Tag: Humor

Home, Humor, Marriage October 9, 2009October 9, 2009

Putting It To Bed. Sort Of.

“Early to rise,
Early to bed,
Makes a man healthy,
But socially dead.”
-Animaniacs

J. and I make all sorts of good decisions, with fine intentions, and solemn promises to comply with our goals. None of which work when slapped with reality. Case in point? Going to bed at a reasonable hour. We can’t do it. Nevermind that I have work at 8am and if he’s a millisecond late to class his homework won’t be accepted. Somehow we scrape through everyday but it’s been by the skin of our teeth every time.

Smokes like a chimney, drinks like a fish, adulterates hourly. And yet so appealing. A conundrum.

This past sunday night I turned to him very seriously and said, “We have to start getting up earlier, ergo, going to bed earlier.”
“Ok,” he said, “nine thirty?”
“Good idea.”
I then stayed up until nearly midnight because The Great Escape was on, and who doesn’t want to watch Steve McQueen nearly jump the border into Austria (chased by the entire Nazi army who sprung from nowhere)? And last night, J. was doing evil accounting homework, so what other choice did I have but to watch episode after episode of Mad Men? None whatsoever! And I certainly couldn’t have stopped myself from going to Blockbuster and getting the next two DVDs.

The real problem isn’t going to bed…it’s getting up. When I was a student I could stay up for hours (or days if it was exam week) and I don’t think I’ve lost the ability, just the will. The weather is growing delightfully more and more chilly, it’s getting gradually darker in the mornings (which is a blessing because I can’t sleep if there’s any light at all), and I have this nice warm husband to cuddle up against. Waking up just doesn’t seem nearly as good in comparison.

Friends, Humor October 8, 2009

Mirror, Mirror…

This dialog went on regularly until once when the queen was having a bad hair day and was desperately in need of support, she asked the usual question and the mirror answered,
“Alas, if worth be based on beauty, Snow White has surpassed you, cutie.”
– Politically Correct Bedtime Stories, James Finn Garner

Like unto the wicked step-mother of yore, I too have a magic mirror. But as opposed to telling me the truth, or even just what I want to hear, this mirror actively lies to me. And it’s great!

I have a love/hate relationship with mirrors, but it’s a relatively recent thing because I was never a mirror gazer growing up. I heroically resisted lots of “girlifying” attempts on the part of well meaning friends and family, and had only the usual amount of angst about my looks. Gradually I first succumbed, then became addicted to mascara, developed a late blooming but fierce love of fashion, and realized that I was a pretty decent looking girl…

Hm...maybe the lie is actually internal after all...

Until! Kiri took me home with her for the Thanksgiving break our junior year of university! This act of kindness towards my semi-orphaned-in-a-strange-land state hid a crippling dagger which would be thrust deep by her cousin.
“I like your mirror face,” she said one day as we put on on various coats, hats, and lip gloss, preparing to head out into the cold.
“What do you mean?” I asked, pausing mid-act in swinging a scarf I’d bought in Paris around my neck. I sensed the approaching danger.
“We all do it. When you look in a mirror your face automatically shifts a bit. Because the mirror’s a two dimensional surface, it reflects your three dimensional face back a little skewed, so you don’t actually look the same in the mirror as you do in real life. We make mirror faces because we’re trying to show off our best features, it’s all psychological–”

I tuned out at that point because I was deep in the horrors. I’d just come to terms with what I saw in the mirror! My previous adolescent nonchalance had taken an abrupt nosedive when I came to university and saw the assorted Quirky Chic Girls, Effortlessly Stylish Girls, Not Exactly Stylish But Rich Enough To Fake It Girls, and other types you invariably bump into in a crowd of forty thousand people (I learned quick, but the lingering air of shame scuppered my aplomb). In a matter of moments, my recently rebuilt sense of confidence had crumbled. Parisian scarf, English hat, and new leather gloves notwithstanding, I spent the day torturing myself over my buck teeth, asymmetrical face, Hapsburg Lip, and sallow skin.

None of which I actually had, of course, but since my faith in mirrors was shattered, could I actually trust what any of them showed me?!

Years later I’ve made peace with the Mirror People (my own reflection in particular), but I’d be lying if I said my current mirror didn’t help the process a bit. By some magic trick of the light, a flaw in the glass itself, or some other miracle, anyone who looks in that shiny surface has slightly longer and thinner legs, fuller hair, and a waist that just maybe an inch or two smaller. Not huge changes, just enough to make you feel like a fox when you walk out the door.

Until you catch sight of yourself in a those sadistic fun-house jokes they stock GAP changing rooms with. Hiss….

Friends, Humor, Work October 2, 2009November 3, 2009

Here To Help

“Dispatch, from 81.”
“Go ahead, C.”
“Um…just checking to see if we were on the right channel. Er…thanks.”
WOOOOOOP!! (Police Car Siren)
“Hennessy!”
“Sorry!”
“What did you push?!”
“I don’t know!”
-C., Dispatch, and Hennessy

So, Hennessy and I got to play with the radio and sirens again today. As you can see from the above quote, it went over very well.

See, about three weeks ago, Lt. Citrus came to me and told me, “In a couple of weeks I’m going to give you an assignment to get some jackets done up for security at the games. New patches and such, I’ll let you know more about it later.”
And after that? Silence until last friday when he stomped up to my desk and barked, “Have you done anything with that project I gave you? I need those jackets done right now, what have you done?”
“You didn’t give me the go-ahead, or tell me exactly what you needed,” I said, confused.
“Yes I did!” he snapped. “This patch with this logo across the back. Fix it!”

So Hennessy and I drove to (and through!) the stadium to pick up over one hundred jackets, get them sorted out, and today had to go pick them up so they could be used in upcoming football games. With a variety of police equipment technical…incidents…along the way.

I believe the order was for...strapping? (Editor's Note: none of our officers even remotely resemble this guy)

However, we got to use the radio for some fun, which made it all better. Pulling up to the station, I called Dispatch again (in a much more composed manner).
“Dispatch from 81.”
“Go ahead.”
“We’ve got a rather large order here. Can you dispatch some strapping men to us for heavy lifting and slave labor? Over.”
Two minutes later, five or six chuckling officers put in an appearance, a couple of them flexing.

It made my day. Or it could be that I’m getting out early on a friday…yeah…that could be it too…

Fun, Humor, Work October 1, 2009October 2, 2009

Animal Control

“I want a pet!”
“We can’t have one.”
“I know, but can’t we get a fish or something?”
“No.”
“Why not?!”
“Because of the plant by the front door.”
“It was as good as dead when it came to me!”
-C. and J.

A day of freezing rain equals three days of kitties in the Police Department.

This is the season of animal escapades! The last three days in a row, some well-intentioned student has brought in a kitten to our office. And the last three days in a row, the sheer cuteness of these critters has ground the entire office to a halt. Of course…when does a series of isolated events stop being a series of isolated events and start becoming a pattern? apparently there’s a small…herd? Pod? Pride?…of feral cats on campus that all decided to spawn right before the temperature dropped forty degrees overnight. So these hapless little babies just keep turning up so we now have Animal Services on speed dial and we lose an hour’s worth of work every morning putting them in front of heaters, buying milk to feed them, and cuddling them (risking who knows how many communicable diseases).

The downside is that my puppy-lust has been enflamed and I want a pet even more now!

Never would think she was an ocelot wannabe, huh?

Granted I don’t have the best luck with plants…but I do have a history with feral cats! When we lived in the Pacific there were hordes of cats in the jungle. A particularly nasty one that haunted our street had a kitten we decided to rescue from the evil mother. It took weeks of feeding it in order to trick it inside. The minute the door closed behind her, she attacked the glass in terror and then hunkered down shivering, her tail the size of a baseball bat. Twenty minutes later, she decided she was “our housecat” and that was the end of the matter. And in a continuing Egyptian theme, we named her Nefertiti because of the heavy black marks around her eyes.

Of course, we were all mildly allergic to her (Buddy was catastrophically so) but we refused to get rid of her. And she repaid our generosity by having kittens under my bed while my parents were out of town.

: You can’t handle the cuteness!

Since scrubbing cat placenta out of my carpet isn’t an expirience I’d like to repeat, I don’t think I’ll want a cat ever again, but I do want a puppy. A border collie puppy! Want want!

Family, Fashion, Fun, Holidays, Humor September 29, 2009September 29, 2009

Costume Dramas

“Make it classy.”
“I thought we were supposed to be sexy.”
“It is possible to be both.”
-Sushi for Beginners, Marian Keyes

Trick 'r Treat Halloween was easily my favorite holiday growing up. I have fond memories of strategically mapping out my plan of attack in neighborhoods in the search for candy, staggering home under the weight of a bulging pillowcase, and spending days or even weeks on my costumes. For a chunk of my childhood we lived in Germany so we had Fasching instead of Halloween (German version of Carnivale), but since the concept of costume + candy + pranking remained the same, there wasn’t too much of a difference to me.

See back in my day, darlings, we made our costumes. Sure some kids were starting to run around in polyester store-bought Power Rangers outfits, but I always regarded them as sad, unimaginative creatures more to be pitied than envied. Even the year I went as a ghost, I took the time to shred my own sheets and drape them hauntingly about my white and black smudged face. My mother would take me to fabric stores to wrinkle my six year old forehead over the merits of historically correct Indian vs. Polar Bear, rifle with me through the chest that held my hats, boots, and scarves that I used for dress up, and applaude my ideas enthusiastically.

That's right. This guy. Hung out with dead people. — That's right. This guy. Bit of a creeper. Hung out with dead people.

The crowning achievement of my dorkiness trick-or-treating career was the year I announced impressively that I wanted to go as…wait for it…Anubis.

That’s right. Egyptian god of the dead. I think I was seven or eight at the time. As an adult I can now only begin to fathom what thoughts might have scrambled through my impressed/perplexed/weirded out parents’ minds as they heard this plan, but they rallied with admirable self control. My dad helped me fashion a jackal head out of a baseball cap for the base, wound about with wire to form the long snout, face, ears, and Egyptian headpiece, and then mummified (pun!) in paper mache. This whole contraption was then painted with black, gold, and glaring white eyes. A baby towel wrapped around my waist, a white tee-shirt, and a cardboard collar painted gold with blobs of color for the gems completed the look.

No one I begged candy off of had a clue who I was. It was also sweltering hot so by the time I made it home, black streaks of sweat and paint had slithered down my face, but I had the most absolutely amazing costume ever!

My childhood memories have been trashy-ed past recognition. (Editor's Note: these are TAME).

And nowadays what am I left with? The only Halloween costumes available to me (since I can’t sew) are cheap, mass produced trashy stuff usually involving thigh-highs and not much else. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate a touch of tart as much as the next girl, but I also firmly adhere to the “time and place” mentality. I also believe absolutely that sexy and slutty are not the same things at all. For example, one year one of my flatmates went as a Victoria Secret Angel: bras, panties, wings. Fin. Kiri and I were saloon girls, complete with fishnets and garters, but we took the time to make sure that the OK stayed corralled!

Trick-or-treating seems to be on the decline, too many weirdos out there I suppose, but I’m still debating how to get in on the holiday this year. Perhaps a party with fabulous friends? Or be boring and just watch Hitchcock movies? I’ve never been to a haunted castle/cornmaze/whatever which seem to be all the rage in these parts, so I’m going to try to trick (or treat) J. into taking me to one. Small Dog has no comment on the possibility of thigh highs.

EDITOR’S ADDITION: COURTESY OF DAD

A bit Wylie E. Cayote, but I nevertheless feel as if you, the reader, should be impressed at my creativity! — A bit Wylie E. Coyote, but I nevertheless feel as if you, the reader, should be impressed at my creativity! C. Small Dog, Genius.

Friends, Humor, Shopping, Working Out September 28, 2009September 28, 2009

The Quickest Weight Loss Trick Ever

“Come on, you heifer! What does not kill us makes us hotter!”
-Legally Blonde, The Musical

3316_picture_of_a_wornout_woman_on_a_treadmill After two months out of commission, I am back at the gym with Venice. And I mean it this time. Why? Because Ven has imposed the mother of all weight loss incentives: no shopping until we hit our target weights.

This means no new cardies, boots, hats, tights, trousers, jackets, NOTHING. And Fall is upon us, THE season for the best and cutest of clothes. You want to see a pair of wannabe recessionistas whip it into shape? Dangle their credit cards in front of them while they huff and puff on a treadmill.

Humor, Stupid People, Work September 24, 2009November 4, 2009

Typical Thursday, Part II

(Transcript of actual conversation that took place over the phone, ten minutes after we were done with Angry Law Student)

Caller: Hi this is ______, and I have a question for you.
C: How can I help you?
Caller: I’m wondering what it would take to get a parking permit for a horse on campus.
C: …I’m going to need a bit of background info on that question, sir…
Caller: Well, we’re trying to recruit this guy for the swim team and he loves his horses. So I jokingly told him we could get him a parking permit so he could ride his horse to school, and he really seemed interested. So, can I get him a permit or what do I need to do?
C: …Sir, you can’t park a horse anywhere. It’s a living animal.
Caller: Can’t he just tie to a bikerack or something? All we need is the permit.
C: Sir, I can’t issue you a motor vehicle permit for a horse!
Caller: Oh really! I want you to check with your supervisor, right now!
C: Yes, sir.

(Puts caller on hold and calls Lt. Figaro. Meanwhile Hennessy and Officer Lampost are cracking up just hearing my end of the conversation)

C: Figaro, I have a gentleman on the phone who would like to park a horse on campus.
Figaro: I beg your pardon?
C: Just what I said. Please tell me the answer is no, so I can relay the message.
Figaro: Of course it’s no! We don’t have the place for it…who would clean up after it!
C: I’m glad that’s our priority here, but I’ll let him know.

"The 'neighs' have it?" Oh come now, C, you're not going to pull that pun, are you?

C: Sir, I spoke with the lieutenant, and the answer is most definitely no.
Caller: But why not?!
C: Because we don’t have an equestrian program here, which means we don’t have the facilities, equipment, tack, food, or pasturing for it.
Caller: Not even to a bikerack?
C: Tying it to a bikerack for hours at a time in the desert summer or the winter blizzards is not an option, sir.
Caller: But I’ve seen horses on campus before!
C: We bring a single pony onto campus one day a year for a demonstration in equine therapy for the physical therapy students, and you may have seen police on horseback for holiday parades or football games, but that isn’t with our department. We don’t have an equestrian police force.
Caller: So what am I supposed to tell our recruit?
C: I have no idea, sir.
Caller: No horse?
C: Absolutely no horse, sir.
Caller: Humph! Well thanks for nothing.

*click*

Drama, Humor, School, Stupid People, University, Work September 24, 2009November 3, 2009

Typical Thursday, Part I

“Angry people are not always wise.”
-Jane Austen

A law student came into the office today, demanding more parking for graduate students. With the new parking system, still not completely patched and just limping along, lots of students have been taking advantage of the absence of usual oversight by parking wherever they want: handicapped stalls, dean and administrator lots, etc. Which means that when (and if) this new system starts functioning properly, a whole lot of people are in for a nasty surprise. I forsee the university setting up a new scholarship fund out of the proceeds, but I digress.

We apologized for the inconvenience and said it should be corrected in a month, but that did no good. As Lt. Figaro explained the policy regarding each of her complaints, she kept changing her argument and problem until she was eventually asking for us to build new parking, or take parking away from other people to give to graduate students.
“We already have about one parking space per three grad students and special lots for you,” Figaro said, wearily, “as opposed to one in five for the rest of our students.”
“But we need more!”

“Ma’am,” I said, “we have thousands of students currently attending, plus several thousand more faculty, staff, administrative, service personnel, and contractors who come to this school everyday. Plus there is another university in the next city over. This area was never meant to accomodate nearly XXX thousand extra people, city planning hasn’t kept up with it in the past two generations. You’re asking us for space that we cannot give you, because it literally does not exist.”
“But I spent forty-five minutes circling that parking lot to find a space yesterday!”
“Well,” offered Figaro, “did you try parking at the basketball arena or football stadium and walking?”
She gasped in outrage, “All that way?!”

Family, Home, Humor, Life, Marriage September 23, 2009September 24, 2009

Married Alive

“So, you liking married life?”
“No.”
(awkward pause)
“Wait! I mean, I love being married to J. but being married itself is hard!”
“K…”
-Daae and C., who was not paying proper attention to the question

If we're being honest, though, let's admit that as long as we're not at this point, we're doing rather well!

Now, my other young married girl friends, back me up (especially us breadwinners Angel, Jane, Venice, Daae, and the rest of you!), it was a bit of an adjustment when someone took Beyonce’s advice and put a ring on it, wasn’t it? There are dozens of variations on this theme, but they all involve trading total independence for total inter-dependence and that, my dears, is no easy feat!

See, everyone tells you that being married is work and tries to warn you, but nothing prepares you for the reality of factoring in another human being into every decision you make. And nothing can even hope to brace you for the blow that comes from being utterly independent (parents in another country, never asking for money, graduating, travelling, etc., all on one’s own), and then being the sole supporter of a newly minted family!

No more sharing bills with flatmates, extra money now goes towards feedings this guy (who eats approximately 56 times as much as you do, rough estimate), and say goodbye to nearly all your free time! Lunch breaks for me ever since we got married have been spent running errands, getting my name changed on everything imaginable, and putting him on my various policies. Evenings are spent shuttling us around to our various commitments, and I’m the only chauffeur as J.’s ability to drive a manual aren’t up to par. On top of which, the flat, cable, electricity, gas, car, insurance, and only full-time job we’ve got is all on my head. And laundry, because J. hates it (which is ok, because I flat out refuse to touch dirty dishes).

Much to my chagrin, this look usually makes J. laugh. Which is odd, because I've found to be very effective in other aspects of my life...but my husband think's it's hilarious. — Much to Small Dog's chagrin, this look usually makes J. laugh. Which is odd, because I've found to be very effective in other aspects of my life...but my husband think's it's hilarious.

Occasionally I get stressed out/mildly resentful of all this change slapped on at once. Busiest time of year at work, J. starting his program (which is one of the top ranked in the country) and therefore falling off the planet, and adjusting to living with a new spouse, with all the curious incidents that entails.

But I am fortunately/unfortunately married to a person who absolutely understands the way my busy little mind works. So when the stress gets to be too much, J. cracks a joke or makes a rather ill-timed comment, and I turn freezingly silent for hours/days while I try to reign in my temper…as soon as I emerge from my little nuclear winters, J. can say, “I understand,” and I know he means it.

Fashion, Humor, Short September 18, 2009September 19, 2009

OK, Fashion/Self Esteem/Weight Control Gods, I Hear You Already!

“A moment on the lips, a lifetime on the hips. I think I’m feeling a little fullness!”
-Absolutely Fabulous

Nothing reminds you that you haven’t been to a gym in nearly three months like going to a seamstress to get the new trousers you bought mere weeks ago tailored to meet your exacting petite standards…only to find that you maybe aren’t as petite as could be desired, girth-wise.

“What do you need?” she growled.
I put on a bright smile and help up three pairs of trousers. “Just some hemming.” The glare intensified so I actually stuttered, “Unless you’re booked, I could try someplace else-”
“When you need by?” came the rumbling demand.
“Oh, whenever you get done with them,” I said meekly while my alter ego Small Dog looked down from on high and howled in embarrassment for my lack of spine.
“Not ’til mid October!” she snarled.
“Ok,” I smiled, heart wilting at the thought of my lunch break wasted, and turned towards the door when she waved a hand towards the changing room.
“No! In there! Put them on!”
I was going to say that I had already measured and knew that I just needed two inches off…but I thought better of it and obediently trudged into the room to strip.

It was then that I noticed that the trousers seemed a bit tight, but ever the (cautious) optimist, I chalked it up to bad lighting. Then I fastened the first pair around myself, looked at my reflection, and blanched.

Now, to explain. I’m short (duh!) but I also have no waist. Well I do, but there’s only an inch and a half between my ribs and my pelvis, as if someone took me by the feet and head and scrunched. Therefore I’ve got the same organs, skin, and…er…other bits that normal women have but all compressed and with no where exactly to go but…out. Diet and exercise keeps everything in place, but as I said before I haven’t been a gym bunny for some months now.

And friends, out everything has come.

Having tumbled down a well of despair (actually, having formulated a ruthless plan of attack incorporating carrot sticks and dragging a hapless Venice along to the gym with me as a workout buddy) I stepped back out to face the dragonish woman crouched menacingly on her stool by the unforgiving three-way mirror.

“Where are you from?” she growled, trying to make small talk while she thumped around her shop for measuring tape and pins.
“Here for the last few years. My family is in England.”
The dour look started to slide off her face as she happily declared she was from Ukraine. I gulped and nodded as she whipped the tape around me in twenty directions. But the day was saved when she measured me head to toe.
“Just under five feet! You are same height as my daughters!”

From then on we were pals.

Now to reacquaint myself with the gym, because I don’t think I can go through this ordeal again to have anything taken out!

Small Dog Syndrome