17 February 2007

The funniest shower I have ever taken

The dog woke me up at 3:59 a.m., wanting to go outside. I opened the front door and got hit by a blast of hot air. It must have been 85 degrees (at 4 AM!!) and the wind was blowing about 40 mpg.

And these winds? They aren't friendly, happy winds. They are the Santa Ana winds, desert winds that turn my sinuses into shriveled little raisins and make my hair look Robbie Benson's.

All night long the metal water heater cabinet outside the house (yes, klassy, I know) was banging in the wind, sounding like a tympani drum. Bonggggggg bonggggg. I put earplugs in but the sound drove Goldie crazy. She paced around all night, looking for escape. She climbed up on the bed with me but didn't sleep, eat, drink or go outside.

Finally this morning she had had enough. I was taking a shower, mindlessly rubbing some mold off the shower curtain when I felt something against my legs. I am almost blind without my glasses, but even I could see that there was a very large, shower-hating dog sitting in the tiny shower stall at my feet, getting soaked.

Sometimes a girl dog gets scared and just really, really needs her momma.


Mr Stapler and I went bar-hopping last night. This is unusual because the last time I went bar-hopping was...um...well...never. I don't go to that many bars because they involve too many things I hate - drunks, noise, people. When I do go, my usual modus operandi is to find some little corner, sit down and cling to the spot like a barnacle on a rock. I know, I know, I am a whole big ball of fun.

Mr Stapler and I are of that age where we are not among the stylish people with shiny hair who gather in groups and toss their heads about and show off their large white teeth to one another.

We are the people with dog hair on their sweaters who sit close together, listening in on other people's conversation and elbowing each other when it gets particularly inane.

Dude: All those guys, Mao and Lenin and then Stalin...
Dude 2: Yeah, and think about Winchester, he had to go up against Stalin and Hitler and shit...
Mr Stapler: (to me) Winchester? Does he mean Winston Churchill?


I hate to read about people's dreams, so I apologize in advance. But this one cracked me up: I was at work at a huge place. Somehow, we all sort of abandoned our posts to play games and goof off, playing volleyball, singing karaoke, running around like kids. As we went back to the office, I realized our boss was George W. Bush.

"Heh heh, this has been a lot of fun today," Bush said. "I really hope we can do it more often."

"Well, sir," I replied. "When we are at work, we have to work. That's why they CALL it work."

He looked so disappointed.

14 February 2007

Two Valentine's Stories

I was at the drug store, buying boxes of Conversation Hearts for my co-workers.

Story 1
Random Dude: (shaking head) Pfft, that's marketing for ya.
Suebob: Pardon?
RD: Look at this. This package of candy has the same contents as this one, but the one in the heart-shaped box is $3 more.
Suebob: You have to buy the heart-shaped one.
RD: I do? But the plain one is the same thing.
Suebob: Dude, trust me on this one.
RD: It seems so stupid.
Suebob: You gotta do it.
RD: Are you sure?
Suebob: This is one thing I am absolutely sure of.

Story 2
I worked with this woman who was married and pretty much had her husband cowed. She wanted what she wanted and wasn't shy about letting everyone know.

On Valentine's Day, what she wanted was flowers at work. Early in the day, so everyone would know how beloved she was. She did not hint about this. She told her husband and everyone within earshot this was what MUST happen for Valentine's Day to go well.

Cut to Valentine's Day.
10 a.m. - no flowers.
Noon - no flowers.
One p.m. - panic sets in. Ugliness. Swearing.
Two p.m. - phone call to assure that husband has indeed ordered flowers or his head is on the chopping block.
2:30 p.m. - another, more aggressive phone call with demands for the florist's phone number just in case
3:00 p.m. - full-on screaming phone call. The girl had lost her shit. "You asshole, how could you do this to me??" This in a very quiet office where everyone could hear everything that went on.
3:30 p.m. - Flowers arrive. She is slightly calmed by this and wants everyone to admire her bouquet, but we are all jumpy and irritable and sick of her flower situation
5:30 p.m. - The rest of the staff goes out, has some beers, swears off Valentine's Day forever, and toasts to the fact that they aren't involved with crazy bitches like her.

Directly related to the previous post

I was once on an easy, ranger-led "family hike." Because it was the middle of the day, we didn't see very much wildlife. The ranger pointed out what kind of animals lived around there by pointing out their droppings...deer, coyote, owls. Every few minutes we would come across some more "scat," as the ranger called it.

Finally one little boy said "Daddy, how come there is so much POOP out here?"

It's not that blogger's kids are so sickly or disgusting. It's just what people talk about.

13 February 2007

What are we up to?

Reason No. 2168 I didn't have kids: I'm not so good with sick people.

And I had NO IDEA how often children were sick until I started reading y'alls blogs. My goodness people! The vast quantities of poop! The snot rockets! The sudden and unexpected fountains of vomitus!

It's like the little darlings are walking germ factories, ever spewing greater and greater quantities of their vile products. Gross domestic product, indeed.

I'm sure Mr Stapler will be only too happy to attest to my inability to deal with germs and/or the sick. (He LOVES to talk about how wonderful I am!)

If you're coughing and sneezing, my first comment is not likely to be "Oh, you poor dear." It would usually be "What are you DOING here?" unless "here" is your own home, in which case it would be "I gotta go."

So my non-existent children are happy to not have me as a mother, especially during cold and flu season. Because if they got sick, I might put them out in the garden shed until they stopped being so darned icky.

11 February 2007

Try, try again

We went back to this place for dinner.

Waiter: Would you like something to drink?

Suebob, looking at menu that has fresh-squeezed lemonade listed: Lemonade

Waiter: We don't have lemonade.

Suebob: Hm, you're out?

Waiter: I could make you a mai-tai.

Suebob: Um, no.

Waiter: (after about a minute of silence) We have lemonade.

Suebob (screwing up face with puzzlement): Ok, yeah, right, then, lemonade.

On a scale of one to five, I would rate their service about a zero. The same waitress that was so helpful last time sat our food down and said "Will there be anything else?" and when we said "Silverware?" she said "Oh, silverWARE..." in a tone that suggested the idea was entirely new to her.

Next time: Taco Bell. Where we can get our own spork.
Back to top