Monday, July 30, 2012

Nice House, Can I Take Your Trash?

So one of my coworkers whom I happen to like just bought a house. This excites me because we already bought our house and redid everything. Sure, there is more to do, but absent a large renovation (LAST on the list), it is not the same as that initial thrill.

So B and I went to check out her place. Also, built in the 20s, it has a lot of the same charm that ours does.  My friend, however, is a tad bit more modern so it will be interesting to see what she does with it.  There are some unusual things there too like the fact that she can only get central air on the first floor. Is that even central? No clue. Also the creepy former coal chute that is big enough to bury a body, or seven. Seriously, I felt like I was in an episode of American Horror Story and that creepy creature in the basement was coming out to get me.  

This, my friends, is not the most exciting part! You knew that, right? The most exciting part was as we left we saw the trash pile that the former owners left that very day in front of the house. Whatever did we find? A chair! Yes, a chair that made B pause and point it out. Then we had to sit in it. Then we had to trash pick it and put it in our truck. 

Similar to the old chair left behind in our house by our house's former owners (yes, it finally got reupholstered, no I have not shared the photos yet), this one had GOOD LINES.  That is all I kept saying. I will have you know, though, that when B took the chair from our house to the upholsterers, that is exactly what they said. I may not know what I am talking about, but somehow I am right.

So what do you think of the chair a/k/a our future piece of fine furniture?

Look at those lines! Yes, I realize this is just a bare bone skeleton of a chair, but can you imagine what it will look like when it is reborn? Yes, I just used the word "reborn" while talking about a chair.

Yes we sat in a chair that only had springs on it and it was actually quite comfortable as is. That is what sold me.

And the back view:

I am almost as excited about this chair as S is about her house. Well, maybe more.  Perhaps I will one day show you the finished product of our chair.  

Stay tuned.


Tuesday, July 17, 2012

I See Your Barf Bag and Raise You a Bloody Napkin

Did you hear about the woman who was forced to stay on a flight for 10 hours while sitting next to a corpse the entire time? If not, you should read it here.  Her story reminded me of my story that, although it did not involve a corpse, came pretty close.

I am actually referencing # 11 on this list.  It was on a flight back from #1 on that same list.  My coworker and I were on a return flight from Vegas. We were in a three seat row with I on the end, my coworker "S" in the middle, and unknown passenger by the window.  At first, it started off fine. One of our seminar speakers sat down. Boring as he may have been, it would have made our flight a lot more bearable if he had stayed put. Unfortunately, he was traveling with his wife and wanted to sit next to her. So, when her seat mate showed up, I asked if they could switch seats, being the nice person that I am. I like to call that MISTAKE NO. 1.

New guy immediately sat down, put his head against the window and passed out. He reeked of alcohol and looked disheveled.  S was not amused. We took off and all seemed to go well although we kept a worried eye on Drunk Guy. Within 20 minutes, Drunk Guy jumped up, yelled "I HAVE TO GO TO THE RESTROOM" which spurred me into such immediate action, I spilled my drink.  He then proceeded to spend the next 20 minutes in the bathroom banging around.  S was SO not amused.  

He came back, sat down and grabbed a barf bag.  I warned S. I like to call that MISTAKE NO. 2.  She basically started sitting in my lap in order to avoid being thrown up on. While this was occurring, I realize Drunk Guy has a bloody nose and is wiping it with the barf bag.  I immediately tell S to watch out for wayward body fluids. I like to call that MISTAKE NO. 3.  Now S is over my lap and in the aisle declaring that she cannot and WILL not sit next to the guy. They have to move him to some other part of the plane. Panic has set in.

After assuring her that there was no secret place on the plane to put a grown drunk man, I come up with a solution - we switch seats.  All this does is manage to calm her growing panic. However, we spent the next three hours half perched in our seats looking warily at drunk guy expecting the worse.  Any idea how uncomfortable that is? Hugely.

Good news! Drunk guy never puked next to us. In fact, he never moved again.  Bad news! He continued to bleed all over himself until such time as I offered him a napkin. He was down to wiping it on his coat collar.  Sexy!

I learned a lot that flight.  First class is always a better option. You might still have a drunk as a seat mate, but you will have more room. Also, know your coworkers and their phobias before you go on 3 hour plane rides with them. 

I can only hope Drunk Guy learned something too.



Monday, July 09, 2012

Meet Bert!

Meet Bert!  You will remember him from the Fourth of July post where I coyly, or not so much, slid his picture in.

Bert is new to the pack. I won't say he is replacing Chester because no one could replace Chester.  However, he is filling a void that has been there since Chester has been gone.

B stumbled upon Bert's picture on Facebook.  All that we could see was his little panda face.  That was enough to capture B's heart. He went off to meet Bert.  

Bert was born on the street and living under a porch.  Some nice people trapped him and another nice woman kept him in her bathroom for a week trying to get him to acclimate to living in a house and to people in general.  We give mad props to her for that week because even though he came to us hissing, he quickly warmed up and we think it is because she spent so much time with him.

Not much is known about Bert after these few weeks. He has stopped hissing at us and reserves that usually for the dogs (who he swiped and spit at right away a la Chester style and now they fear all 3 lbs of him), or for B when he startles him out of sleep. To be honest, sometimes I feel like hissing at B when he wakes me, but that is another story.

Bert likes eating. The face above is what he looks like after he eats or, apparently, when he wants to eat B for taking too many pictures.

Most unique feature about Bert is that he only has black on his face, the back of his left paw and all up and down his back. Doesn't he look like someone dipped him in some paint?

Bert has brought another dynamic to the house. Brad is happy to have a friend. Even Mooch seems calmer like maybe he doesn't think that we are out to rid the place of all cats.  The dogs are intrigued, but scared.

I think Chester is smiling down and, perhaps, proud that his spirit lives on in Bert.

*Bert was named after the street he was found on, Liberty.

Thursday, July 05, 2012

How YOU Doin? And Other Creepy Things to Say to People

Remember when Joey from Friends would say this all the time and the girls would fall for it, but when other every day people said it, it sounded creepy? Or when men 20 years later still try to say it? Or when I just used it in my title?

So creepy.

That is not the only way to be creepy, however.  I recently found out that I am quite capable of being unintentionally creepy. Unfortunately, I found this out at the office.

You see, we had a bunch of new people start recently. I decided to be proactive and introduce myself to them as I encountered them as no one seemed to be walking them around for introductions.  So I walked up to a young lady, roughly 20 or so, and intended to say "nice to meet you" and "welcome aboard."  Instead, the following occurred:

Me: Hi! I don't think we have met. I am me.
A: Hi. My name is A.
Me: NICE...
Me: Welcome aboard.

You know what a dragged out NICE sounds like without a "to meet you" after it? CREEPY. Even I was creeped out! Yes, I even unintentionally creeped myself out.

I quickly tried to explain what I was trying to say and thought to myself that it wasn't at all as bad as I imagined.  That is, until one of my support staff said "Well, THAT was creepy."

Signing off as the unintentionally creepy stalker person at work,


Wednesday, July 04, 2012

Four for the Fourth for You

The girls and boys wanted to show you their patriotic side this Fourth of July. This post is so late because it took me that long to get their d@$& pictures!

Mooch is last because he was the hardest. He had no less than 12 takes.  I envisioned the cats would sit nicely and stare at the camera. Clearly, I was delusional.

If you are wondering who that cat in the middle is, stay tuned.

For now, I sign off to either the sound of fireworks or gun shots. At this point I am unsure.

Happy Fourth of July, everyone!


Tuesday, July 03, 2012

It Appears You May Have Lost a Limb or Two...

You know the neighbor behind us, the long-grassed man? B is holding a bit of a grudge against him. It is not because he has long grass, or because he likes to journal his entire life,or sit outside and do teleconferences and teach classes from his computer, or because he used his grass as a storage unit for months on end. It is not even because he puts his composter right at our fence line.

It is his tree.

He has this old tree that is impinging on our property line and interfering with our ability to replace the fence. And we really want to replace the fence.

With a privacy fence.

Nevada loves the tree. It is a mulberry tree and all of these mulberries fall into our yard. Nevada eats them like she has never been fed.  B loves this.

The tree also has enormous branches that are hanging all over the wires. So B called the electric company, oh, about a few months ago. They finally got around to coming to deal with it this weekend.  I can say that the branches are no longer interfering with their lines.  I can't say they are not interfering with anything else. I also cannot give props to a job well done because, well, take a look yourself:

And then look a little closer:

That does not look at all ridiculous does it?  You will note that the majority of the tree is STILL hanging over into our yard. Nevada is relieved. More mulberries for her. YAY.  B just wants the tree gone. I just think this is the stupidest thing I have ever seen. Seriously, I am dumbfounded.

Look at that tree!

So, B's new plan is for me to charm the long-grassed man into removing the tree. Right...we all know how that worked with the neighbors and the air conditioning, right?

Just how high can a privacy fence go anyway?


Monday, July 02, 2012

It's Always a Barrel of Laughs for B

The other day when I arrived home, B was kind enough to open the fence for me. As I passed I asked him to check to see if there was a dent in my bumper.

B: Why would there be a dent in your bumper?
Me: Oh. I couldn't remember if I was in an accident this morning or not.

You see, that morning I was driving along the freeway I heard the distinct crunch of a plastic bumper. I looked up to see the guy behind me and the guy behind him pulling off to the side and wondered briefly if I was involved. I did not remember being jolted or feeling it occur.  

Then I promptly forgot until I was driving by B.

However, what makes the above scenario that much more ridiculous is that it was not the first time we had such a conversation in the past couple of weeks. Let's rewind, shall we?

~couple weeks prior~

While sitting in our screened-in back porch, I suddenly remembered to ask B:

Me: Hey! Check the front right end of my truck to see if it has orange paint on it.
B: Why would it have orange paint on it?
Me: Maybe, I hit some barrels?

Oh, I hit some barrels.  Let's just say it involved a bit of misjudgment on my part as to the speed of the car ahead of me, the tenancity of the semi truck next to me and my ability to slow down/stop on a dime.

Let's just say that maybe three barrels lost their life.

Let's just say I may have been completely mortified at having to stop at the side of the raod until I could get things under control.

I will say, though, there was no orange paint.


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