I went down to the work cafeteria for lunch today and they had a sheet cake down there celebrating their 800th accident free day. This cake was free for anyone to take, and there was ONE piece left. As I watched in fascination, 3 different people approached the "last" piece of cake, cut it in half, and then scuttled off with the other half like some kind of sugar-deprived crayfish. So at that point is was nothing more than about 3 frosted cake molecules, but NOBODY took that last piece, dammit. I had a primal urge to throw the last piece of cake on the floor and pray that someone slipped in the frosting. "What happened to you?" "I broke my leg when I slipped and fell in the frosting of the accident-free celebration cake".
I would have baked them a "greatest victim of comic irony EVER" cake.
I also realized something else today - I DO know what despair smells like. Incidentally, it smells just like a man in his mid 40's who has just showered himself in Axe body spray in order to speak to the "eye candy" down on the second floor, apparently in the hopes that the fumes emanating off from his person will render her unable to detect what a total and overwhelming douche he really is as he continues to engage in behavior that would normally be considered "crude", even for a sailor.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Friday, July 10, 2009
I Drove Here for THIS?
Some time in November or December of last year, the stereo in my car developed an exciting new feature in which any component relating to playing CD's ceased to function. Instead, if I touched ANY of the buttons that pertained to the playing (or ejecting) of CDs, the stereo would respond with a barrage of angry clicks like some kind of deranged electronic beetle. After putting up with nothing but broadcast radio for over half a year, I finally called the dealer and made an appointment to get it fixed. At the time that I made the appointment, I told the person at the dealership that my stereo would neither play nor eject my CDs. They told me at that time "we'll take a look at it, but depending on what we find we may need to just order a new stereo. We don't keep those in stock." Fine, this makes sense.
SOOOO, fast forward to this morning when I lumber out of my house at the buttcrack of dawn to drive the 20 miles to the dealership in morning rush hour traffic. At least I could listen to my CDs while I . . . ohhh, wait. So, I pulled into the garage with the intention of working on my laptop in the waiting room while a technician looked at my car, attempted to fix the stereo with a coat hanger, and then provided me with an estimate as to how much a new one would cost (a stereo, not a coat hanger). So imagine my DELIGHT when the person I checked in with took my keys, spent approximately 15 seconds sitting in my car, and then proceeded to call the parts department to get a price on a new stereo. He explained to me "we don't even attempt to fix stereos. We just order a new or refurbished one."
W. T. F? I was perplexed, so I asked the silly question. "If you don't fix stereos, then why did someone have me make an appointment to bring my car down here?" Apparently I wasn't able to fully mask the hostility in my voice, as this man backed up a step before replying "well, so we could verify what the problem was."
OK, I will admit, I have girl parts. And I realize that this automatically excludes me from being able to comprehend the "tuck rule" in the NFL or to ever hope to write my name in yellow snow. HOWEVER, somehow I feel that I would have been able to scrape together enough spatial perception to not only LOCATE and DEPRESS the "eject" button on the stereo, but also to actually ascertain whether or not the CD was ejected from the device. I could have even probably called in a favor from a friend and had them verify that I was indeed pressing the correct button and that I had not recently suffered an extreme cranial injury.
SOOOO, fast forward to this morning when I lumber out of my house at the buttcrack of dawn to drive the 20 miles to the dealership in morning rush hour traffic. At least I could listen to my CDs while I . . . ohhh, wait. So, I pulled into the garage with the intention of working on my laptop in the waiting room while a technician looked at my car, attempted to fix the stereo with a coat hanger, and then provided me with an estimate as to how much a new one would cost (a stereo, not a coat hanger). So imagine my DELIGHT when the person I checked in with took my keys, spent approximately 15 seconds sitting in my car, and then proceeded to call the parts department to get a price on a new stereo. He explained to me "we don't even attempt to fix stereos. We just order a new or refurbished one."
W. T. F? I was perplexed, so I asked the silly question. "If you don't fix stereos, then why did someone have me make an appointment to bring my car down here?" Apparently I wasn't able to fully mask the hostility in my voice, as this man backed up a step before replying "well, so we could verify what the problem was."
OK, I will admit, I have girl parts. And I realize that this automatically excludes me from being able to comprehend the "tuck rule" in the NFL or to ever hope to write my name in yellow snow. HOWEVER, somehow I feel that I would have been able to scrape together enough spatial perception to not only LOCATE and DEPRESS the "eject" button on the stereo, but also to actually ascertain whether or not the CD was ejected from the device. I could have even probably called in a favor from a friend and had them verify that I was indeed pressing the correct button and that I had not recently suffered an extreme cranial injury.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
First Day with the New Legs?
So the other day I come home from work early, and the trash can was at the end of the driveway. This is not unusual, as just that morning I had hauled it out to the curb for garbage pickup. Since my car parks in the can, and the trash collector had already been through, I thought I would be nice and drag it up to the house for the hubby. That right there should have been a guarantee that things would go smoothly.
I parked my car at the end of our driveway and towed the green can into the garage, shoving it up against the wall where it belonged. Heading back down the driveway to my car, I could hear the neighbor's wiener dog (Kirby, the mouth with legs) alerting everyone in a 6-block radius that he REALLY should be punted over the fence like a football. I turned my head and yelled at him over my shoulder, which was also my cue to begin an acrobatic performance that can only be described as "hippo, only less elegant". SOMEHOW, over the past 30+ years of my life, I had not yet mastered the art of walking and talking. My right foot landed on a small stick on our pavement driveway, and I went down like a walrus on rollerblades. The worst part was when I suddenly realized "I am going to catch myself with my face!"
I am not a graceful person by any means. I regularly run into the counter in our kitchen with my hips, leaving me to lament just HOW many axe handles across must my azz be for me to not even be able to successfully navigate within 4 feet of walking space without knocking into something. However, that generally happens within the privacy of my own home. As my face hurtled toward the front bumper of my car with frightening velocity, I realized that I was out on a public street and that this was really going to hurt.
My forehead narrowly missed the car and instead hit the pavement, while at the same time I emitted a noise similar to what I would anticipate a constipated buffalo sounds like. After a stunned silence of about 2 seconds (during which our neighbors' bastrd mutt continued to bay like a hound of H3ll), I gingerly rolled to my side and checked to see whether I could see the bones in my hands. Finding no blood there, I pulled off my glasses which had been mashed onto my face by the impact, peering through the lens to see a perfect impression left by the oil on my forehead. I looked around for my dignity unsuccessfully, and then decided that I would be better off trying to find THAT in the house. Cursing LOUDLY to myself, I pushed myself to my feet and climbed into my car. Pulling it into the garage, I shut both garage doors behind me and went in to inspect the damage.
As it turns out, the only place where I actually broke the skin was the top of my "index" toe on my right foot (I was wearing sandals). I caught most of my weight (no small feat) on my right knee, scraping it up a little bit but not even tearing a hole in my khakis. I also managed to shave off the top of the toe on my brand new sandals, scrape up my right forearm, mildly sprain my pinky finger, and of course scrape my forehead. Once I had triaged my injuries, I immediately set about the task of berating myself in my best outside voice. "What the fck?? Who the fck falls down on dry pavement and catches themself with their face?? Honestly! How fcking retarded are you to fall down like that? And how the fck did you hit your face?"
Finally realizing that this was, at the very least, comic gold, I finally finished my barrage of self-profanity and picked up the phone. This was a story worth sharing! I ended up calling both my husband and my parents, and also as an afterthought sent an instant message to my boss just in case I came into the office with a black eye the next day.
I parked my car at the end of our driveway and towed the green can into the garage, shoving it up against the wall where it belonged. Heading back down the driveway to my car, I could hear the neighbor's wiener dog (Kirby, the mouth with legs) alerting everyone in a 6-block radius that he REALLY should be punted over the fence like a football. I turned my head and yelled at him over my shoulder, which was also my cue to begin an acrobatic performance that can only be described as "hippo, only less elegant". SOMEHOW, over the past 30+ years of my life, I had not yet mastered the art of walking and talking. My right foot landed on a small stick on our pavement driveway, and I went down like a walrus on rollerblades. The worst part was when I suddenly realized "I am going to catch myself with my face!"
I am not a graceful person by any means. I regularly run into the counter in our kitchen with my hips, leaving me to lament just HOW many axe handles across must my azz be for me to not even be able to successfully navigate within 4 feet of walking space without knocking into something. However, that generally happens within the privacy of my own home. As my face hurtled toward the front bumper of my car with frightening velocity, I realized that I was out on a public street and that this was really going to hurt.
My forehead narrowly missed the car and instead hit the pavement, while at the same time I emitted a noise similar to what I would anticipate a constipated buffalo sounds like. After a stunned silence of about 2 seconds (during which our neighbors' bastrd mutt continued to bay like a hound of H3ll), I gingerly rolled to my side and checked to see whether I could see the bones in my hands. Finding no blood there, I pulled off my glasses which had been mashed onto my face by the impact, peering through the lens to see a perfect impression left by the oil on my forehead. I looked around for my dignity unsuccessfully, and then decided that I would be better off trying to find THAT in the house. Cursing LOUDLY to myself, I pushed myself to my feet and climbed into my car. Pulling it into the garage, I shut both garage doors behind me and went in to inspect the damage.
As it turns out, the only place where I actually broke the skin was the top of my "index" toe on my right foot (I was wearing sandals). I caught most of my weight (no small feat) on my right knee, scraping it up a little bit but not even tearing a hole in my khakis. I also managed to shave off the top of the toe on my brand new sandals, scrape up my right forearm, mildly sprain my pinky finger, and of course scrape my forehead. Once I had triaged my injuries, I immediately set about the task of berating myself in my best outside voice. "What the fck?? Who the fck falls down on dry pavement and catches themself with their face?? Honestly! How fcking retarded are you to fall down like that? And how the fck did you hit your face?"
Finally realizing that this was, at the very least, comic gold, I finally finished my barrage of self-profanity and picked up the phone. This was a story worth sharing! I ended up calling both my husband and my parents, and also as an afterthought sent an instant message to my boss just in case I came into the office with a black eye the next day.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
The AXE Effect
Cox [2:19 PM]:Does Lowflow know we're not gay?
milly [2:20 PM]:You act as though this is some kind of unambiguous fact.
Cox [2:20 PM]:It better be....Cox [2:20 PM]:We (both SS and I) were contacted by Lowflow ...
milly [2:21 PM]:*listening*
Cox [2:21 PM]:...to vote for Steve Wozniak on "Dancing With The Stars" this evening
milly [2:21 PM]:*snickers*
Cox [2:22 PM]:I have an entire episode of 24 that I am watching during that time
milly [2:22 PM]:I shouldn't laugh, but I sat through the most painful handoff with him earlier today, so I'm glad someone else is being annoyed
milly [2:23 PM]:OMG, now they're discussing it here
milly [2:23 PM]:Out loud
Cox [2:23 PM]:Fantastic.
Cox [2:23 PM]:HA HA!
milly [2:23 PM]:Want me to bridge you in? You can listen
Cox [2:23 PM]:YesCox [2:23 PM]:Phone #
milly [2:23 PM]:Some day I should just dial you in and leave my phone on speaker
milly [2:24 PM]:So you can listen to the banter that happens here
Cox [2:24 PM]:lol!
milly [2:24 PM]:However, for the full effect, you should get a slab of bacon, steep it in Axe Body Spray for 2 days, and put it on a potpouri warmer at your desk
Cox [2:25 PM]:That's horrible
milly [2:25 PM]:Smells like prom, being held at the Oscar Meyer farms
Cox [2:25 PM]:Nice visual and olfactory reference though - We are getting the full effect
milly [2:25 PM]:I'm glad to hear it
milly [2:26 PM]:You really have to live the experience to understand just how out of control it can be here some days
milly [2:26 PM]:My eyes were running for the first 2 hours after Buzzcut (old boss) arrived
milly [2:27 PM]:Like the Enola Gay flew over, filled with Axe
milly [2:27 PM]:And just blasted the place
Cox [2:27 PM]:Didn't get the Axe effect?
milly [2:27 PM]:I hope that the effect was seeing me in my skivvies. And I pray that what has been seen, cannot be unseen
milly [2:28 PM]:And if the "Axe Effect" was the one with the tiny little man in his banana hammock, I'll pass
milly [2:28 PM]:I ran into the kitchen for a butter knife to gouge out my eyes after seeing that little runt
Cox [2:28 PM]:Dude...You are giving me visual reference overload here
Cox [2:29 PM]:You gotta STOP!!
milly [2:29 PM]:OK, fine. Puppies and kittens, puppies and kittens
Cox [2:31 PM]:You got airplanes from WWII, banana hammocks, skivies, a scene from a slasher flick...c'mon give me a break
milly [2:33 PM]:Amateur
milly [2:33 PM]:Spend a day in my head, once.
milly [2:20 PM]:You act as though this is some kind of unambiguous fact.
Cox [2:20 PM]:It better be....Cox [2:20 PM]:We (both SS and I) were contacted by Lowflow ...
milly [2:21 PM]:*listening*
Cox [2:21 PM]:...to vote for Steve Wozniak on "Dancing With The Stars" this evening
milly [2:21 PM]:*snickers*
Cox [2:22 PM]:I have an entire episode of 24 that I am watching during that time
milly [2:22 PM]:I shouldn't laugh, but I sat through the most painful handoff with him earlier today, so I'm glad someone else is being annoyed
milly [2:23 PM]:OMG, now they're discussing it here
milly [2:23 PM]:Out loud
Cox [2:23 PM]:Fantastic.
Cox [2:23 PM]:HA HA!
milly [2:23 PM]:Want me to bridge you in? You can listen
Cox [2:23 PM]:YesCox [2:23 PM]:Phone #
milly [2:23 PM]:Some day I should just dial you in and leave my phone on speaker
milly [2:24 PM]:So you can listen to the banter that happens here
Cox [2:24 PM]:lol!
milly [2:24 PM]:However, for the full effect, you should get a slab of bacon, steep it in Axe Body Spray for 2 days, and put it on a potpouri warmer at your desk
Cox [2:25 PM]:That's horrible
milly [2:25 PM]:Smells like prom, being held at the Oscar Meyer farms
Cox [2:25 PM]:Nice visual and olfactory reference though - We are getting the full effect
milly [2:25 PM]:I'm glad to hear it
milly [2:26 PM]:You really have to live the experience to understand just how out of control it can be here some days
milly [2:26 PM]:My eyes were running for the first 2 hours after Buzzcut (old boss) arrived
milly [2:27 PM]:Like the Enola Gay flew over, filled with Axe
milly [2:27 PM]:And just blasted the place
Cox [2:27 PM]:Didn't get the Axe effect?
milly [2:27 PM]:I hope that the effect was seeing me in my skivvies. And I pray that what has been seen, cannot be unseen
milly [2:28 PM]:And if the "Axe Effect" was the one with the tiny little man in his banana hammock, I'll pass
milly [2:28 PM]:I ran into the kitchen for a butter knife to gouge out my eyes after seeing that little runt
Cox [2:28 PM]:Dude...You are giving me visual reference overload here
Cox [2:29 PM]:You gotta STOP!!
milly [2:29 PM]:OK, fine. Puppies and kittens, puppies and kittens
Cox [2:31 PM]:You got airplanes from WWII, banana hammocks, skivies, a scene from a slasher flick...c'mon give me a break
milly [2:33 PM]:Amateur
milly [2:33 PM]:Spend a day in my head, once.
Moving Day
OMG, we moved into a new area. The old, evil milly is very alive and very well. Someone printed out a 1,200 page document on the printer. (YES, I AM FREAKIN SERIOUS!!!!) And at my very core, I wanted to take the stack of papers, THROW them into the air, and then shuffle them back together and leave them on top of the printer. It would have been PRICELESS!! WHAT does one do with a 1,200 page document?? Line the bottoms of all of the parrot cages at the MN Zoo?????
Also, within easy earshot are “Racecar” and “Lowflow”. OMG, I’m going to be found, broken, under a window ledge outside of this building. Racecar feels that I need to meet EVERYONE who I may EVER talk to, in person. And he has made it his life’s mission to make sure that happens. Just today I had the pleasure of meeting yet another person who I didn’t need to shake hands with (cold, very wet hands. It was like fondling a 5-headed eel). And this guy had the same look on his face – why am I being introduced to this person? But Racecar was just as happy as a pig in poo and was wagging his curly little tail in glee. Enter Lowflow. Lowflow was an only-child, and it is PAINFULLY obvious. He has one topic of conversation that he has decided is interesting – himself. And as he is CLEARLY an expert on previously mentioned topic, he feels the need to share with the rest of us. Ad nauseum. It's worse than John Madden's boycrush on Brett Favre. If I don’t hear about his last job, his Roomba, and Star Trek at LEAST 4 times a day, then I know he’s out of the office. And he is also oblivious to the rules of conversation – if the person you are speaking to has turned their back to you and is moving away from you like a terrified rabbit, the conversation should be considered over. This guy had been edging away for upwards of 10 minutes, trying to escape the barrage of comments beginning with “me” and “I”. So once eel-hands finally escaped, Lowflow and Racecar look at one another. And their eyes meet. And OH MY GOD THEY START TALKING TO ONE ANOTHER!!!! Work hubby and I immediately raced out into the parking lot to have a smoke. (He has filtered nicotine, and I get mine second-hand. To heighten the effect, today we sat in his car. The weather is possibly colder than my heart. Possibly. The jury is still out)
Also, within easy earshot are “Racecar” and “Lowflow”. OMG, I’m going to be found, broken, under a window ledge outside of this building. Racecar feels that I need to meet EVERYONE who I may EVER talk to, in person. And he has made it his life’s mission to make sure that happens. Just today I had the pleasure of meeting yet another person who I didn’t need to shake hands with (cold, very wet hands. It was like fondling a 5-headed eel). And this guy had the same look on his face – why am I being introduced to this person? But Racecar was just as happy as a pig in poo and was wagging his curly little tail in glee. Enter Lowflow. Lowflow was an only-child, and it is PAINFULLY obvious. He has one topic of conversation that he has decided is interesting – himself. And as he is CLEARLY an expert on previously mentioned topic, he feels the need to share with the rest of us. Ad nauseum. It's worse than John Madden's boycrush on Brett Favre. If I don’t hear about his last job, his Roomba, and Star Trek at LEAST 4 times a day, then I know he’s out of the office. And he is also oblivious to the rules of conversation – if the person you are speaking to has turned their back to you and is moving away from you like a terrified rabbit, the conversation should be considered over. This guy had been edging away for upwards of 10 minutes, trying to escape the barrage of comments beginning with “me” and “I”. So once eel-hands finally escaped, Lowflow and Racecar look at one another. And their eyes meet. And OH MY GOD THEY START TALKING TO ONE ANOTHER!!!! Work hubby and I immediately raced out into the parking lot to have a smoke. (He has filtered nicotine, and I get mine second-hand. To heighten the effect, today we sat in his car. The weather is possibly colder than my heart. Possibly. The jury is still out)
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