postings of a professional redhead

I’ve been thinking about writing a little about Facebook for awhile now, and finally I’ve been spurned to action; The Doorman has an interesting post about random people from his past whom he has become friends with via Facebook.  This is very timely because I’ve just received a barrage of new Facebook friend requests from…People From My Past.  So here is a recap of SOME of the worst (and one best!) weird and “inappropriate” Facebook friend requests I have received in the past few months…

Middle school popular bitch; a little background: middle school was basically hell for me; I was in band, in gifted, wore braces and glasses, and was a total clueless tomboy.  I had no idea that between 5th and 6th grade girls were supposed to start shaving their legs! So one day after P.E., as I’m self-consciously changing because my mother has not gotten me any bras yet, she yells “Ewwww! Get something to cover those nasty things up!”

Really?  Now I realize that it was probably a normal every day thing for a trog like her to drop an insult so nasty and mean, but…why the fuck was she looking at my boobs, anyway?  That was really upsetting for super-tomboy-socially-awkward 12-year old me.  Needless to say I hit “ignore” to her friend request.

Another friend request came from a guy who unfortunately was also in the I.B. program at my high school, so we shared 75% of our classes each semester junior and senior year.  He HATED me.  I HATED him.  He used to verbally harass one of our teachers to tears, and I would yell at him about it and tell him to his face in front of everyone that I thought he was a giant bully compensating for a tiny cock.  When we dissected pigs and my girlfriends and I refused because we were vegetarians, he threw little pig organs at us for a week.  I blocked him on Facebook, and while I was at it, searched out other people who I couldn’t stand in high school and blocked them as well.

A girl who tried to get me arrested for things I Did Not Do in high school added me as a friend.  Really?  BAN!

Another friend request came in from someone whom I am actively afraid of, so I won’t go into many details.  Creepy Fuck stalked/harassed me online and in real life for years and did some truly heinous things to both me and friends of mine.  I’ve been ignoring him for years, but you know that Morrissey song, “the more you ignore me, the closer I get…”

And of course, I received a friend request from Super Crazy Bitch.   I’m not friends with her and I have made it clear by blatantly ignoring multiple years worth of friend requests on just about every social networking site that she finds me on that I really want nothing to do with her and her crazies.  I also banned her. Ban, ban, ban - I love that feature.

One of the first times someone added me for reasons I couldn’t fathom, it was someone who I was stuck dealing with both in school, band, and church - and in all of those places, we didn’t get along (you know it’s bad if you can’t get along with someone, even at church).  I sent her a “nice” message basically saying, “we weren’t friends, if I recall correctly you were a bossy bitch who annoyed me, but if you want to get to know each other now that’s cool.” Her response? “Well you were a know-it-all little shit who drove me crazy, but I’m game if you are.”  We’re actually pretty decent friends now, so I’m glad I kept an open mind about her.

So sometimes I end up getting to know someone I never would have in high school or middle school, and think to myself “ok, so maaaaaaybe I can see some value in these stalker sites.”  There are a few people who I never hung out wtih just based on that vast cultural chasm between high school juniors and seniors, and I’m really happy that we had Facebook around so we could find each other and become friends now that one year of age difference isn’t a big deal anymore.  So for the most part my experience with Facebook has been a good one, and I have been able to use it for the purposes intended.

Does anyone else have any fun stories of weird friend requests on any kind of “social networking” site?  Please share in the comments!

My trainer is a singer/actor in addition to be a sports/fitness fiend, and this Friday night is opening night of his latest play, and I’m PSYCHED - it’s South Pacific!!!!  South Pacific combines three of my favorite things - musicals, Michener, and Hammerstein.

The Operahouse Players are performing November 14, 15, 16, 21, 22, 23, 28, 29, & 30; Fridays and Saturdays the show starts at 8pm, Sunday the show starts at 2pm. If you’re interested in going, call 860-292-6068 for tickets.  General admission is $20, over 60/under 12 cost $16.

The Opera House is located at 107 Main St. Broad Brook, CT.

I’ll be there opening night, and again the 23rd for a matinee.

Ploman glares at me for not closing the sliding glass door

It’s the 12th.  Wrath is coming out at midnight.  Ploman and I are currently watching movies, waiting for that magical time to hit so we can head to the game store and pick up our copies the moment it is released.  Yeah, it would be smarter for us to wait until tomorrow.  But if we did, you would miss out on all the photos I’m sure I’ll be taking of the gomers dressed up like WoW characters…!

In other news, I’m going on a date with The Grinch tomorrow night.  Why am I calling him The Grinch?  Because that’s what we call him at work.  He’s a mean SOB and rubs everyone the wrong way.  He’s been nothing but mean to ME (think: little boy kicks girl on playground in elementary school), but when he asked me out he was so super-enthusiastic, I couldn’t bring myself to say no.  I will probably be a total bitch to him all night, anyway.

I’ve decided that having heterosexual male friends (such as the grumpy glare-bot above) is good for me.  We get to talk about girls we think are cute together, and he gets to point out why most of the guys I talk to are total douchebags.  Between Ploman and Mr. T, I sometimes feel a little overwhelmed by testosterone.

And since turn about is fair play, I’m going to post a photo of myself.  I’m posting one that John aka IneRLogic took - he paid me $100 to model, and thus helped me buy my first digital SLR camera.

If you’re my friend on twitter, you’ve seen the tiny version of this photograph. I’m actually on the pool table in the basement of my house in this shot, and as Bill likes to point out, (random trivia) I tend to shoot with an open bridge…

Anyway, Ploman can never stay very angry for long…because stuff like this happens when he comes to my house:

Watching Ploman’s reaction to the ironman movie is hilarious - especially since he is spending half his time playing with the kitten. We can’t wait until the kitten stops being hyper, and turns into a lapcat like Bandit.

Catherine the Great and I, our first year in college.  Our hair is wet because…well that’s a fun story.

She and I both were stressed out.  She, much more than me…her first rugby game, she broke her wrist.  I still had tennis to destress me.  So, her mom put her up in that schmancy froofy hotel in Northampton (I refuse to link them, they short sheet you and over charge you) but in a little private cabin! With…(drumroll please)…a giant tub with whirlpool!  I decided it would be an awesome idea to take a bubble bath.  No, I’m not going to post the bathtub photos - yet.  Anyway, that’s why our hair is wet, and well…it’s probably one of my favorite memories from college.  Hanging out off-campus with nothing to do but keep each other company and destress.  She’s my platonic wife, you know!

PS, in case you didn’t know, I’m in the tie dye.

This weekend I went car shopping with my best friend, Ploman.  There was a giant sale at one of the local dealerships, and he had seen online that they had an ‘02 Civic with 60k miles for $11k.  I told him he had to take me with him because I’m Super Negotiator when it comes to buying cars.  When I bought my CR-V, there was still a waiting list for them, and I still managed to get them to sell to me well below MSRP, as well as extend my warranty and throw in all-weather mats for free.

We were walking around the lots, and ended up in the back lot where they literally have more cars packed in then you would think possible.  I guess the current economic crisis has really affected the car dealerships.  As we were walking out to a reasonably-priced Civic with relatively decent mileage, I noticed a red Accord coupe and pointed it out to Ploman…and that was the end of that.  They wanted WAY too much for it, though it is a very nice car; leather heated seats, CD changer, sunroof, alloy wheels, V6 w/6-speed manual, etc. etc. - basically, I would have purchased that car had I been looking.  I managed to talk them down over $3K from what they originally wanted, made them drop his financing by 4 points, as well as throw in a 3-year full bumper-to-bumper warranty with my “you will not take advantage of me, I grew up going to the flea market every weekend” attitude.  Which gets me thinking…

Why is it we can negotiate prices at places like flea markets and car dealerships, but not at department stores?  Why can’t I go to Sears and say, “you know, I really like this vacuum cleaner, but it’s just $45 too expensive?”  When is the price negotiable?  Is there an etiquette rule for price negotiations?

For those of you thinking of buying a car, now is the time - it’s a buyer’s market.  Remember my attitude; “well, we have a car that works. We don’t have to buy this car from you if we don’t like the price” and don’t take no crap!

You’ll notice in my blogroll that I have a few medical-type blogs that I read (they’re great reads, check them out).  I’m actually fascinated by medicine, and my family is full of medical-type people; my mother and aunt (father’s little sis) are RNs, my aunt (mother’s little sis) is a pediatric intensivist (her 2nd career after she was a hot-shot lawyer in L.A.), and her partner is an APRN (ob/gyn).  To this day my family regularly asks me if I would please-please-please consider going to medical school - despite having a very successful career in engineering, and a just-starting career in wedding photography.  Their reason for asking me still, even though I already have a career?  “Because if some of these idiots I work with can be doctors, you could do it blindfolded and with your hands tied behind your back” - attribute this to all four medical field relatives, as they have all said this to me at one point or another.  It’s not just medical school though; regularly from everyone in my family, some friends,  and even old teachers, people are always suggesting some form of further education I should be seeking.

My father is the only person who is truly psyched about my chosen career - maybe because ohhh…we happen to work at the same place, and he gets to introduce me to his work friends all the time.  “This is my daughter, Sidney! She’s the [blahblahblah] that they’re always talking about in the 8:30 meeting!” and of course, his chest puffs out with pride when he brags about me to people at work.  (How I feel about being introduced to people first as his daughter and second with my title is probably fodder for an entire other post, actually…)

I wonder about this dichotomy, and why people seem so passionate about me going back to school.  My mother is especially guilty of this; when I tell her “violence in movies makes my legs get weak and my stomach flip-flop, how the hell am I going to handle someone whose guts are spilling out of their body?” she switches tactics, reminding me of my stellar LSAT scores.  “You could go to law school! They have a part-time program at UCONN! And those LSATs could easily get you into Yale!” Nevermind that I do not want to pay for either UCONN or Yale law school, not that my N.mumble GPA in undergrad would get me acceptance to either, anyway.  My p.i. aunt is the same way; “you know, you really should at least go back and get an M.B.A. if you’re going to stay in the engineering field. You already hit the glass ceiling, you said so yourself.”  My elementary school gifted teacher, who is now 89-years old and has recently converted to some sort of monkhood cult in the catholic church (the regular church was just “too liberal” for her) also brings this up during our bi-weekly phone conversations.  “When are you going to medical school? You have the brains for it, you know. Your mother always wanted you to be a doctor.”

You can imagine my disgust when I caught my mother and her sister talking on the phone about my baby cousins (future, hypothetical seeing as they are 6 and 7 years old) SAT scores, and how they would affect into which colleges they would gain admission.

“I see now why my cousin Erin always told everyone she wanted to drive a dump truck!  You guys put too much pressure on everyone! You know not everyone wants to be an over-achieving school nerd!*”

* My mother went to college for about 20 years, and has over four degrees framed and hanging on the wall.  My father has double undergraduate and double masters degrees as well as an M.B.A.  I managed to finish one major in college, and I haven’t seen my Smyff degree since graduation.  I bet it’s framed on the wall with her and my fathers degrees, actually…

I really have minimal desire to go back to school; I barely finished college alive, to be honest. The only thing that kept me sane during my time there was my participation on the tennis team, a few amazing professors, and my ex-girlfriend (who is now happily married and expecting a baby in February, but we’re still friends, and she reads this site, so hi Katja!).  An M.B.A. would probably be the quickest and dirtiest degree to get - but to what end? I once told my academic adviser in college that my career goal was “lower-middle management.”  Well baby, I’m there now! Who else can say they reached their lifetime carrer goal by the tender age of 27?  Between that and working to make money for my hobby (photography, specifically wedding), what else could I possibly ask for, career-wise?

Does anyone else have this constant academic pressure from their family? Is this a normal “I just want my baby to be all they can be and be the best and be successful and happy” wish, or is this indicative of a bigger problem? I think that everyone else in my family got the overacheiving striver gene, whereas I got the laid-back surfer gene.  No offense to surfers, of course.  They just tend to be the most laid-back people I know.

So for the first time I have voted in a presidential election (this was my 3rd for those of you math-challenged) the person for whom I voted actually won!  Not only that, but I was passionate about the candidate, as opposed to my previous attitude of “well, at least it isn’t George Bush.”  I still think “thank goodness it’s not going to be George Bush,” but that is probably because I’m slightly traumatized at the past eight years of having a president who had not a care in the world for our basic civil or human rights.  Too dramatic, even for me?  I don’t think so.

In other news, last week my vet had photographers taking photos.  They had the sign up sheet out a week after Mischief died, and so I signed up Bandit and Binky to go in and get photos taken.  One thing that bothers me is I didn’t get enough pictures of Mischief before he died, so I figured professional ones would be great.  Personally, I go bananas trying to take photos of them at home - even with my Canon EOS 40D and Canon Speedlite 580EX II Flash,  trying to take photos of black cats is a big pain in the ass.  Plus, the pictures were going to have a fall theme which I thought was perfect for them.  I’m inserting a “more” tag in case you really don’t want to see a dozen photos of my cats.

(more…)

I made my site orange for the holiday.  I think I like it this way; we’ll keep it, for now. edit: I changed it already. The background photo is one I took at Red Rocks in Nevada.

I watched “Psycho” in the theaters. SO much better than at home.  And I just adore everything Bernard Herrmann has ever done. & Hitchcock, of course.

Inspired in part by a recent conversation about best and worst first dates and a random tweet about waterfalls, I thought it might be interesting to blog about some of the first dates I have experienced.  So begins this series of blog postings entitled “The eX-Files.”  I will be calling everyone either by A) the nickname I gave them when we dated, or B) the nickname they earned after we stopped dating.

First up is Mr. T.  He will be called “Mr. T” for the purposes of this blog because, well…when he dressed up as Mr. T for Halloween one year, he could have hired himself out as an impersonator it was such a fantastic imitation.  Mr. T and I met at a party of a mutual friend.  He is probably the cutest hunk of manly I have ever seen, and is ridiculously cocky to boot - cockiness being one of my favorite character traits in a man (no, really, I’m not being sarcastic).  I went to the party with a friend who was was making it very hard for him to talk to me - mostly because at Smyff we assume all men are sketchy until evidence to the contrary is provided, and we tend to be very protective of our friends during the initial “are you or aren’t you one sketchy-ass motherfucker” period of inquisition.

I ended up leaving the party early, but gave him my number before I left - something I hardly ever do - and I never thought he would call me.  Not only did he call me, but he did so later on that same night! He complained that he hadn’t had enough chance to talk to me because I was there with “the best cockblocking wingman on the face of the planet,” and still today remembers fondly the hard time she gave him when we first met.

T and I ended up talking on the phone until the wee hours of the night, something that became somewhat of a habit with us.  We ended up going on our first date after a lengthy period of phone flirtation - which, as far as I know, is much better than chatting online.  We liked each other enough that we decided to try for “best first date ever” and combined one of my favorite activities with one of his favorite activities - which is how we ended up going swimming/jumping in the freezing cold waterfall in Northampton, MA in October…followed by finger-licking Southern-style BBQ. I really didn’t think the waterfall would have cooled off so much since I had been in August, but it had and was so cold when i jumped in I thought I was going to die.

It turned out we were both cocky show-offs and each was trying to impress the other, so we ended up braving that freezing water for a nipply hour before finally calling mutual uncle and going for THE BEST Southern BBQ I had eaten since leaving FL - and the best HE had eaten since leaving Georgia. It’s very rare that folks in New England actually know how to properly cook greens - I’ve experienced limp/nasty greens even at really hoity-toity over-priced restaurants in West Hartford.

He and I are still very close - even though he’s back in Georgia, I visited him a few months ago for his birthday (hosted in a microbrewery), and we’re planning a two-week vacation to München, Germany/Belgium/etc. for the 200th anniversary of Oktoberfest in 2010.  One of the things we always have agreed on is the importance of good beer - you know, all relationships need a strong foundation…and we both desperately want to go to the Trappist Abbeys.

In defense of all telemarketers, *I* worked for the Podunk Police Dept. as a telemarketer selling Circus tickets…for $5.15/hr, from 5pm-9pm weeknights. It’s a terrible job and people are incredibly rude to you - cussing you out, threatening you and your family, etc. - because you won’t take “no” as an answer. Well, FYI, we were informed we had to hear the word “no” THREE times before we were allowed to let the person off the phone. THREE times you have to say no before they let you go. Now when I get telemarketers, I tell them nicely “I”m not interested” three times and if they persist I tell them “now I have told you three times I am not interested and I am going to hang up my phone now,” which is IMO a nice way to handle it. Don’t cuss at them, don’t make sexually harassing remarks if it’s a woman, and DON’T threaten any kind of physical violence. Remember…we have your contact info, you don’t have ours - so if you make a threat to someone, don’t be surprised if the police show up!