonight or I'd go back to bed and sleep until Friday.

So, because I feel like it, here's something that is saving me from shaving my head, getting a tattoo I'll totally regret and all around being a big ball of blah.

Etsy



If you shop on eBay and think to yourself, I wish this place was edgier and more arty then look no further. I think it's safe to say that if you're someone in my life who I buy Christmas presents for, your gift will be coming from Etsy this year. Maybe one of you will get super lucky and get this awesome purse:


Don't act like you don't want it.

What the kids are watching

Tonight my friend Ria invited me to her house to partake in some free dinner and bad, CW related television. Naturally, I agreed.

Now, I feel like I must be completely honest. I am not against watching, and making the occasional smart ass comment about, teen dramas. Hey, I've watched my fair share of Degrassi (Canada's finest export) and One Tree Hill. Any girl who tells you they haven't watched teen dramas at one point in their life is hiding something.

The CW's Monday night line-up starts with Gossip Girl.



I've never seen this show before but I hear that people are all about it. Oh my effing God is an understatement. This show is ridiculous! Ria tried to warn me. "You're going to feel really bad about watching this." Well if that wasn't the understatement of the century. The blonde one likes the brunette guy who is brooding in an elevator and the other brunette one likes the brunette chick who is hooking up with a British guy and they all make out with each other and someone works in fashion. Check this out though, these people:



These people here are supposed to be SIXTEEN. As in 1-6. Good Christ the CW doesn't even care does it? They pluck any random hot actor from the street and call it a day. I frown upon that only because that isn't my job. But really, sixteen? Maybe the one in the blue dress but Chace Crawford over on the left has got to be at least 30.

Anywhoosie, everything you think happens on Gossip Girl happens. The plot lines are completely predictable and cheesy, but hot damn, is it entertaining. I am going to do my best to resist watching next week, but no promises.

We also watched this gem:



There was a funeral, kidnapping schemes, cougars and their young boys, basketball and everything you've come to expect (or not expect) from the OTH. I'm not even going to play, I don't have an answer as to why I still watch this. Oh wait, yes I do.


Kidnapee to Kidnapper, trying to get into the kidnapper's head: Why don't you have kids? You're young, attractive and crazy as a craphouse rat.

Voiceover during the funeral scene: Grief is like the ocean, it's deep and dark.


You know what else is deep and dark? The hole where my brain used to be.

Thanks Ria for sharing in my love of bad TV and making the best spaghetti sauce I've ever tasted.

Welp, I caved

Yeah, I know I talked some smack about blogging.

"Because nobody cares about what I'm saying," I said.
"Who has time to constantly update a blog?" I whined.
"Everyone has a blog so I'd look like a follower," I worried.
"Blogs are lame," I scoffed.

Well, guess what? I took some time to think about it (read: the longest and most boring drive in the history of moving transportation) and I was wrong. It happens. I am hereby redacting my previous blog-knocking and saying, on the record, that I am super psyched for this blog!

That being said, I don't really have any idea what I'm going to blog about. Probably random thoughts, maybe an anectode or two about my latest shenanigans. So, tell your friends and tell your friends' friends and we'll see if we can make this an enjoyable distraction from all the things you should be doing on the internet.