Monthly Archives: September 2011
Baaad Bromance
But, some seriously talented young men….if you can overlook their horrid fashion sense.
Seriously…those shorts…..right?
I Think I’ll Add a “Guess You Had to Be There” Tag
For posts like this one.
Our company is hosting its annual (read that last word like you were Lloyd Christmas in “Dumb and Dumber” – an-oo-ull -…go ahead, I’ll wait)…okay, where were we?
Oh, yes I was about to tell you about the picnic ticket fiasco of 2011.
My employer has three locations in Texas. Two of them are located in the DFW Metroplex and I work at one and one of my besties in all the world works at the other.
At least once a day she calls me a “jackass”. If she didn’t I would think the honeymoon was over and she’d found someone new.
Yesterday she sent me the tickets for our annual company picnic and inside the envelope was a detailed inventory of the tickets…ticket numbers, employee names and how many each person gets.
She’s thorough…that’s why she gets to package these things and why I take care of petting zoos and clowns. Not that we ever actually have petting zoos or clowns, mind you I’ve asked, but if we did I’m your gal.
Oh, I can count, but I’m easily distr- SQUIRREL!
Cute squirrel = distraction
So, I get the tickets out this morning and proceed to package them up for the employees getting them.
I also double-check my math. Twice. What is that? Quadruple check? Sounds complicated and math-y so I’ll go with that.
I begin handing them out, before I’ve finished the counting and packaging. Of course, I come up short.
Of course I do.
Sigh…
I begin a re-count of everyone who has gotten them, and the few I have left.
Still short.
I call her up and tell her I’ve got a problem. She keeps insisting the count is right.
I know it is. It always is, that’s why she does these things and I don’t.
SQUIRREL!!
Squirrels don't know how to do math. That's why it's so easy to steal their acorns, they never know how many they have. Not that I'd ever steal from a cute li'l squirrel, I'm just sayin'...geez people!
I count again, I check the stacks again, I get everyone I’ve given tickets to to verify their tickets against the list again.
I’m still short. Five tickets short.
I send an e-mail to the employee whose tickets I don’t have and tell him he’ll have to get his tickets from her as I’m short and she has the extras. I add some snarkiness to the effect that she can’t count right as usual.
I call her and tell her I’m exactly five tickets short, and oh by the way, one person that is owed tickets is out of town and how will I get those to him in time?
She says, “There’s your missing five. I wrote on the outside of the envelope that I’d already sent his to him! Jackass!”
I pull out the gi-normous envelope with the HUGE black letters on the front letting me know she’d sent those five to our out-of-towner.
Huge.Black.Letters.
On an otherwise unmarked white envelope.
I never saw them.
Because, you know…….ninj- SQUIRREL!!
Pretty bad when even the wildlife mocks you.
See, told ya you just had to be there.
Way Down Under
It’s a post about posts, cuz…you know, ninjas and all.
Anyhoo…it got me to wondering about other weird(er) images for post.
I’m giving you advice here, so pay attention…
Be careful what you ask Uncle Google to show you.
He can be very graphic, even when your request seems utterly innocent.
Check it out.
Is that my mail in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?
Guess What? No, Really…Guess What?
…umm…nothin…
I was perusing pictures of posts, mostly so I could use the word “perusing”, when I came across this one:
- I burn VERY easily, I’m tellin’ ya!
Hi there!
Yeah, it’s Monday and I normally write my Monday posts the week before.
But, I really didn’t have any ideas for today last week.
I was certain something interesting would happen over the weekend to blog about.
It didn’t.
So, here’s a picture of a satellite. I don’t think it’s the one that ran out of fuel and fell from the sky, but it might be. Also, none of it hit anywhere near my house so there goes another chance for my fifteen minutes.
Sigh….
"Ground control to Major Tom..."
That’s A Very Good Question
I got an e-mail the other day.
The subject line read, “Too Much Chocolate?”
To which I immediately replied (in my head) that there was no such thing.
This was in the e-mail, too:
- A whole lotta choco-lotta
There I Was Minding My Own Business…
….when I called hubby from the Big Box Home Improvement store to ask him a few questions about the list of nail-thingys and other fixy-thingys he asked me to pick up.
Do you realize there’s like a hundred gozillion different sizes of nails?
And the types? Fuhgeddaboudit!
He wasn’t answering the phone. That was odd.
Odd and irritating.
I was, after all, doing him a favor by getting those nail-thingys so the least he could do was answer his phone when I tried calling.
I had questions. Lots of questions.
Finally, I found what I thought were the right thingys and went home.
I walked in the front door, ready to yell at him for not answering the phone when I saw that he was standing at the kitchen sink, muttering under his breath and furiously scrubbing his hands.
“What happened?”
“I can’t get this stuff off me!”
“What ‘stuff’ are you talking about?”
“The de-greaser,” he said and nodded in the direction of the garage where he’d been cleaning the floor with some type of solvent.
I went out there and picked up the jug of cleaner and began reading the label.
By the time I got back in the house my hands were shaking and I was sweating.
“Did you even read the label?!”
“No, but I’ve used it before.”
‘This?” I said holding the jug up in front of him as he continued to wash his hands.
“Well, no, not that, but something like that.”
I rubbed my brow.
“Honey, it says if you get this on your skin you should SEEK IMMEDIATE MEDICAL ATTENTION!”
“Now you’re just trying to scare me.”
I shoved the jug in his face, “Here, YOU read it.”
He kept scrubbing his hands.
“Were you wearing gloves?”
“No.”
“Did you splash it on you or…..”
“No, I used a brush to clean the floor with it and then I was sopping up the excess with a sponge and wringing the sponge out in the bucket.”
“WITH YOUR BARE HANDS???”
“Yes.”
Hubby stopped scrubbing and dried his hands.
“They’re sticky feeling…before, they were slimy.”
They were also shiny, red, and the tips of the fingers on his right hand were blistering and peeling.
I grabbed the phone and dialed Poison Control. The helpful “Medical Professional” on the other end strongly urged us to go to the ER…like five minutes ago.
I dragged hubby to the ER, the whole way there he’s marveling at his now stinging/burning/hurting red hands and muttering, “..they should put better warnings on the label….done this before….if I’d of just used gasoline, like when I was a kid….”
Me, I’m breaking every speed limit on the way – and where is a cop when you need one?? – and telling him that he’s just acid-washed his hands and we’ve got to neutralize the acid to stop the burning process.
The ER was another voyage to the strange and weird.
He saw three nurses before the doctor.
You know what EVERY ONE of them asked?
Two things – What did poison control tell you to do? Uh..come here, dumbass. Okay, I didn’t actually call him a “dumbass” but I wanted to.
…and…the other thing they asked?
What do you expect us to do?
I swear, visions of tackling and pummeling the entire ER staff did dance in my head for a few seconds before I managed to gain my composure and…
….stare, blankly, at the idiot nurse who had asked the question.
Maybe my “blank” stare translates to “murderous-daggers-and-flame-from-eyeballs” stare on the receiving end, because she turned pale and retreated backwards out the door and said the doctor would be right in.
The doctor knew what to do. Thank God. He has no idea how close he came.
Oddly enough, the solution is to neutralize the acid with a base (this I knew) but the coolest/strangest part is the base they use is something called “GoLightly”.
If you’ve ever had a colonoscopy, and who doesn’t love a good colonoscopy, right? Anyway, if you’ve ever had one you will recognize the name. It’s the stuff you drink to clear the plumbing prior to the big day.
Hubby had to soak his hands in this solution for twenty minutes. Then they slathered this silver-based cream on his hands and wrapped them in gauze.
He looked like he was wearing mittens.
The next day we had to soak his hands again and since they felt so much better there was no need to slather on the cream (which, we were told, would turn his hands a lovely and permanent tan color – it didn’t though) or re-apply the mittens.
His hands are still shiny – a result of stripping the epidermis and leaving the dermis exposed, much like the chemical peels women pay a fortune for at high-end salons – and the tips are kinda raw and sore. They are also swollen, but all in all he’s much better.
It coulda been a LOT worse.
So, after the ordeal I asked my husband one question.
“So, what did we learn from this?”
To which he replied,
“Next time, use gasoline.”
Oops…
…..I forgot about a post today…
No, wait…come back!
I have a really good reason.
I’ll explain tomorrow.
Meanwhile – a post is provided herein for you to discuss/marvel over/roll eyes at:
- That’s the prettiest damned lamp post I have ever seen.
The Practical Side of Darth Vader
According to my 4-yr. old grandson, here’s the truth about Darth Vader’s eating habits.
“If he has spaghetti he can just eat it through the holes.”
And, because evil minions of the Emperor must keep up appearances..
“Does he have two helmets in case one gets dirty?”
What to do in case of light saber emergencies and the need to hear…
“Can he hear when he gets hit in the head with a light saber? But not with the one ear… the one that is all burned up?”
Alas, we don’t know what happens to Vader’s hearing if he gets whacked with the light saber in the head. I always thought that anything whacked with a light saber was separated from its former home. In that case whether or not he could hear would be a moot point, right?
I may be the evil Lord of the Dark Side, but I can't cross the street without holding your hand.
awesomesauciness 