We're the ones your mother warned your about...No, seriously. We are.

An anecdote a day....

This one was inspired by KitCat, who on Friday, sent me the following e-mail :

From: KitCat
Date: Fri, 24 Oct 2003 14:02:39 -0500
To: Claris
Subject: You

I'm having a shitty day. Please tell me something fun or interesting about your day.


Therefore, I've decided to take you guys along to prove that over the course of a week, you will encounter at least seven things that are funny, averaging out to one fun a day, even if I didn't personally start it. So if you ever doubted why the site is called NoDignity.com, well it's about time you found out. Off we go, and to borrow from Catriona "bless us & keep us all"...

And for those of you wondering, there was really no point to the Space Ghost icon, other than that it amused me on the day I was coding this article....I didn't even make it - I snagged it from Closet Buffyholic, who got it from someone else...


From: Claris
Date: Fri, 24 Oct 2003 15:29:05 -0700
To: KitCat
Subject: as per your request, madame...

Something funny about my life today.

So last night, some GENIUS decided to paint the women's bathroom. Now, we've only got the one in the building. And when I say the one, I don't mean one women's room with stalls, I mean one TOILET. Granted, there's probably only about, eh thirty of us in the offices, but still - one men's room, one women's room. Don't get me started on that.

Anyway, so instead of waiting until say, a Friday afternoon or something, they painted it last night. I got the jolly treat of being the first to discover this, since I'm usually the first one to use it in the morning. (It's not that I'm like, really enthusiastic about the bathroom or anything, more that I'm normally the first female in the building every day, and after the drive in, I usually have to pee. *g*)

So I go to the bathroom, sit down, and notice the fumes. Duuuude. I don't even know if the paint on the wall is dry. I walked out, and shoved the carpet under the door to hold it open in the hopes that would help it air out.

It really didn't. Therefore, I've had the dubious fun of inhaling paint fumes a couple times today.

Sum up? Whenever I went to the bathroom at work today, through no free will of my own, I've ended up a little high.

How's that? Funny enough fer ya?

Saturday :
(I'm going to cheat here & give you two, because Sunday I stayed in like a hermit & nothing really happened other than that the batteries in my CD player gave out two miles into my three mile run - which while it sucked, really wasn't all that amusing.)

I need shoes.

I need new shoes for work. Which means I had to go shopping. While this might not seem that bad, you've got to understand... I'm not very good at the part of being a girl that requires me to be...girly. Shopping falls into that category, and since I started working in retail again, my aversion to this has really only gotten worse. So using an afternoon to go shopping by myself, with no wacky friends to distract me from the pain - really not my idea of a good time.

First up - the Aldo's liquidation store on Melrose. Now, getting there involved two false starts down the street, the second of which was because I looked at my wayward puppy and went, "I swear, if you don't stop it, you're not going. I'll put you back in the house & walk down without you! And you'll be in the house! All alone!"

She didn't believe me, and kept it up.

Suddenly, Zoey found herself in the house. All alone. Mommy went shopping without her!

Ha, bitch. Haaaaa. That'll teach you.

Anyway, get to the store, and there's one, one pair of shoes that I actually like, due to the fact that all shoe manufacturers seem to think that women want to totter about on three inch toothpicks this season. Dude. I just want shoes for work. Now, since my work does not involve a brass pole that is bolted to both the ceiling & the floor so I can swing around it, the tottering? will. not. work. But no! There's hope! Witness the one pair! They are a scoche pricey, but still. If I can get the pain of shopping over first try, it's worth the extra money. Swear it is. So I ask the girl, "Do you have these in a size 10?" That's a normal size, right? A bit big, yeah, but you know what? I'm 5'10", so my feet are proportionate...it's not like special order worthy. (no, serious. I had this friend Bob that was a size 15. He had to special order all of his shoes.)

Tiny bouncy shopgirl leaves, and I can't help but wonder if the shops on Melrose hire solely based on whether you're a size 6 or below, because I have yet to see anyone else working in them. Anyway, Perky Patty comes back and informs me, "We only have these in size 7 & 8, so our sizes don't go up as high as a 10 ..should I bring one of those out?"

What you actually say : "No, thanks."

What you want to say : "Well considering I'm a size 10 shoe, I'm gonna have to with "No" as our answer to that, ya dumbass. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm just going to take my oversized and therefore obviously-not-worthy-of-being-decently-outfitted ass and go somewhere else. No, no, it's all right. I can make it out the door without tripping over the ginormous mudflaps that the Powers That Be have seen fit to attach to my tree trunk legs. Trust, me, I can do this. Got lots of practice."

Walked back home. Still bitter, but unfortunately also still in need of new shoes. Therefore, being the brave little toaster we all know me to be, I got in the car and even let the now properly chastised canine come along for the ride up to Sunset to another shoe store that's...well, I think it probably spans a football field. The first time Polgara & I looked in, I believe I said something to the effect of, "Dude, that looks like miles of shoes!"

It was. I walked in, & there were shoes as far as the eye could see....

None of them being any that a) I liked, or ii) were in my size. Everything is open toes, and straps, and laces and .... I don't want to have to take a course in basketweaving just to be able to get in & out of my shoes, for fuck's sake. Why is that so hard to understand? Still, still with the three and four inch heels! ugh! Did I mention the hoochieness? If you can pull of the hoochie, more power to ya, but not all of us can, and when you get right down to it, I'm a realist in this area. Claris + hoochie = unmixy things. I can't even find boots! They're all scary and with different colored patches and would have me risking a broken ankle for the invitable moment when the toothpick under my heel snaps. Me! Not being able to find boots! That's, that's like George Bush not having anyone else to blame! It's just....inconcievable! and yes, I know that word means what I think it means!

I left the house one fine Saturday afternoon to go look for a pair of heels that I could wear to work.

I returned to my house four hours, several shoe stores, and a consolation trip to Amoeba Records later with a used copy of Kenneth Branaugh's version of Hamlet on VHS and the new-ish Norah Jones CD.

I'm calling that battle a draw.


Mr. Whyt & I had this whole great ramble about how DarkLady hired ninjas to come to my house & steal my sewing pins...but my computer ate it. sorry! It was funny at the time, though, it really was...

woot! Let's see what the week brings..