Category: Humor

Humor, Work July 31, 2009

Challenged

“A problem of type 2094 has occurred…what the [ahem] is that?! What are the two thousand ninety three other problems I skipped to get to that one?!”
-Eddie Izzard

A spectacularly dull day at the office, livened only by the laundry run. At which time a bundle of clothing was handed over to us all clean and neatly pressed, but without a name attached because it’s owner had forgotten to put the order sheet with his instructions in the bag with his clothes. Fear not, citizens, Lt. South’s name was discovered on the tag, much to my unholy glee.

Small Dog finds a tiny degree of joy in her technological impaired-ness — Small Dog finds a tiny degree of joy in being technologically impaired

Other than that, my Outlook account for work decided to blip out of existence yesterday. Thinking it was something to do with the new software our department is bringing online, I let it go, but today it was still out. I put in a request with IT, but when the techies did whatever it is they do and Outlook reappeared…it was without my emails, projects, calendars, contacts, or distribution lists. The only thing that makes me blissfully undisturbed by this is the fact that it’s twenty minutes to five and I don’t have to deal with it until monday.

Fashion, Humor, Sad, Shopping, Travel July 30, 2009July 30, 2009

Adios!

“My doctor grabbed me by the wallet and said, ‘Cough!'”
-Henry Youngman

My Alma Mater does not have a Spring Break, but while I worked at the International Students’ Office as an undergrad, I found a way to circumvent this. Our director would round us up every spring saying, “It’s, ahem, very important that you realize how difficult it can be for the students coming to our university to get in and out of the country” [Item: nearly every girl who worked there was an international, and every girl who worked had been out of the U.S. multiple times in her life] “and so we’re going to give you a little tutorial.” And thus we were annually whisked off to Mexico!

This trip had to include a trip to an embassy/consulate to make it right and proper with the university, but after that we could do just what we…actually whatever Dr. F. wanted. But as this always meant a trip to the beach, open air markets, and the good doctor’s favorite restaurant (which highlighted a mariachi band with what appeared to us to be excruciatingly tight pants…but that never seemed to diminish the musicians’ enthusiasm for dancing up to our tables, looking like their gut/bum/whatever were about to burst free any second), we were happy to go along for the ride.

A couple of years ago, we were down in Sonora in Hermosillo and going through an open air market selling all things cheap and designer knock off. I was on the prowl for a new wallet as my old was a shabby wreck and where better to get an abominably fake looking wallet than Mexico?

I’d all but used up our allotted hour and was trying to seem as if I did not hear Dr. F. calling while I frantically searched case after case of goods. Finally, at the very instant I was turning around to trot after my friends in defeat, I saw it. Laying in the case was a so-not-Coach-but-maybe-from-far-away-it-would-fool-somebody brown wallet that needed me as much as I needed it.
“How much?” I enquired in broken Spanish.
“Five-fifty,” the woman answered in accented, but much superior to my sad attempt at her language, tones.
“Done,” I said. I probably could have talked her way down, but Dr. F. was motioning sternly so there was nothing to be done.
I stuck my hand into shirt and snatched my money from under my bra strap (where else was I supposed to carry it?!) and plopped my pesos down on the table in front of her.

Something about my humor/pathos amused her because she burst into laughter (which had a You Poor Thing! undertone to it) and said, “You can have it for just five.”
Gracias!

My wallet had finally outlived its usefulness and the inside was starting to come apart, so the other day I traded it in for this sassy red, ultra thin clutch. But I felt bad tossing my old one and the entire day whenever I caught sight of it in the bin my first thought was that I’d made some horrible mistake (like tossing our marriage certificate again…still think J. did it), and even now I go searching frantically through my bag for it until I recall it’s been replaced.

Friends, Home, Humor July 27, 2009July 27, 2009

Highs and Lows

“Who made these cookies? Venice?”
“No, my wife.”
“C.?!”
“Yeah. Apparently she cooks.”
-Ronald and J. Thanks for the support, love.

Newlywed and me being caught up in the idea of being a good wife (coupled with a degree of gentle poverty) J. and I have been being good about putting together meals, cheap dates, and limited spending. Which leaves me feeling smug. “Look! A modern woman am I! Dinner on the table, clean house, and laundry done once a week. AND I’m currently the primary bread winner, bacon bringer, ladder climber, whatever, so I can in no way fall into the barefoot and chained to the kitchen sink variety. I am woman hear me roar!”

Then again, even though I fight it hard, I sometimes find myself slipping into the 19th century. For example, when Venice decides to show me how to make her amazing peach-strawberry jam. Incidentally, Venice’s overall fabulousness is in no way lessened by this knowledge. She’s from Idaho, they know how to do that sort of thing up there. Anyway, I got it whipped up and gelled with barely any loss of face, and now it’s kind of my dirty secret hiding in the back of the freezer.

But then on sunday, when J. and I were both feeling under the weather and stayed home, I went into Absolutely Fabulous Wife Mode. I whipped up bread pudding for breakfast while my plagued husband slept in, a broccoli and carrot soup for dinner, and even managed to stay a good friend and drove Marie home (she lives over an hour away in my hit-and-miss car)…and then…Venice came over to borrow cooking spray, a lemon, scotch tape, and wrapping paper (how she combined them I’ll never know) looking like this:

“What the Betty Crocker?!” I demanded, but it was sheer jealousy. Perfect 1950’s housewife (minus the valium, hopefully). I immediately tumbled down a well of inadequacy.

Editor’s Note : Savitrii just came by and asked what I was writing. I said I was blogging about making jam and her eyes bugged. “YOU?!” she demanded shakily, “I…I don’t even know who I am anymore…” Har har, people.

Drama, Humor, Life, Marriage, Snark July 23, 2009July 23, 2009

What’s In A Name?

“The name we give to something shapes our attitude towards it.”
-Katherine Patterson

Good. Grief. Men just have to cough up enough for a sparkly ring, rent a tux, and show up. Us girls not only have to go through the angst of dress fittings, agonizing over catering (incidentally, I didn’t get to eat a thing at my reception; a fact about which I am inordinately bitter), fret pointlessly over flowers, and basically worry for months at a time. And THEN, after the whole affair is over, we get to go around sorting out an entirely new identity, complete with documentation.

My latest theory is that these guys were in line to register their horses, died of waiting, and were fossilized thus. Emporer Qin had a long ways to go with imperial management.

Our marriage certificate came in the mail last saturday, a fact we celebrated by almost immediately consigning it (accidentally) to the garbage. I blame J., J. blames me (I think I have a much more convincing case since I’m gone all day and, even though I’m a horrid klutz, I’m not usually that much of an idiot). Either way, I got off work early today so I trekked on over to the county buildings and got a new copy and then, in a burst of energy I know regret, I decided to be productive and get my name changed on a few things as well. An hour later, still waiting in line at the Social Security Administration (listening to the endless repetition of numbers of people who had long ago thrown in the towel, “47?…47?…47?…Is 47 here, please?…47?…”) I finally got that sorted. There was the minor hiccup of me not being born anywhere near the Continental United States, but that minor heart attack was glossed over by the fact that they had my previous information from when I was employed as a student.

Then off to the Driver License Division (otherwise known as the 9th circle of Hell)! However, getting there was a mess because there were two places listed and somehow in my temper frayed state, I managed to superimpose the numerical address of one place on the opposite city. Which meant that I spent another 45 minutes doing loop-de-loops across town trying to find this office. It was housed (read: hidden) in a small bank without any labling on the outside to indicate its presence within. I must have circled that parking lot half a dozen times before I worked up the nerve to just march into a building and demand guidance. Then we had a repeat of the line process, the only difference was that this time I got to sit. Right next to one of the more unusual characters I’ve seen in weeks.

This woman was tiny, the size of a 12 year old, and from the waist down she could have been an octogenearian: varicose veins, droopy tatooes working their way down her calves, and crusty feet. But she had plump childlike hands and arms and a head that I honestly can’t put an age on. Grandma-ish features on a young face and hair color that looked natural. Midway through my wait she answered a phone call and started arguing in the meekest, quietest voice about some sort of payment.
suspense1ha9 “You’ve gotten me into something I can’t get out of,” she mewed, “I’m a student” [to add further to the riddle of her age] “and I can’t possibly afford to pay for this.”
My ears perked up in spite of themselves, though I kept my nose firmly buried in a David Sedaris book. It sounded serious!
“I didn’t know I had that option,” she chirruped softly, “I was told I was under a contract and that I had to keep buying, so I did, but I can’t honor those commitments now.”
A gambling addiction? A vicious, silken-tonged bookie on the other end perhaps?
“But I only wanted the animated Bible stories and you made me buy lots of other films! It’s terrible of you to try and make me pay for this, it’s about religious material and you were completely false in selling them to me, you should be ashamed of yourselves!” She took a breath and said in an even meeker voice, “I’m sorry you alwas see the worst side of me in these phone calls, I don’t like being so unpleasant, but I’m just so upset.”

A huge letdown, in my opinion.

Another half hour later I was called and with a brief repeat of the question of my natal origins, I got my name changed on my license as well. Then, driving home, I rolled down my window because I thought my car was making a funny noise. Having ascertained it wasn’t, I rolled my window back up but managed to catch my sun visor in the closing pane and heard two terrible crunches before I managed to reverse the window and survey the damage. My visor now has a definite dent down the middle where the plastic inside has been snapped in half and my mirror was shattered. All the way home I was showered with confetti-like shards of glass.

And halfway home I got a text from J. telling me his parents are coming over for dinner. Bless him for cleaning up and doing dishes, otherwise I might have tossed our new certificate right back in the trash in a mood and gone straight to bed. Thank goodness tomorrow is a state holiday and I can sleep in!

Drama, Home, Humor, Snark July 21, 2009July 21, 2009

Black Thumb

“Despite the gardeners best intention, nature will improvise.”
-Michael Garafolo

Those perfidious fiends at the home and garden store! They basely sold me six little plants, that were labled as cherry tomatoes, that I lovingly planted along with cilantro and basil, and crossed my fingers that I wouldn’t kill them. My little sister also gave us a potted geranium, in a vibrant red, to put outside our front door to make it more cheerful. This too I hoped would survive being my plant pet. But I seem to have been doomed to disappointment. After weeks of coaxing these fickle things with water, sunlight, fresh air, and lots of expectations, I have been rewarded thus:

Cilantro that's gone to seed (as well as a sickly yellow which you can't tell in this photo...)

And do these in ANY way resemble tomatoes?!

Fashion, Friends, Humor, Shopping July 17, 2009

Stuck In The Closet

“Naked people have little or no influence in society.”
-Mark Twain

Women of the world, raise your voices in the age old cry with me, “I HAVE NOTHING TO WEAR!”

HarpersNothingWear And, melodramatic as it may sound, I genuinely mean it! From the moment I got engaged, my so-called frivolous spending (Frivolous: as if looking good isn’t important. Did none of you endure high school? I spent mine more or less a tragic mess) was sharply curtailed. Money was put towards a new apartment with a significant raise in rent, utilities had to be set up (which generally involved some sort of fee in varying degrees of heftiness), and I had to start putting down payments on everything. My parents paid for the reception which was gorgeous (pictures may or may not be forthcoming, the photographer we used for it did a terrible job. And I’m not saying that facetiously, ask Venice. Bad), but I paid for my gown myself, plus shoes, veil, jewelry, hair, salon time for my bridesmaids and mom, bridesmaids presents, plus extra invitations when we discovered we didn’t have enough. All that means much less money to spend on food, frolic, and fashion than a single girl might be used to.

Which leads me to my current predicament: this has been the first summer I’ve worked a legitimate post-university job. I spent my first two university summers working in Belgium (significantly cooler than the western U.S. desert I’m currently sweltering in) and the next two either taking classes (and therefore in jean and tee shirts) or travelling/visiting my family in England. My student jobs on campus all required me to dress up for work so my wardrobe had a couple pairs of nice trousers, pencil skirts, and nice shirts…all appropriate to an autumn and winter climate. I also have a fair amount of jeans and teeshirts, which I can only wear on weekends now. I have a new reason to long for my student days!

And so, now the many lovely cashmere sweaters I’ve amassed are no good. The carefully-tended-to-make-them-last classic wool trousers are worthless in 90-100 degree weather. Even long sleeves shirts are a heat-exhaustion risk for me because I like my weather much cooler, with more clouds in the sky, and a decent wind blowing, and not even 4+ years in this part of the world has cured me of that. My boots, scarves, hats, dark tights, and coats, fabulous as they are, are simply useless to me until September!

349331010_6151669d3c Women seem to be slightly more at the whim of the vicissitudes of fashion than men. It may just be me, but I’ve observed that our clothing seems to be made of flimsier stuff, which means that we either need to A) replace it often as it wears out, which costs us more, or B) have a large enough wardrobe to begin with so that we can rotate clothing so no one player gets too much time in the field. This also requires not only money, but time, and planning! And, even though I’m getting better, putting outfits together is not a skill that comes effortlessly to me. My fabulous and talented friend Janssen over at Everyday Reading has an equally fabulous and talented sister who spent a couple of months showing her daily outfits on her blog, sadly she’s not doing it anymore because I got some really good ideas from it (along with bouts of mind mangling jealousy). And this girl occasionally makes lots of her own amazing clothing! Oh mother, how do I now regret those basic sewing lessons I scorned in my youth!

Of course it’s currently mid-July, so summer won’t be lasting much longer, so I should probably suck it up and just continue to rotate my two pairs of lightweight trousers for another month and a half. We’re now starving newlyweds, trying to save enough to get to England to see my family for Christmas. But…but…

Fashion, Humor, Marriage July 9, 2009July 21, 2009

Painting, Pyro-ing, and the Proletariat

“Um, we’re mature enough to be married…honestly…”
-C.

Think impressionism, Pac Man, horribly pretentious comments about class structure (on the part of starving newlywed/students), peacocks, pyrotechnics, possibly a little lawbreaking don’t mix? You’ve clearly never been on a group date with Venice, Val, J., and C.

Last night we went to Color Me Mine, stayed there until 9 when we got kicked out, at which time we hit up the “lower income” (quote by J.) supermarket that recently opened in the area that sells nearly expired products at discount for some ice cream…but on our way back to pay for it, what should we spy but fireworks.

Editor's Note: Not done by Venice, Val, J., or C. No one in our pyro party are nearly as impressive as this.

We really had no other option than to buy some. Really, none. It was imperative. Venice and I loaded up our arms with sparklers while the guys practically dove into the bins trying to find the best, er, bang for their buck. This was discovered in the form of an explosive intriguingly labeled the “Jumping Cyber Monkey” (the boys faces lit with unholy glee, you should have seen it).

Then we scurried back home to hold bunches of sparklers and light them at the same time (I nearly died), frolick around twirling them, light off the Jumping Cyber Monkey (which made a little more noise than anticipated towards the end) while Venice did her signature dance move in front of it (which is indescribable…truly), and round off the evening by lighting “worms” (which look like nothing so much as flaming, growing poop) while we giggled.

Like I said. We’re responsible, mature adults. Really.

Family, Home, Humor, Life, Travel, Work July 8, 2009

Married With Presents

“How’s married life?”
“How should I know? I’ve only been married a week and four of those days were vacation!”
-Lt. Citrus and C.

Usually when reality hits me it does so with enough force to break teeth. So here I am, a week into marriage, flinching and waiting for some kind of blow to fall…but it hasn’t landed yet!

Daae says her favorite part of being married is waking up and seeing her husband next to her every morning. J. and I, neither of us being morning people, tend to ignore the alarm and fasten our eyes firmly shut against the light for at least a half hour after we had nobly intended to get up, and then try and urge the other person to take their shower first so that one of us can sleep even longer.

After we’ve both managed to get presentable in spite of ourselves, I’m off to work on campus and he’s off to the city for 4-8 hours a day where his summer job is helping a firm write an article for publication (meanwhile C., being the resident aspiring writer in our newly hatched family, is stuck back as a secretary for a bunch of people who managed to overlook her several emails warning them of her week-long leave and created all sorts of muddles for her to sort out when she returned to their grateful, frantic arms. There’s no justice in the world!). After work I’m back at the gym, which after a two week absence has been hellish, for an hour before heading home. Where, depending on work, chores, and moving in necessities, J. may or may not be.

We opted to open prezzies away from the prying eyes of friends and family.

And as for setting up house! We opened our hoard of wedding presents monday evening, feeling rather smug about how orderly we were being about writing down who sent what, disposing of boxes, and carefully sorting…until we stepped back and surveyed the carnage from outside our little cardboard cocoon. We looked at the two rooms filled with receipts, wrapping paper, and presents, looked at the clock (midnight), looked at each other, and went to bed. And did pretty much the same thing last night when confronted with the wreckage again.

So far I think we’re a pretty boring couple.

But there is this. When unwrapping presents and pulling out the one from Dr. Don, he listened intently when I went off in raptures about how Don had sent me plates! The story of which is that last summer I was in Oxford with him and some other students and we’d gone with him to the Oxford English Dictionary projectwhere we had a presenter, who was also a researcher on the team, who shared his favorite word with us: twiffler. Which literally means it’s a plate that can’t make up it’s mind what size it is! Don had given us twifflers and I was ridiculously excited about it! J., who did not tease me as he usually does for being a hopeless nerd, got this big smile on his face. And when I rather mulishly demanded, “Why are you grinning?” he just kissed me and said, “You’re my wife.”

Which, I’m not going to lie, makes me pretty giddy to hear.

Family, Friends, Humor, Life, Marriage, Wedding July 6, 2009

Vegas, Baby!

“I’ve made a terrible mistake…”
-Gob Bluth

Small Dog says, "Don't, for heaven's sake, take everything so seriously!"

Kidding! KIDDING! Yikes, people, have a sense of humor. No divorce yet, all is well!

The wedding was gorgeous! Everything ran on time (miraculous) and the closest thing we had to a disaster was that one of my younger brothers’ tuxes was too short in the sleeves, the boy actually grew between when they measured him and when he arrived. Puberty: a growing frenzy that largely passed me by (lengthwise speaking) but that still doesn’t look convenient from the outside, but I digress. The day was crazy!
7am: Mama, bridesmaids, and C. to the salon
9am: at the ceremony venue
1030am: married, then pictures (even though my smiling muscles gave out well before we were done) until-
1pm: luncheon
3pm: wrap things up, decamp to reception center (after the usual lost clothes, keys, etc.)
5pm: restyling, re-accessorizing, fixing hair, and squeezing back into dresses after a few glorious hours of oxygen on the part of the girls. J. and Val (Venice’s husband and unofficial groomsman by the end of the day) played halo in the mens’ area
6pm: florists arrive, minor hiccups with flowers. Resolution achieved with help of the bridesmaid Dream Team
7pm: reception starts
9pm: reception ends

It was a long day, but it really flew by for me at least! And everything turned out gorgeous. I’ll get pictures up soon, because towards the end I was going mostly on Tylenol and adrenaline so some of the details are fuzzy and I’d like a reminder.

Photo basely and evilly stolen from Peregrine, pending official ones from photographer!

And let me recommend Marie, Venice, Peregrine, and Snickers as Bridesmaids Extrodinaire! These girls should go into business, they’d be millionaires in no time! Seriously, they ran the show. I can’t say enough good things or thank them enough for turning a potentially harrowing day into a glamorous, seamless work of art. And they did it looking absolutely splendid. I’ve known professional hostesses with less than half these girls’ panache!

By the way, going back to work after a week of family fun time, wedding, and honeymoon weekending…kind of sucks! But it was such fun while it lasted. We saw Cirque de Soleil’s KA and the Blue Man Group, both of which were amazing. I’d never seen a Cirque show, and since I was dying to see one as well as BMG, we squeezed both in. Incredible. I’ve no idea how Cirque performers are able to do what they do, and as for the lads in blue platex…absolutely unique, never seen anything quite like it.

Back in reality, we’re swamped in gifts that need opening, sorting, and thank you notes that need writing. However we have a much nicer area to accomplish all this in because my parents painted our flat for us! Loveliest surprise homecoming ever, I could have cried when I realized our walls no longer looked a bad whitewash job.

Family, Humor, Wedding June 30, 2009

I’m Getting Married In the Morning

“Um…dad? We’re in America right now…”
“Oh, right!”
C. and Dad, as he quickly swerves from driving on the left side of the road to the right

Families have met, preliminary stuff is done, Peregrine and Venice are a bridesmaid dream team, my bundles of junk are gathered together and all by the front door, and I’m off to bed, see you all next week!

Small Dog Syndrome