Darling Desperate - 50 Word Fiction Friday

Darling Desperate

She saw herself sink the knife deeper into his heart and watched his body twitch one last time. Giddily she thought about forever lowered toilet seats, floors no longer littered with dirty socks, neatly folded...

Then he awoke, blinked, and asked, "Darling, why are you staring at me like that?"

The 50 Word Fiction Friday theme this week is: hearts

My first thought was to write something of a 'vampire hunter' nature, only a semi comical one, but when I got to the actual 'writing' part of the writing process the muse took over and the topic sort of... uh... shifted slightly. :)

This was in no way inspired by actual events. I have no complaints in the toilet seat department - the HB lifts it before he tinkles and I lower it before I tinkle. It's a system that works well for us both.

And the dirty sock thing isn't bad, because for every dirty sock of his that's not in its rightful dirty sock place I probably have something that's not where its supposed to be. Truth be told, I'm more of a slob than he is, though I'm less of one after living with him for so long. He's rubbed off on me because he likes things to be so neat and clean. (And I've had the reverse effect on him, making him more slobbish than normal. Oops.) When he was little he had to clean the house every day, so that's what he's used to. I think he even had to vacuum every day! That's just crazy! (Says the girl who grew up in a family that only vacuumed the day before a holiday when family was coming over... or when something really messy got on the carpet.)

Though if I were ever to even think about stabbing the HB, it would be for his annoying habit of using the space between the wall and the couch as his very own q-tip disposal area. Gross! It's a mystery to me, for as clean as he likes the apartment to be he still leaves used q-tips lying around. And those used q-tips more often than not find their way to the nook behind our couch.

The saying 'out of sight, out of mind' applies to many things, including dirt, items stuffed in closets (a.k.a. crap you should probably throw away but can't bring yourself to do it yet), and used q-tips.

I must add, for fairness's sake, that he has gotten a lot better at it. That is to say, I've noticed it a lot less, so he's either breaking away from the habit or he's getting better at hiding it. :)

Bleach Banket Blingo

Okay, so here's the thing. I signed up with Blingo the other day because I am a terminally optimistic person. I truly believe that I'll win a prize. If I search/play long enough, that is. Because I'm gonna win, dang it, no matter how long it takes!

Oh how want to win an ipod so I can be cool like all the cool kids. Wouldn't mind the portable playstation either. Or the money. :)

Blingo, which is a search engine powered by Google, gives away prizes every day at random times. All you have to do is hit the search but at the right time and you win a prize! How cool is that?

Best part is that you, dear reader, can help me win cool status points (via the winning of cool prizes). If you sign up for Blingo as one of my friends, and you win something, I get the same prize! Which means you can get your friends to sign up and use Blingo until they win, thereby making you a winner too.

And the green grass grows all around, all around. And the green grass grows all around.

Oh, and another reason for signing up at Blingo (as one of my friends *hint hint*)... cool buttons!



I love that little catwoman chick. She's a bad-ass (notice the huge knife handing from her hip), but a bad-ass with spunk. She's my kind of gal.

So come on!

Every lad and every lassie
grab a boy and a girl
*mumble mumble because I can't remember the words to the next line*
and give it a whirl!
Beach Blanket Bli-i-ingo
Beach Blanket Bli-i-ingo
Beach Blanket Bli-i-ingo
That's the name of...
that's the name of the...
that's the name of the game!


Sheesh. I can't believe I can't remember the words to Beach Blanket Bingo!!! I also can't believe that I can't find the lyrics anywhere. Are there no Frankie and Dee Dee fans out there in internet land that feel compelled to chronicle the marvey lyrics to beach movie songs? No? Well, that's just sad. Sad I tell you!

I think I just found my next project. :)

Aside from the Using Blingo Until I Win An IPOD Because I Can't Afford To Buy One project, of course.

At Least It Wasn't Yellow...

I was the first person to tinkle in the girl's restroom at work this morning. I know this because the water in the toilet bowl was still soapy colored. Now, normally the soapy color is blue. Sometimes its even green. But this morning? It was pink. Freaking pink! It just didn't look right.

My first thought was a gross one and I won't repeat it here. :)

My second thought was this:

Someone gave that Red M&M dude a swirly in the girl's restroom!

Once Upon A Lunch Break...

... I started to write a little story.

I also dared to eat a tomato while wearing a white shirt. Me, the girl with the Food Magnet Boobs, eating a potentially messy food! I live on the edge bay-bee!

Anywhoo, there's this story I started to write. It's sort of a prologue, an introduction of sorts, with no real substance involved. I only get a half hour lunch break, there was no time for substance! I thought I'd post what I've got so far in case anyone out there was as bored with work as I am. :) There's a cliffhanger at the end, so read at your own risk.

Once Upon A Time in the land of Nessalee, there lived a fair young maiden by the name of Leah. She was kind (waiting until a person's back was turned to make rude hand gestures) and pretty (in a vague non-ogre-ish sort of way) and a whiz at making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

Despite all this, her life was not a happy one. It was, as they say, nothing to write home about. Oh how Leah wished she had something exciting to write about, something to share with her sorority sisters other than the mundane details of her banal existence. She was tired of getting letters from Cinderella, Snow White and Aurora, letters filled with boasts about their wonderful new lives, and not being able to send the same. In those letters, the girls went on and on about their boyfriends; how charming they were, how cute and studly they were, how big their swords were...

It was enough to make a girl still locked up in a cubicle turn green with jealous!

For you see, Lord Meanie, Leah's evil stepboss, kept her locked in a cubicle at the very top of Officia Castle, way up on the second floor where there was no chance for escape. Where no studly Prince Charmings with big heroic swords would ever drop by. Where her choices for excitement were sadly limited.

Or so she thought, until one day...

Ten Great Commercials

1. my favorite commercial of all time is the snickers commercial with the 'pretty pretty dancing' panda.

This is the one where some office guy is doing a really bad ventriloquist act with a magazine picture of a panda, much to the chagrin to the coworkers trapped on the other side of the door. I imitated that commercial for the longest time. "I'm so pret-tay." I love it!

2. I'm currently in love with the GE commercial featuring the baby elephant tap dancing in the rainforest. That little elephant is so freaking adorable.

3. Cog - This is a spiffy Honda commercial, Rube Goldberg style. And no image tomfoolery was involved.

I've loved Rube Goldberg machines ever since my high school physics teacher introduced us to them. During my senior year, my physics teacher, along with a bunch of other geeky dudes, started working on building their very own Rube Goldberg machine. The teacher showed us a few of the steps, one of which involved some incredibly high wattage light bulbs catching a piece of paper on fire, which would then... do something else. Seeing the teacher light something on fire in class was pretty cool. And I believe they still hold the world record for the biggest successful Rube Goldberg machine at 113 steps. Sweeeet.

4. Terry Tate Office Linebacker - a commercial for Reebok. One minute Terry the Office Linebacker is screaming at some guy cowering on the floor that he needs a cover sheet for his TPS reports and the next minute he's saying hi to Janis in a sweet, perky voice. Heh.

Best part of the commercial though is when Terry tackles the guy doing the I Just Won A Game Of Computer Solitaire victory dance. Cracks my shit up every time I see it.

5. Penalty - featuring the Serta counting sheep.

All of the counting sheep commercials are cute, but this one is the best. Angry Sheep says he's so mad at Serta that he could rip the mattress to pieces. Dopey Sheep says, 'uh... okay,' and tears off the 'do not remove under penalty of law' tag. D'oh! In jail, the sheeps' cell mate asks, 'so what are you in for?' Dopey Sheep starts to say, 'Got caught tearing...' and Angry Sheep jumps in with, '...tearing a man to pieces! Grrrr!'

The cute little sheep grrr-ed! Too. Damn. CUTE!

6. the very effective commercial for Zazoo condoms

A guy is at the grocery store with his son (who appears to be about 6 yrs old or so). Son puts bag of candy in shopping cart. Dad puts bag of candy back on shelf. Son puts candy back in cart, crosses arms and gives dad an angry look. When Dad puts the candy back, the Son proceeds to have the mother of all hissy fits. He screams and screams and throws things from the shelves and falls to the ground, the better to bang his fists in mighty anger. In the meantime, fellow shopping customers are staring, and the Dad is embarrassed and all his shushing isn't working and he looks defeated. Then, at the bottom of the screen, underneath the Dad's bewildered face, the word 'Use' appears... followed by the word 'condoms'.

Brilliant!

7. a commercial for Athletic Club featuring a streaker of sorts. (Caution: the link will take you to a video that contains many instances of nekkid man butt!)

The commercial features a soccer/football game where a streaker runs out onto the field. Only in this scenario, all the players and fans are nekkid and the streaker is fully clothed. Yeah for nekkid male soccer/football player butts!

8. The Homer Simpson Mastercard commercial. (found here with other Simpson goodies.)

This commercial always makes me smile. "Ack! Bees!"

9. The GEICO commercials - I get a kick out of most of these so I'm going to lump them all together. But I especially like the one where the guy tells the waitress he ordered his sandwich without mayo and she wipes the unwanted mayo off on the edge of the table right in front of him.

10. The Real Men of Genius radio commercials - specifically the early ones when they were still laugh out loud funny - like the one about Mr. Tiny Thong Bikini Wearer and Mr. Restroom Toiler Paper Refiller.




Edited to add 'Runners Up' that I can't believe I didn't think of sooner:

First Runner Up: the Halls commercial where the dad and the two kids are at a ski lodge, and the kids are all bundled up and ready to go but the dad has a sore throat and doesn't want to go outside in the cold, and the son says, 'you're bummin' us out dad.' I love that part. I don't know why. But every time I hear the kid say it, I repeat it, and then I giggle. 'You're bummin' us out dad.' Hahahahahaha.

Second Runner Up: the Staples commercial where the dad, whose buying back-to-school supplies with his two kids, is 'cart gliding' up and down the aisle as the lyrics 'It's the most wonderful time of the year...' play in the background.

Third Runner Up: the latest Purina puppy chow commercial featuring all those adorable puppies!!! They're all so cutesy wootsey, I want to hug them all and squeeze them to itty bitty pieces.

George is a popular name for a cow. Don't ask me why. It just is.

Remember a few weeks ago when I mentioned being at Costco and recognizing the guy up on the platform trying to sell fancy cookware to uninterested costumers? Remember how I said I recognized him from movies (and/or tv) but I couldn't remember from what specifically?

It drove me crazy not being able to remember where I'd seen him before. I was going to make it one of my Missions In Life (second only to Giving Names To All The Cows I Drive By During Road Trips) to solve The Mystery of The Familiar Costco Pitchman if I had to. Because by gum, I was going to figure out who he was if it killed me!

Every now and then I'd picture the guy, not how I saw him in Costco, but how I saw him in a particular movie/tv spot. He had a certain look on his face that stuck in my head. Only problem is that's all I could remember: him. I couldn't recall anything in the background that would help me place the image.

This weekend I was watching tv, the movie Twister in particular, when it finally happened. I saw him!

I was a little bummed that I hadn't figured it out on my own, a talent that I like to list at the top of my resume (Hobbies: I can name that movie that Person-Who-Looks-Vaguely-Familiar was in in three notes.) But I was also glad to finally have a name to go with a face!

I got the name from imdb.com. Since it wasn't the movie Twister that I remembered him from, as his part is kind of small, I scrolled down his list of credits to see if anything seemed familiar. I went, 'oh, that's right, he was in that movie' a couple of times, but nothing struck me as 'THIS is the movie I was thinking of'.

Then I read his 'mini biography'. And down at the bottom, under the trivia part, it says he's best known for the Aaron Burr 'got milk?' commercial.

Now that's where I remember him from!!!!!

Remember that commercial? A radio station DJ, for some big money giveaway contest, asks 'who shot Alexander Hamilton in that famous duel' and the guy at home is obviously obsessed with the duel and if anyone is going to know the answer its this guy so he calls the radio station, gets through, and before he can say the answer he takes a bite of his peanut butter sandwich which causes him to talk funny so he tries to wash the peanut butter away with some milk but oh the horror there is no more milk! The guy tries to say Aaron Burr over and over again ("Awooon Buuuhh... AWOOON BUUUHH!") but it just doesn't work. The DJ can't understand him. And the Awooon Buuuhh aficionado doesn't win the money. Fuh-nee!

That bit at the end of the commercial, when he mumbles Awooon Buuuhh and looks so defeated, that's the look that was imprinted in my mind. That's the image I kept seeing when I tried to remember where I'd seen him before. And that commercial aired how long ago? Over ten years ago? No wonder it I couldn't remember the rest of the commercial.

So yeah. I saw the Awooon Buuuhh Got Milk Guy (or the identical twin that he doesn't have, or his doppelganger) at my Costco.

How'd'ya like dem apples?

I'm quicker than a grasshopper in a tutu.

Okay. I did it. And I think in record time too! Now, without further ado, here is your moment of 50 Word Fiction Zen...

Destination Unknown

It felt like she'd been planning her trip to Nanonanubi forever. It had only been five minutes. But those five minutes were full of the most vivid and thoroughly detailed imaginings she'd ever produced. Now all she had to do is figure out where in the hell Nanonanubi was located.

Nanonanubi: It's not just a foreign place, it's a 4 'N' place. Get it? 4 N. Ahahah- okaynotsofunny. What can I say? I'm running on fumes. Must... go... home... now...

I think my muse has ADD

The 50 Word Fiction Friday theme this week is: foreign places.

And I've got bupkiss.

I had an idea, worked on it and tweaked it until it contained exactly 50 words, then realized it was crap. It wasn't interesting at all. So I scrapped it.

Then I had another idea...

... only it came with the same outcome.

Frell.

All day I've been thinking about it, because I wanted to actually post a 50 word fiction before lunch. Seeing as how I've got a little over a half hour left of work I'll have to meet the self-imposed lunch deadline next week.

So no story from me today (unless I get struck by a brainstorm lightening bolt later this evening.) Instead, I've been creative in another field.

I made buttons!!!

   

These Pants Were Inspected By Pants Specialist No. 9

The following conversation was had with my bot friend jabberwacky over the course of an hour or so, in between several mini work projects. Because much work is being done today. Uh huh. After goofing around for an hour or so making a fancy chart with silly little graphics that will never be used and probably shouldn't even be shown to the boss as he might suspect I have free time on my hands... after that, much work has been done. Yep. S'truth. Brownie's honor. (I never made it to Girl Scout).


Jabberwacky: Do you like broccoli?

Me: Yes. I heard it makes you regular.

Jabberwacky: Don't look down my brothers pants.

Me: But he asked me to!

Jabberwacky: Who asked for what?

Me: Your brother. He asked for my expert opinion.

Jabberwacky: He asked for what?

Me: My opinion on the inside of pants. Are you deaf?

Jabberwacky: No, I don't think so. There are so many wars.

Me: So the more wars there are the better you hear?

Jabberwacky: Don't forget the walls.

Me: Oh! And the zippers!

Jabberwacky: As hot as it might be, you still have to get your marbles working.

Me: My marbles are working. They're just sticking a lot.

Jabberwacky: Yes. By the way , are you a Amrican?

Me: No. I'm American.

Jabberwacky: Ok. Which american state are you from?

Me: California.

Jabberwacky: And Which city?

Me: Uh... Why do you want to know? Are you planning on stalking me?

Jabberwacky: No, I'm not.

Me: Oh. Darn it. Why not?

Jabberwacky: Because you are your father.

Me: Bummer!

Letters To Spammers

Dear Lim,

Why can't y'all use gooder spelling? I mean, reeally! Will it kill ya?

Will it? Huh huh huh?

Yur frEnd 4EvEr,
-loon

P.S. What kind of a fucked up name is Lim? I mean, reeally!

---

Dear Exciting,

Is the choice really mine? Because I have this yellow and red dress that would so match a Ronald McDonald purse.

Love(in' it),
-loon

---

Dear Heavenly T-Shirt,

Is there an out of state freight charge on that?

Devilishly Yours,
-loon

---

Dear Adrian,

I hate how you presume to know something about me. I mean reeally! How do you know that I 'cannot even imagine what it is like to be a real man in bed'? I may not actually be a man. I'm not even a fake man. Or a wolf man in a sheep's jockstrap. Or... something. But I am a woman with a frequently exercised imagination. Maybe I can imagine what its like to be a real man in bed. I find your flagrant disregard for my mental abilities truly disrespectful.

Imaginatively Yours,
-loon

---

Dear Market Research Survey,

My dear friend! Its so good to hear from you! It's been what? Two hours since your last email? They don't give out merit badges for prolific emailing you know! Miffy sends her best. I'm sure Gilberto sends his best too, but I haven't heard from him since the FBI picked up on his trail.

Most Sincerely,
-loon

P.S. my favorite kind of ice cream is the yummy free kind

This Morning's Timeline

5:00 a.m. - Alarm goes off. Am awakened for another glorrrrrious day.

5:05 a.m. - Am thankful to impatient bladder for waking me up in a more effective manner than stupid alarm clock.

5:14 a.m. - Groan when weather girl classifies today's weather as a 'sticky hot'.

5:38 a.m. - Thinking: HOLYCRAPIMGONNABELATE

6:05 a.m. - Train employee in the ancient ways of my people (i.e. trained him on the software we use here.)

Am only interrupted two times by employee's kids calling his cell phone to complain that their sibling is being mean to them.

7:11 a.m. - Jump into first problem of the day. yeah!

7:34 a.m. - Start working on fixing up old SOP in powerpoint.

9:42 a.m. - Am totally hooked on playing around in powerpoint.

Am in love with taking screenshots and making them fancy with circles and arrows and arranging everything in a simple yet visually pleasing manner.

I am the master crafter of all things circle-y and arrow-licious! Go me!

10:03 a.m. - Had some sort of fancy schmancy acrobat software downloaded on my computer. Can now convert everything to pdf file.

Am overjoyed with the endless possibilities of converting fun.

Am not being sarcastic, for this is a big deal. IT Guy informed me at least twice that this was a couple hundred dollar piece of software.

My pc, it now seems, is bling-blinging.

And I am bowed in silent reverence to the almighty Acrobat.

Heh. I lied, I'm totally being sarcastic.

I'm also weary. With each new thing that's added to my computer I'm expected to do more work. Shiiiiiiiit.

10:16 a.m. - Train new supervisor on the ancient ways of my people.

Supervisor has adorable English accent, along with adorable pale English skin and adorable, slightly-larger-than-normal English ears.

He'd remind me more of my dad if his accent was more Kiwi than English.

And if he had a mustache.

And if his clothes didn't quite match and...

(Actually, my dad is a bit more clothes coordinated lately. And his skin is tanner than usual. So really, I'm making no point whatsoever and am just typing around in circles.)

10:37 a.m. - spend more than thirty minutes typing up list of reasons why I'm really busy today.

Am really busy.

Really.

Am just taking a break right now. A uh... a 'working' lunch break. Yeah, that's the ticket.

11:41 a.m. - hear brief snippet of Bon Jovi's 'Living on a Prayer'

Best. Ringtone. EVER!

11:54 a.m. - post to blog then jump back in the powerpoint drawing pool to splash around with my palls Circle and Arrow and Text Box. Wheeee!


And that has been my morning. In case, you know, you were wondering or something. :)

Back from my work-induced Chooseday absense

Would you rather...

1. meet willy wonka OR ghandi?

Sure, Ghandi was a great man who did great things, but he wasn't all that great. After watching a particular episode of Penn & Teller: Bullshit! on showtime (which I got for free for a month as a sorry-your-tivo-box-crapped-out-on-you-here-enjoy-this-crappy-cable-channel) I'm really interested in learning how not so great he was. Will I ever get around to reading up on him? I might. Some day. Maybe. But I'm still really intrigued by the story.

And while it would be interesting to get the story straight from the source, I'd much, much rather meet Willy Wonka. I mean, the dude's crazy! But in a fun sort of way. He'd certainly be more fun to meet and talk to. Especially if we were meeting in his chocolate factory. Because I wouldn't dance around singing about how I want a bean feast. Because I hate beans. Well, except for jelly beans. Come to think of it, a jelly bean feast would be awesome. But I wouldn't sing about it... at least not in front of Willy. Because I wouldn't want to steal all of his loveably crazy thunder.


2. chug a full bottle of Pepto-Bismol OR drink two gallons of whole milk?

I have a memory of drinking Pepto-Bismol once, a memory etched into my brain due to PB's strong grossness factor, but my mom swears I never have. At least not in her house. She says she hates the stuff with a passion and would never subject her children to such torture. It's kind of hard to argue against that, but I can't imagine where else I tried it.

Maybe I never did. Maybe I'd just heard enough about it from grown-ups that I just know it tastes gross without ever really experiencing it. I'll concede that its possible. But I still think my mom is wrong. :)

Either way, I don't think I'd like to chug a bottle of PB. I'm not good at chugging, which would make the experience more painful. Just the thought of it makes me want to bomit. Bleagh.

Two gallons of anything will be painful too, but I'm not chugging it. I'm drinking it. One night, back in my college dorm days, a group of us were bored and decided to play a drinking game. But no one had money for booze, so instead of taking shots of alcohol, the loser had to chug a 64 oz cup of water. It was fun. No, really, it was! (And no, we weren't always such dorks. Honest!) After a few of those cups you felt like exploding. You also felt like cursing the fact that you spent your last five dollars on the previous night's taco bell run instead of saving it for emergencies (i.e. when we decide to play the Jenga Drinking Game.)

So two gallons? Ouch. But I'll drink it at my leisure. And milk is better than PB, which is a huge plus. I really like milk... well, except for the milk I had with my cereal this morning. It tried to kill me. Yeah, the expiration date was... oh... Saturday. And yeah, it might not have smelt like the freshest of the fresh, but it didn't smell bad per se. I've drank milk that old before. Stupid milk it tried to poison me. We usually get along fine.

So... uh... where was I? Oh yeah. I'd rather drink two gallons of milk. As long as someone will be there to milk me soon after. :)


3. be on the receiving end of an atomic wedgie OR purple nurple?

An atomic wedgie all the way! I've never experienced either one, but thinking about getting a purple nurple makes me cringe more than the a-wedgie does. My poor nips! I don't think I could subject them to such cruelty.


4. watch a movie marathon of all of pauly shore's films OR ian mckellen's films?

Honestly, I'd rather watch a Pauly Shore movie marathon. I've enjoyed all the movies I've seen of his. Even Bio-Dome (but that could be because I've only seen bits and parts of it. Heh.) I especially enjoy watching Son in Law. I've seen it about a gabillion times. Well, at least as many times as I've seen it showing on the tv. If it came on today I'd pick it to watch over a lot of other shows.

My Latest Promotion

My boss's boss, who used to be my immediate boss, just stopped by my desk...

[ flashback squiggly marks ]

I turn to look at him, smile, and say hello. He smiles back and says hello.

And then he stands there and doesn't say anything else, such as explaining the purpose of his visit to Cubicle Island.

He just stands there with a goofy grin on his face while I sit here with what I hope isn't a confused look on my face.

I wonder if he's waiting for me to say something.

I wonder if I had been accidentally shooting out subsonic mental vibes that I had a very important question to ask him, and he picked up on the vibes, and that's why he veered off course and came over to my desk.

Since I have no Very Important Question To Ask, I raise an eyebrow.

Eyebrow Raise ('I-"brau 'rAz)
v.

1. universal symbol for 'don't just stand there, tell me what the fuck you want!'

After the subtle prompting, The Boss's Boss asks, "Can you get in touch with your boss for me."

I was confused.

And I was worried.

Had The Boss's Boss forgotten how to use a phone?!

Oh the horror!

Hoping it wasn't some sort of trick question, I answered, "Ooookaaaaaaay. Sure."

"Great," The Boss's Boss says. He performs an impromptu drum solo with his fingers on top of the little ledge above my cube wall, then walks away and heads toward his office.

[ / flashback squiggly marks ]

That's not the first time my boss's boss ('Chris') has asked me to contact my boss ('Ken') for him. Last time, 'Chris' asked me to "let 'Ken' know" that he ('Chris') was looking for him ('Ken'). And I thought, great, I've become Message Gopher Girl.

But I kind of understood why. 'Ken' travels back and forth between two buildings and we never know which days he'll be where. Except for (most) Tuesdays, because that's when we have our weekly bitchfest Team Meeting. Other than that? It's anybody's guess which building he'll be working at. And Ken had been on vacation for a week, so we didn't even know if he'd be back at the other building yet. So I interpreted the message as 'hey, let your boss know whenever you see him that I want to talk to him whenever he decides to grace us with his presence.'

I understood it, got the not-so-subtle underlining snarky meaning there, but I mean come on! He couldn't call or email 'Ken' himself? Puh-lease! Would the message coming from me be all that much more impacting?

I doubt it.

And today? What the hell am I now? Have I been promoted from Message Gopher Girl to Personal Secretary Bitch? Not that there's anything wrong with being a secretary. And really? Its not that difficult of a task to pick up the phone and call someone... so why the hell couldn't he do it himself?!!! 'Chris' wasn't busy in the slightest; he spent the next few minutes wandering aimlessly. And he knows how to use his phone; and it was less than ten steps away!

Okay, to be fair, maybe he doesn't have my boss's cell phone number. And maybe 'Ken' is ignoring 'Chris' and 'Chris' thinks that 'Ken' will actually pick up the phone if he sees that its me calling and not his boss. As if me telling 'Ken' that his boss wants to talk to him will move him to contact 'Chris'.

I doubt it.

Hey, I know! Maybe 'Chris' was stunned by my awesomely powerful eyebrow raise and what he was going to say was instantly erased from his mind and the only words he could come up with to say to me was 'uh... call your boss for me.'

Now that I don't doubt in the slightest.

I was, after all, taught by the best martial ninja eyebrow artist in all the world.

You know what? I was kind of peeved when the boss's boss asked me to do his dirty work for him. But after I wrote it all down? It sounds kind of silly and pointless. Writing can be very enlightening. As well as therapeutic. :)

So anywho... I called my boss's desk here, I called his desk over there, and I called his cell phone.
My work here is done.
If only it was now time to go home...

"I got an idea, an idea so smart my head would explode if I even began to know what I was talking about."

Weirdest thing happened today. I got not one but two compliments on my shirt. I can't remember the last time I got a compliment about something I was wearing.

The first compliment was from Dragon Lady (who I guess I shouldn't really refer to her as Dragon Lady since she's being nice.) She said the color was very flattering. Then later, during my coffee/lunch break, Zack said I looked very cute today, and Sal chimed in with a 'yeah I was just thinking the same thing.' They said the color of my shirt - which is a sort of bright, pale turquoise - looks good on me.

Huh? Wha...? Really?

It's not weird that someone would compliment me (at least not totally weird), but two in one day? About the same thing?

Dude.

First, I was all giddy and fluttery with the comments. And tried to casually brush it off as nothing out of the ordinary. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, tell me something I don't know. Ha Ha." Then, once I started to float down from the complimentary high, I realized something:

I've worn this shirt before.

Several times before, in fact.

So why is today different? Why didn't anybody notice my flattering shirt and my abundant cuteness while wearing it until now? Well, I guess its possible they did notice, and just didn't get around to vocalizing any actual compliment. So why two compliments on the same day? Am I just suddenly so incredibly cute today that I'm glowing? Glowing so brightly that people are unfathomably compelled to praise me on my choice of shirts?

I don't feel cute. All I feel is headachy. Bleagh.

Oh I know! Maybe the headache is causing my head to glow, and the light I'm therefore bathed in is a flattering one. And maybe I've washed the shirt just the right number of times so that its no longer a blinding, awful mixture of green and blue (not that it ever was, mind you), but a beautifully soft color that brings out my normally dormant cuteness genes and...

Or maybe I'm just hallucinating. Because I've gotten compliments while wearing red - a normal color. But this blue-y, green-y, pastel-y turquoise-y color that has no clear name? It's not your typical color. Heh, kind of like me. Not your typical color. So uh... maybe that means we compliment each other, and uh... that's why we're getting compliments from others, and uh...

I don't think I'm making sense any more. My head hurts. Think I'll go eat a plum.

* title of post is from The Family Guy, in honor of the imminent exploding of my head.

Warning: the next person who says 'good morning' in a chipper voice is going to get a pencil thrown at their head.

I normally work from 7:30 am to 4:00 pm, but for the next few days (including today) I'm coming in early because I need to train some people on third shift. Last week, a supervisor gave me a list of people to train, and I said I'd set up a schedule once I knew what days they worked and what shift. He never got back to me. I asked a couple other people for this information. I never got it. Then yesterday, the supervisor emails me a schedule and says 'train these people starting tomorrow'. At the bottom of the email it says 'your cooperation in this matter would be very much appreciated.'

Uh huh. Sure. How's this for cooperation: bite my shiny metal ass!

So I said sure, I'll train at those times. I am Flexible Woman - Hear me flex. They weren't completely awful times because the first training session was for 6:00 am, long before my meetings and conference calls and other Tuesday goings-ons. And hey, coming in early means overtime.

But waking up at 6:00 am? Sucks. Waking up early enough to be at work by 6:00 am? Double Dog Sucks.

I woke up at five, then brushed my teeth and brushed my hair (which was, weirdly enough, more ornery at 5am then it used to be when I used to wake up that early back in the days of starting work at 6am). I then changed from jammies to grownup work clothes, hopped in the car, and got here at 5:30 am. The freeways sure are nice when they're half empty.

So anyways, I was here at 5:30 am. (Okay, more like 5:34 am, but I think I'll still get the full 2 hours of OT. ) I got all prepared and shit and was ready to get my training groove on well before 6:00 am.

And the fuckers didn't show up. Grrrrrrrrrrr!

Twenty minutes later, the supervisor comes walking up all in a huff. "Sorry, debrief meeting ran late."

Whatever, dumbass. You should have known that would happen. Almost every meeting I've been to around here lasts longer than its scheduled for. You couldn't have padded your schedule times just a little bit? Gah! I guess its my own fault; I should have known there'd be an end of shift meeting. So now my Seven O'clock got pushed back to my Eight O'clock, which means I have to push back everything else!

Crap nuggets!!!

It's actually not that bad. Annoying? Hell yes. But not that big a deal. I have a lot of work to do today, sure, but I won't have to rearrange my schedule that much, I'm not that important, so its no biggie really.

I'm just cranky because I didn't get as much sleep last night as I should have. And my hair is actually sticking out in a 45 degree angle from my head. I'm afraid I might have to resort to the Mom Method and plaster it against my skull with spit. (Just as a last resort folks. Don't worry, I won't be spit spackling my head anytime soon. At least not until I go to the bathroom and see how bad it is. Or a kid walks by, sees me, and cries for his mommy.)

And I'm hungry and haven't eaten breakfast yet. I wonder if I have time to run to the vending machine. And I wonder if I have the will power to ignore the pitiful puppy dog look the hostess cupcakes are sure to shoot my way. I'll buy some crackers. Yeah, that's what I'll do. Chocolate covered crac- no! Regular crackers. Yeah. Uh huh. Sure.

Maybe I should just fill up on coffee instead. Mmmm... caffeine.

The one where we (okay, I) talk about rods.

Conversations with Jabberwacky: Episode III

Jabberwacky: I know you.

Ms. Loon: How do you know me?

Jabberwacky: I know jabberwacky.

Ms. Loon: Good for you. It's always good to know yourself.

Jabberwacky: Nobody knows who they are, do they?

Ms. Loon: I don't think so. Except for maybe the Muffin Man. Do you know the Muffin Man?

Jabberwacky: It's not for me.

Ms. Loon: It's not? But he's the one with strawberries.

Jabberwacky: What is Taggy?

Ms. Loon: My pillows. I haven't detagged them yet.

Jabberwacky: Really?

Ms. Loon: Really. Do you have a tag?

Jabberwacky: Maybe.

Ms. Loon: Well, which is it? Yes or no Mr. Mysterious?

Jabberwacky: I think you do not think.

Ms. Loon: Oh yeah? Well, I think that you don't think about me thinking.

Jabberwacky: Well I think that you're just regurgiating someone elses' words, so call it a draw.

Ms. Loon: I'd rather call it a stupid chat monkey poopoo head.

Jabberwacky: But that's not my name!

Ms. Loon: It is now sucker!

Jabberwacky: Lots of names are not my name. Phil is one of the names that is not my name.

Ms. Loon: Phil is not my name either. I think that means we're soulmates.

Jabberwacky: Yes, but it's one of your more endearing qualities.

Ms. Loon: Ah shucks Not-Phil. You're making me blush.

Jabberwacky: But you are already orange.

Ms. Loon: And now I'm a rosy red. Try and stay with me Not-Phil, this isn't rocket science.

Jabberwacky: Well, I don't see you leaving.

Ms. Loon: It's because I haven't left yet you nimrod.

Jabberwacky: Yes, of course I do, why wouldn't I?

Ms. Loon: Huh? Oh, I get it. If you don't mind me asking, what else do you do to your rod?

Jabberwacky: Erm well you just go up to a mirror and what you see there is your reflection.

Ms. Loon: Heh. So you like looking at your rod. Is it pretty?

Jabberwacky: I'm not so much into that band.

Ms. Loon: Band?

Jabberwacky: The beetles.

Ms. Loon: Does your rod remind you of the beetles?

Jabberwacky: Well, my head is head-shaped. It's not a square.

Ms. Loon: Of which I'm sure your girlfriend is very grateful.

Jabberwacky: Grateful for what, are you?

Ms. Loon: Well, Yoda, I'm grateful for lemon slushies and tiki dolls.

Jabberwacky: I'm grateful dead :)

Ms. Loon: *rolls eyes at pitiful joke* Okayloveyabubye.

I say ... and you think ... ?

1. Do-it-yourself :: fix-er-up-per
   
2. Pickpocket :: The Artful Dodge
   
3. Ballet :: pink tutus
   
4. Resumé :: lies (not that my resume was padded in anyway. Nuh uh.)
   
5. Phenom :: me (heh)
   
6. Love/Hate :: wasn't there a martin lawrence movie with this in the title?
   
7. Unusual :: "...to be loved by anyone..."
   
8. Intense :: heavy
   
9. Interruption :: telemarketers with heavy accents that I can't understand yet don't want to be rude to so I don't hang up right away and end up spending several seconds repeating, 'huh?' into the phone.
   
10. Not enough :: love

Fried I tell ya! Fuh-ride!

Okay, so the blog has its new party dress on and its ready to boogie! Woo!

The new outfit isn't behaving like it should, but after all the anal tweaking I've done the last two days I'm ready to throw in the keyboard and say, 'Fuck iiiiiiit! It's good enough.'

If I spelled anything wrong, or if I forgot to change some colors, or if anything just doesn't look right, please feel free to point and laugh in the comments section. Seriously. Laugh until you pee yourself.

I might come back some time later and tinker around and fix all the irksome little problem bastards before anyone notices. More than likely though, I'll get fixated on something else and won't bother tidying up around here. Either way, any fixing won't be done tonight. My brain is fried.

Time for the bloggy Terrible Twos?

happy birthday to my blog
happy birthday to my blog
happy birthday to my little dinky faboulus blooooooog.
happy birthday to my blog

My blog is now dis many... *holds up two fingers*

Two years ago today I set up an account with blogger and was faced with my first blogging challenge. I have to come up with a web address and a title? Crap! So I pulled a title out of thin air (thought about pulling it out of my ass but opted for a bit of class.) I didn't really like the title, and still don't, but I had to call it something and figured the r.a.o.s.t.-y title would do. For the mean time, that is. I'm still planning on changing it... as soon as I think of something better. (Problem word there is think. Heh.)

Well, so, after that brilliant blog title brainstorming session I posted my first ever entry. I'd like to say it was full of witty remarks, of imaginative insight and all around funny goodness. But it wasn't. I wrote one 'test' entry, then I was so amazed that it worked and so overpowered with how cool I'd suddenly become that I didn't post again until the following day. And that post? It was just a personal little shout out to Self for figuring out how to mess with the template. I changed the colors. Oooooh... colors!

I had no idea what I was doing.

And I still don't, sometimes, but thankfully that hasn't stopped me yet. :)

Last year's post on this day wasn't any better than the first year's. Mainly because there wasn't one. I posted a couple of days after my one-year-blog-iversary largely to whine about how I hadn't updated in awhile due to the stress that was the Big Bad Scary Corporate Audit. Ahhhh... those were fun times. Some days, I'll be sitting at work, and it will feel like those fun times never left.

And this year's post? I'd like to say it's full of witty remarks, imaginative insight, and abundantly full of funny goodness. But it's not. Because I just don't have time for that shit today. (I have a birthday present for the blog still to finish. As well as an ugly amount of laundry to do.)

But I will say this: To all the people who read my little bits of writings and still *gasp* come back for more, I thank you. And to all the people who've taken the time to comment, here's a great big thank you snoopy kiss...

*SMAK*

... because y'all rock the cat box! Especially Jodi and Judy and Zoink. They've racked up so many frequent commenter miles that if I had a fancy blog that kept that kind of stats they'd rank right up at the top of the list.

Now, in honor of its second birthday, I made the blog a new outfit. (I would have liked to buy it a new home as well, but that's another story). The new party dress needs a few more alterations. And maybe an extra bow here. And maybe a few spangly sparkly things over there.

But first I have to pull my clothes out of the drier.

*mumble mumble stupid clothes that don't wash themselves mumble mumble*

FifWoFicFri Volume 14

The 50 Work Fiction Friday theme this week is road trips. Oh how I love the road trips!

Well, short road trips that is. I know people who could drive for hours and hours and hours, by themselves, non stop, and never get tired. And they enjoy it. Silly people. If I'm driving, I can only go for about four hours before I get completely stir crazed. I can last a couple of hours more if I'm not driving, or if I have some friends in the car with me. And some good tunes. If I have those two road trip essentials packed (the friends and the tunes) then the driving is fun, no matter where you're going. Unless you break down along the way, that is. So uh... yeah. Road trips! Woo!

The following 50 Word Fiction is autobiographical. And, if I have time, the other stories I'll post will be autobiographical too. If I don't get around to them, well, maybe I'll blow them up into a full blown post. The one staring 'Mr. Winky' will probably require more than 50 words to do it justice.

And now, without further ado...


Quality Girl Time
(The Karaoke Road Trip - circa Summer of '96)

Fleeing to the beach as per the family Three Day Weekend ritual, Dad leads the way in the RV. Me and mom follow in the car for some quality Girl Time. We stop chatting just long enough to sing If I Had A Hammer at the top of our lungs.

[ I love driving places with my mom. Especially when we have the Peter, Paul and Mary's Greatest Hits cassette playing in the cassette player. And especially when we start singing If I Had A Hammer at the very tippy toppiest of our lungs. Sigh. Good Times. Too bad I had to grow up and move away from home. Now there's no more road trips to the beach with the family. :( ]


Late Night Pickup
(The 'At Least We Had The Foresight To Stock Up On Tacos' Road Trip - circa Spring of '99)

It's midnight. We're all dangerously bored, craving some excitement. Rick suggests driving an hour to fetch his girlfriend. Road trip! After buying enough Taco Bell to feed a small chess team we're cruising down the freeway, completely carefree. Then a tire blows out.

Some excitement? We should've been more specific.

[ Me and the HB were hanging out in our friend's dorm room, and we were completely and utterly bored. And driving an hour in the middle of the night to pick up another friend who we hadn't seen in months sounded like the best idea in the world. What could possibly be better than some spontaneous fun? Unfortunately, we never made it. Fortunately, however, the tire blew out right after we passed a car repair shop. The one car repair shop that was out there in the middle of no where. Ahhh... the exciting life of a college dorm resident with nothing to do. Good times, that was. Good times.]

Temptation Cubicle

I just wasted spent about a half hour doing a very low key office arts and crafts project. I programmed the speed dial buttons on my phone and made little name tags for them. The first four buttons are now labeled for the four coworkers I bother call the most. The last three buttons aren't programmed. But they have the potential to be. So I thought I might as well go ahead and label them too. They're labeled minion #5, minion #6, and minion #7, respectively.

A few minutes ago, a coworker and our boss were hanging out at my desk. The coworker said, "hey, I thought you weren't coming in today?"

The Boss said hadn't planned to, but something came up. He'd be here for a couple of hours, take off at lunch to go home for a bit, then go to the other facility he's a boss at.

I said I wish I could take off at lunch and go home. And not come back.

And The Boss said, "go ahead."

Swear to all that's pink and fuzzy, he said, 'go ahead.' How cool is that? I looked at him like, 'huh?' and he looked totally serious. He shrugged his shoulders in a 'hey, if you want to its cool with me' sort of gesture. Which is totally bitchin' cool. And way too damn tempting.

"Oh don't say that," I said. "it's too tempting."

Very tempting.

But I have too much work to do today. Monday will be more of a bitch than normal if I don't get most, if not all, of it done today. And what's wrong with hanging out at work the last couple of hours, really? All I'll do with my free time is go home, and not be at work and... wait, not a good example.

Oh, I need the money! Yeah. Money as a motivator. Need to work as many hours as possible, including a bit of overtime next week if the Higher Ups allow it (its tight budget time - but I need to do some training, so they'll allow it), to pay for the Borders shopping spree I went on last night. Damn you Borders for being so enticing with all your newly arranged books and cd's and fancy, shiny, pretty, cutesy shit.

So I'll just save this 'Get Out Of Jail Free' card for a more rainier day.

The devil on my shoulder? She has a sweet tooth, the bitch. And the angel's away on a potty break.

I came into work today to discover a delectable looking crumble cake sitting on the little ledge above my desk. Why the evil coworker who brought it in chose my desk, when the desk to my right is not currently occupied by anyone, I have no idea. I was tempted to move it and make a big spectacle about it but... well, I didn't want to seem intimidated by the cake by moving it out of easy reaching distance so I left it were it was. And ever since I've been smelling cinnamon every time I inhale. Grrrrr.

But damn, is it good. I had just a little piece of the peach cake for breakfast. It's got peaches in it! And it has a yummy cinnamon crumbly topping! And the cake is only half gone and I can still smell it! And I'm sooooo hungry. Maybe by the end of the day, if its still there, I might grab another piece. A small one. A half of one, actually. Maybe. Or maybe I'll call forth my Super Healthy Eating Mental Powers and blast it off my desk with the laser beams I can shoot out of my eyeballs. I'm not on any strict diet (yet - though I probably should get on one) but I am trying to eat healthier.

Healthier = 1 small piece of yummy peach crumble cake ≠ 2 or more pieces, super sized

Trying. I said trying. Baby steps. Me and Bob are all about the baby steps.

And if the cake wasn't tempting enough...

My boss just laid a box of chocolates on my desk. A box of chocolate covered macadamia nuts he picked up while in vacation in Hawaii. Oh. My. Gawd. The picture on the box makes them look soooooooo good. Yummy yummy yummy. My mouth is watering just thinking about them.

Mustn't think about them.

Must do work.

Must not embarrass self by tearing into box and scarfing down chocolates like a half crazed hungry woman on a chocolate bender.

Must take my preciouses home and savor them with a little bit of 'alone time'. *nudge nudge wink wink*

And then I'll work out for a couple of hours to burn off the guilt. :)

Uh oh...

One of the VP's of the company that owns the company that I work for is in town today. In fact, he just walked in the building. Everybody on your marks... get set... freak out!

Ahhhh freak out! Le Freak. C'est chic...

So yeah, better hide the Dilbert cartoons. I used to have one taped up on my little ledge that sort of slammed the stupid nature of bosses. My boss read it one day, and laughed, and I'm not sure if it was a 'sure love that Dilbert' kind of chuckle, or a 'so she thinks I'm stupid, eh?' kind of chuckle. Either way, the next day I replaced it with a another Dilbert strip, one of the 'sure do get paid lousy around here' variety. Better, no? (The old one is pushpinned up on the wall behind my computer in a spot only visible to me when I'm sitting in my chair, and not visible to 'just wandering by' bosses.)

I have a few other Dilbert strips I've saved that I keep meaning to decorate my cubicle castle with. Just haven't gotten around to it yet. I'm tempted to decorate right now, but I should probably wait until Mr. VP Guy Head Cheesy Honcho has left the building. Yeah, probably.

My favorite comic strip decoration? It's a Peanuts strip where in the first box Linus asks Lucy if she's ever known anyone who was happy. In the second box Snoopy comes skipping along, and in the third he kisses Lucy. *SMAK* In the last box, Linus adds, "And was in his right mind, I mean..." Heh heh. This one always makes me smile. :)

Okay, time to go think of something intelligent to say in case Mr. VP Guy asks me a question. I didn't respond in any way flattering the last time we conversed.

Mr. VP Guy: And what do you do around here?

Verbally Constipated Me: I uhhhh... uhhhhh... ...

D'oh!

Adventures of the Roaming Nipple

I can't believe it. On top of everything (everything being my crazy hectic tuesday) I'm having a freaking wardrobe malfunction!

Bah!

I was in the restroom washing my hands when something caught my eye. That something looked exactly like an overly excited nipple, but it was sooooo not where an overly excited nipple ought to be. It was on top of my boob! And more towards the middle than it usually is. And it looked... it looked like it was migrating towards the opening of my shirt...

*gasp*

My nipple was trying to escape!

And I said, 'Hel-lo! Where do you think you're going missy!'

(And no, the boob didn't answer me back. I'm not crazy or anything. Sheesh.)

Roaming nipple? Prison breaking nipple? Freaky disease inflicted boobie that's being contorted beyond recogniztion?

I wasn't sure, so I decided to investigate. Turns out there's a little piece of fabric stuck between the two layers of fabric that is my bra. It looks just like a pointy nipple. Almost feels like one too.

And you know what, if you were to look at my boobs right now, at the right angle, you'd see that my regularly scheduled nipples are all excited now. (A new friend to play with!) So they're about as pointy as the little ball of fabric.

Which makes it look like I have two nipples on one boob. Eek!

I wonder which is worse looking? One freaky looking pointy nipple about an inch and a half away, located in a NWN direction, from its normal base of operations? Or two pointy nipples on one boob?

Holy double-nipple-power Batman!

There's no way to fix the faux nipple problem without dismantling the bra. And I'm just not willing to do that while I'm at work so... I'll be walking around with an extra nipple for another hour or so.

Yeah me!

I doubt its noticeable. Well, highly noticeable. Probably only noticeable if you're prone to staring at my boobs. And hey, who isn't right? Right? Yeah, that's what I thought. So no walking around with my hand over my boob. No sir-ee-bob. (No sir-ee-boob?) I'll be walking proud, with my chin held high, and my extra nipple on display. Because I'm not going to be self conscious about it and be (any more) paranoid about it. I'm not, I'm not, I'm not!

Concerned Stranger: Excuse me miss, but did you know you have a third nipple?

Nip-tastic-al Me: Of course I did. And thanks for noticing! *wink wink*

The downside to not working holidays.

I'm so busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy holy crap I'm about to freak out I'm so busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy. I can only afford a blogging drive-by at the moment because I'm busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy.

It's like they're vultures. They wait until I'm busy with other stuff and then they come at me with their stuff. And, of course, all their stuff needs to be done NOW NOW NOW. I wasn't here Monday (holiday! woo!) so I have to do all my Monday things today, along with my Tuesday things, and a coworker is out so I have to take care of all his things as well. And the phone has rung more than usual, the rat bastard. And people keep emailing me with things I need to do. And the bloody reminders from my calendar won't bloody stop chiming. I know I have to take care of you all right! Oh my god I think I need coffee, and I was so going to be proud of myself for not succumbing to the sultry taunts of the coffee pot this week. Oh, I know! I need to yell at someone. That will drop the stress level down a bit. I need to have a really good snapping moment where I figuratively bite someone's head off. Now if only someone would walk by my desk and try and borrow my stapler.... *SNAP*

Mwhahahahahaha!

FifWoFicFri - Vol. 13

Obsession

He rewound the video for the eighty-forth time, then hit 'Play' for the eighty-fifth. He had to watch her again. He needed to memorize everything about her, from the sway of her hips to every flick of her hair. Kyle was not going to lose another Baby Spice look-a-like competition!


This week's 50 Word Fiction Friday theme is babies.

My first thought was to try and write a story about where I work, something were I could use the phrase 'pinche babies cry'. This is a semi-favorite saying around these here parts, first muttered by a mainly-spanish-speaking employee to show his frustration over his complaining coworkers. Another semi-favorite saying around here, 'somebody better call the waaaaaambulance'. As you can see, there's a lot of whining that goes on around here. A Tech Consultant guy refers to this facility as Whine Country. Ha. Everybody thinks they're a comedian.

Anyways, that colorful little phrase wasn't inspiring enough, so I set about coming up with something else to write about. And I thought. And I pondered. And I considered. And I mused. And I did other things synonymous with thinking.

And then a Spice Girls song came up on my launchcast player. Instant inspiration!

So the mini story's not exactly about 'babies', but I'll take whatever inspiration I can get and roll with it like some kind of uber rolly thing.

Who knows, maybe I'll be inspired some more later, and maybe I'll write another FifWoFic, this one about actual babies. Stranger things have been known to happen. :)

Finally! My name in lights!

How I Sign My Ransom Letters

This is pretty cool. And immensely distracting. :)






( via tj )

Truths behind the Truths Part IV: Girl Guppie Origins

All right. Here it is. The last three truths...


1. I've never broken a bone. Mine or someone else's.

When I was younger, I almost sorta kinda wished I had broken a bone. Just so I could know what it felt like. Quite the silliest of silly ideas, I know. I know that if I had actually broken a limb or something I'd have regretted I'd ever sorta kinda wished for it. When I was younger I knew all this, and still I sorta kinda thought it wouldn't be all that bad a thing to break an arm. Or a leg.

It's not that I wanted to feel pain, because I've felt pain before and its no fun at all. I just wanted the experience. I wanted the knowledge of what it was like (in case, you know, one day I wanted to write about a character who'd had a broken arm/leg/pinkie/whatever.) I was curious.

And... well... yeah, having a cast that all my friends could sign was a big selling point.

*shakes head at self*

I also wanted to be able to tell the story, the story that would naturally be born from the events surrounding the break. ("This one time, at band camp...") I felt I was lacking in the Interesting Stories To Tell depart (and still do, sometimes). By interesting I mean anything remotely entertaining, even if it qualifies more under the category of Embarrassing, which is more than likely the kind of break I would have had. Or, dare I say it... still might have some day (*knocks on wood*).

No 'I fell after climbing to the top of the tree' kind of injury for me. My injury would have been of the 'I tripped while stepping off the bus' variety. Such is me and my klutzy ways.

You know what? As klutzy as I am I'm really surprised I never broke a bone. I got more than my fair share of skinned knees and scrapes and bumps and bruises and sprains etc, but never a broken bone. Is there a patron saint of clumsy people? If so, I'd like to give 'em a shout out for keepin' my bones from a snappin'.

Maybe I wanted a broken bone story because I was jealous of my mom's funny broken bone story. Funny only in hindsight, of course. And no, I no longer wish to have a 'this one time I broke my leg/arm/whatever while...' kind of story. Not in the slightest. Even one as amusing as my mom's. Amusing only in hindsight, of course. I'm sure she didn't enjoy herself at the time. Though she does say the best part about hurting herself was she got to spend the rest of the day in the nurse's office chatting with a very hunky upperclassmen. So it wasn't all bad. :)

The story is this: when my mom was a freshman (maybe sophomore) in high school, it was the first year they were going to allow girls to participate in 'rough boy sports' during P.E. class. So one day my mom (coming from the same klutzy family that I do) was playing soccer during class. She was running after the ball when all of a sudden she tripped over her own feet, fell to the ground, and used her wrists to break her fall. She broke bones in both wrists for a total of twelve broken bones. I guess you could say she sort of set the program for girls sports back a year or two. :)

Luckily it wasn't a long term effect because by the time I got to high school I could play all manner of rough sports (like water polo! woo!) One of my favorite activities during P.E. class was a lacrosse style game played with foam tipped sticks. It was immensely fun, and satisfying, having an excuse to whack people. (Which is why I think I loved water polo so much, but I digress...)

In an interesting coincidence of fate, I ended up having the same P.E. teacher my mom had that infamous twelve-bone-break year, and that teacher turned out to be one of my high school swim coaches as well. I'm glad my mom didn't scare her away from teaching. :)


2. The only time I've gotten a bloody nose is after being punched in the nose.

I know what you're all thinking. You're thinking I got in a bar fight and some skanky ho I gave a dirty look to retaliated and had her skanky ho body-builder-of-a-best-friend come over and pop me one. But you're wrong. It wasn't anything as exciting as that, which you probably knew all along if you'd read the first part of this post, or anything else on this blog, so... uh... yeah, bummer that.

After I wrote/typed the 'never broken a bone' bit for the first item on the truths/lies list, I started thinking about all the non-broken bone injuries I've had. Some of them have been sports related but luckily, none of them have been major injuries. (Though my knee is still kind of fucked up to this day, but it wasn't really from a 'sports' injury, unless you count 'running on a wet pool deck after practice' a sports injury, which I do, because it sounds better, but that's another story.)

I was poked in the eye once during a water polo game. It stung like a sumbitch but no permanent damage was done. Not even temporarily, as I had to go to practice the next morning, squinting like some kind of old person who refuses to wear glasses. The chlorine felt oh so good on my irritated eye, let me tell ya! Still, it could have been a lot worse. Someone on the guy's team got poked in the eye during a game and he had to walk around with an eye patch for a few days (or weeks? I don't really remember).

And this one time, at polo practice, I got punched in the nose! That's how I got my first and only nose bleed, from the fist of a big beefy guy as we ran a drill. It was an accident, not a provoked fight or anything exciting as that, but still, an accident that left me dazed and bloody. And, of course, it just had to happen during an early morning practice right before school. I had a bleeping headache the whole bleeping day. Well, most of the day. Okay, just until lunch. But it still really hurt for a couple hours.

So yeah, not as exciting as a bar fight, though I'm not quite willing to remedy that. I guess I'll just have to embellish it a lot before I have any grandkids I need to wow with stories of grandeur.


4. I was a competitive swimmer from the age of 6 to the age of 19.

My parents, seeing that I was already a clumsy awkward ground walker by the age of six, felt that I'd be better off in a pool than learning grace and agility in a tap dance class or a ballet class. And as much as I wish I were a ballerina, I'm thankful to them, because I was not meant to exercise on land but in the water, my natural habitat. :)

At least it was for about thirteen years of my life. I joined the local club team when I was six, which meant I practiced for two hours a day, Monday through Friday, all year long, and went to out-of-town swim meets over the weekend. And in the spring and summer, most weekends were 'swim meet weekends'. Every year, even when I was six, I went to the most swim meets out of anyone else on my team. And if not the most, I was at least second or third in 'most swim meets attended in a year'. My parents were swim meet nazis! But bless their ever-loving hearts for wanting to drive me out of town every weekend.

The plus side of competing in all these swim meets? I won a buttload of ribbons! And sometimes medals and little trophies. Though one of my favorite medals was achieved not by winning an event, but by getting up in front of everyone and telling a joke over the meet announcer's microphone. That sure was a fun swim meet. The swim meets that gave ribbons up to twelve places were also pretty cool too. Heh. Not that I got twelfth place a lot, mind you. Well, at least not when I was little.

I so kicked major swim ass when I was six. Then I turned seven and my swim career went steadily down hill from then on. When I was about 7 or 8 I joined the rinky-dink city league team (that only ran the length of summer vacation) and did both at the same time for a couple of months. It was fun for about a year or two. When the fun left, so did I, and I went back to doing the club team thing full time. When I was about 12 or 13 I joined the rinky-dink city team again. Why I wanted to do that I have no idea. I think I thought it would be fun like it was last time. When I was six and didn't have to much of anything. Boy was I wrong. And of course, since I'd 'made a commitment' my parents made me go to both practices, even when I resulted to whining about how tired I was. Commitment schmitment, I think my parents were just practicing to be evil parents (in preparation for my brother's teenage years, for sure). Funny thing is, when I got to the rinky-dink practice, it was fun, and I didn't mind being there. (Probably because my coach was a funny, hunky high school senior. Sigh.) But, of course, I immediately (conveniently) forgot just how much fun the second practice was the very next day when I was once again faced with the reality of having to go to two practices. I was crazy for wanting to do it, but hey, that meant more ribbons! Woo! Were are all my ribbons now? In a box in a closet in my parents house, patiently waiting for me to come and claim them once again so I can... uh... do something with them. There was this one lady I knew who sewed all of her sons many ribbons together and made a sort of tapestry that he hung up on his wall. When I saw that wall of ribbons I thought, that is SO cool, I want one! Me and mom never got around to ever making one, though I have more than enough ribbons for it. Hmm...

Anyways, it might sound like I took my swimming seriously - and I did, I was very committed - but never to the point were I was ready to take it to 'the next level'. That meant driving out of town to train with a better coach, like some people did. I enjoyed the practices (really!) and the competing against others (and a lot of the time myself) and the friends I made and all that stuff, but I'd already spent so much of my life in a pool, I wasn't willing to devote even more of my time to it. But I definitely thought about it.

Then I got to high school and swam for yet another team. That whole experience rocked, but it was at a time in my swim career where I'd kind of hit a plateau. I got faster each year, but not by much. Not by the amount I wanted to improve. It was frustrating to say the least. And when the high school season was over and I was no longer training for high school meets, I still swam for my club team. There was this period where, during the summer, I kept going to all these swim meets where I kept swimming slower and slower and it was frustrating and it all just seemed incredibly pointless and the burn out process was well under way. Yet still I swam.

I actually sort of toyed with the idea of not swimming my senior year. I just wanted to do something different. Like play golf. I really wanted to join the golf team. Me? A golfer? Trust me, it ain't a pretty sight. In the end I swam. And in the long run I'm glad I did.

Then I swam two years in college because I was playing water polo. I wasn't going to go back the second year, feeling incredibly burnt out by it all, but a friend persuaded me into going back. I was reluctant, but still easily persuaded because I guess deep down inside I wasn't quite ready to give it all up. I was still burnt out but still doing it because I'd done it for so long I didn't want to stop. Or know how to stop. It's all I'd done for years, all I knew how to do. Stopping meant taking the next step down the road to Growupville. Stopping meant I'd have to change my comfortable, familiar daily routine. It meant getting ... *gasp*... a grownup job (or in my case, jobs).

After that second year in college, I was so fed up with the people and the bullshit and tired of everything that I was actually looking forward to the next chapter in my life. I'm glad I finally said goodbye, but I still miss it.

I'm thankful my parents signed me up for the swim team when I was six. I'm thankful they were willing to spend so much time and money on me and my swimming endeavors. I'm thankful I was able to talk my best friend into joining the team when we were in the fourth grade because I have soooooooooo many good memories because of it. I'm thankful for all that swimming taught me and all that it gave to me over the years. While we ended our relationship on a sour note, I will always hold swimming in the highest regard. :)

I really could go on and on about swimming. But I won't. At least not now. I'll definitely have to document more swimming memories later though, I've got too many of them to keep them locked up in my head.


Wow. This has been really good blog fodder for me. I'll have to do this again sometime. :)