pop_tart's Xanga

Dear Internet,

Fri, 24 Apr 2009 12:35:04 GMT

STOP SHOWING ME PICTURES OF FAT-ASS BARE BELLIES AND THEN SKINNY ONES. NO ONE WANTS TO SEE THAT !#@$. Worst. Marketing idea. EVER.

I'm talking to you, Facebook and icanhascheezburger.

Sincerely,

Cathy Latimer

Take that, Microsoft.

Fri, 03 Apr 2009 21:27:47 GMT

I'm going to nerd out a little.

I've been an Mac user since 2003, and I can pretty much rock anything Apple. The current setup on my work computer (Intel MacBook, 2.4gH, 4 GB RAM upgrade-- I love my company for buying me this) has the four desktop spaces, VMWare Fusion with a Windows XP virtual machine, and Adobe CS3.3, and I have pimped it out just the way I like it.

My specialty is worming my way around Microsoft. Not that I hate the company or anything; I just refuse to admit there is something I can't do on this computer that Windows users can.

Okay, okay, I actually REALLY hate Microsoft for producing mediocre software and changing it every year so it's not compatible with anything. Microsoft Office 2007? Okay, great, maybe everything needed a big redesign, and you liked the giant top border with picture-button-menu-bar-things. Fine. But I can't read anything created in Office 2007 with my older version of Office because you changed the file format? Kind of annoying.

Oh, wait. You made a compatibility pack for those of us who don't want to buy new software.. Oh, it only works on Windows....

Actually, that's okay, I understand. That's why I run Windows XP on this computer. I believe that Microsoft shouldn't have to cater to Mac and vise versa. A lot of software carries over, and I'm thankful for that.

However, as a Mac user, my only option is to buy Office 2007 unless I want to spend the rest of my days requesting that people save another copy of their powerpoint in the old format, and THEN send it so I can read it. This also contributes to the Mac ill-will, "just buy a PC, you self-centered hipster" sentiment because it means more work for the PC user and clogs up his folders with additional copies of his documents.

Cathy Gives the Finger to Microsoft

I was two keystrokes away from buying Office 2007 for Mac when I read a bunch of pitiful reviews about it. This is what lead me to look at iWork more closely.

Long story short, I was won over to iWork by one feature, and one feature only: text wrap in the Word Processor. Although the cool-ass picture frames and the fact that it read and saved in MS Office 2007 format helped a lot. If I decided I didn't like it, I still had Office 2003 as a backup, right?

But lo, there is a problem.... Errors keep showing up when I import Powerpoint slides. Errors that say "Calibri font not recognized" and then screw with the spacing on all the slides. This looks especially bad when a guy asks me to print his slides off since he's not hooked up to the printers yet, and I'm all, "oh yeah, I can totally do that from my Mac. Check out this Keynote program in iWork. I totally bunked the system and got iWork because I hate Microsoft, and I know what I'm doing, and I'm awesome blahblahblah. Oh wait, it effed up all your slides. Sorry, man."

Ok, whatever. I'll jerry-rig his slides, print them off, and go find this "Calibri" font on freefonts.com.

OH WAIT, it's a font Microsoft created SOLELY FOR OFFICE 2007 and I CAN'T GET IT ANYWHERE WITHOUT PIRATING IT OR PAYING $35. I don't like to be a pirate at work because my company looks down on those things. Well, geez, I guess I just can't get by without Office 2007, and I'm just going to have to bow down to Microsoft if I want to be compatible wit----

Wait, I forgot I'm smart.

*logs into Windows XP virtual machine*
*downloads compatibility pack for Office 2007, even though I don't even have Office in the virtual machine*
*navigates to Windows Explorer*
*searches fonts folder*
*drags and drops Calibri fonts onto Mac desktop*
*deposits Calibri fonts into Mac fonts folders*
*opens Powerpoint document made in Office 2007 with Calibri font*

EFF YOU MICROSOFT HAHAHAHAHAHA

Thursday, April 02, 2009

Thu, 02 Apr 2009 14:38:55 GMT

I am awesome. I just fixed my company's email. It is break time.

So the other day, I saw this minivan with some Jesus fish on it. You know, the one where sometimes it's just the fish, sometimes it says "Jesus" in the middle of it, and sometimes it says "Ichthys" (which is Greek for "fish"). And then they made one with feet under it that says "Darwin."

You know what I'm talking about.

Well, lately I've been seeing families of fish on the back of cars, with two big fish representing the parents and several little fish representing the kids. This minivan had one of these "fish families" on it, except there were two big fish, three little fish, and... An un-faded paint spot with adhesive residue where a fourth little fish used to be.

WHAT.

Our options here are:

1. Little Johnnie died and they couldn't bear to look at his fish sticker anymore.

2. Little Johnnie got a girl pregnant and/or joined the military, and the family disowned him by removing his fish sticker.

3. Little Johnnie became a Buddhist.

4. Little Johnnie's fish sticker fell off, his family was too lazy to replace it, and now little Johnnie cries himself to sleep at night.

I think you can see the trend, in that nothing good could have transpired here.

Tuesday, March 24, 2009

Tue, 24 Mar 2009 01:00:38 GMT

What up, xanga?! It's time for a revival. Maybe.

I guess I can start by updating all two of you on "Cathy's Post-College Extravaganza."

First up: I burned through a record-setting three jobs last year! OSU Flight Instructor from January until I graduated; AirOne Flight Academy Instructor/Salesperson/Graphic Artist/Desk Jockey until two of my paychecks bounced, and I quit; Bob Moore Mazda Car Salesperson until I landed....

A sweet-ass job at Commuter Air Technology! It's a good story, so gather 'round, children.

Once upon a time, Cathy was a car salesman. She loved her job, even though everyone around her hated it. Maybe she liked it because she was damn good at it; maybe she just liked talking about cars all day and surfing the internet. Either way, she was content in her job... Until she realized that she was actually working 50-55 hour work weeks with 12 hour shifts on Saturdays and making no commissions because the stock market was freaking people out. That's when she realized it was BS.

Anyway... You could catch her looking wistfully upon the sky every time a Cessna putted by. Even though she was surrounded by the cars she loved, the constant sound of engines purring, and the shop boys telling stories of all their aftermarket modifica...

Whatever.

So Bob Moore Mazda worked me to death and destroyed my fencing schedule. Don't get me wrong; I loved the job, but dang... I was working one day, and I sold a Miata to the head of the Porsche club and his wife, and they invited me to come autocrossing with them in my little turbo hatchback Mazdaspeed 3.

I pulled up at the track and parked next to none other than a Porsche GT3 ($130,000 worth of car) with a "Fly Army" sticker on it. I asked the guy about his car and flying for the Army, and long story short: he sells aftermarket airplane parts to US and foreign militaries and civilians. He offered me a job as a salesman.

People, THERE IS A GOD. I think my life is proof.

So I started out at Commuter Air Technology (CAT) last December, and I looove my job. When people ask me what I do, I tell them, "I pimp airplanes." If there is anything cooler than that, I'd like to know.

And I also discovered the reason God put me through the AirOne fiasco: it's because I learned everything at that job that I needed to perform this one. The only thing I didn't learn was salesmanship, and I picked that up at Mazda: a job I wouldn't have taken unless I was desperate enough to leave AirOne.

I've picked up Photoshop, simple graphic design, website development and management, a little HTML and Visual Basic, printing/mailing processes, a huge nerd-love of all things computers, time management (we all know I didn't have that before)-- all skills that I never would have developed without AirOne.

Now I'm doing brochures, product cards, website design, photo editing, sales, and general tech support (because I'm awesome).

My company bought me a Macbook laptop and an iPhone because they know I can rock a Mac (they're all switching over, too), and I can make that computer dance for me.

When we bought it, I made sure they got me the better processor and extra memory so I can pretty much flog that poor thing every day. I run Windows XP simultaneously with OS X, Microsoft Project, 6 huuuge photoshop brochure files, four Word documents, an Excel spreadsheet, email, and video tutorials on the internet on a desktop I've divided into four different screens... And it keeps up with me. The worst it's done is lag when I'm dragging a 600 dpi picture of aircraft seats, zoomed in to the pixel, across the screen in Photoshop. AWESOME.

While I'm nerding out over here, I'll go ahead and tell you that I want to buy that HP laptop that has been sitting in my company's closet for a while. I want to load Linux on it, play with it for a while, and then start messing with things that may or may not cause me to reload the operating system multiple times.

Then: the dissection begins. I'm in over my head, but Google has become my new teacher post-college, and she is slowly and awkwardly teaching me computer science and hardware.

Plus, there's no way I'm taking the Mac apart.

I'm still not completely happy with life since I've moved to OKC, and I don't know why.

At least I like what I do.

Peace.

Speaking the Truth to the Customer

Wed, 17 Sep 2008 14:32:42 GMT

Flight training has been a little slow lately, what with the economy and all. My boss's answer to this is to advertise like there's no tomorrow and go through our records for anyone who has ever inquired about flight training. That's fine, do what you need to do to get the business.

So yesterday he gave me a stack of printed emails from prospective customers and asked me to follow up with them. I said, "no problem," but it turns out these emails were 2-3 years old, and all correspondence had stopped then... THAT'S A PROBLEM. So I'm stuck looking like a desperate idiot, talking to people who didn't know I existed when they called and asked about training in late July of 2005. It is so rude to lose correspondence (probably our fault- we're not very organized) and then ask for your business anyway years later.

I did not sign up for this when I became a flight instructor. I wrote the following email.

Mr. X,

Hi! I know it’s been like three years since we talked to you, but well, business is slow, and AirOne is trolling the corners of the earth for flight students. So. Did you ever get your Private Pilot Certificate, or are you in the process of flight training? If not, then please allow us to beg and plead that you come back. If so, then please let us offer you advanced training or recurrent training for your PPL so we can at least have some of the precious, leftover money out of your pocket.

You see, AirOne is really only concerned with two things: flying and money. You as a person do not qualify as flying or money, but since you allow us access to both of these beloved commodities, we kind of need to suck up to you. Not that we’re doing a very good job, since you will probably find this email an unwanted and offensive gesture and WOULD have seen through our clever “catching up with you” tactic if not for the fact that I pretty much just spelled it out for you.

So good luck with all your flying, if indeed you are flying and weren’t completely turned off to the concept three years ago by our flight school’s sh**ty public relations. And let me suggest changing your email address or spamblocking us because we sure as hell aren’t going to stop emailing you, as you should have figured out by now.

Sincerely,

I am too embarrassed to sign my name here

Then I wrote a real one, but I made it sound really sales-pitchy and sent it anyways.

Mr. X,

Hello! A while ago you had expressed an interest in flight training with AirOne. We are just checking our records and would like to know if you are still interested in getting your Private Pilot Certificate! AirOne offers competitive rates, performance-modified aircraft with full IFR capabilities, and experienced, full-time Flight Instructors who are ready and willing to help you achieve your pilot’s license. Please let us know if we can be of assistance for any of your aviation needs!

Sincerely,

[my boss's name] and AirOne Flight Academy

I need a new job.

Waging war with a kitchen appliance.

Mon, 01 Sep 2008 21:07:56 GMT

Today I tackled the office mini-fridge.

Ever since I've been at AirOne, I've been bringing frozen dinners to work because.. Uh. Because that's what you do when you have a "desk job." I'll get to that part in a minute.

Anyway, every time I go to put my Lean Cuisine in the freezer at the office, it barely fits because the fridge has no auto defrost, and the resulting ice build-up consumes 90% of all usable space. As in, the freezer is one big ice block with a cubby hole in it. I have to take my tray of chicken/meat loaf/whatever out of its box, wedge it in a bit, and put my full force behind a glorious karate kick, lodging my lunch deep within the glacier.

The great part is that I don't even have to save the box because I have all the directions memorized.

So today I came in at 8 AM.. By myself.. On Labor Day.. Not getting paid time and a half or anything... And decided it was the day of reckoning. I moved all the food to the other mini-fridge (the one we stock with water and soda for customers), unplugged the machine, and it was ON.

I brandished two trash cans, a roll of shop towels, and a letter opener, and dragged the offending kitchen appliance out to the main room. The fridge fought back fiercely by leaking onto the floor anyway and being generally heavy and obnoxious. We battled for hours. There were hot cups of water, ice chips, and harsh words everywhere.

But after half a roll of shop towels, one broken letter opener, and 5 hours of giving up and waiting for it to melt, I triumphed. I whistled and chipped away the rest of the ice. Then I left for a minute, came back, and someone had kicked over the baking dish I used to prop up the front. I arrived just in time to watch my vanquished foe finish pissing all over the carpet-- a final act of indignity.

And in the midst of all this, I had eaten my frozen dinner, so I didn't even get the satisfaction of putting anything IN the freezer afterward.

The moral of the story is: "don't work at AirOne." Oops, I mean "take care of company property because it affects everyone."

So speaking of AirOne... I still work here. I say "here" because I'm still at work, bored as anything and tired of making brochures and business cards, which is what I do all day. Technically, though, I'm doing office duty today because everyone else left for Labor Day weekend, and someone needs to watch the phones. It rang twice the entire day. "Office duty" entails that I can lawfully veg out and play minesweeper all day if I want, but at $2 less an hour than my usual job. So I'm actually getting paid less to work on a holiday, and you can stop shaking your head at me for blogging on the job. Ha.

That having been said... I discovered that I can run this flight school just as well, if not better, than anyone else here. I revamped the business cards, letterhead, logo, and pictures. I redid all the training course packages and their pricing. I'm making three new brochures and ditching the old ones. I just finished new, laminated checklists for all the planes. Everything that these people had was shoddy, disorganized, poorly-written, done in Microsoft Word, and/or scanned in so many times it was illegible. Not so anymore.

Now I can hand out a brochure with rental rates and procedures on it, rather than quoting rates to everyone who walks in the door. Now I'm not embarrassed to hand out a cluttered business card with a fuzzy-looking drawing of a Cessna on it.

Here's my plan. Finish redoing all flight school propoganda. See the website design to completion. Then I will only have one plane to sell, and one student (mind you, I was supposed to be flight instructing and selling aircraft all along).

Then, I leave. I cannot pull 40 hours on one Private student and one severely overpriced airplane. I'll pass my student off and hand over all brochures, graphics, and documents. My boss will hopefully understand that I have to eat and pay rent, and we will part on good terms. Then I can go find a real job doing something I enjoy, like, oh, hm, FLYING.. And uh. NOT WORKING AT A DESK. Here's hoping this works...

Monday, June 16, 2008

Mon, 16 Jun 2008 06:00:24 GMT

Well hello..

If you haven't already, read PorkTornado's latest blog. It's a good one. First the guy is funny as hell and instantly becomes my hero. Then he becomes a pilot. Now he's a flight instructor. Now he's living MY dream. Jerk.

Still my hero..

And I'm living my dream anyway, right, right? No. Not right.

I hate my job. I think want to quit. I'm not getting to put in as many hours as a want. I thought I'd be flight instructing more, but I'm stuck at my stupid computer updating the company website and making powerpoint presentations to sell airplanes. Which is great and stuff, but I miss flying. I don't have a single student because this whole operation is so small. I'd planned on most of my income coming from flying (because that's what my boss told me before I took the job) because I get paid more per hour for that. But now, even if I hit 40 hours a week, I'm still way below poverty level.

And I can't hit 40 hours anyway because there's just not that much to do. I'm bored, and I feel guilty about just being there and not doing anything except earning money, so I leave early everyday. I go home unhappy every afternoon.

AND to boot, I keep watching the jets come in across the street and think, "man I want to work line crew again." And I do. I loved that job.

Enough of my whining. I'm in Ponca now, for Father's day and whatever. It went well, and I'm staying here overnight because I'm procrastinating going back to OKC because I hate it there.

Also it's because I can't leave since my massive cat is sitting on me. If you want a visual, then check out this picture of him engulfing a duffel bag. Now imagine that, sprawled out across my lap and purring and being all hot and kneading my bare leg with his claws.

He threw up on the driveway today, and there was a frog in it.

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

This post seems to be in typical blogger fashion in that I am whining about my life and posting pictures of my cat. In keeping with this dork theme, I think I will tell you all that I went to Scarborough Faire a few weekends ago, and I dressed accordingly. Daniel and my fencing coach and a bunch of other people I know from fencing went down to watch our friends Kate and Dave get married at the Faire.

Kate and Dave are cool. Every time we have a tournament in Dallas, they let us stay at their place and play guitar hero until we pass out. Then they feed us breakfast the next morning. Then we go to the tournament, and I beat Kate, HA. Just kidding. Not really.

It's okay, we're buddies.

Anyway, they were even cool enough to let a bunch of us use their house to crash at before we saw them get hitched at the Faire. Which was awesome and stuff until we realized we were short a wedding present. Daniel suggested we steal something from their house and "regift" it to them. Genius.

So we went through their house trying to think of stuff that we could easily wrap. You know like pictures of them together already in frames, or that 12 year old bottle of scotch David has, or that decrepit-looking plant in the corner.

"Hey, congratulations on getting married, guys! We got you this dying plant!"

"Wow... Thanks Daniel and Cathy. It... Looks just like the one we already have in our living room."

"Yeah, that's what YOU think."

We opted for the gift card. Anyway, here's proof of my nerd-self, if you didn't believe it before:

Cathy at a Renaissance Faire, nerding it up.

My favorite part is the dagger on the back. My coach, Jerry, let me borrow it from the club, and Daniel had a sword, too. Unfortunately, Jerry zip-tied our weapons to their hilts because he knows us too well. The whole day after the wedding was spent pretending to get into dueling matches with each other, only to find we can't get our swords out.

Here's my favorite provocative pose with a stupid bottle of water. I make it a point to get sauced at weddings where there is free alcohol, so I'm none too camera shy in this one.

If you look closely, you can see a shadow where my boobs are supposed to be.

Monday, April 14, 2008

Mon, 14 Apr 2008 08:54:28 GMT

Today I learned that "koi," those big fish you usually see in oriental ponds, are actually just big goldfish that were placed in a giant fish tank... Seriously, they just grow according to the size of tank you put them in. I'm not exactly a fish expert here, so I'm not sure on the details. I'm just saying that's crazytalk.

So... I propose we take all the fish out of the Atlanta Aquarium and replace them with "Goldie." Theoretically, Goldie could grow to the size of a couch, or possibly a Tahoe.

This is all for science, people, but just think of the applications: we could "harvest" Goldie when it came time and feed all the hobos in Atlanta for like a year. In fact, we could solve world hunger with a mere handful of Goldies. Think about it.

Apartment Shopping

Thu, 10 Apr 2008 01:26:35 GMT

The last time I went apartment shopping I had my mommy with me. And fully equipped with our Sunday newspaper and OSU Off Campus Living Guide, she and I set out to persue Stillwater's wholesome variety of properties. Within a week, I found my exclusive, upscale penthouse studio suite next to the drainage ditch/"wildlife reservoir" in the ass-end of an apartment complex in dire need of paint. And a lawn mower. I named it, "the Ess Hole."

I could see daylight through the cracks in the door (This would have been okay if the cracks weren't in the middle of the door), the heater broke constantly, my stairs and the lack of light made me an easy rape victim anytime after sunset, and my neighbors were all on welfare. I loved it. It was my grown up hidey hole, and I was excited because this time it was not made out of couch cushions. I stripped the door and repainted it, bought new blinds, bleached everything, ripped the laminate off the desk, etc, etc, and it rocked.

Then I got roommates and moved into the Reserve because that's where you go when you get roommates who don't own any furniture. The Reserve came complete with wild college parties/orgies whenever OSU won a game, and a lawn dotted with beer cans the morning after. More importantly, though, it came with a dishwasher.

But! Fast forward to now! I'm apartment shopping on my very own in a new town with a new car and a new job, and I'm all starry-eyed about flying and fencing and driving on highways! Here's a glimpse of what I thought it was going to be like:

*50's housewife-driving-the-car-to-the-grocery-store music plays. You know, the kind with the strings all playing pizzicato.* Cathy, wearing a sundress and bonnet, leaps gaily to and fro among brightly colored apartment complexes, purse swinging from her arm, Apartment Finder in hand, retarded smile on her face. The happy apartment man opens the door to an immaculate room with freshly shampooed carpet, everything sparkles like in those bathroom cleaner commercials, and Cathy claps like an idiot.

Okay.

Now picture Cathy driving in her new Mazda, which is not an automatic, whilst holding a map, an apartment guide, the classifieds, and a gas station sandwich. She's wearing job interview clothes because she just accepted her AirOne position, and her janky fencing clothes and the remainder of the newspaper are strewn about the back seat. After accidentally driving around to all fifty welfare housing complexes, she realizes it's after 6, and all the offices to the non-budget-restriction apartments are closed.

She parks, crams the sandwich, and juggles the endless amount of paper before her. Half an hour later she gives up because Oklahoma City property is more expensive than renting a hangar for the space shuttle. Note to self: do not even attempt California.

Two and a half weeks later she is digging through the piles on her desk looking for that damn presentation outline. She unearths the Apartment Finder, swears a little, and calls her mother.

I've been busy... No, not that kind of busy. You're sick.

Thu, 27 Mar 2008 05:41:17 GMT

Yours truly has a job.

That's right guys, in a matter of weeks, I will be joining the American workforce and paying my taxes and building a new tomorrow, etc, etc. Actually I'm already doing all that, but this will be my first post-college, "real" job.

I'll be working for AirOne Flight Academy in Oklahoma City at Wiley Post airport doing flight instructing and aircraft sales. I'll get paid almost double what I get paid for flight instructing now, which is awesome, but not even the best part. The best part is that I will be making/performing presentations for companies who are looking to buy into a business jet. When they buy into the plane, AirOne keeps it, maintains it, and flies it for them. So in about a month.... I will sell shares in a plane and then get to fly the fancy business executives around in it, plus flight instruct in much nicer planes than the ones I'm in now. Oh, yeah, and 10% commission on stuff I help sell. FREAKING WIN-WIN.

I know. You're jealous that I have my dream job already. You should really work on that; jealousy is not a healthy feeling.

The parents have been taking this well, of course. As dad puts it, "we might launch one." They are looking forward to kicking me off the payroll, so to speak, along with the car/health/dental insurance policies and cell phone bill. Apparently I'm expensive or something.

The reason I kept looking for a job in OKC, though, is fencing. I've kind of become attached to the sport, and I find more and more that I want to devote pretty much all of my resources into becoming an elite athlete. I want to win North American Cups. I want to win World Cups. If I wasn't going to be 27 by the time the 2012 Olympics roll around, I would want to go win that, too. My coach says you have be a little crazy if you want to compete at this level. I think centering your career for the next four years around where the fencing center is located is just this kind of crazy.

Here's my logic, though. I have the talent, the desire, and the resources (hopefully). The only time in my life that I will ever be able to see how good I can get at fencing is now. Now, while I'm still young and single and stupid. For me, it isn't about winning or competing so much as it is about seeing what my best looks like. Plus it's an adrenaline rush, and I live for those.

That having been said, I'm skipping my own graduation ceremony for summer nationals qualifiers in El Paso! I called my parents up, and the conversation went as follows:

Me: Mom, do you mind if I skip my graduation ceremony? I've got to go qualify for summer nationals on the same day. I mean, I can probably file for an exemption if I need to, but I pretty much need to fence at the exact time of the ceremony. Is that cool? It's okay if you're not happy with it, I can figure something else out I guess. I mean, if you're not okay with it.

Mom: Pfft, whatever. If you want to go to the whole 3-hours-of-inspirational-speaking-about-how-you're-going-to-grow-up-to-be-a-millionaire-and-drive-a-Ferrari, I guess we can come and sit through it....... But you can go fence, too, it's up to you.

Me: Wait... Really? I thought Grandma was going to come down.

Mom: Yeah, that fell through. Do what you want.

Me: Should I at least call dad to make sure he's okay with it?

Mom: Oh, yeah. Good idea.

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

Me: Dad, do you care if I skip my graduation ceremony to go to a fencing tournament?

Dad: No.

Me:........

Dad: Look, if you want to go through that whole tear-jerking walking across the stage bit, it's cool; we'll take pictures. But if you need to go, it's not going to bother me any. I wish I'd skipped my own.

Me: Amazing.