Crime Watch Wednesday - Where There's Fire, There's Toast?

source

This week's Crime Watch Wednesday proves the old adage "where there is smoke, there is fire" is totally wrong.

Police reported to the scene of a house fire to discover it was just a person that burned some toast.

I love the simplicity of this one.  The reader is left to wonder who called the police? Why did they call the police and not the fire department? Was there actually smoke or just the smell of something burning?  How did the police determine it was just toast? Did it involve breaking down doors?  I would like to believe it happened like this:

Dispatch: Officers get to 123 Lane Avenue STAT - the place is ON FIRE!

Police: We are not the fire department.

Dispatch: Don't argue with me! It is an EMERGENCY!!

Police: What are we supposed to do when we get there? Shoot the fire?

Dispatch: EMERGENCY!!!

{upon arriving at the scene}

Officer 1: I don't see a fire.

Officer 2: It smells like something is burning.

Officer 1: It smells like breakfast.

Officer 1: Mmmmm...breakfast.

{upon arriving at the front door}

Owner: Can I help you?

Officer 2: Something is burning.

Officer 1: We were told there is a fire.

Officer 2: It smells like something is burning.

Owner: Um, I burnt some toast?

Officer 1: Mmmmm....breakfast

I should totally be a movie writer. Or a sitcom writer.

True story - yesterday I got to the office and saw a huge amount of people milling around the front of the building and around the elevators. Double the amount of people you find standing there when the elevator is broke.  Somehow this only seemed mildly odd to me.  I heard rumblings of "false alarm." Then I ran into our receptionist who informed me the building had just been evacuated minutes before.  Why you ask? 

Someone burnt toast on the fifth floor.

It's an epidemic, people.  Lock up your bread!

Crime Watch Wednesday: Where There's Smoke...There's an Air Gun...and a Pipe...and...

This week's crime watch chronicles bring us the cautionary tale of being on your best behavior while driving around doing illegal things:

Two 16 year old boys were stopped for throwing smoke bombs out of a vehicle in full view of police. The officer smelled another kind of smoke in the vehicle and the boys were booked for possession of marijuana, drug paraphernalia, and a Airsoft gun.*

Only the youth. Really. If you are going to drive around smoking pot, carrying a pipe AND possessing marijuana cigarettes** as well as have an air gun in your possession, it is probably best NOT to send smoke signals to the cops to come get you.

Really.

*I don't even know what an Airsoft gun is but it doesn't sound very dangerous, does it?

**Who the hell calls them "marijuana cigarettes"?  JOINTS! They had JOINTS!

***Also who needs a pipe if they are rolling cigarettes? I am SO confused!

Crime Watch Wednesday: Why Steal Valuables When You Can Just Eat Turkey?

This week's crime watch chronicles comes courtesy of my Mom. Yep, I now have the whole family involved. Mom wants to point out that she has stupid criminals where she lives too. She is right. Take a gander:

A woman was the victim of a hungry thief. Upon arriving home to her apartment, the woman found that someone had entered her apartment and ate some turkey and cheese out of her refrigerator. There were no broken windows. The door was locked at the time. The woman stated that she had lost her keys in the utility room several weeks prior and never changed the locks.

Okay, let's review. You come home to find all the windows and doors locked. The ONLY thing missing is some turkey and some cheese from your fridge. Do you immediately think it was a criminal? Or do you blame your roommate? Perhaps wonder if you ate too much the night before? I am pretty sure that leaving unmarked keys in a utility room is not going to give enough information for the thief to know which apartment you live in. Also, if you lost your keys and did not have your locks changed, how are YOU getting into the apartment?

You know what I think? I think it was the maintenance people. It is always the maintenance people.** I, too, have a similar, but entirely different story related to this one.

One time I lived in this mid rise apartment where my garbage disposal always smelled like something died in it. I used lemons. I used soap. I used special garbage disposal cleaner. Nothing helped. Finally I told the manager she had to do something about it. I was promised something would be done.

One day after that, I came home to my locked apartment on the 12th floor to find my refrigerator unplugged, and a set of tools lying on my kitchen floor. Clearly, the maintenance man had been there and left, without his tools, and without plugging my fridge back in. Your guess is as good as mine as to why he unplugged it in the first place. Regardless, my food was no longer cold and I was steaming mad.

So I storm down to find the manager. The woman proceeds to tell me that there is a new manager that has taken over and gives me his apartment number. Immediately upon him opening the door I angrily wonder why the maintenance people left before completing their job and, more importantly, left all my food to spoil.

Manager: Are you sure it was maintenance?

Me: Am I sure it was maintenance?

Me: I CALLED for maintenance.

Me: There are TOOLS on my kitchen floor.

Me: Who the f*** do you think it was?

Manager: It could have been thieves.

Me: Thieves?

Me: It could have been THIEVES?

Me: What the f*** were they stealing????

Me: And why were they attempting to fix my garbage disposal???

Manager: We have had a bunch of thefts of fire extinguishers lately.

Me: Have you lost your ever loving mind???

Me: HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND?

Me: These were not THIEVES.

Me: Tell you maintenance people they have until tomorrow to get their tools or they are mine.

Miraculously the tools were gone when I came home.

The thieves must have been listening.

* I just realized there is no first asterisk. You may now proceed to the second asterisk. Do not stop. Do not collect $200. However, if you have $200, please give it to me. I am in Vegas you know. I am broke.

**My apologies to maintenance people who are not thieves. That is probably almost all of you. You are easy to blame though. So are cleaning people who eat lunches. Except they don't. WE KNOW WHO YOU ARE LUNCH EATERS. Ahem.

***I have a foul mouth. This guy did not. He was scared of me. I liked it that way.

Piss and Pine? Sounds Like a Candy...

After having just eaten at our new favorite Thai place in the 'hood, which is almost identical to the old Thai place in the last 'hood (what luck!), B and I walked to the car. B remarked at how incredibly yummy his candy was from the restaurant. I asked what it was and he said "something with Asian writing on the wrapper." Sounds logical.

As we got in the car, I noted that something smelled, well, WRONG.

Me: It smells weird in here.

B: What do you mean?

Me: It smells strange. Like someone pissed in here. Or like a tree or something.

B: Like a tree?

Me: Yes, a sappy tree. Tree sap.

B: You mean a pine?

Me: I don't know what kind of tree saps.

B: Pine trees have sap.

Me: Now that you mention it, it smells like pine in here. Pine and piss.

B: Do you think it is my candy?

It was his candy. How he ever thought something that SMELLED like pine and piss tasted great is beyond me.

Peanut Butter and Popcorn

On a completely different subject, let's talk peanut butter and popcorn. Not together, mind you. Although that could be yummy.  No this is about some recent events involving peanut butter and popcorn, separately.

Here's the thing - I eat the same thing for breakfast every single day.  No lie. Quaker Oatmeal Cinnamon Roll. That is it. No other flavor will do.  When I run out, not only am I sad, but I immediately decide that is justification for a toasted plain bagel loaded with cream cheese from Elaine's*.  Not good.  So I try not to run out of oatmeal.  However, since I am behind in everything including shopping, I ran out this weekend.   So Saturday I woke up and thought "no oatmeal - its bagel time!"  Then I decided I was too lazy to leave the house.  What to eat? 

After rummaging around in our tiny pantry I came up with peanut butter toast. YUM.  So I made some and ate it and all was well in my world.  Until about 20 minutes later when I got a stomach ache.  It was then that it hit me:

There is a peanut butter recall.

PEOPLE DIED.

Suddenly, I was convinced that my peanut butter was tainted and I was GOING TO DIE.  Panicked, I slightly remembered that perhaps big named peanut butter makers were not part of this. So I rushed downstairs to get the peanut butter to see what kind it was and rush back up to do some research into the matter.

45 minutes later I had totally forgotten my quest and instead was doing laundry when B came home.  He mentioned that I didn't look well which triggered thoughts about my stomach ache:

Me: Well I have a slight stomach ache. I think it is from the peanut butter I ate. Do you think I am GOING TO DIE?

B:  Well you are not 80.  

Me: What does that have to do with anything?

B: You are close, but you are not 80.**

Me: AND?????

B: And your immune system is not weakened.

Me: Not that we KNOW of.  Is it only elderly people and weak people dying?

B: I don't know.  Was it a new jar of peanut butter?

Me: No.  It wasn't. It was opened and used.

B:  It was opened? By someone in this house?

Me: Yeah. I think I ate some before.

B: Did you DIE before?

Me: No.....

B:  Peanut butter does not just go bad because it is peanut butter and there is a recall. If it is bad now, it would have been bad before.

Me: Huh

Crisis averted.

Me: Well I am relieved to hear that.

B: Me too. I am also relieved that popcorn didn't kill me.

Flash back a few days earlier, I was making popcorn when B asked me to throw some in the microwave for him.  I told him all I had was some sample pack.  He said throw it in anyway, and I did.  Later when I got it out for him it smelled AWFUL, just AWFUL:

Me: What is wrong with this popcorn?

B: What?

Me: Can't you smell that? It is like lemon or something.

B:  It does smell weird.

Me: Do you think it is bad.

B: I don't know.

Me: Well it is not NORMAL for your popcorn to smell like PLEDGE.

Despite my saying that, B ate it.  B did not die.

Turns out it was lime and salt popcorn.***

Mystery solved.

Crisis averted.

*I love you and miss you Elaine's. See you soon {wink}

**B loves to get his digs in about how much "older" I am. Two years buddy, two little years.  You are no spring chicken and I am no craddle robber.

***Do NOT buy this popcorn unless you plan on dusting with it.  B said it tasted "okay" but the smell was downright nauseating. That cannot be normal or healthy, even if it says it is organic.

And Then It Went Down the Drain...

Our garbage disposal died yesterday. Not the one at the new house, the one at the old house. Of course. We are just about to move next week and we have a tenant moving into the condo. Of course something would break.  

I told B on Sunday that the disposal broke.  I was on Twitter at the time and complaining of a chalky smell that I contributed to my computer. Actually it was the disposal. I think the engine burned out or something.  B said it worked fine for him when he disposed of huge chunks of meat. Huh. Me thinks he broke it.

So on Monday night around 7 pm I point out that the sink is starting to back up as there is probably food down there that isn't making it down the drain.  I then go about my business. Such business involved, of course, surfing the internet.  Next thing I hear from him is "Yeah, right. The internet said this was a one step process. Liars!"  I find him under the kitchen sink taking apart the disposal.  I go back to my business.  Fifteen minutes later he is out the door to The Depot to get some parts.  I wonder how this is all going to end.

An hour later I realize he is not back but soon forget as I settle in for some Gossip Girl*.  Not even 18 minutes into the show, I was recruited, albeit reluctantly, to assist in the disposal replacement.  I know better than to argue.  Seems B forgot to get some plumbers putty and it is a NECESSARY ITEM when installing the new disposal you just bought. Yes he bought a new disposal to install. No he has never installed a disposal before.  Changing out of my pjs, putting on boots, and DVRing the rest of Gossip Girl, I go out to Ace to get some putty.  Not knowing how much we need, I go for the 5 lb size.  Anyone need any plumbers putty? Turns out we only really needed about 1/4 of a lb.  Who knew?

So rather than watch Gossip Girl, I installed a new disposal.  And by install, I mean I did the following:

• held the rim down on the sink so that the putty would stick
• supervised B's many attempts to screw the disposal in
• read the directions to B
• remarked at how close he was getting
• pondered what would happen if he were any taller - how would he be able to get under the sink at all?
• changed the battery to the big flashlight
• tried to charge the other battery
• got the battery stuck
• decided not to tell B about the battery
• handed B the flashlight
• refrained from talking into the flashlight like it is the principal's microphone from Grease like I normally do when holding that flashlight**
• ran water to see if the disposal leaked
• ran the disposal to see if it worked
• declared it another DIY victory, like the floor
• declared B very brave for attempting something new and scary
• told B about the flashlight battery

When all was said and done, we had a new disposal.  B triumphantly declared "two hours later! Not bad!" Meanwhile, having forgotten his entire trip to The Depot, I attempted to correct him by saying "it was only 45 minutes."  Obviously, I was only working on the time frame from when I stopped watching Gossip Girl.

There you have it:

New disposal - I don't know how much money so I will guess $50***

Time spent installing it - 2 hours

Money saved from having it professionally installed - $99

Total money saved - negative $ if B's time is worth anything over $50 an hour, not to mention my time

Family togetherness and DIY projects - priceless

If we can replace a disposal together, there is no stopping us at the new place.  More on those renovations tomorrow.

*How sexy was it when Chuck punched out Jack.  I swooned. I admit it.

**This flashlight seriously looks like that old fashioned principal microphone from Grease, where you press down the button to talk. Same shape and everything minus the button.  Whenever it is anywhere near me I walk around speaking to B through it in my "announcer voice." It never fails to make him laugh.

***Turns out it is really about $75. Not a bad guess.

The Time it All Went Green...

While I have been at home vacationing, I decided to fiddle with some holiday dessert thingies that I love but have never made. Okay, one I have made before (two years back), the other never. The first would be chex muddy buddies or puppy chow.  Pain to make, almost impossible to properly coat with powdered sugar, but so yummy and addicting.  That project worked out fine.

The second were cornflake marshmallow green wreath thingies. The recipe calls them cookies, but really...who are we fooling here? There is no cooking involved. In fact, there is no baking involved. Just melting, pouring and waiting.  The first batch turned out fine.  Since it was my first time, I didn't bother trying to make them into pretty little wreaths. I just dropped them by the spoonful and sprinkled cinnamon sugar sprinkles on them and called it "done."  I remember walking away thinking that they looked more like clumps of holly with berries than wreaths, but since it was just for B and I, did it really matter?  We will ignore the fact that the first thing B said was "those don't LOOK like wreaths."   He should know by now that I am not about presentation.  Presentation comes last. Yumminess must be mastered first.

Well the wreaths were a big hit with the two of us while the poor puppy chow is still sitting there being munched on less enthusiastically.  I passed some of it on to my parents today and then got the brilliant idea to make them some of the cornflake wreath marshmallow thingies. After all, why not share the yummy goodness with others? It is my holiday duty.*

Remembering that I had to add the vanilla and green food coloring in very quickly at the end before everything started cementing, I decided to premeasure it and put it into little bowls. This worked out so well last time.  As I poured the green food coloring into the little bowl I remember thinking "less likelihood of spillage."  Then I turned and knocked over the open bottle of green food coloring which proceeded to spill ACROSS THE ENTIRE COUNTERTOP.  I let out a little "no" that I thought was pretty inaudible** and moved quickly to get papertowel. 

As I tried to sop it up only to discover the papertowel, my fingers, the sink AND THE FRICKIN' COUNTER were all still a lovely Christmas green, I started to panic.  Any minute B would come in and I would have to explain why our previously beige countertop was green and what an idiot I was for messing with food coloring.  I decided I needed a rag.  Hurrying back to the rags, I passed B who inquired "so what's going on..." to which I replied "you really do not want to know."  He agreed.  I quickly returned to the kitchen with a rag.

Fringing on losing my mind, I rush to the computer and google "how to get food coloring out of a countertop."  The results all lead me to articles on how to get food coloring out of clothes involving presoaking, etc.  Apparently no one gets it on their counter. Just me.  I panic once more and start to wonder how much it costs to replace a countertop when it dawns on me...wait! How do I get it off my fingers when I cook?  Dishsoap!

Off I run back to the kitchen to add dishsoap to the rag and it worked!!  The green came off and you cannot even tell it was there.  I swear it was only about 5 minutes this whole experience took place, but it felt like forever.  Later, B made an appearance in the kitchen, looked around and said "well?"  "Well, what" I replied all nonchalantly, "crisis averted."***  "Oh, the crisis that needed a rag?"  So observant that one.  He still has no idea what happened, although I gave him a little clue by saying:

"But whatever you do, do not wash your clothes with the rag in the washer. Unless you want them Christmas green, that is."

The wreath/holly marshmallow thingies turned out great. They are missing the red cinnamon things because B declared he did not like them. I figured my parents might not either.

Look at that yummy goodness! Makes me want to go eat another one.  We still have enough fixings for one more batch.

That one will NOT be green.

*I know the holidays are over but in my head they last all the way until I go back to work on Monday.

**That B has supersonic hearing, I tell ya.

**Until later when I decided to heat up milk for hot chocolate only to have it overflow and burn while I was not looking.  That was after moving it to a different burner as the first burner had pieces of green marshmallow on it that had escaped me.  B came out and said "what is going on NOW? I hear fan on , fan off and something smells AWFUL."  What? Can't a girl get a cup of hot chocolate?

I Am a Vampire

No, this is not a Twilight related post. In fact, I have yet to read the book despite my love of all things vampire. I know. I am a traitor. But soon I will rectify that situation.

As for this post? It is about my stellar cooking skills of course.  And yet another roast.  Last Family Dinner Day I decided to make a less "slimy" roast for B. Anything to make that boy happy.  I found a 3 envelope pot roast crockpot recipe and set about making it.  The envelopes were Italian dressing, ranch dressing and peppercorn garlic.  That was my first clue this dinner would be wrong.  I chose to ignore that sign.  I kept the ingredients a secret from B because I did not want him to know I was putting anything remotely related to ranch or "dressing" in his food. What he doesn't know won't hurt him, right? Indeed I went to great lengths to hide this, so even when we were at his parents house that day and his mom asked me what I was using I managed to vaguely say "ingredients" of "different kinds."  Sure, I sounded like an idiot and sure, B looked at me like he was catching on, but it was a small price to pay to get a good meal in that boy's belly.

So, B and I did a lot of running that day, looking at more houses.  I wanted to be back by 4 to put the vegetables in, but we didn't make it back until 5.  I open the crockpot to dump the vegetables in when, for some unknown reason, I decide the pot roast must be "flipped over". Why I decided this, I have no clue. I had not done that the previous two times I cooked it. The recipe didn't call for it.  I just decided it was a good idea.  It was not.  The pot roast, after having been cooking for 4 hours was very tender.  It fell apart on my spear thingy* and plopped back down into all the gravy which then splashed up on  my face.

Quickly I realized I COULD HAVE BURNED MY FACE so I madly wiped off my face and checked a mirror.  All was good.  Vegetables in.  Cooking continued. As for me, I decided to shower.  While in the shower this little spot over my lip and the inside of my entire right nostril starts burning like crazy. I try rinsing and washing to no avail.  I am showering and thinking that my face is burning off or something and cursing the time (about five minutes ago) I decided it would be a good idea to flip that roast.  My face was not melting and was not burning off.  Apparently some of the peppercorn garlic spice just got in there really good in the Great Splash of five minutes ago and my skin was not liking it.  That was my second clue that this dinner was going to be wrong.  I chose to ignore that as well.  All was good. Cooking continued.  I passed B in the hall and said "I burned my face with the roast." He scanned me over, decided it did not entail another hospital trip and said "huh" nonchalantly.  He must be used to my mishaps.

Dinner was done and served and we had settled in to watch the last Dexter episode on our current DVD.  I put a piece of roast in my mouth and discovery MY MOUTH WAS ON FIRE.  Those spices were so strong I nearly died.  I started waving my hand in front of my mouth and saying AHHHH.  I actually think I then spit my half chewed meat on to my plate to which B said "gross."   We then had the following exchange:

Me gesturing wildly:  Is this HOT to you?

B: No

Me: Seriously? My mouth is ON FIRE!

Me: I cannot believe you do not find this hot.

B: The potatoes are kind of hot.

Me: Not the meat? Really?

B: I don't know.

Me: Oh, you would know.  MY MOUTH IS ON FIRE

I proceeded to finish the meal with about three glasses of tea and afterward cooled my tongue with some M&Ms.  In my head I declared that I would never be making that meal again.  All was well. We went on with our night.

In the middle of the night, I woke up and realized I could SMELL peppercorn garlic. It was everywhere, coming out of our pores as we slept. So disgusting! I had to turn off the bedroom ceiling fan because I believed it was just circulating that bad smell.  

Moral of the story - (a) peppercorn garlic is NOT good, (b) I may be a vampire, (c) B is immune to strong spices, and (d) I am still not a good cook.

No worries though. My bro gave me some ideas for spices and such for the next pot roast.**  He got to hear this story yesterday "live" as he called it.  

*That's a technical term for the two prong thingy that I pulled out of our knife block.

**Yes, I will not be deterred from making pot roast. It will turn out good and acceptable to both parties one day  and Hi bro! 

One Time at the Hockey Game

Recently we went to a hockey game with our friends S & R.  We scored free tickets for good seats and were happy because it is rare that we get to go to hockey games.   You know why I was happy? Shenanigans always occur at sporting events - in the crowd.  As I told you here, sports are really not my thing. My job when attending is to observe everything going on around us and report it to B.  B then reports everything that is happening in the game to me. We tend to ignore what the other is saying.

So this game's audience did not disappoint.  Within the first period, four people came and sat down in front of us.  These were the four most mismatched people I have ever seen.  There were two girls and two guys.  The girls were young and pretty, maybe 21.  The guys were neither. The first guy was probably in his 30s and the second was probably in his 60s.  Neither guy was particularly attractive.  At least the 60 year something had some game. He talked up his girl and they laughed.  The other guy sat like a lump barely speaking to his "partner." We tried to imagine how these four came across each other's paths, but could not come up with anything.  Thinking for sure that these four would be our entertainment for the night, we settled into our seats for the "show."  However, as it turns out, different hilarity was about to ensue.

In front of the four mismatched beings, were two very drunk young guys, probably around the girls' age.  When the home team scored, the two guys proceeded to high five everyone, including the young girls.  That is when they noticed the girls or what I like to call "game on!"  They start not so subtly staring at the girls, talking about the girls and wondering about the girls and the guys accompanying them.   Much to everyone's disappointment, the four mismatched ones decided to leave.  As they got up, the one girl's ever elegant tramp stamp, a pistol with a flower, was exposed.  Query - do you think at some point someone called her a real "pistol" and she decided to go with it or was she all gangsta'? Feel free to discuss.  Another query - when the two young drunk guys high-fived the girls, did the 60 year old think to himself "ahhh...young kids, they are so cute...wait, I am with one?" Did he feel threatened at all?  And more importantly, did he think he really had a chance with this girl?  These thoughts keep me awake at night.

After the girls' departure, the drunk guys continued to keep us entertained by setting their sights on new young girls that arrived with their thong underwear exposed (these boys loved the classy ones), singing, standing up and dancing seemingly suggestively but mostly sloppy, disappearing for over a period (at least one of them while the other tried to call him), and then, after I had remarked that the older couple sitting next to them were trying to sit as far away from them as possible in connected seats - the boys decided to leave at which point the drunker of the two said to the couple "see you in the future." Not sure if that was a promise or a warning but it sounded like a threat. The woman apparently felt the same way because she actually recoiled from the boy.

After their departure all was not lost for entertainment purposes. There was the drunk girl in the section to the left of us who fell down the stairs, fell up the stairs, walked at a 90 degree angle, and danced to the Happy Birthday song. Yes, as in "Happy Birthday to You." That song. And, last but not least, was the farting couple.  B and I told S&R early in the game about them. Last time we sat behind them and almost died.  We decided it was the woman because it would happen when the husband was off buying an entire pizza to eat by himself.  As we were discussing it B remarks "it smells like someone is farting right now."  And it did. Two hours later - mystery solved.  I spot the farting couple a few rows down and shout "it's the farting couple."  Luckily they didn't hear me, but we sure smelled them.  (Another fun fact - I like to shout and point during hockey games.  I don't know why. If there is a fight on the ice, I will shout and point "fight!"  Sometimes this is followed by "Git 'em.").

All in all a good time was had by all, but especially by us because we got to witness the entire circus. And it was a circus.  In fact, I heard a lady say to her friend who arrived precariously holding a pizza box with three drinks on it "that is quite the circus trick you've got going." And then she sang the circus music song.  I cried to B "she is singing the circus music song!" to which he replied "I guess you're not the only one."   But she didn't dance and march like I do when I sing it to B.  Nobody can do that.

Ramblings of a Riddler...

It has been a long week and I cannot put together one big coherent story, so that will have to wait until tomorrow.  Instead, you get my ramblings. Enjoy.

~People look at you funny if you only wash one hand in the bathroom, even if your other hand is injured and you did not use it.  These same people do not blink twice if someone walks out of the bathroom without washing their hands at all.~

~Your stream of consciousness is supposed to STAY in your consciousness. When I am waiting for the judge to call my case, I do not want to hear the following come from your mouth in between gasps for air "must put my stuff down" and "have to check in with the clerk now."  I do NOT need a play by play of your actions because I can SEE YOU (and you are not that interesting in any event).~

~The doctor has told me I am narcoleptic, among other things.  I prefer to say I love naps. Nice long naps. All day long.  However, even I, in my narcoleptic state, could not fall asleep and immediately start snoring LOUDLY within two minutes of sitting down in a courtroom.  How do you make it through your job buddy?  Oh - and you need to see a few doctors, at a minimum, to help you with your multitude of problems.  But not my doctor. He only misdiagnoses me and then forgets my ailments.  That will not do you any good.~

~My office eats WAY too many Cheezits (not I - I stick to pretzels).  We have gone through 4 cases in a week. That is 12 lbs per case or 48 POUNDS of Cheezits. In a WEEK??? We need an office fast (um, not feast) pronto! Although the person that dropped the Cheezit in the bathroom needs a different kind of help.  Cheezits in the bathroom?  Why would you take FOOD in the bathroom?~

~Speaking of bathrooms and the office, a vagina exploded in the women's office the other day. Yes, you read right. No, I have no explanation. I apologize if the word "vagina" offended you but you cannot nearly be as offended as my nostrils were.  I can only hope that the person was in our office seeking counsel to file a lawsuit against her doctor for malpractice.  If not, she should be.  And I should get pain and suffering.  Five hours worth.  That is how long it took to clear up. Five hours!  I think they actually infused the bathroom with brand new air.  Oh and to the person a couple hours later that thought the bathroom spray would work? It didn't.  It just smelled like a flowery exploded vagina. Nice try though.~

~Speaking of math and the office (see math two paragraphs ago), it is probably a good idea if you are going to send a forwarded email to the entire office about an alternate proposal for the $700 billion bailout, that you make sure the math in the email is correct.  Otherwise, someone in the office, perhaps even your own secretary, will immediately hit "reply to all" and totally destroy the whole point of the email with accurate calculations and everyone else will just pretend they did not witness the whole chain of events.  (No, I did not send out this forward. I also did not do the math but did check it and cackle after the reply to all). (P.S. even snopes did the math right)~

~I say F@ck an awful lot. Even when I am not reinjuring myself.~

~Yesterday afternoon there was a "Breaking News" email sent by the local news indicating a nearby school had been closed due to a "foul odor having been detected."  Boy, that vagina travels.~

~Does anyone know what Pickleball is?  Someone in the office won a gold medal in this event. I am not sure if it is a sport or something dirty. Either way I am scared.  I was also blissfully unaware that some coworkers were involved in local Olympics.  Lost bliss  is a terrible thing.~

~One can only wonder what Google searches will lead people to this post.~