Talk to me, Harry Winston, tell me all about it

Diamond rings : Marriage :: Barbecue sauce : Pork ribs.

Stay with me here.

Before my brother became a vegetarian, he preferred ribs above all other foods. Then he realized that it wasn’t the taste of the ribs he liked, but the barbecue sauce. French fries, pizza and veggie burgers are just as delicious as pig parts when coated with BQ sauce.

I used to assume that I would get married. But then I fell in love with Rob, who told me eloquently that he isn’t “down” with marriage. I considered leaving him to find someone who would marry me. I tried to change his mind. My desire to be a bride and a wife must not have been as strong as I thought it was, because I was unable to present a persuasive argument.

Then I realized: it wasn’t the wedding I dreamed of, but the sparkly ring!

Rob’s reaction to this epiphany was, “Uh, isn’t the lasting, committed relationship the important thing?”

Yeah, whatever.

Introducing my other new best friend, a jewel in the lotus, designed with one of the diamonds from my grandmother’s earrings. I wear it on my right hand.

My congressman is creepier than your congressman

“Dear K.N. and R.E., (our full names) My campaign staff and I were recently in your neighborhood and noticed that you currently reside in an apartment. Please be assured that I respect your privacy, but also wanted to take the time to share the issues with you that I discussed with your neighbors…”

First odd thing: We aren’t on any mailing lists together. How did he get our names? From the voter registry? How did he know that Rob hadn’t moved out and just not re-registered to vote at his new address?

The first sentence is creepy enough, but then he (or his campaign letterwritter who should be fired) acknowledges this with the “I respect your privacy” bit. The rest of the letter has nothing to do with living in a house versus an apartment. Why bring it up, except to try to prove that he really was here in our neighborhood? But unless he opened up our locked mailbox and went through our mail, being in our neighborhood would not have been the key to matching our names to this apartment.

I don’t care if you were on the Colbert Report, buddy, I’m not voting for you. And have one more reason to look forward to moving.

The gift of fear

Rob has an audio book that creeps me out because he likes to listen to it while falling asleep. It’s about all these people who almost got raped and murdered, but survived because they listened to their gut. Apparently I’ve been influenced, because I just fired an insurance agent ‘cus he gave me a bad vibe.

I filled out one of those “find a quote” things on the web, and got calls from several agencies. I ignored most of them, but started talking to one named Shane in Seattle because he was with the company that I planned to go with. He quoted me nice rates and I gave him all the information he asked for. I remember hedging when he asked my social security number. He said he’d need it to check my credit to determine my rate. OK whatever. (Did I give him my mother’s maiden name, or the name of my first pet? I can’t remember)

The other night, I got a call from Norm in Seattle, who said he wasn’t sure where we left off because it didn’t say in his notes from our conversation. I said, “Is this Shane?” He said, “It’s Norm, I work with Shane.” Uh, so why did he say he was Shane when he first called?

He called again last night and asked if I had my checkbook handy because the auto insurance requires that I use EZ pay. I fished my Disney Magic checkbook out of my purse and thought, “Wait, huh? I haven’t even seen a policy yet.”* I told him to send the policy and I’d get back to him.

Today I e-mailed him and asked whether I had talked to him originally or Shane and he dodged the question with, “I work for Shane.” Dude, prove it.

So I wrote back, saying I decided to go with an agency in town after all. He wrote back with, “Did I do anything wrong?”

Mind you, I also fired my first lender for failure to provide the best loan, and threatened earlier this week to fire my realtor if she couldn’t get the sellers to fix some leaks before closing.

What’s happened to me? Loyalty/schmoyalty, I demand service and the best price.

Thanks, Dad. (and Rob)

*The strange thing here is that I am quite accustomed to inputting all sorts of vital, personal and financial information into little boxes on web sites that appear to be legit. But when a human calls me on the phone and wants to know same, I’m suspicious.

Like rain on my wedding day

George W. offends me.

“The irony is that what they need to do is get Syria to get Hezbollah to stop doing this shit and it’s over,” he told Tony Blair.

I don’t care that he said “shit,” but the misuse of the word “irony” has got to stop.

They better be Canadian

This morning, I walked by a bunch of high school cheerleaders, on campus for cheer camp. They were doing one of those spelling cheers: “D-E-F (pause) Eee-N-C-E.”

I could tell they weren’t British, and I almost stopped to correct them.

Down the rabbit hole

I ran out of checks right about the time I made an offer on a house. Actually, for all I know I have a whole box of them in my storage unit somewhere. I rarely use the things. ‘Specially since I don’t even pay rent at this time.

I sense, however, that I’m going to be paying lots of people large amounts of money for various things in the next few months, so ordering new ones seemed like a good idea. And since it’s not like I need to be conserving money for anything, like, say monthly mortgage payments for the next 30 years, it seemed like a better idea to order decorative checks rather than the blue checkered Washington Mutual standard ones I’d been using. The 10 “Disney Magic” scenes make me happy when I’m spending money, OK?

So I wrote the check for the earnest money deposit on a Snow White check, where she’s kissing Dopey on the head. (Heh. Me: skin pale as driven snow, Rob: Dopey.) And I just wrote one out for the home inspector on Alice at the Mad Hatter’s Tea Party. Such fun, this check-writing is.

Next up, Pinocchio and Gepetto.

Finally!

I’ve been waiting for someone to tag me with one of these. No idea why it seems more fun than the old e-mail questionnaire with questions like “Coke or Pepsi?” and “Lights on or off?”

**And if you think this is mindless, just you wait til you buy a house. My head is spinning.

Four jobs I have had in my life

  • Media coordinator
  • Reporter
  • Shampoo and facial cleanser sampler
  • Script reader

Four movies I could watch over and over

  • Clueless
  • Heathers
  • Edward Scissorhands
  • Say Anything

Four places I have lived

  • B*llingh*m, Wash.
  • Prague, Czech Republic
  • Chicago
  • Los Angeles

Four TV shows I love to watch

  • So You Think You Can Dance
  • 24
  • America’s Next Top Model
  • Lost

Four places I’ve been on vacation

  • Thailand
  • Las Vegas
  • Russia
  • Kenya

Websites I visit daily

Four of my favorite foods

  • chocolate cake
  • french fries
  • chocolate ice cream
  • peanut butter

Four places I would rather be right now

  • wherever Rob is
  • wherever Mom is
  • curled up reading in a big chair
  • Thailand