Don't Hand Me No Lines and Keep Your Jokes to Yourself

Sometimes, at stores, people just want to talk to me.  Usually, I do not want to talk to them.  That does not deter them.  For example, the other day (or month) while in CVS, the man in front of me in line turned and said:

Man:  I am a cop.* 

Man:  Nod if you believe me. 

I don't nod.

I stare blankly.

Man:  Just kidding. 

I don't nod. 

I don't smile. 

He leaves. 

The cashier then says under his breath after the guy leaves "get outta here you crazy ass old man."

Now that got a nod and a smile from me.

*I am not sure what the man was trying to say or joke about with his cop line. I couldn't be bothered to figure it out.  I just needed some sunscreen.**

**Clearly, this happened a while ago what with the sunscreen reference.***

***Did you know that you are supposed to wear sunscreen in the winter? That means this really could have happened yesterday.  But it didn't.  

My Office Was Raided, But At Least the Buzzing Stopped

Remember a couple of years ago when I had a bug infestation in my office and pondered how they arrived, what they wanted, and if I would survive the horror movie my professional life had become.

I survived.

Two years later, a different office, a corner office and guess what? I have flies. FLIES! I noticed this yesterday when I spotted a huge horse fly perched on my desk lamp eyeing me evilly.  We are on the third floor. Even higher up this time.  I quickly sent out an SOS to my colleagues.  My one coworker thought it was her fly from the day before.  She refused to take it back.  I mostly ignored it and swatted at it occasionally.  I only grumbled under my breath when me and another associate attempted to discuss a case while swinging our arms wildly.  

Then it landed on my FACE!

source

I found an office fly whisperer who came and scooped the fly out of my office with her bare hands. I suggested she put it in the stairwell so it could find its way out of the building.  It did not.  It multiplied.  Are flies like rabbits?

Today I found two on my window. I went to find the person in charge and found him simultaneously talking to a client on the phone and swatting his window with a magazine. I sought out the fly whisperer again.  She declared too many flies and left.  Apparently they were all hanging out in my heating vent. ALL FIVE OF THEM! What the hell?

I complained.  Someone asked me if I was scared of flies.  Um, no, but does that mean it is okay for them to live in my office, glare at me and land on my face? I didn't think so.

The problem was mostly solved by a manic Raid wielding partner that sprayed so much in my office that I almost got high. Or died.  I still am not sure. He used so much in his office, he fumigated himself out and had to leave.

Good news - no more flies. For today.

In other news, the fly whisperer told me that when she went to release yesterday's fly into the staircase, the fly was buzzing a lot and tickling her hand, so she opened the door and threw it in the staircase.  And there was a person out there talking on his cell phone.  I can imagine what his blog said last night:

Today was the strangest day. I was just minding my own business, taking a personal call in the stairway, when some crazy girl bursts out of the door and flings a fly right at my face!

Give that man some Raid!

The Cast of Characters May Change, But I Remain Insane

Have I ever told you how crazy the people in my office building are? Not the people I work with, although they have their days, but the people in the other office suites, in the lobby and in the parking lot?  It is enough to make me appear like this on any given day:

Here are some of the characters I deal with:

The Child Walking Around in an Adult Body While Waiting for the Elevator:

Man: Is that an attorney's office?
Me: Yes.
Man: Are you an attorney?
Me: Yes.
Man: Is HE an attorney?
Me: Yes.
Man: Is SHE an attorney?
Me: Yes.
Man: Did you go to law school?
Me: AHHHHHHHHH

The Mr. Obvious Stalker:

Man: Do the elevators typically take this long?
Me: Yes, when one is broken.
Man: One is broken?
Me: Yes. [pointing to Out of Order sign]
Man: So one is not working?
Me: AHHHHHHHHH

The Village Idiot Posing as a Salesman:

Man: I am looking for Danielle's office.
Me: I am Danielle.
Man: No.
Me: What?
Man: She is taller than you.
Me: I am sitting down?
Man: She has your hair.
Me: Does she have my glasses?
Man: Yes.
Me: I am her.
Man: No.
Me: AHHHHHHHHH

The Woman Who Should Have Had a Door Slam in Her Face:

Me: [opening door for lady with VERY full arms]
Lady: I don't need you to open the door.
Lady: I am not going that way.
[and then she followed me through the door]
Me: AHHHHHHHHH

This all happened in the span of one hour on one day.

I wish I were kidding.

Can we choregraph this? Synchronize it? FLASH it? Please?

Can I tell you that I love flash mobs? I know they are nothing new, but they get my interest every single time. Especially if there is dancing and singing involved. I don't know what it is, but my little heart flutters when a handful, or hundreds, or thousands, of people move together simultaneously.

Yes I am a dork.

A dork that loves to share. So here are some flash mob videos for your viewing pleasure. Since we just passed the one year anniversary of MJ's death, the first two are for him:

This one involves different kinds of music and dancing in a train station. I just love watching how happy the spectators get and how the dancers even get them to join in:

And, finally, one of my recent favorites that does not involve any music or dancing but manages to put a smile on thousands of people's faces:

My Mom and I thought we should do a similar high five video in a location here, but then we couldn't figure out who would tape it. With our luck, we would get the grumpy cursing crowd and rather than high fives, I would have tomatoes thrown at me or something.

Sounds about right.

It's Like that Song Jam On It that I Used to Think Was Jamboney and Which Has Nothing to Do with This Post

Did I ever tell you how B hates it when I hear him incorrectly and then ask him why he would say such a thing? Perhaps it is because when I hear something wrong, it is REALLY wrong. As in it makes absolutely no sense. Yet I will swear that is what was said. This gets B in a tizzy. B in a tizzy can be a funny thing.

So, imagine my surprise when the tables were turned. At first I thought B could not spell. Turns out he was suffering from some Dani-fied hearing:

Me: I think the dog is looking for her b-o-n-e.

B: What?

Me: Her b-o-n-e.

B: What is that?

Me: Huh? What?

B: What is that?

Me: Um, a BONE.

Me: Maybe I should start spelling things I don't want YOU to hear. Goodness.

Fast forward a couple of days when I bring that conversation up:

Me: Remember when you couldn't spell bone? Good times.

B: When could I not spell bone?

Me: Um, when I said Jersey was looking for her b-o-n-e and you had NO clue what I was talking about.

B: Oh, that is because I thought you said boney {note rhymes with Monet or Lisa Bonet}

Me: What? What the hell is a boney?

B: I don't know.

Me: That doesn't even make any sense.

B: Well that's what I heard.

Well, well, well. I guess we are all crazy round these parts.

As if that was in dispute.

*Tell me you didn't just start seeking Jam On It but it really sounded like you were singing "Jamoney" or "Jamboney."

**I am singing it and it is disturbing Jersey's sleep. I think she secretly likes it though. Or else she wants her b-o-n-e.

It's All Full of Hilarity Until the Weather Interrupts Your Movie Watching Time

I saw this video about a week ago and thought it was absolutely hilarious. This woman called the TV station to complain about the weather guy interrupting the season finale of Criminal Minds to alert viewers of severe weather. After all, he could have just waited until a commercial, right?

Take a listen:

My favorite parts included:

"This is nowhere near ME"

to the ultimate:

"I really don't care about THOSE people"

That much is obvious.

And so I forwarded this video on and made fun of the video. I talked about how the lady was all "ME, ME, ME" and had no empathy for those that could be in the midst of a tornado or something. I thought I would NEVER be like this lady. After all, which is more important TV or life? Well, I thought I knew the answer.

Until last night.

There I was watching From Dusk Til Dawn for about the 17th billion time when it was interrupted with a LOUD beep and an old 80s looking computer font thing that said there was a severe weather warning for my county until 10 minutes from then. I listened carefully to make sure it was nowhere near me and got only mildly irritated when I realized it wasn't and that I was missing the sexy strip dance with Salma Hayek.

Then the second interruption came five minutes later to let me know that it had expanded to another county. Again, nowhere near me. Because it came so fast on the heels of the last one, I may have muttered "Really?"

Then the third interruption came five minutes later. This one brought news of a tornado funnel being seen. WAY far away from me, although I listened carefully to make sure it was not me. To this I said, "Okay..."

Let me tell you, though, after TWO more interruptions, both of which were identical to each other and, actually, identical to the very first one, I actually screamed "COME ONNN!!!"

Yes, I became that woman. I thought things like "Don't they know this is the GOOD part?" and "This weather is nowhere near me!" and "I should just go to flippin' bed if I am just staying up to hear a bunch of beeping!"

In my defense, I did not call the cable station and yell at them. I am intelligent enough to know how important severe weather alerts are to those in the area.

But, if it had been the series finale of Lost, I cannot say what I would have done...

Crime Watch Wednesday: If You Don't Like That Document, I Have Some Others for You

This week's Crime Watch Wednesday brings us once again a tale of a drunk driver trying to pretend he is anything but drunk. I tell ya, I never can get enough of the drunk tales. Each so wasted. Each with such unique ways of showing it.

Police stopped a man they spotted weaving in the roadway. He smelled of alcohol and admitted to drinking. He then produced an expired registration. When told it was expired, he proceeded to look through all of his documents again and produced the same exact expired registration. He was arrested on the spot.

Now, what is really funny about this story to me is that I had the exact same thing happen to me in a deposition, except the deponent was not drunk. Well, at least I don't think she was. I asked her to produce a copy of the referral letter from the treating physician she received. She flipped through a bunch of papers and confidently handed me one. When I told her that was a copy of a prescription for medication, not a referral letter, she proceeded to again flip through the documents and, again, confidently hand me another one. This time it was a fax cover sheet. Addressed to the attorney sitting next to her.

This game went on for 15 minutes too long at which point she just stopped handing me documents, put the papers down and looked at me like "There. Aren't I a great witness, giving you everything you asked for." I never did get the referral letter.

She might be related to this guy.

Dear B: You Need to Learn to Be a Better Wingman

When I was on the dating scene I had the best wingman. Actually I had a few. We knew what our jobs were as wingmen - RESCUE, RESCUE, RESCUE. This could be in the form of redirecting the attacker, redirecting the situation, taking one for the team, making introductions, etc. You name it, we did it.

WE WERE THERE FOR EACH OTHER.

Now, I am married and I have a built in wingman. Isn't that what a life partner is supposed to do? Support their spouse? Be their backup? I thought so as well. I am here to tell you, however, my wingman is missing a wing or two.

It all started when I somehow became part of the committee to plan my 20 year high school reunion.* I am not entirely sure how this happened other than I responded in a Facebook thread something like "let me know if you need anything" and now I am on a committee of four and responsible for one fourth of the down payment for the hall? Well, then.

Anyhow, the "committee" decided they needed to meet in person to get things rolling. It turns out that the head girl lives just two blocks from me. It also turned out that they wanted to have the meeting at a favorite restaurant of B's.

Perfect.

The Plan

B and I would go have dinner at the restaurant an hour before the meeting was to take place. He would then leave me at the meeting and the girl that lived a couple blocks away would drive me home. I told him to be near his phone in case I needed a rescue. You know, like a wingman.

Perfect.

The Problem

I didn't tell anyone but B about this plan. Therefore, the girl that lived nearby had no clue that I was relying upon her to get me home.

Second problem - two of the four were stay at home moms who hit the jackpot with this meeting in that they could stay out late and drink. Me? I had court in the morning. So as the "meeting" dragged on through multiple glasses of wine and on to coffees with Bailey's, I started to get worried that I would never make it home.

When the head girl decided she was going to read off all 223 names of the people we graduated with to see if we remembered them, the third girl smartly ran off because she had to work in the morning. She was too quick for me. Plus she lived in an entirely different direction.

The Solution

My wingman will save me, I thought. I covertly texted B:

"Can you please come get me?"

This was at 10 pm. The "meeting" started at 7 pm. The coffees were ordered at 10:30. My phone remained silent despite my checking it for messages every 2.3 seconds.

The Result

Over one hour after the original text, B calls. I answer it at the table speaking in code:

B: Why didn't you call me?

Me: Because.

B: I would have came right away.

Me: Can you assist at all?

B: Give me five minutes.

I spent the next 15 trying to figure out how to extract myself from the situation** without being obvious.

I then spent the next 10 minutes berating B's wingman skills. B did make some valuable suggestions such as:

"Why didn't you just tell them you were supposed to call me at X time to pick you up and then call you?"

It was obvious that I was trapped and in unnatural surroundings. The exhuastion of having to pretend I vividly remembered 222 other people, every teacher we ever had, and the last school play took all of my brain cells. B is lucky I remembered his number. Well, actually I am lucky. Also, side note, B does not know my phone number. At all. Wrap your brain around that for a minute.

Anyhow, it's official. B is no wingman. That is why next time I am sending him to the committee meeting as my proxy.

Bet he learns my number after that.

*Damn that makes me sound old!

**Everytime I hear "the situation" in any situation, I think of the Jersey Shore. Damn you MTV with your mindless brainwashing.

And Then the REAL Dani Came Out

I have been at the new office for just over 6 months now. I may not have told you I got a new job, but I did shortly after I had my gallbladder removed. I love the new office and the people I work with, which is always a plus. I do miss some of the people that I used to work with, but we try to stay in touch.

Anyway, as those of you that have had more than one job know, when you start at a new place you tend to be quieter, more reserved at first. The same is true of me. Although right now I know some people reading this are probably screaming "LIAR" at the screen. I said MORE reserved, not totally reserved. Later, though, at some point, you feel comfortable enough and the real you comes out. That happened to me with my new colleagues just the other day.

I went to lunch with three other female attorneys. There was a wait and we had to give our to the host who said it would be a 10-15 minute wait. Then a party of 3 came in and gave their name. Then a part of 2 came in and the host SAT THEM AT A TABLE FOR FOUR. So I started to get a wee bit irritated. Then the host took 4 menus and put them at a table of four without taking anyone there. I looked at a woman in the party of 3 and said "is he seating invisible people now?" She just shrugged while also looking perplexed. The host then came over and SAT THE PARTY OF 3 that came in after us. I truly thought my head was going to explode! The minute he came near me, I lunged toward him with my finger out and growled "I ASSUME we will be seated now." My coworkers were shocked and amazed. The host? Not so much. Do you know what he said?

"I already have a table for you."

Um, where would that be exactly or do we have to psychically find it I wonder? He then points at the table where he put the menus. Now how in the heck were we supposed to know that we were to sit there when the HOST did not seat us? A woman from my office asked "are you going to walk us there" at which point I muttered "apparently NOT" and led the way to the table.

That, my friends, is the real Dani.* She's back. She's bitchy. And she's been storing pent up rage and incredulous disdain for MONTHS.

Watch out.

*Actually, it is Stage 1 Real Dani. Stage 2 would probably have involved another head explosion after the host pointed to "our table" and perhaps some cursing. Okay. Definitely some cursing. Stage 2 has not yet been revealed.

Who Doesn't Like a Side of Stalker with Their Compliments?

Sometimes people like to compliment you. Sometimes people like to sexually assault you. Sometimes the line between the two is awfully blurry.

Take for instance a couple of weeks ago when I stepped on to the elevator. There was already a a man on there. I smiled politely then went to my corner of the elevator.* That is when this occurred:

Man: You look nice.

Me: Thank you.

Man: No VERY nice.

Me: Thank you?

Man: I mean VERY!

Me: Um, okay...

Man: Not just normal nice.

Me: ?

Man: More than average.

{Doors open}

Now, at first, I thought this man was really nice. However, the more intense he got, the more concerned I became. I was not quite sure how to handle it. As we only had two floors to go down, I knew that we wouldn't be in there together long and I did not want to escalate the situation. So I simply smiled and said thank you as many times as I could muster. Once we reached the main floor and the doors opened, he was greeted warmly by the security guard and the janitor. That made me feel a bit better as at least it wasn't a stranger off the street.

After telling that story to a few people, it was mostly forgotten until I was leaving work one day recently and passed by the elevators on my way to the bathroom. That is when I noticed I was walking right by that same man, but on my floor this time. That is when this occurred:

Man: ....Class

Me: You have a class?

Man: No YOU have C-L-A-S-S

Me: Um, okay. Bye.

Look, I am a girl and I like to be complimented. I like to be told I look nice, even VERY nice. And it is nice to be told I have class, whatever that means. However, it is not nice to feel potentially stalked and/or that I am about to be subjected to stranger danger at any minute. So, gentlemen please note - when giving a compliment, be sincere, thoughtful and NOT CREEPY.

Meanwhile, I will be carrying mace.

*It is perfectly acceptable to go to a corner of the elevator if there is just you and another person on there and you are only going a couple of floors. However, if you think that at any time the elevator will be crowded, always stay up front, preferably by the emergency button. Find out why here.

My Nose Works Just Fine, Thank You Very Much!

The other day at the office a woman and I got on to the elevator at the same time. I noticed that she was carrying a take out box from the deli on the first floor. I knew that it was Mexican day at the deli and her food smelled good, so inquired as to what she had in her box stating "What do you have there? It smells so good!" Her reply?

"You can't smell my food."

Um, wait. What? Yes, I CAN smell your food. I DID smell your food. Now I am asking you about your food. So I reply:

"So, what do you have THERE?"

She says "Taco salad."

"Yeah, I CAN SMELL IT."

She says "Really?"

Um, what? Why is she finding it so hard to believe I can smell her food? Does taco meat not smell? Does she not want to tell me what she has? Is it a secret? Is she scared I am going to copy her and go get the same thing like I do to B so now he makes me order first? Did she think I was trying to pick her up with my sexy what-kind-of-food-you-got-there pick up line?

I was so perturbed I decided not to tell her that her food probably isn't going to smell so good coming out.*

*Damn greasy deli food that tastes good but isn't good and my stomach wishes for once my tastebuds would listen to it.

Things I Learned Today and Other News...

Well, those of you that follow me on Google Reader just got a surprise post that was a bunch of crap and incomplete sentences. Now YOU learned something today. Yes, I email myself half completed thoughts and sentences and then I spin brilliance from those words. And by "brilliance," I mean the following:

Here is a brief synopsis of my day, what I encountered and what valuable things I learned that I need to pass on to you if you are going to make it in this world:

~Yellow cupcakes with rich chocolate frosting makes 9 am at the office on a Monday 1000% times better.

~Squealing like a little girl, clapping your hands and declaring it the "best Monday EVER" because of said cupcake makes the chance of a huge raise 1000% less likely.

~Men exiting their cars at truck stops will burp. Loudly. Said men may then look at you to inquire as to whether (a) you heard that and (b) if you think it is sexy. I prefer to deny both.

~Truck stops that look like a Trader Joe's inside equals my idea of high class peeing on the road. It may even tempt me to buy a scratch-off lottery ticket and dream of being a millionaire to spend all of my time in Trader Joe's.

~Having an abundance of scratch off tickets in your purse while being searched at the courthouse will cause the officer to give you a crazy look somewhere between "we are all normal and one" and "you are one of THOSE crazy people." Then the officer will say "I hope you are not one of those crazy people that scratch these right there in the store" thereby securing the fact that he thought of you as the latter and not the former. You decide now is not the time to point out that you are not that person since the lottery tickets are NOT SCRATCHED. Oh and why are you still hand searching purses in this century? Haven't you heard of xray machines? All the cool courts have them.

~If you are at a bowling alley bowling with small children and have the chance to partake in bumper bowling - beware! If the bumper becomes dislodged DO NOT attempt to fix it yourself. It could result in a severed pinkie finger. At least it did in the court case today. Do you really want to have to file a lawsuit for your missing finger and gross me out in the process? Let the pros do that. And by pros I mean the 20 year old boys they pay $6.00 an hour to rack shoes. They obviously know what they are doing.

~A cupcake, truck stop, lotto ticket, severed finger and burping man already makes this week better than last week when I got someone fired* and made someone cry** all in the span of 5 days.

~Fall is here. Actually, it feels like winter, but I do like the colors:

Yes, I take terrible pictures while driving. What do you expect? I am supposed to be DRIVING.

This one was better. I love red trees. And red bushes. B - you need to get on that. Thanks.

~If you want your Halloween decorations to freak me out, do not put up a skeleton, or the grim reaper, or a witch, or Jason or Freddy. Just put up a normal scarecrow but HAVE HIM TURN AWAY FROM ME:

Blair Witch anyone?

So disturbing.

*I did not, in fact, get anyone fired. Yet I got blamed for it.

**I did not, in fact, make anyone cry. I also got blamed for that. Two for two!

Got Chocolate? How about some Macon?

Remember when I told you that my Mom and I had found a new place for Saturday breakfasts? Well, actually it is my brother. I am all about giving people credit, especially when things go wrong. Kudos J!

Anyhow, the last couple of times that we were there, things had been off. My Mom, who is able to make friends with anyone, had suspicions that the place had been bought based on prior conversations with some of the staff. Sure enough, one of our waitresses confirmed it for us. She did not seem happy.

The next time we went in, there was a name change, and our waitresses were no longer there. Instead of being greeted with "I put you in that booth with your coffee", we were greeted with "how many?" It was quite sad.

But with new ownership came a new menu. Big, shiny and bright. We looked over the new menu for no apparent reason since we both get the same thing every.single.time. (Me = ham and cheese omelette, potatoes extra crispy, wheat toast. Mom = ham, cheese and mushroom omelette, potatoes extra crispy, no toast). Reading the menu caused all kinds of hilarity. Mom first noticed something was amiss:

Mom (in a fierce whisper): Look at the top of the menu on the left. What IS that?

Me: What?

Me: Oh, TREE eggs. What the?

Mom: (giggling)

Me: I think they are supposed to be FREE eggs as in free range.

Mom: I KNOW, but that is too funny.

We then read the menu more carefully and counted no less than 12 errors. Some were typos, some were just flat out wrong. I have seen menus with errors before, but this was the worst I have ever seen. Below is what we found:

~Omelette with Chaddar cheese

~Consuming raw food can cause Foodbome illness

~with a side of macon

~Cornded beefr and hash (no that is not my typo but theirs)

~Side salad with Ramaine lettuce (sounds like an actress)

~Hamburger with Picke

~Hamburger with Cheese c (yes that is EXACTLY what it said. I don't know what the extra "c" is about either)

~Fish and chips with Tartar sauce (yes, please can I have some raw meet on my cooked fish)

~Corded beef and hash (in case you didn't want yours cornded, but corded).

~side order of Cattage cheese (they really have problems with the cheese descriptions

~Pie A la made (well, crap. I hope it is made. It will be messy if *I* have to make it)

~Got chocolate (that wasn't a question, but apparently hot chocolate. I only know this because it was in the beverage section).

After telling the waitress at least three times that we needed to study the menu after having already placed our order, we were through. We laughed so hard that it was difficult for me to type those words into my phone. I would have taken pictures but that would have been too obvious.

Despite the atrocious menu, we did go back. The waitresses were back. The food seemed good. The prices were the same. However, this weekend my Mom told me we would have to find another place, at least temporarily. Apparently our breakfast place is closed for remodeling.

I cannot wait for the Gran Opeening.

*Spell check LOVED this entry.

Crime Watch Wednesday: The Man with the Bad Haircut

This week's crime watch chronicles brings my all time favorite headline:

Man with Bad Haircut Arrested forLarceny

How awesome is that? It makes you want to read more. Did his bad haircut contribute to the larceny? Did he commit the larceny because he had a bad haircut? TELL ME MORE.

Here is what it said:

Officers were able to track and apprehend a suspect who had stolen a vehicle with the use of a tracking dog. The man had a freshly shaven head with a few missed spots and numerous nicks. Hair was discovered in the bathroom of the house leading police to believe that the man attempted to change his appearance.

Well, that plan clearly didn't work. Also, that title? Way more interesting than the story. Here I thought that the city had instituted some new law about bad haircuts similar to the law against dancing in the street. But, no. Just some plain old larceny with a god awful plan to cover your identity while standing IN YOUR OWN HOUSE. Hmmm...I wonder how they caught you dude.

I think I will make up my own version of this story:

Officers tracked and apprehended a suspect on suspicion of having Bad Hair. Bad Hair was recently categorized as a class A offense punishable by death. The suspect is also being charged with larceny of tools used in the commission of the crime. Taken from the scene as evidence was a big plastic comb, multiple ponytail holders and an electric razor allegedly used to shave the sides, but not all, of the suspect's head. Police have released the following photo of the suspect:

(Source)

Yes, much better. The story, not the hair.

It's the Great Pumpkin...

If you are a loving and supportive wife like myself, if your husband came home and said that he and his friend, S, were going to grow the BIGGEST PUMPKINS EVER at work, you would say:

"Really? That's nice."

And then you would ask that same husband no less than five times in two days why the heck there is a cup with dirt in it in the backyard. And each time he would exasperatedly yell "it is a PUMPKIN for my sister," and you would say:

"Oh. That's nice."

In fact, being as supportive as you are, you cannot even remember how many conversations about pumpkins there have been in the past couple of months. However, once you opened your email and received the following pictures, you started to take notice:

and you said to your husband things like:

"Wow! That IS a big pumpkin"

and

"Nice measuring gauge you have there - drink much on the job?"

and

"How many of those pumpkins are you growing there?"

and finally:

"Really? That's nice."

Then, in the next couple of days when you see that you and your husband have a mutual friend on facebook with the last name of "Pumpkin" and a picture that looks like this:

you start to pay closer attention. But do you know when you REALLY start paying attention? When you get an email from Netflix that your husband has rented a movie called Lord of the Gourds.* That is when you realize you have totally been lacking in your wifely duties. Of course, you rectify this at once:

Me: You call ME a geek? ME?

B: What?

Me: Why are you renting Lord of the Gourds from Netflix?

B: What?

Me: It is a MOVIE about PUMPKINS.

B: And other gourds.

Me: I'm sorry, did you just say "and other gourds"? Because that is really not helping your case.

B: I need to learn more about pumpkins.

Me: IT IS A PBS DOCUMENTARY. You are renting a PBS DOCUMENTARY.

Me: I am married to an 80 year old.

Whew! Wifely duty crisis averted.**

*Why do I think gourds is spelled with an "h"? I must be confusing ghouls with pumpkins. Is it Halloween yet?

**Also, B is a rockstar for growing these huge pumpkins. Really. I hope he and S win awards. And that they can find a forklift to transport the pumpkins to the places that give awards.

***To see B's sister's pumpkin, go here.

****I love pumpkin pie.

Now Playing the Part of B...

B: Say that you and I went to a concert together...

Me: That has never occurred in the entire time we have known each other.

B: And it won't.

B: But say that we did, and I was behind you wearing an Atari shirt...

Me: Now THAT could happen.

B: Anyway, you came up to me because you were trying to find your seat.

Me: Wait. What? Who are you in this scenario?

B: Oh, I am playing both parts. I am the boyfriend and the usher.

Me: Oh. Right. That is not at all confusing.

A PB and What?

Anyone that follows me on Twitter knows that I love me some Potbelly's. And for those that do not follow me, what are you waiting for?

Anyway, I haven't been to Potbelly's much since the gallbladder removal and since I moved to a new office, but when I was going there I found a new/old sandwich to fall in love with - the PB&J. Yummy goodness. Yes it is merely peanut butter and grape jelly on a big sandwich roll, but it is toasted and oozes goodness. Makes me feel like a kid again.

So, one day, while I was sitting there eating my extremely awesome but utterly messy sandwich I find this guy staring at me. He was one half of a couple sitting nearby. After looking right at me and right at my sandwich, he turns to his other half and says:

"What is a PB&J? Is that just peanut butter and jelly? I wanted to try that but I chickened out."

First, what else would a PB&J be? Second, he was LOOKING RIGHT AT ONE so he knows damn well it is just peanut butter and jelly.

He's right though. It must be really scary to try a sandwich that shares the same name as a sandwich you grew up with and should be familiar to you as opposed to, I don't know, something called a "Wreck" full of any number of processed meats and cheeses.

Baby steps, dude. Baby steps.

All's Well That Airs Well

You may not know this, but our house does not have central air. NO AIR. Have you been around lately? It is hot has Hades in these parts and we are all feeling the heat.

Long before this heat wave we decided that air was in order. Also, a new furnace would be a good idea since ours is about 20 years old, huge, and makes the worst noises when it is running. Efficiency is the order of the day so we were all set to get them both installed. Then we discovered we needed our neighbor's permission to put the a/c on the side of the house. Our 90 year old neighbors. Our 90 year old neighbors that don't have air themselves. (Thanks city!) Can you guess what happened?

B spoke to them first planning on feeling them out. That went something like this:

B: We are thinking of getting air.

Old Ass Neighbor: Oh! That's not a good idea.

Old Ass Neighbor: That will bring down property values.

Old Ass Neighbor: I don't think the city will allow it.

Old Ass Neighbor: Nope. Not good.

B: .....

Yep. That went well. I was sent in next to "charm" them. That didn't work out so well either. In fact, rather than being the charmer, I turned out to be the ambushee. I came home one day to change clothes before going to the doctor and was waved over by Mrs. OAN. She told me she had a "construction guy" (seriously she pronounced it like it had quotes) over to work on her house. Thinking this was the perfect opportunity to charm her, I opened my mouth to say "speaking of improvements..." but it was too late. Her next sentence was out: "I want you to talk to him about some ideas WE have about YOUR air." Oh joy.

The next 15 minutes dragged by as I listened to the "construction guy" give me such options as under our kitchen window. Um, no. We call that the driveway. Then they took me to the FRONT of the house and told me to stick it behind a bush. This bush, in fact. Where the tree is:

Although I said I didn't think the city would go for that, they were not deterred. However, their "construction guy" could not focus. He was insane. He looked like a homeless person and drove a beat up old rusty Pontiac. He told me stories of the neighborhood. All of the work he did. More stuff, but unfortunately or fortunately, I could only understand one out of every four sentences. I did clearly understand him when he said he worked Special Ops out of the nearby airforce base. It took a lot to hold my composure. The same would be true when he pulled out 10 huge pictures of planes from his portfolio. Mrs. OAN had asked him to get me a business card. That is what I got instead. 10 pictures, 8 of which were identical. Mrs. OAN rolled her eyes. Mr. OAN told me that my furnace was not old. I assured him it was. Mrs. OAN called Mr. OAN senile as in "Oh be quiet, you are senile." I finally got a business card, without really wanting one, when "construction guy" informed me that his email address was captain pig. How professional. Excusing myself with a "I will take this under consideration", I thought I had escaped. Oh no:

Construction guy: You really should get more than 1 estimate for work of this nature. (Oh NOW he decides to be some kind of professional)

Me: I got 5 estimates. Do you think FIVE estimates are enough?

CG: Oh, well, yes.

[as I am walking away]

CG: Do you have any kids?

Me: Um, no.

CG: Kids get hot.

OMFG are you kidding me? Did he think we were considering whether or not to GET air? No. F the kids man, WE get hot! The man was NUTS. I immediately told B and told B when he got home he better go over there because there was no charming and we clearly weren't getting any permission and that guy is NUTS. What did B do?

He hid from them inside the house.

Which led me to the public library to search for the ordinance so we could find some place, any place, to put it without Old Ass Neighbors' permission. With heavy hearts, and the information that we would have to blow through four walls in our basement, we resigned ourselves to put it under our kitchen window. And we were sad.

Then B decided to try one more time. For reasons unbeknown to us, OANs gave in and gave us written permission to put in on the side. They were concerned about noise and I guess B gave them enough info to ease their mind. Or they decided we weren't going to back down. I don't care about their reasoning. I just want air.

Really....look at Chester. Doesn't he look like he is dying?

Now why he decided to spend the hottest day of the year UPSTAIRS and rolling around is beyond me. And if you are looking for his boy bits (pervert!) I blurred them out. Chester is modest you know. Can't you tell? Look how shocked he looks at my capturing all of him:

Yeah he is fat and hot. He will be glad when we get air. B will be glad so he can sleep at night. I will be glad so I can sit at the computer and write witty posts for you without melting. Or read without melting. Or watch TV without melting. Or just not melting.

Air, sweet, air. I love you!

Absurd is the Word

Nothing like being stalked by your boss to start your morning off right. In recent times I have been subjected to the following:

Arriving to find my boss pacing outside my office door.

Arriving to be told he has been looking for me even though the sun is not yet up.

Arriving to find my him just on the other side of the outer door and almost smacking him with it.

And my favorite:

Arriving at work and while walking toward the building, hearing a faint tapping only to lookup and see him waving down at me, smiling like a clown.

My life is a circus and he is the ringleader.

Just One More Deal...

Remember yesterday when I said I was so tired? It wasn't from working at the office or from working in the yard. It was from a long hard day of bargain hunting. Unplanned bargain hunting. How does this happen? It goes a little something like this:

Go out with your Mom and end up in a subdivision sale for three hours. Sometimes end up lost and unable to find the car. Buy:

That comes with bonus sand dollars:

and buy this lamp which was missing one jewel on the bottom:

Then decide you cannot garage sale one.more.minute. Declare garage sales the winners, whine and go home.

Show B what you bought. Have him immediately cause another jewel on the lamp to fall off (it can be fixed!), but marvel at how beautiful it looks in the office:

Whine to B about all of your hours of garage sales and bargin hunting and how you are DONE. B decides to go for a bike ride. Tells you to keep your phone nearby in case of a flat tire.

10 minutes later he calls and you are worried he is stranded somewhere. Instead he says:

B: Can you do some measuring?

Me: Measuring? Measuring of what?

B: The small dining room windows and the fireplace windows. I am at a garage sale and they have some wooden ones here really cheap.

You measure. You report. Then he says:

B: Come down and check them out.

B: And bring the measuring tape.

You tell your Mom via instant message that you will be back because you need to go to another garage sale. You both LOL.

So you go back to the car. You forget the measuring tape. You go back inside for it and then off you drive. It takes you a while to find B because he is on a street with 3,456 garage sales. You find him, look the blinds over, decide which ones are best, load them up and take off back home. You report to your mom what you bought and you LOL again.

Then the phone rings. It is B. When you answer he says:

B: What's up?

Me: Not much. What's up?

B: This guy at this other garage sale has a fertilizer spreader for $10 can you come down?

Me: Sigh.

B: Do you have $10?

You ask him if he will be there, recalling the difficulty of finding him last time. You instant message your mom. There are no LOLs this time. This time it is all "I have to go to another @%#^* garage sale!" You get back in the car and take off.

In the 5 minutes it takes you to arrive at your destination, you find that B has ingrained himself in with the garage sale family so much that when a woman asks about a bike, the garage sale guy says "you will have to ask B." When you realize he is talking about your B and by his name, you wonder if you have entered the Twilight Zone. You then realize that the lady wants to buy the bike that B has been using to find all of these "deals" for you to come pick up. So you say:

"How much will you pay for it?"

Here are the shutters which need to be dusted:

And another recent garage sale find (actually a church sale) which also look great on the window sill in the office:

B thinks this was the perfect set up - he would find bargains and I would come get them and pay for them. I think B needs to stop drinking...