Sunday, January 30, 2011
Old Joke #43: Negative People
A woman was at her hairdresser's getting her hair styled for a trip to Rome with her husband. She mentioned the trip to the hairdresser.
"Rome?" said the hairdresser. "I've never understood why would anyone want to go to such a crowded, dirty place. How are you getting there?"
"We're taking Continental," said the woman. "We got a great rate!"
"Continental?" said the hairdresser. "That's a terrible airline. Their planes are old, their flight attendants are ugly, and they're always late." She shakes her head. "Where are you staying in Rome?"
"We'll be at this exclusive little place on the Tiber River called Teste."
"I know that place," said the hairdresser. "Everybody thinks it’s gonna be something special, but it's a dump."
"Anyway, we're going to go to see the Vatican. Maybe we'll get to see the Pope."
"That's rich," said the hairdresser. “You and a million other people. He'll look the size of an ant." As she removed the cape from the customer, she added, "Good luck on this lousy trip of yours. You're going to need it."
A month later, the customer returned and the hairdresser asked her about her trip.
"It was wonderful!" said the woman. "Not only were we in one of Continental's brand new planes, but it was overbooked. They bumped us up to first class and I had a handsome 28-year-old steward who waited on me hand and foot.
And the hotel was great! They'd just finished a $5 million remodeling job, and now it's a jewel. They, too, were overbooked, so they apologized and gave us their owner's suite at no extra charge!"
"Well," muttered the hairdresser, "that's all well and good, but I know you didn't get to see the Pope."
"Actually, we were quite lucky. As we toured the Vatican, a Swiss Guard tapped me on the shoulder, and said that the Pope likes to meet some of the visitors, and if I'd be so kind as to step into his private room and wait, the Pope would personally greet me.
And sure enough, five minutes later, the Pope walked through the door and shook my hand! I knelt down and he spoke a few words to me."
"Oh, really! What'd he say?"
"He said, 'Who fucked up your hair?'"
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Raisin Rule #1: Finders Keepers
Finders keepers/Losers weepers is only valid until you turn five. After that, it's stealing. (Written by a woman pissed off that someone found her $10 flash drive in a computer at school and took it--with the latest version of her novel, and all her rewrite notes, not to mention all her homework--on it. And yes, I had a fairly recent backup, at least of the book.) Find this, asswipe.
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Driving Miss Raisy
According to s study I read, 65% of people surveyed believe they're in the top half of the world's best drivers.
This means 15% of people are not only sucky drivers, they're sucky drivers who think they're Jimmie Johnson.
I don't have that problem: I know I'm a lousy driver.
Okay, lousy might be an overstatement (or not, I'll let you judge), but I'm definitely in the bottom 50%.
Why, you ask, do I say that?
1) As you might have already inferred if you're a regular reader, my mind wanders a lot, and never more than when I'm behind the wheel. People who are in a fog do NOT make the most with-it drivers.
2) And I'm worse when I have other people in the car. Because I may be absent as a driver, but I'm very present as a conversationalist.
3) I have, ahem, challenges, in the arena of spatial concepts. I have a lot of trouble figuring out where things are in relation to each other. For example, I can't stand in my basement and tell you what room is overhead. It's not that I can't reason it out. I can look out the window and say, "Oh, there's the driveway, and the dining room window looks out on the driveway, so I must be under the dining room," but to just stand there and somehow know? Not happening.
4) This means that I occasionally run into things. Like posts. And garage door frames. And card-swipe gizmos.
Anyway, told you all that to tell you this: I'm looking for folks to form a carpool from Riverside to downtown Dayton.
Anybody in?
Monday, January 17, 2011
Winning the Cold Medal
Really old (and somewhat disgusting) joke: What's green and figure skates?
Peggy Phelgm.
I missed two days of work last week due to the cold I caught from my two-year-old granddaughter, aka Patient Zero.
I might have survived contact with this one-child plague zone, but I happened to bring with me her favorite blanket, which she'd left behind on her last visit, so she kept running up and kissing me. Mostly on the side of the knee, which, of course, is lip (and snotty upper lip) height for her.
Since I'm equipped with monkey arms that hang to my knees (apparently God decided to use the bone that could have gone into making me an actual chin on longer arms instead), this means my fingers kept brushing the site of the contagion.
The days I missed were Wednesday and (most of) Friday. On Thursday, due mainly to scheduled meetings, I dragged myself into the office and did okay. When, on Friday, I tried to repeat that trick, I wasn't as lucky. By 10 a.m. the cheery "bless you's" that reverberate in my office when someone sneezes had degenerated into sullen silence, marred only by the sound of people pulling garlic and silver crucifixes from their lap drawers.
I chose to leave before the lynch mob could form.
Because of my allergies, any sort of respiratory issues inevitably turns into a sinus infection, so on Friday afternoon I visited my family doctor, who prescribed an antibiotic.
Only I HATE taking antibiotics (which breed supergerms) so I put off taking it until the next day, by which time I had morphed into a giant snot-ball.
Just call me Peggy.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Random Acts of Grouchiness
As I pulled into the gas station Sunday, a rusted, beat-up truck came in from the other direction. For some reason, I expected him to allow me--older, female--to go first, but he wasn't that kind of guy. After a moment of fuel-station chicken, I eased back and waved him on.
I'm not sure why he was in such a hurry, because as I got out of my car, a young woman in gray sweats exited the passenger side of the truck and approached me.
"Would you have five dollars?" she said. "I have my one-year-old son in the car and we don't have any gas."
Then why are you out driving around? Despite my uncharitable thought, I reached for my wallet, only to remember I didn't have it with me.
"Sorry," I said. "I don't have any cash."
She approached a couple of other people with similar results before returning to the truck, where Mr. Lemme-Go-First was waiting, nozzle already in hand. I'm not sure what for, since he had no money. She shook her head and he looked pissed.
I crossed the asphalt, inserted my credit card into the slot and said, without making eye contact, "Go ahead and fill it up." Then I crossed back and began filling my own car.
When his tank was full, he hopped in his truck and peeled out of there like he thought I was going to flag him down and repossess his gasoline.
Jerkwad.
People will now leave me flattering comments, saying how nice I was, but I wasn't. Not really. The truth is, I'm better at "random" than I am at "kind." I couldn't tell you why I even did that, other than I've been that broke, and I've been with that guy, and even though I know that fifty bucks worth of gas is a drop in the bucket of what that girl needs to turn her life around and prevent that little boy from growing up to be just like his douchebag dad, I figure a bellyful of gasoline in her truck means one thing she doesn't have to worry about for a couple of weeks one Ohio winter.
And that's what I can do.
Saturday, January 8, 2011
What's My Profession?
Sunday, January 2, 2011
The Keys to Success
When I started my new (and wonderful) job last summer, one of my first stops was the key shop, where I was given keys to the two office doors.
I blinked when I read the ID letters on the keys, but decided the configuration of letters must be purely random.
Until, back in the office, the Database Administrator reminisced about getting his keys.
"They said 'DBA,'" he said.
Here are mine:
Do you think they're trying to tell me something?
I blinked when I read the ID letters on the keys, but decided the configuration of letters must be purely random.
Until, back in the office, the Database Administrator reminisced about getting his keys.
"They said 'DBA,'" he said.
Here are mine:
Do you think they're trying to tell me something?
Saturday, January 1, 2011
New Year's Eve 2010 by the Numbers
Number of children in attendance: 8
Number of noise-makers available: 8
Number of noise-makers that actually made noise: 5
Number of issues that created: 4006
Percentage of non-potty-trained children invited: 0%
Number of wet pants laundered because it's really hard to remember to head for the bathroom in time when you've got cousins to play with: 2
Latest hour a pre-school aged child went to sleep: 12:30 a.m.
Earliest hour a pre-school aged child was once again awake: 7:30 a.m.
Minimum number of miles to the home of the two-year-old who managed to leave here this morning without her beloved blanket: 70
Hope your New's Year's was a statistical success!
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