The Oven-Lovin'-Nonstick-Crispy-Sheet

She can't just call this a "baking sheet"?  Or a baking pan? I can work with either, really...


http://www.foodnetworkstore.com/oven-lovin-nonstick-crispy-sheet-11x17-in-by-rachael-ray/shop/233406/

Discussing the Internet with People Who Don't Understand What the Internet Is.

This is a conversation from a meeting I had at my office today. Background: We were discussing a redesign of our organization's website. The other person in this meeting is not a 'dumb' person. But this was not her shining moment.

And because of that, I've chosen to call this other person "Candi" --- with an 'i'.

Candi: Can everyone see that website?

Me: Of course, I found it by doing a Google search.

Candi: But… I thought just you and I could see this site. Is this site live?

Me: Yes, it has been live for months.

Candi: But the site is not correct.

Me: No, it’s not.  This is why we’ve been trying to have this meeting for the last three months.

Candi: But I only thought that we could see the site.

Me: How did you see the site when you were in your office?

Candi: I googled it.

Me: *purses lips*

Candi: Where’s the old site?

Me: It doesn’t exist anymore. It was replaced with the new site.

Candi: It must exist.  Where do you keep it? Perhaps in your filing cabinet?

Me: It does not exist in my filing cabinet or within the files on my computer. It’s gone.

Candi: Where do websites go when you take them down?

Me: Nowhere. Either the website gets pulled down because you stop paying for it, or in this case, you replace it with a new site.

Candi: But the old website must still exist.

Me: It doesn’t.

Candi: But it did exist.

Me: It did. And now it does not.

Candi: But it used to be an actual website.

Me: It was a website, not a dead person. The old site doesn’t exist. There is no cemetery of dead sites.

Candi: *continues to look confused*

Me: *still silent*

Candi: Are you sure the website’s not out there somewhere, like a ghost website.

Me: I hate to inform you, but there is no internet heaven. There are no website ghosts.

Candi: But…

Me: No.

Candi: ehh…

Me: No.

…

Me: Just. No.

------------------------

It's days like this I wish I didn't have to interact with people at all. 

Unless you were in my head...

Unless you were in my head regularly, you probably wouldn't know that ice cream is my favorite food.

I rarely eat it.

I think the last time I had ice cream, I was out with friends. Who wanted to stop at an ice cream shop. And so I had one scoop.

Ice cream has become one of those treats I rarely allow myself.  There's very little in life I 'splurge' for, being on a tight budget in an expensive economy and all.  I shop with coupons at the grocery store--- obsessively, and I shop strategically at grocery stores, only spending the necessary minimum to earn 10 or 20 cents off of my gas bill when I go to fill up. I only buy what's on sale. My last purchase of clothing was during a 30 percent off everything sale with coupons good as cash in hand to help pay for the purchases.

My cosmetics are more expensive.  At least, more expensive than your drug store variety cosmetics. Less expensive, however, than many types of "high-end" cosmetics. 

And I like expensive ice cream.  I'll spend $10 on a quart of delicious, homemade ice cream from a treatery near my house before I'd spend $4 on a gallon from the grocery store.

That's not to say I won't eat the $4 stuff, if someone handed me a bowl of it at no cost. But if I'm buying, I'm prepared to pay out the nose for it. Or into my mouth. Or...surely there's a better turn of phrase for this here.  Lemme know.

That last ice cream I had?  I'm doing the math... it was nearly six weeks ago.  Yet every day, at lunch, after dinner... hell, sometimes I wonder if I could get away with it at breakfast (and I live alone. I totally, absolutely could. Who's gonna tell on me? And to who?).

I'm sitting here, thinking about ice cream now, as I type. How I very much would enjoy a creamy milkshake or a candy-filled scoop on a waffle cone. And I don't leave to obtain it.

I've made no attempt, other than locating in my mind all of the establishments nearby my office that serve up creamy deliciousness from the heavens, to obtain a treat to satisfy this constant thought process. Worse yet, there's an entire half-gallon of dutch chocolate ice cream in my freezer at home (not the most expensive stuff, but not cheap either). 

This leads me to the question: Why am I denying myself this treat?  I'm not quite my grandmothers, who believe ice cream is the third course of every meal. Perhaps my inclination for craving ice cream at *all* times is, in fact, genetic. Thanks Grandmas.

Perhaps it's unhealthy to deny myself this craving. Perhaps I'd stop craving ice cream if I just sated my desire for it.

Isn't that how desires work.  Someone tell me yes, please.

No, today won't be an ice cream day.  But perhaps there's something to look forward to tomorrow...

Silence would be appreciated

I wish my camera phone didn't make noise. Because then, I could take a photo and share with you the glory that is the moomoo a coworker of mine wore to work today.

I didn't think moomoos existed anymore. Is that even how one spell's it? (A Google search turned up a better spelling of "Muumuu" for all intents and purposes. Yet, "moomoo" feels more accurate.

I am not a fashionista. I could care less about something that appears on a runway, unless it has something to do with the plane I'm about to board, I suppose (and then I'm thinking safety over style... I'm digressing).   


Anywaaaaaaay ... Come. On. A moomoo?

I've always associated the fashion mistake that is the moomoo with my mom... who is a human mistake walking in all aspects of life. She used to wear them all the time, but I've got to give her props in that I can't ever remember her wearing the moomoo out of the house.










Unless the driveway counts. *remembers neighbors reactions...* Okay, yeah, it counts. But, more digression...

My coworker is not an unattractive woman. And I know her fashion sense is a wee less than mine, given that I've seen the intricate patterned (read: colorful cat) sweaters she's worn. But... the moomoo? She came to my desk to discuss... something, I'm really not sure what, because I couldn't stop staring at the full turtlenecked, long-sleeve, skirt-to-the-floor moomoo she was wearing.

Obviously, human resources departments should take such distracting clothing choices into account when writing dress codes into the books.

Just terrible

I'm incredibly bad at blogging.

It was the same when I was a kid. Every year I'd get a new diary for my birthday. And throughout the year, I'd forget to write in it.

Probably much to the chagrin of my mother, who purchased them so she could come into my bedroom and read them later. Ha.

It's not that I don't want to blog. I do.

It's not that I have nothing to say. That's crazy-talk. Much like the stuff I have to say.

I just forget to do it sometimes.

And by sometimes, I mean a lot. All the time. Years have gone by in some cases.

Anyway, I'm avoiding doing other things today so I thought perhaps, I'd write this. It's a start. I think.

(Not really. What a waste of space.)