I'm so blah-some...

Hello stranger. I've taken a very long hiatus from my blog and still after all this time am wondering if anything I have to say here is relevant or worthwhile.

Is my slump showing?

Anyhoo... I decided that my putting out a crappy, wet blanket of a blog post might make me feel better than not blogging at all.

So here's what you get - a list of numbered points of the recent events, observations and general nuttiness that have been consuming my time lately. I realize that it's not much of a list as there are only 2 things on it. Get off my back.

1. Olive Garden Sucks - We're Snobs, Get Over It
Last week I decided to give our credit card statement more than a sweeping glance and discovered a strange charge of $52.83, or some similarly obscure amount, to the Olive Garden.

As a rule, and as a family of not just a little Italian persuasion, we tend to loathe the Olive Garden and many other ethnic-ky chain restaurants on principle. I knew that I sure as fuck hadn't eaten there, and so had no choice but to assume it was MDH. It had to be him.

Surely he had lost a bet or been roped into eating at Olive Garden on his business trip by some senior manager with horrific bad taste. I ran to the den to begin teasing and berating him immediately for dining at such a sub-par establishment when there are home made Italian delicacies to be had almost daily in our own home, made with love, by me.

Well, it backfired because he vehemently denied having eaten at the Olive Garden and not only that but said he had assumed it was me who ate at the Olive Garden. He thought it was an odd, out of character choice for me to make, but was relatively unconcerned.

We were each mutually insulted at the others assumption of our bad taste and spent a great deal of our time last week obsessing and arguing about this errant charge on our credit card. It wasn't me. It wasn't him. What the fuck?

There was much drama. Should we call the credit card company and have the charges investigated? After much discussion we decided it wasn't a large enough amount to worry about but that we would carefully monitor next months statement for any errant charges to such places as TGI Fridays, Appleby's or Don Pablo's.

2. Mr. Boo Can't Touch This

I have posted once before about the annoying little man at my office who has worked there forever and likes to go around startling innocent people while they are quietly working. I call him Mr. Boo and I didn't have much interaction with him before so wasn't a target of his insulting and unprofessional scare tactics - but I am now.

We are working on a project team together and sadly I am on his radar now. He knows who I am and he walks by my cube and tries to scare me on a daily basis. But I am unflappable. He never scares me and I can tell that it is frustrating the hell out of him.

Mr Boo (tiptoeing just out of my sightline - then suddenly leaps into view): BOOOOH!!!!!

Me (barely looking up, calm as a fucking ninja): Oh hey Mr. Boo. What's up?

Mr. Boo: Nothing. Just wanted to give those specs you asked for. (Walks away dejected.)

I had hoped that by flatly ignoring him, eventually he would get bored and leave me alone, but unfortunately I think he may be looking upon my smooth, un-scare-ability as a challenge. I was all smug about it until late this afternoon when he flung a pinata shaped like steer over the wall of my cube and tried to hit me in the back of the head with it while making loud moo-ing noises. It was on this fishing pole kind of thingy so he took a couple of swings.

I could see it coming at me in the reflection of my monitor and he missed anyway. What an asshole.

Mr. Boo will never get me. Never. But I am starting to be a bit frightened that he will never stop trying and it's gotten very old already.

The Facts According to Me

1. If you have an irritating song stuck in your head on a loop it can be overridden by humming Safety Dance to yourself. If Safety Dance is the irritating song stuck in your head then you must shoot yourself. If shooting yourself is not a viable option then you must sing Safety Dance out loud so that it becomes stuck in the head of someone else as well, because misery loves company.

2. It's not OK to borrow my chaptick so don't even ask. (There are very few exceptions to this - Rachel, Steph, Amy, Becky J, Aria and Playtah, although Playtah would never ask, she could if she wanted to.)

3. The drive up teller or ATM is not the proper place to do your international banking. At least I assume that is what you are doing since it is taking so very fucking long for you to perform your transactions while I sit steaming behind you waiting my turn to withdraw a paltry $20.

4. This one goes out to all you Lonely Hearts (the singles and the marrieds) who may not be getting laid regularly: Taking a nice poo is better than having bad sex*. So keep your bowels healthy and eat lots of foods rich in fiber.

5. Visa is a multinational corporation with an enormous advertising budget who are trying to turn a buck and make you feel guilty with those horrible commercials. They are wrong and it is perfectly OK to pay for things with cash.



*I cannot take credit for this idea - It's from Dave Eggers book You Shall Know Our Velocity. He didn't say poo though, probably shit or dump.

O' The Circle Won't Be Broken

I was a really bad kid.

Defiant. Prone to brooding. Sneaky. Messy. Have I already mentioned defiant?

Recently I was thinking about some of the shit that I did when I was a kid and if I were my mother I would have never stopped beating me.

I once carved my initials into one of the living room end tables with her good sewing scissors and then covered it up by moving the lamp forward by about 3 inches. How stupid was that? I mean first of all nobody was allowed to touch the good sewing scissors and second of all, it wasn't like she wouldn't eventually see the carving when she moved the lamp the next time she dusted in the living room and lastly, as if she wouldn't find out it was me? It was my freaking initials.

I don't know to this day why I did it, but here is a photo of the lamp, the table, and the mother. No, to answer the question that is probably currently forming in your mind, I have no idea what the fuck she is wearing.

You would think that that kind of shenanigans certainly deserves a good solid 1970's style childhood spanking. But my mom wasn't really the spanking type.

My typical punishment was a lengthy grounding after having been lectured for eternity. My mom would ask me questions during the lecture and then yell at me when I answered. Conversely, she would also yell at me if I didn't answer. "Answer me!"

There was no winning.

After awhile this type of intercourse becomes predictable and meaningless.

Once during one of her lectures I interrupted my mother's tirade to ask with a bored sigh, "Can't you just beat me like other parents do?".

I was a little asshole.

The reason why my mother had ceased to spank me is illustrated here in something I've come to refer to as "The Spanking Circle".The spanking circle is what you get when you cross an angry, screaming, mother-type lady who has grabbed the arm of a little punk, misbehaving girl-child and attempts to spank the girl-child while the asshole girl-child screams back profanities, puts her free hand over her ass for protection and tries to run away. The result is a spinning whirl of angry mother-daughter dispicable-ness.

I deserved every one of those lectures.

Up With Thumbs

I will be stepping away from my blog for the next several days to go on a big swanky 5th wedding anniversary trip to Las Vegas.

As we recently seem to have turned into gambling addicts the trip is all comped. For you casino gambling virgins out there comped stands for complimentary, meaning we (my darling) have (has) blown so much money on video poker at Harrah's properties that most of our expenses are on the house.


We will be whisked to our free Augustus Tower junior suite via free limo from the airport. We will dine for free and spa for free. They offered to entertain us for free with tickets to see Tony Danza starring in The Producers, but we declined as we both believe Tony Danza to be an unwatchable buffoon.


Meanwhile in a lame effort to keep you entertained in my absence I found this fun little thing on someone else's blog and now I don't remember who or where as I have lost the link. Sorry! Whoever you were, but thanks for the idea!

Turns out I'm a Thumb

You Are the Thumb

You're unique and flexible. And you defy any category. Mentally strong and agile, you do things your own way. And you do them well. You are a natural leader... but also truly a loner. You inspire many but connect with few. You get along well with: The Middle Finger Stay away from: The Pinky

What Finger Are You?

I took the liberty of answering the questions for MDH too because he thinks such things are bullshit and would never waste his time taking an idiotic bullshit finger quiz.

Turns out if I were MDH he'd be an Index Finger.

You Are the Index Finger

You are ambitious, driven, and capable. You aren't afraid to take responsibility for your actions - or place the blame on whoever deserves it. You are honest, free thinking, and objective. You see things in your own way - and you aren't afraid to let everyone know about it. You get along well with: The Thumb Stay away from: The Ring Finger

Five Minutes To Bridezillas

Most weekday mornings MDH wakes up at around 6:30 or 7am walks to the other side of the house and makes himself a bowl of cereal. I wake up when I hear him get in the shower and then I go out to the kitchen to make the coffee and feed the cat. By the time he leaves for work I'm on the treadmill. After that I head into the office to look for work anywhere from 1 to 3 hours and then it's off to loafing I go.

I won't bother to tell you how I spend the rest of the day. It's just too embarrassing. Not soap opera embarrassing, but suffice it to say I don't do much. These days mostly blogging (I'm having a lot of fun, thank you).

This morning I heard MDH get out of bed and then slide the pocket doors that divide the bedrooms from the rest of the house closed. I went back to sleep thinking I would wake up when I heard him come back to take a shower. Well, he never showed up and I slept in until about 8:30am. Realizing of course as soon as I woke up - oh shit he's decided to work from home today. Now I know I will be irritated with him the rest of the day.

I love him very much blah, blah, blah. I think I've written a few times before about how much I am in love with and appreciate my husband. Yeah, yeah, he's amazing and terrific. But that doesn't stop me from hating it when he intrudes on my turf. The house and the computer are mine from 8am to 6pm on weekdays dammit.

In the last 4 months I have become the Rainman of couch potatoes and my routine of sitting around all day doing nothing has been violated. I don't expect you to feel sorry for me. Not in the least. I know exactly how ridiculous I am. I know it and that is excactly why I got all pissy. When he works from home I am forced to acknowledge my laziness and general lack of drive and it pisses me off. I like living in denial much better. It's easier on my lower back too.

Anyway today was the most productive day I've had all week and I can't tell you how much I resented it. I did 100 times more housework than I normally do and even made him a special lunch, a grilled cheese sandwich and wedding soup. Not only that but I kissed him on his forehead as I served it to him in the office.

Yeah, I know.

I've Got My Eye On YOU

I nearly forgot to tell you about the vision that passed before my office window this morning. Out of nowhere a middle-aged woman dressed very much like the jogger character from Diner Dash, sweatsuit, headband, headphones, traipsed through my backyard in broad daylight. I was stunned. It was like I'd seen Sasquatch.

What outstanding balls! We have a quarter acre lot away from the road. Our lot and the lots of every single one of our neighbors, both sides in front and on all sides in back are fenced in. You'd have to run a gauntlet of gates, thorny bushes, wooden planks, big mean dogs, and in our case a pile of rotten old cord wood, a 10 person hot tub and an enormous deck. Jogging through my backyard is something you would really have to go out of your way to do.

Besides that, people in my neighborhood (and I'm beginning to suspect most people who live in Western Michigan) have handguns, shotguns and bows and arrows and shit.

What the french, Toast?

It's entirely possible that she does this every day and that our back yard is part of her route. This may have been going on for years and I 'd never have known because I typically don't open the shades in the office until around 10am or so. The trespass occurred at around 8:15am.

Perhaps:

She was cheating in a foot race by taking a shortcut through our yard.

Or Maybe:

It was casual Wednesday for the gas meter readers. Very casual.

OR

What? I have no idea why a person over the age of 17 would do this.

I do know that I will be taking my tea and toast on the deck tomorrow morning. I'll be Tivo'ing BBC News and watching for the parade out back instead. I'm sincerely hoping she'll come by again. I'm not going to hurt her or probably even say anything to her at all. I will definitely make eye contact though.