The Way Things Are






Ha. Day 4 of the mullet
2005-06-16, 11:33 a.m.

Ha. Day 4 of the mullet of office wear is a success. Please see documentation below that I am indeed wearing pink on the top. However, unfortunately for everyone who needs to see me, I’m wearing NOTHING on the bottom today. Well, paint. I spray-painted my ass with black shiny appliance paint, and hope that I can get away with folks thinking I’m wearing leggings. So far, so good.

NO! I’m kidding. I didn’t paint myself. That would be silly. Sillier than conducting meaningless social experiments on co-workers? No, I admit. I’m not above living in a little world in my own head wherein I conduct meaningless social experiments on my co-workers, experiments that have no meaning, and which my subjects never know were even conducted in the first place. Come on in – it’s fun in here!

From the look in this picture, it would appear that something in traffic is troubling or perplexing me. No. That’s my normal look – frinkled brow. Naturally frowning mouth. At least I’m wearing makeup today, if not pants.

I promise that tomorrow is the last day I will subject you to pictures of me sitting in my office chair, slacking and procrastinating, or driving my car, frowning at the interstate. After that, I’ll be taking pictures of the birds nesting in the trees off my balcony. Won’t you be excited? I’ll bet.

You know what would be funny, is if I managed to get a picture of Mr. Surly making the grimace that passes for a smile that I saw last night before the BSer meeting started. He was talking to one of Lil Guy’s friend’s dads, and did what he calls a smile, and I swear, it was the face that says “I just cut a gnarly fart.” Weird man.

When I smile in real life, I have a winning smile. I know, because photos taken of me when I either don’t know that the camera is there, or when I’m drunk? I’m simply stunning. I just have an alarmingly terse camera face.

OK, Laura. Enough about that! We realize you are shocked at your appearance in photos, but how nice of you anyway to post a few pics so we can see who we’re reading about, and laugh a little bit about your insecurity.

Poor tile guy! He just called to let me know of an instruction he received from DW yesterday, just to make sure I wasn’t going to come unglued at how wrong the instructions were. I guess it really sank in when I told him “don’t do what DW says – he is WRONG.” He said he had his SIL come out to look at the tile work, and she loves the tile, loves the house. We met his SIL at our first meeting, and I really wonder…why his SIL? Is this his brother’s wife, or his wife’s sister? Maybe they are in the tile business together? Not really sure. I just know that he brings her along and lets us know that this SIL really approves, and I guess that makes it all OK with me. We’ll defer to her judgment, whilst wondering about her relevance.

If you read in the paper about a Harrier jet incident in Yuma, please know that while my BIL (Sis’s Marine husband) was not involved in the incident, he did see it happen and was relieved to see the pilot gently floating to earth in his parachute, right before he thought “Shit! Residential area!” Fortunately, nobody was home in the house that the jet hit. I know the articles say it landed in the back yard, but hello? A jet hits your back yard, it’s gonna take out the house, too.

My BIL is a helicopter pilot, and unfortunately does not ever have the option of ejecting as those blades would be a bit rough. In his case, it would actually be the fall that kills ya, not the landing. I joke, but that’s to mask my extreme anxiety about him.

He’s in Yuma training for his August deployment to Iraq, a deployment that I am EXTREMELY unhappy about and will surely complain about very very much in the coming months. I wanted to contact his CO and let him know that I think it’s a bad idea for BIL to go over there, but Sis won’t give me the number, mumbling something about career killers and whatnot.

But don’t you think that the military would have a little sympathy for me? Come one, my dad…a Marine…killed in Viet Nam…I’ve never really milked that history for sympathy, but I think it’s high time I started. I’m suffering a little pre-traumatic stress syndrome. Eh, you’re right. The military doesn’t really have a rep for having much sympathy.

I don’t think I have much else for you today, my pets. I haven’t had any funny conversations…haven’t really had many conversations at all. I get up, I read the paper, I drink coffee, many times I work out, other times I say “Nah” and skip it, I drive to work, I sit at my desk, I’m either productive or not, and I drive home. Sometimes DW and I talk, and other times we sit comatose and paralyzed in front of the TV, in a persistent semi-vegetative state. Our bodily functions slow way down, and the only way you can tell we’re still alive is the occasional blink. Blink……blink………

Here’s something funny – at approximately 4:00 this morning, DW ripped the loudest fart, and IT SCARED ME AWAKE. Like when the loud thunder scared me awake, but with less screaming and more holding very still to minimize the dutch oven effect.

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia: The dutch oven is also a slang name for a practical joke played on bedmates by restraining them under the covers after you have passed gas.

This morning’s conversation:

Me: How did you sleep?
DW: Good, how about you?
Me; You farted and it woke me up and scared me.
DW: I know. It was 4:00. Some of my better work.

I am going to take the advice of Amalah (too lazy to link, but you know who she is, and if not, and carry around a little notebook to note the funny things that happen or that people say to me, so that I can mercilessly use the people around me more effectively as blogfodder. All one word, blogfodder, yes. Or fogblodder.

2 comments so far

last - next