Tag: Humor

Humor, Law Enforcement, Work

There’s (Not) An App For That

“Don’t say anything online that you wouldn’t want plastered on a billboard with your face on it.”
– Erin Bury

Dear World At Large,

Hey!  We haven’t talked in a while, but you seem well and up to your old tricks, hence this little note of clarification.

Social Media - end of society? Not exactly. Misued and annoying? Definitely.

As we’ve discussed previously, technology is not always your friend.  Your Facebook, Twitter, and other social media are actually public information and can be used to bring your deeds (criminal or just criminally silly) to light.  However, we need to have an honest conversation about another side effect of your media habits.

This is a conversation I had yesterday:
“Hello, my backpack was stolen.”
“Alright, ma’am, you’ll need to come into our department to make a report to one of our -”
“No I don’t.”
“…Pardon?”
“I’m talking to you, aren’t I?  This is making a police report.”
“No, ma’am, to make a police report you must – except in very unique circumstances – speak to a police officer in person.  I’m not an officer, I’m a secretary.  I can give you limited advice and assistance, but that’s it.”
“Fine, put a police officer on the phone.”
“I can if you’d like, ma’am, but they will tell you the same thing: you’ll have to come into our office.”
“Seriously?!  [choice language censored]”

And surprisingly, not one of these adequately allow you to report a crime.

Last week I spoke to a gentleman on the phone, the conversation went thus:
“Hello, I’m looking at your website and I don’t see where I can report a crime.”
“Well, we have the option of reporting anonymous tips or voicing concerns online -”
“No, you don’t understand.  I’m being stalked by my ex-fiancee and I want to report it.”
“You’ll have to come into our office to do that, sir.”
“What?!  I can’t just send you an email and you take care of it?”
“No, sir.  Typically an officer will need to ask you many questions to adequately understand your situation, verify your identity, and work with you specifically to assist you.”
” [Expletive], can’t you guys just have an app or something?”

The truth is, dear World at Large, there are in fact some things that you still need to do face to face.  We may be moving towards that point, but there isn’t an app for everything.  You are still required to appear in person from time to time.  Give your thumbs a break and come and talk to me in real life, I’m charming!

Yours with love,
C.

Family, Humor

Breakage

“This is why we can’t have nice things!”
– J.

It’s no secret that I’m a klutz but I exceeded myself this weekend.  I kicked over a can of soda, stubbed my toe on J.’s textbooks, dropped his laptop (luckily on a sofa!), fell down the stairs at our flat, burned my hand making a (spectacular) sweet potato and brie flatbread, and somehow our HDMI cable isn’t working.  I’m suspected, although I don’t know how this one could possibly be on me.  Although the suspicion is justified.  When visiting parents over Thanksgiving break, I picked up my mother’s laptop to check my email and the whole thing froze.  I hadn’t even opened anything!

However, even I am not the supreme wrecker in our clan!  That title belongs to Buddy.   It was forever cemented when we were living in Brussels and about to move to the UK.  Dad and Mum had gone over the Channel to look for housing and I was left in charge of the three younger kids for a few days.  It passed largely without incident until the last day we were on our own.

Ah, Stone Age. How we miss thee...

Buddy wanted to watch a film on VHS (remember?  Remember those days?) and had turned it on and inserted a tape when suddenly,
“C.!”
I was in the kitchen and ran out to find Buddy and Snickers staring opened mouth as a thick gray smoke poured from the machine’s tape flap.  But this was no ordinary smoke!  Instead of rising it sank heavily like stage fog and smelled vile.

Images of our parents returning to a burned out shell of a home catapulted me across the room.  I yanked the plug from the wall, stumbled outside carrying the whole machine, and put in on our stone patio where all four of us hovered at a safe distance and watched smoke trickle from it.  After the panic subsided and the trance ended, we rounded on the hapless Buddy.
“What did you do?”
“We could have died!”
“Mum’s going to murder you!”

Poor Buddy.
“I didn’t do anything!  I just put a tape in!  I’m sorry!”

Luckily an hour later the whole thing was extremely funny and when the parents returned we reenacted the whole thing with a great deal of flair.  Nobody could explain the physics, electronics, or mechanics of the affair, so we just chalked it up to good old genetics.

We of clan Small Dog are wreckers.

Humor, Work

A Connoisseur of Human Folly

“Health, good humor and cheerfulness began to reappear…”
– Jane Austen

Work has been hard this week – I got good and angry and it took two days and an hour and a half conversation with my mother, another half hour with Venice, and yet another half hour with Margot to talk me off the ledge.  Amazing what good friends and three days will do to make you see the humor in something that at the beginning of the week seemed soul destroying!  Life’s deliciously funny, piglets, even the aggravations sometimes!

LIES.

Do you ever get into a rut of thinking?  I have lately.  I used to find everything funny, or at least amusingly ironic, but I’ve gotten a bit bogged down by the job again.  It’s hard to deal with criminals  across the counter and shockingly unpleasant people on the phone all day long and not get a bit irritated with humanity, but I’ve decided to try to not be as bothered by it.  Nothing will change by me banging my abnormally hard head against anything.

The government will likely shut down – which will be nastily inconvenient, but the ones who will look like real idiots are the politicians.  Grad School will be expensive, but J. and I are a pair of smart cookies who are perfectly capable of eating Ramen for a year.  It’s raining, but I’ve got a pretty cute pair of wellies.

All things considered, I’m chipper again, kittens!  Besides, being a misanthrope is exhausting!

Family, Humor

Why Can’t I Press the Button?

“If it keeps up, man will atrophy all his limbs but the push-button finger.”
~ Frank Lloyd Wright

One of my brothers-in-law works for Motorolla, thus the family often benefits from new phones – sometimes for testing, sometimes just because he’s nice like that.

Saturday evening (the night of the Self Imposed Inquisition) I was having a girl’s night at Fairy’s house with GS, Sadie, and Elle and we were discussing Pieter’s homecoming later this month.  He’s been abroad for a long while and the moment he gets back, they are turning him right about and all going on a trip to France, Belgium, and Switzerland – lucky devils!

Anyway, the subject turned to things he will need, quand il retourne aux Etats-Unis, after his extended jaunt and naturally enough the subject turned to phones.  He’s resuming his business studies and my godmother wanted to know whether he would need a smart phone for his program.  Which discussion segued naturally into a debate about whether smart phones are necessary in today’s society.

Pictured: my techno nightmare.

I said that although I think someday they will be, we’re not there yet.  At least I’m not.  I use my phone for talking to people and occasional text messaging (I’m old school and prefer to have actual conversations with people, and not just sound bytes) but not too much else.  That and I lose it constantly.  If it were up to me, we might never have moved on from stone tablets.

In fact, the analogy I used went like this: “Smart phones are like laser hair removal.  I’d love it, but it’s way too pricey.  A few years from now I’ll probably leap on the bandwagon late, but it will be cheaper.  They’ll have come up with something newer and shinier to do the same job.”  Verbatim.  These are the sorts of deep discussions we have.

C. Canis Minor – classical philosopher.

And wouldn’t you know it, Sunday we had a family dinner with J.’s clan. Present was a sister-in-law visiting from Chicago, the one who happens to be married to the same brother mentioned above.  And guess what presents she arrived with?

The irony of it.

So now I’m trying to figure out this fancy new interface and touch screen, terrified that any second now I’m going to push a button that will cause our phone bill to soar to several thousand dollars a month.  Or that I’ll drop it.  In a fit of paranoia I had to entire rearrange my purse so that my new phone has its own compartment and can’t get scratched by keys, lipstick, or any other paraphernalia.

Family, Humor, School, University

Guilt. Trip.

“Guilt is the price we pay for doing what we are going to do anyway.”
– Isabelle Holland

We went to dinner with J.’s parents over the weekend and afterwards, after shooing the men off, my mother-in-law and I took in some shopping and talked a bit about friends, family, and the upcoming move to grad school.

It was good to get her take on it all, because I appreciate her points of view – usually she’s right.  But at one point, when talking about the move itself, which will be across the country/state, she started to tear up…and I froze, like the culturally confused, emotionally stunted useless lump that I am.  Because naturally I felt that somehow it was all my fault.  That I had lured her son into my bizarre world of regular continent-hopping, complicated familial relationship, and wanderlust, and out of  a stable clan homestead away from all he holds dear.  Heavy, Catholic-style-self-flagellating, corrosive guilt swamped me.

Of course I know that this is purely in my head.  Both my in-laws are extremely supportive, fantastic people and they are just sad because most of their kids have already moved further away than is convenient, and now J. is too, and J.’s the baby, etc.  But still, somehow I feel as if I’ve mucked up.  Actually, technically, J. did .  He picked the schools, but that didn’t matter.  If he hadn’t married me he’d never have been encouraged in this rash sort of behavior like leaving native states – to say nothing of countries!  “This,” my inner demon cackles, “is All Your Fault.  Homewrecker.”

J. of course finds my angst hilarious.
” I made her cry,” I exploded the second we left my godparents house where we’d been visiting.
“No you didn’t.”
“I contributed!  I’m a horrible daughter-in-law!  I’m encouraging you to go to some of the top schools in the world, supporting your decision fully, and I’m awful because of it!”
“Not exactly,” he soothed.

I was not to be dissuaded.  When debating whether to buy gas we decided against it because it was raining.  “Like your mother’s tears!” I wailed.  “She’s just going to miss us,” J. offered.  “Because I’m an academic Jezebel who’s lured you away,” I cried, digging around in my purse for a hair shirt.  “We’re close and it’s hard to see us move away,” he tried finally.  “But I want to go somewhere else…I hate myself for it!”  I probably would have leapt from the car to a quick death had the idea occurred to me then instead of just now.

Nearly two years as an exemplary daughter-in-law, torpedoed by a single crushing failure: I made my mother-in-law cry.

*Not really.  But still!

Holidays, Humor

Punk’d
“You will do foolish things, but do them with enthusiasm.”
– Colette, in New York World-Telegram and Sun, 1961

I’ve only really ever been April Fooled once.  J. convinced me he’d gotten in a car wreck and when the joke played out, he quickly must have realized that he made a major mistake.  I was furious.  Quietly, icily furious.  He sucked up his laughter, groveled appropriately and all was well.

But he hasn’t tried to Fool me ever since.  She who laughs last, and all that.  Been the perpetrator/victim of any memorable pranks?

Humor, Travel

Obsessive Compulsive. Disorder.

“A pint of sweat, saves a gallon of blood.”
– George S. Patton

Know how I can tell I spent my youth catapulting across continents and time zones?  Apart from the various personality quirks it engendered, my ability to learn languages rather quickly, my fluid definitions of “home” and “family,” and the long-lost art of being able to keep in touch through letter writing?  Because I am an obsessive move planner.

Does this make me a packing rat?

I’ve been collecting boxes for our eventual move for over a year now (our office is a tragic sight), and I’m continually going through old clothes, knick knacks, cosmetics, random collections of pillows, pictures, books, etc.  Occasionally I send a box of things home to Snickers, or foist a bunch off on Margot when she comes by to watch movies, and at last resort I donate armfuls of stuff.

Occasionally I take it a step further.  Such as this morning.

One of my health insurance company’s benefits is that you can earn cash back for participating in health challenges – eating a bushel of vegetables a day, jogging 20 miles before breakfast, etc.  You can earn up to $200 a year per person.  And call me crazy but a year from now, when we’re living Quetzacoatl knows where, I have a sneaking suspicion that $400 could come in handy.  So J. was dragged awake and forced to endure a round of blood drawing for tests, long before we usually eat breakfast, all for $50 a year from now.

You be the judge, am I psycho or just extremely well organized?

Humor

Foot. Sore.

“I’m watching the Weather Channel more than I’ve ever watched it. I’m scared to death it’s going to rain.”
– John Elway

For nearly a year they lurked in the back of my closet, biding their time and growing in dark power.  Watching.  Waiting.   And today their moment came.  I was rushing around this morning and needed a pair of flats, so I reached into the dark depths and dragged them out.

Satan's footwear.

The cursed purple shoes.

And true to form the morning poured down rain for hours before turning into snow, making everyone’s thoughts of Spring die with the crocuses and budding leaves.

Worst of all, everyone knew it was my fault.  I walked past Sav’s desk and, with a raised voice and condemning pointing finger, she declared, “This is your fault!  You wore them!”  Susie said something similar.  Even J. burst out laughing when I met him for lunch, scampering to our car holding my trousers aloft and snarling profanities under my breath as my feet sunk into the slush.  “Haven’t seen those in a while.  Thanks for the rain, hon.”

While I’m flattered that my shoes have reached the level of apocryphal legend, I was determined to chuck them in the bin as soon as I got home.  Surprisingly it was J. who stopped me.
“Why not?” I demanded, holding them above the bin threateningly.
“Because they’re pretty,” he insisted.
My eyes narrowed.
“And because in the summer when it gets really hot, you can wear them and cool the day down.”
“You want me to keep evil shoes just so you can run experiments on them?”
“Yeah!”

So weigh in, minions.  Do I chuck them?  Will that be enough to break their power?  Or do I need to get the priest to sprinkle holy water on them before burning them in the backyard?  Should I keep them and use their powers for good?  Advise me.

Humor, Husband, School, University

Hand Me That Paper Bag, Dear? Thank You. AUGHHHH!

“A graduation ceremony is an event where the commencement speaker tells thousands of students dressed in identical caps and gowns that ‘individuality’ is the key to success.”
~ Robert Orben

I’m calm.  I’m collected.  I’m poised.

I’m freaking out.

Today makes it officially one month until J.’s graduation.  Which means that it’s only five months until we’re off to grad school on the opposite side of the country/world.  Which means we’re 14 months away from being done with school entirely.  Which means we have to grow up, I suppose.

That coherrent look? The product of caffeine, pain killers, and my good friend there holding me upright.

I remember being almost entirely apathetic about my own graduation.  Granted, I just got home from a summer “study abroad” to the UK 24 hours previous to the ceremony and was jet-lagged out of my mind.  The only reason I participated in the whole cap-and-gown circus was because my parents happened to be in the country visiting friends and family and could actually show up.  They took pictures, met J. for the first time, and took us all and my godparents out to breakfast.  Fin.

Thus I’m much more excited about his graduation.  But just don’t let me think about what comes next…because there is too much to do and I’ll start hyperventilating.  Again.

Humor, Shabby Apple, Shopping

Dream. Vacation.

“When abroad in hot climates she wore a great many white dresses, said very little, and all the men in the hotel fell in love with her.”
– Stella Gibbons, Cold Comfort Farm

Naturally, just after I wrote a post yesterday praising Spring, we were graced with a snow flurry/rainstorm.  And even more naturally it had all cleared off by 5pm and I walked to my car beneath blue skies and a crisp breeze.  Living in the West subjects one to the most schizophrenic weather…

But snow flurry or no, I’m  still doing my best to force the issue of Spring.  Yesterday I wore a tangerine cardigan in defiance, and I came very close to actually working out for the first time in weeks – didn’t quite make it, but I will!  No, honestly!  Stop rolling your eyes.

In the meantime, I’m indulging my shopping bug by sticking to internet browsing and wishlisting – my birthday’s in two and a half months after all.  Especially Shabby Apple’s new line “Roamin’ Holiday.”  Shall we look at some pretty?

I wish I had (respectively) the figure and the aplomb/height to pull these beauties off!  For some reason vivid greens like the top of the Gondola dress are calling to me these days (and paired with stripes!), and everyone needs the opportunity to wear a red Gypsy-esque dress like the Rosso at least once in their lives.

I am actually longing for someone to get married, pick me to be a bridesmaid and obligingly order me to wear this cream and coco appliqued Spanish Steps dress.  And I’m belying my winter-imposed hatred of neutrals by admitting to being very fond of this cream jersey SPQR frock.

Isn’t this white Palatine Hill dress perfect for summer in the office?  Growing up I remember getting a new Easter dress and hat to wear to church every Easter Sunday, and I’m thinking about resurrecting (pun?  Or too sacrilegious?) the tradition in my old age, and this purples La Vita E’ Bella pretty might just suit the bill!

Honestly, the whole line is making me want to go on vacation.  I’m getting stir crazy in this office!  If I could, I’d snatch up that daring red Rosso frock, grab J. and gallop off to the Cinque Terre region of Italy to lay in the sun, eat good food, and go sailing to all the terra cotta colored villages tucked into the coast.

How about you, ducklings?  You suddenly inherit a small fortune with the proviso that you go on holiday at once, where do you go?