 | My mother once expressed interest in seeing where I work and what I do on a typical day. I said "you should come visit me sometime." She replied with an "ehhhh." i guess laziness is hereditary because I would have answered in the exact same fashion. "Alright then, I’ll take some pictures and save you a trip," said the good daughter. so I’ve been snap snapping here and there, and I got to thinking. "wouldn’t it be grand to write a picture blog entry regarding a day in the life of me?! I mean, everyone would appreciate that, right? Cause I’m so fucking interesting!" …well, interesting or not, a day in the life of shelly is what I’m posting. Read on friends, read on. so, as I’ve already spent a number of entries focused on the metro aspect of my day, I’ll skip ahead to the point where park my rump in a chair for 7.5 hours. .... .. .. Here is my desk. ....
  ....He knows I call him that but he doesn’t mind. adam once told me that he showed his mom my myspace page and my default picture was the one where I’m grabbing tits. He said, "that’s my boss." I’m such a professional. ....Yup.....
....I’m pretty much the handy gal around here. Have I mentioned yet how much I enjoy power tools? They make me feel bigger than I really am and, for a petite person such as myself, feeling big is radical. So today I had to go on another furniture hunt. As mentioned above, everything that was left behind by the old occupants is up for grabs, including all their nifty furniture. This is how I acquired my desk. BUT the problem is that all the furniture has been jammed into small rooms. This is one such room..... ....In order to see all that the room has to offer, you must climb over tipped over desks that are piled one on top of the other. Now comes the fun. Never mind my office appropriate skirt, it’s time to climb. (Yes, I brought my camera). .... Just so you know, this is a "real" face of alarm. I put the self-timer on and just as it went off, the unit I was sitting on began to violently titter. This is me actually trying not to fall and kill myself. I’m so in action! But motivated to continue nonetheless. Save the jitters for the quitters. Perched atop a wall cabinet, I spotted what I was looking for in the back corner of the room. .... Of course, it was in the hardest most innermost spot to reach so I had to remove everything from the crammed room just to get at this small drawer unit. After much struggle, success was mine. .... ...Isn’t it pretty. Oh yeah, while I was surveying the other rooms, I found this tacked to the wall and was thoroughly amused. In case you were wondering, don’t put a plastic bag over baby’s head. But enough about me, how was your day? .... |
Monday, May 18, 2009
a day in the life
Metro = Weirdos + Shelly
| Ok so the metro freaks are starting to get to me. Wait. Before getting into this rant, I need to establish the fact that I enjoy my daily train rides. It's ME time; a time when I can sit undistracted by television, phone conversations, or the internet. It's a time to think or zone out. Either way, this time is important to me. But more than ever, people are popping my bubble of solitude and invading my ME time. Usually they start out by saying, "Whatcha reading?" If only I had the ovaries to say, "It's called 'Don't bother people with stupid questions while they're reading. asshole." Once in a while, it's ok, sometimes even quite interesting. For instance, my meeting with the youngish fellow from Yesterday, on the way home from work, I was taking a snooze when I awoke to a sort of wimpering. I immediately regretted opening my eyes for, there, hovering over the poor woman sitting next to me was this middle-aged drunkard. He was literally begging her (and yes, fake crying) to give up her seat so that he could sit next to me as I "sweetly slumbered." Creepy… as soon as he saw me awake though, he leaned over her completely and got directly in my space, demanding to know my name. I said it was Amelie (I always wanted to do that). After a good five minutes of politely refusing to reveal any more information about myself, he got off the train. But I didn't even have enough time to let out a sigh of relief when he pressed his body up against the window from the outside. At this point he had everyone's attention. They were all looking at him and then looking at me. So much for ME time. Thank you very much Mr. drunk ass fucker for stealing away precious moments of my life, moments that could have been used thinking about Prince Charming as I quietly rested my eyes. Motherfucker! Then, this morning!!! I was listening to my favorite Bjork song "Five Years," thoroughly enjoying myself, when this asshole (whose sweatpants were tucked into his socks) sat next to me and asked what I was listening to. "NOT YOU MOTHERFUCKER". with nowhere to escape, i was then forced to listen to a long-winded speech about illegal immigration and how the Mexicans are cockroaches and should have Hilter(!) unleashed on them. and jesus christ! this guy was Mexican himself. what the hell man? He said he was gonna take his views to city council - that he had respect for |
other such tales of merriment
| Current mood:  mellow  Does this remind anyone else of high school? I found it in the "Don't" section of this month's Vice Magazine. I understand it's "don't"ness; using a can to smoke weed is probably the worst way to go about it. Breathing in burning aluminum can't be good for you, plus a Pabst Blue Ribbon can is not as asthetically pleasing as a tighly rolled J or my long deceased Petey (sigh). But there's something so innocent in the "oh boy, so-and-so just gave me this nug but all I have is this cheap beer can and a single match." As I had never bothered buying paraphanalia back in the days of A-town (or ever since), this was a frequently occurring situation.. No worries though; I enjoyed the challenge of taking normal household items and creating the ultimate smoking device. I guess I was (and still am) crafty that way. The best part though was going down to the creek with Nicole, the usual accomplice, and enjoying the fruits of our labor. .. behind the bushes of course. And giggling continuously. And sometimes feeding the roaming peacocks... and then getting frightened by their fighting stance... and then running, stumbling over ourselves, after suddenly realizing that a prolonged stay with Kix-hungry peacocks may result negatively. But Vice is right, people. Use an apple. It's better for you. But please, don't eat it afterward. That's gross. (Did anyone else notice the Michael Jackson poster in the background? What is that - a cat on his knee? Could this picture be any better? Pabst Blue Ribbon, a Match, Michael Jackson + Cat, and what appears to be an Ice Skating Skirted Leotard. No... I don't think so.) |
true story
| Current mood:  calm I'll never forget the time I got caught stealing watermelons from old Mr. Barnslow's watermelon patch. I was with my friend Bobby. We were giggling so hard I thought I'd wet my pants! At first we tried to steal two watermelons each, but they were too heavy and we dropped them, and that made us laugh even harder. Finally, we each picked out a good one, and we were just about to sneak back through the fence when we heard a low, deep voice behind us. "Just where do you think you're going with those watermelons?" I gulped and turned around. It was old Mr. Barnslow, pointing his shotgun at us. Bobby dropped his watermelon, then pulled out the .38 revolver he kept in his waist, turned, and fired. But the turning must have thrown off his aim, because the shot only hit Mr. Barnslow in the thigh. Mr. Barnslow immediately fired both barrels at Bobby. One blast of buckshot missed entirely, but the other tore into Bobby's shoulder. He tried to fire back, but his shoulder was so torn up he couldn't raise his arm. Just as he was trying to switch to his left hand, Mr. Barnslow ran up and cracked him across the face with the butt of his shotgun. Bobby fell to the ground in a heap. Mr. Barnslow raised the butt of his gun to finish him off, but just then Bobby pulled out his hunting knife and plunged it into the farmer's big white belly. After that, I don't think I stole watermelons for at least a year. (j. handey) |
poopular
| Current mood:  dorky jesus christ. i'm a freaking nerd. no, it didn't just dawn on me or anything, but a situation today proved to be a supreme reminder of this irritating fact. so i'm on the metro subway and this guy walks on the train and sits next to me. his nose is buried in a book. he looks really into it - like he somehow swiped the only copy of the secrets to the universe and he's intent on memorizing every sentence. so, of course, i'm wondering what he could possibly be reading that is so fucking fascinating. i mean, he didn't even look at me once! wow, that sounded really bad. i'm not like that, really! it's just that everyone watches everyone on the subway. i get starred at by little old ladies just as much as creepy day laborers - but that's another blog in itself. ok, so i sneak a peek at the cover and, lo and beyond, he's reading Wuthering Heights. what the fuck! that's one of my favorite books. it's even listed in the "books" section of my page. check it out. so i'm thinking, "wow, this guy totally digs wuthering heights. emily fucking bronte! he feels the tradegy, he appreciates the beauty of the prose. that's radical. this could be the beginning of a subway romance" i start to wonder if i should say something, like "so... how about that heathcliff..." my mind is going over a thousand things i could say to this person when i notice he's wearing a backpack... and there's a question sheet in his lap. ok alright, ha HA! i get it. he's a student and this reading is an assignment and there's probably a test and he didn't do the reading so now he's frantically trying to catch up on the metro on the way to school. he's not captivated by the fanciful storytelling nor the cruelty of the characters. he's simply doing his homework...sigh... figures that this should be just another instance of me being a douchebag dorkface book junkie. i actually thought i could use "good book, huh?" as a pick-up line! god, i'm awkward. i then fell into thinking about my bat-mitzvah. you know how every bar or bat matzvah has a theme, like movies or the beach or something remotely cool like that? well, my mother had the grand idea that mine should be "books." of course i protested, but when she fired back with "what else do you do?", all i could do was bow my head and say "fine." and let me tell you! "books" is a real winner with a bunch of 13 year olds. no wonder i was so popular... more like poopular. |
Beat the shit out of it
| Current mood:  accomplished no, i'm not talking about masturbating. silly. i'm talking about your ipod. for all you out there who have experienced the heartbreak that is brought on by the smirking frown (is that possible?) of the sad ipod face, take heed of the following antedote. i hate the ipod. it is a fancy piece of shit that was made to break down. but since experiencing the thrill of endless entertainment for so long, i can no longer sustain sanity without pod in pocket. god forbid i am ever bored or alone with my thoughts. the horror! i've had a fourth generation ipod for 2 years, 2 months, and 18 days. i've seen the dreaded sad ipod face 3 times. for those of you who have never witnessed the sad ipod face, let me explain the implications of this frowny beast - you're fucked. the first time i saw it, my pod still had 5 days left on warrenty (note - that means it didn't even last one year before complete failure....errrrrr!) oh, and by the way, i treat the god damn thing like a fucking baby bird so screw you apple guy at the genuis (asshole) bar for implying that i'm a bad pod mommy. anywho, as it was still on warrenty, i was simply handed a new pod, no fuss no muss. one year, one month later - i see the fucking frown again. this time, i am no longer under warrenty (yes, i did buy the apple care warrenty for another year only to miss the window by a month... it's a cruel world). fortunately for me, instead of the guy at the bar saying "tough luck" as i assumed he would, he went in the back and came out again with a magically repaired pod. how did he do it? i didn't know, i didn't care. my baby had returned to me. now, just yesterday, i see it again and this time no magic, no mystery, no dice. instead i am informed that i can get 10% off a new ipod if i turn in the dead one. fuck that. no way am i buying another one of these things so that i can deal with this bullshit in another year's time. still refusing to come to terms with my loss, i hit the internet and browsed every nerd forum i could find. apparently, the sad ipod face occurs, not only when the battery's life runs out (as i had been told at the asshole bar), but also when there is a loose hard drive cable - a problem that can be easily fixed by banging the shit out of your ipod. with nothing to lose and a need to unleash the wrath of shelly on crap technology, i beat the thing until it came back to life. that's right, it actually worked. apparantly, the banging jarred the loose hard drive cable into place. of course, it probably would be better to open up the case and gently reset them cables but if you're anything like me - lacking tools, patience, and sanity, i suggest the aforementioned path. i think thats what the genius at the bar ended up doing the second time around when he went in the back. so save yourself a trip. besides, being totally fed up with this apple monopoly, i thoroughly enjoyed letting off some steam on my ever-disappointing piece of poop. its the most fulfilling thing i've done in quite some time. when this technique stops working though, i'm switching to the creative zen. fuck ipod. or maybe zune. we'll see. |
