Monday, June 20, 2011

Boss's Best Friend

I like my boss.  I do.  A lot.  I even kind of love her.

But she makes me crazy.

I think I am her best friend.  She cries to me.  Laughs to me.  Calls me at odd times.

She can't live without me.

I am supposed to be super indespensable to her, so I guess I am glad that she does these things, but it also make me a little crazy.

Or maybe I'm just in a bitchy mood.  Tough to say.

But right now, I gotta go - the boss is calling.

Thursday, June 16, 2011

Scaredy cricket.

I'm not afraid of snakes, or spiders.  I'm not afraid of clowns.  I'm not IN LOVE with puppets, but I can deal with them.  I'm a little afraid of robotic toys, especially if they surprise me, but usually I can deal.  I am deathly afraid of driving over bridges, but I do it all the time. 

I am RIDICULOUSLY afraid of birds.  I admit it, that's a phobia, but it stems from the fact that in my old house, birds came inside all the dang time and they were way scary.  Way, way, way, way, way scary.  Scary scary.

(mostly because they were scared.)

But.  I am afraid of certain - not all - bugs.

Namely, the kinds that have hard crunchy shells that you can't really step on because, ohmygod gross.

Like crickets.

Where I work, there is kind of a cricket infestation going on.  They look like this (although I did not take this picture.):

ugh.  sick.

Today, a nice, well-put-together lady is here for a visit, and she was initially sitting near my desk, when I discovered one of these jerkfaces hopping all up under my desk.  Calmly-ish, I called one of the men that work here and said something like, "i need some help right now, thanks!"

He came and removed the offender.  Offender was made to be dead.


I noticed that, in this process, my ethernet cable had come loose.  So I reached down and plugged it back in.  When I came up A BUNCH OF BUG GUTS AND ONE LEG WERE STUCK TO MY HAND.  FOR REAL.

Ew Ew Ew Ew Ew Ew Ew Ew Ew.

This is not okay.

I'm ready for them to spray up some poison.  This is not okay. 

Tuesday, June 14, 2011

Totally Bad-A Dancer

For the record, I can't dance.

No, not in a Phil Collins kind of way, FOR REAL.

In my secret heart, I totally CAN dance, I just need a tutor (ahem, Patrick Swayze, circa 1988) to teach me.

But really...

I tend to default to pointing fingers a la John Travolta, circa 1978.

Not the same.

That being said, I look like a dancer.  I mean, in the hair and all:

See?  Imagine if I sucked in my cheeks really hard, had a little plastic surgery, and was about 15 years older (haha, take THAT, Jennifer Grey.)

Totally the same.

Just keep me out of the corner.  Because, you know...

Friday, June 10, 2011

Spoiled Princess

Last night, my parents gave me a car.  Not this car, but one that looks a lot like it:

Actually, it was my mom who did that.

Not to be bested, my dad, who'd been in the wine, bought three tickets for this:

One for me, one for the Bean, one for him.  Dad's first Rush Concert.  The Bean's second (he was like 9 or 10 the first time... this is his first as an "adult.")  My FIFTH.  Because I am both hard-core and a dude who graduated high school in 1989.

Only I'm not really either of those things.

But whatever.

Because I AM a spoiled, spoiled little princess.  Whose parents love her.

Who gets to see Rush and gets a new car (note:  new to me.  not really new.) next week.

Yay, me!  WIN WIN WIN!

Wednesday, June 8, 2011

Booger Redirector

On Sunday, I was sitting in the choir loft, same as usual.  I happened to catch a view - a good, clear visage - of the little acolyte boy, who was about nine or ten years old.  Cute kid.

Who apparently has a cold.

I watched him sniff a bunch, and attempt to wipe his nose with his hand.  And then scratch his nose.  And then pick it.  And then LICK HIS FINGERS.

And then the whole scene played out again.  And again.

My stomach was rolling, but it was communion, so I knew I was going to have to "eat" in front of people and deal somehow with my disgust. 

(as an aside, I had a bandaid on my thumb and only barely managed to not dip my bandaid in the communal chalice of "blood of Christ," only because this happened below the lip of the goblet or whatever you call it, I am pretty sure that the congregation thought I full-on submerged my nasty band aid into the grape juice.  how nasty is that??)

Anyway, so when it was time to go down for communion, I reached over and grabbed a few kleenex from a box in the choir loft.  The choir walked down to the front rail, and I watched the lady standing in front of me surreptitiously hand the acolyte boy a few tissues.  And then I started laughing, and did the same.  Only less surreptitiously, because, what the heck.  Kid, you are at least nine years old, you ought to know better.

My church was kind of gross this week.

According to this source, that kid wasn't the first to be caught green-fingered...

Tuesday, June 7, 2011

Jeff Gordon Enthusiast

I turned on the tee vee after church on Sunday, mainly because I couldn't let the kid have a nap, because I had errands to run and there was nobody to watch him.  Blah blah blah.

Anyway, so I turned on the tee vee, and it just so happened that the channel was already on Fox, which just so happened to be showing a Nascar race.

(let it be noted that, although I lived a significant portion of my adult life in Charlotte, N.C., I do NOT particularly like Nascar.  At all.)

The baby, however (who, yes, is almost five.  Shut it.), was FIXATED ON THE TEE VEE.

"This is my show!"  He proclaimed.


"THAT IS ME."  He announced, pointing at #22, Kurt Busch (I swear to God I didn't know who number 22 was before this experience.)

At the time, Kurt/Doodlebug was in fifth place.  Eventually, they took over the lead for about 75 laps.

Yes, you figured that right.  I am at the mercy of a small child and cannot even determine what show we will be watching.  I am, it seems, his bitch.

Kurt/Doodle didn't win, but they had a good race. 

"I didn't win,"  he said.

"You ran a good race, though," I said.

Oh God.  I encouraged him in this endeavor. 

You can take the kid out of the North Georgia redneck land, but, you can't take the redneck out of the kid.

Guess what we'll be watching on Sunday?

Monday, June 6, 2011

Podcast Listener

OMG I Internet Stalk Her Because She is CRAZY FUNNY

What I listen to when I'm running.  Usually.  He is way nicer than my other running coach, which is to say, me.  He doesn't call me fatty nearly as often.

Increases my dork/know-it-all/Cliff Claven factor.

Makes me feel all liberal arts major and with-it hipster.

Sometimes the 80's really were the best.

Is it dorky that I listen to podcasts as much or more than I watch tv?  I listen while I'm running, duh, but also while I do other stupid weirdo dorky things that I love like the knitting, or the cross-stitch, or the driving, or the walking-around.  Laundry.  Dishes (pfft.  as if I do dishes.)

I like podcasts.

Thursday, June 2, 2011


(my friend the T-Belle says that.  The "e" stands for "EVER," but she means like "Best friends forEVER," not "Best Friends Forever EVER," even though that's ultimately what we end up with.)

I have fabulous friends.  I am for sure the mediocre/crazy one, but here's an example.

My friend Kirry and I totally just had a complete conversation on her Facebook page that ran from "thanks for calling me Bobby Jindal," to "Whitney Houston is crazy," to "Bobby Jindal's last good movie was Signs."


I love my friends.