Monday, January 23, 2006
Kicking and Screaming
My necklace broke today. It isn't anything fancy--only some beads on a string--but it kind of "finishes me". I think I bought it at American Eagle Outfitters for ten dollars more than six months ago, so I can easily replace it, but I was just at the mall, so we'll have to wait.
I didn't notice it right away, until mid-sentence with a superior, I feel this tickling sensation go down my chest and then land in the pit of my stomach. I was noticeably taken aback, as I didn't really know what to do. I finished my conversation and then dug through my shirt to get the remaining stray beads. That was 9:30 AM.
At three, after having assumed that all beads have been removed from the tucked-in part of my shirt, I walk across the office. during my trek, I proceed to lose twenty more beads sporadically. I lose ten near the elevator bank and take a tumble when I then slip on them. How ungodly embarrassing.
AE: get better string.
I didn't notice it right away, until mid-sentence with a superior, I feel this tickling sensation go down my chest and then land in the pit of my stomach. I was noticeably taken aback, as I didn't really know what to do. I finished my conversation and then dug through my shirt to get the remaining stray beads. That was 9:30 AM.
At three, after having assumed that all beads have been removed from the tucked-in part of my shirt, I walk across the office. during my trek, I proceed to lose twenty more beads sporadically. I lose ten near the elevator bank and take a tumble when I then slip on them. How ungodly embarrassing.
AE: get better string.
Just an update
I tried unsuccessfully today to score a snapshot of the woman from a previous post with crazy hair. I had my camera phone on me this time, but the only good shot I could get was at close range in the elevator. I had a decent one that I planned to use, but when the guy behind me saw what I was doing, I got spooked and closed the phone before I saved the picture. I'll try harder next time. Seeing as how it has been two weeks, I think I have some time to follow the coiffe.
Friday, January 20, 2006
Ugly Babies II
I said it first. But here are some others' ideas of Brangelina Jolitt's baby. While some are quite offensive, some are quite accurrate. Click on the picture to see the original post. Have your own? Submit a comment.
Letter to a Dead Guy
Dear Dave Thomas:
You took a small sandwich stand named after your adopted daughter (the one with the bright red pigtails) and created a meat monopoly most famous for answering the question of "Where's the Beef?"
You won me over with your square-cut burgers and fantastic fries. You were one of the first to offer sides other than fries (though I do find those scrumptious), your crispy chicken is some of the crispiest around. Your $.99 nuggets--when paired with delicious fries--are a snacker's dream, and the Frosty--well, its of its own class (and species); French fries dipped in frosty goo are actually considered a delicacy by some. Did I mention that I love your French fries?
I realize you may be six feet under, or perhaps your ashes are scattered across a cattle farm somewhere, but that's irrelevant. In your hauntings, can you find it in your heart to visit the Philadelphia Center City Wendy's and smack them all around please?
If I'm the only one upset that my fries are slightly undercooked, perhaps I'm too picky. When two unrelated people complain, it is an oddity. When four complain, perhaps you should check something out. When an entire restaurant of fast food faithfuls realizes that potatoes are much better when cooked, you have a problem. So why do your minimum wagers now feel that it is ok to tell everyone who is complaining that there's nothing they can do about it?
Absurdity. You haven't lost me as a customer yet, but too many fry flubs, and I'm gone. I'll just take a frosty instead.
Yours truly,
Not-Fat-Yet-Jay
You took a small sandwich stand named after your adopted daughter (the one with the bright red pigtails) and created a meat monopoly most famous for answering the question of "Where's the Beef?"
You won me over with your square-cut burgers and fantastic fries. You were one of the first to offer sides other than fries (though I do find those scrumptious), your crispy chicken is some of the crispiest around. Your $.99 nuggets--when paired with delicious fries--are a snacker's dream, and the Frosty--well, its of its own class (and species); French fries dipped in frosty goo are actually considered a delicacy by some. Did I mention that I love your French fries?
I realize you may be six feet under, or perhaps your ashes are scattered across a cattle farm somewhere, but that's irrelevant. In your hauntings, can you find it in your heart to visit the Philadelphia Center City Wendy's and smack them all around please?
If I'm the only one upset that my fries are slightly undercooked, perhaps I'm too picky. When two unrelated people complain, it is an oddity. When four complain, perhaps you should check something out. When an entire restaurant of fast food faithfuls realizes that potatoes are much better when cooked, you have a problem. So why do your minimum wagers now feel that it is ok to tell everyone who is complaining that there's nothing they can do about it?
Absurdity. You haven't lost me as a customer yet, but too many fry flubs, and I'm gone. I'll just take a frosty instead.
Yours truly,
Not-Fat-Yet-Jay
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
Walk on By
I remember in High School, if the cool guy nodded his head at you when you were walking past, it meant you were all right. It was so exciting; aside from a non-verbal "what's up", it was an "I'm in a good mood, you won't get beat up today", or even "ya, you're cool, just don't tell anyone I said that". It was your very own status symbol, and it was great!
Now fast forward ten years (almost) to the working world. School popularity contests have transformed into much uglier and less superficial office politics. There are many of us who really don't subscribe to these, myself included.
That being said, why do I feel weird when either I walk past someone and don't get a nod or acknowledgement, or I walk past someone and don't give them a nod or acknowledgement?
I was on my way to accounting. Chris was on his was way from accounting. As we passed, he made eye contact and I looked down at my paper. I like Chris. I have to; I work 20 feet away from him. We interact all of the time. I don't really have anything more to say to him as I walk by, and I can't really even pull off the "what's up" nod either; I've seen him seven times this hour.
So why do I feel like a big idiot for not saying anything? What does one say? If I haven't seen you, I'll see how you are or I'll ask a superficial question.
Since this morning, the same thing happened three more times with three other people. Two just ignored me, and I again ignored someone else I just finished speaking with. What thought now comes to their mind? Do we revert back to high school mentality? Is Heather going to think I don't like her?
Actually Heather, I just want to beat you up.
Now fast forward ten years (almost) to the working world. School popularity contests have transformed into much uglier and less superficial office politics. There are many of us who really don't subscribe to these, myself included.
That being said, why do I feel weird when either I walk past someone and don't get a nod or acknowledgement, or I walk past someone and don't give them a nod or acknowledgement?
I was on my way to accounting. Chris was on his was way from accounting. As we passed, he made eye contact and I looked down at my paper. I like Chris. I have to; I work 20 feet away from him. We interact all of the time. I don't really have anything more to say to him as I walk by, and I can't really even pull off the "what's up" nod either; I've seen him seven times this hour.
So why do I feel like a big idiot for not saying anything? What does one say? If I haven't seen you, I'll see how you are or I'll ask a superficial question.
Since this morning, the same thing happened three more times with three other people. Two just ignored me, and I again ignored someone else I just finished speaking with. What thought now comes to their mind? Do we revert back to high school mentality? Is Heather going to think I don't like her?
Actually Heather, I just want to beat you up.
Don't touch it
People can be so mean sometimes.
I was out on Monday night with my best friend. We had a fantastic time and actually stayed out later than I wanted, as 2:30-6:00 does not a good night's sleep make.
I was dropped off and a few minutes later was disturbed from my soon-to-be slumber by finding out that there were a series of vehicle break-ins in my parking lot.
I don't live in a bad area. I don't live on Wysteria Lane though either. The main problem is that our parking lot has three entrances, all of which are fairly well removed from the actual lot and the surrounding roads. So on Monday night, some fiend decided to go shopping at Jay's.
The police report said three that night; the first in a while. A Hyundai near Matt's Jeep and someone else I haven't yet seen. A swift elbow to that back small window between the C Pillar and the roll-down-able window. The victim (in Matt's case)? A Motorola Cell Phone and an empty Kenneth Cole watch box.
Granted, people shouldn't leave these things out in the open, but even more wrong is that people thing they're entitled to steal. I know that sounds ridiculous; people will always steal. But why do they do it? It can't possibly be for money. Cingular doesn't make the phone anymore, meaning you might fetch $50 for it. In addition, no one is anal retentive enough to put a watch back into its original box after every use. Congratulations! You now own two spare links made of nickel and finished with silver. Total value? Probably about $4.50, and that's an optimistic guess.
So now Mr. and/or Ms. Crook, someone else has to pay for your stupidity and greed. You might have broken into three cars on Monday and scored riches valued in the tens of dollars. But now these people have to replace their items for tens of dollars and--worse yet--windows for hundreds.
Simple rule of thumb, if you didn't buy it, don't touch it. If you're reading this, it means you have access to a computer and the intelligence to look up blogger. It also means you have the means to do something better with your life than steal. If you ever come back again, beware. If you break my window and I see you, I'm totally breaking your face.
I was out on Monday night with my best friend. We had a fantastic time and actually stayed out later than I wanted, as 2:30-6:00 does not a good night's sleep make.
I was dropped off and a few minutes later was disturbed from my soon-to-be slumber by finding out that there were a series of vehicle break-ins in my parking lot.
I don't live in a bad area. I don't live on Wysteria Lane though either. The main problem is that our parking lot has three entrances, all of which are fairly well removed from the actual lot and the surrounding roads. So on Monday night, some fiend decided to go shopping at Jay's.
The police report said three that night; the first in a while. A Hyundai near Matt's Jeep and someone else I haven't yet seen. A swift elbow to that back small window between the C Pillar and the roll-down-able window. The victim (in Matt's case)? A Motorola Cell Phone and an empty Kenneth Cole watch box.
Granted, people shouldn't leave these things out in the open, but even more wrong is that people thing they're entitled to steal. I know that sounds ridiculous; people will always steal. But why do they do it? It can't possibly be for money. Cingular doesn't make the phone anymore, meaning you might fetch $50 for it. In addition, no one is anal retentive enough to put a watch back into its original box after every use. Congratulations! You now own two spare links made of nickel and finished with silver. Total value? Probably about $4.50, and that's an optimistic guess.
So now Mr. and/or Ms. Crook, someone else has to pay for your stupidity and greed. You might have broken into three cars on Monday and scored riches valued in the tens of dollars. But now these people have to replace their items for tens of dollars and--worse yet--windows for hundreds.
Simple rule of thumb, if you didn't buy it, don't touch it. If you're reading this, it means you have access to a computer and the intelligence to look up blogger. It also means you have the means to do something better with your life than steal. If you ever come back again, beware. If you break my window and I see you, I'm totally breaking your face.
Friday, January 13, 2006
Tardiness
I'm never late. Except for the fun stuff, and then I'm habitually late. It is starting to bug me.
I don't care about my job; it pays the bills. I don't care about my volunteer pursuits; they're just that. I don't care about a lot of things, yet I don't dare be late.
Why is it though, that the things I care about most, family and friend social events, I can never show up on time for? There is something to be said for being fashionably late, but there is also something to be said for dependability. I have the best of intentions, but when I get ready to leave, the OCD kicks in and suddenly I must wash my hands seven times, go to the bathroom twice, scrub the toilets, and wash my hands eight more times. Honestly, what happens if I don't? Not too much. My hands won't be less clean if I wash only once, and my toilets will be OK for one more day. I will need to pee and poop, but why make them such a big production? Skip the magazine if you're in a hurry.
This posting isn't very funny, but it's bugging me, so now that I've gotten that off of my chest, read everything else. They are much funnier.
I don't care about my job; it pays the bills. I don't care about my volunteer pursuits; they're just that. I don't care about a lot of things, yet I don't dare be late.
Why is it though, that the things I care about most, family and friend social events, I can never show up on time for? There is something to be said for being fashionably late, but there is also something to be said for dependability. I have the best of intentions, but when I get ready to leave, the OCD kicks in and suddenly I must wash my hands seven times, go to the bathroom twice, scrub the toilets, and wash my hands eight more times. Honestly, what happens if I don't? Not too much. My hands won't be less clean if I wash only once, and my toilets will be OK for one more day. I will need to pee and poop, but why make them such a big production? Skip the magazine if you're in a hurry.
This posting isn't very funny, but it's bugging me, so now that I've gotten that off of my chest, read everything else. They are much funnier.
Sextrology
I went to Barnes & Noble last night. It never ceases to amaze me just how many books are introduced between my visits. In my aimless aisle wanderings, I found a book about astrology and how it relates to sex and relationships.
Big deal. Astrology books are a dime a dozen, right? They are always fun. I usually read them and get a cute chortle and quickly move on. I've never been big on following that stuff. But this one, THIS ONE is quite different. I'm a Taurus and I fit the mold about 65% of the time. This book nailed me. It knew my aspirations, my goals, my sexual preferences, my turn-ons, and even got part of my physical description right. My fellow Barnes & Noble-goer, a Gemini, was intently reading his copy of the same book next to me. He then shut the book and just said "I hate this book! It knows me too well". He put it down, promising never to look at it again. The rest of the evening, we would jab at each other making quips about how much one was like their description, getting more and more frustrated at the fact that a book knows you as well as they do.
Why do we get caught up in this stuff? Is there really scientific evidence to back it up? Or has Dionne Warwick really just infiltrated our lives through infomercials long enough that we have adapted to our prescribed traits? I have no clue, but you know I'm totally going to read my horoscope every day now to see what lies in store for me. I'm such a sucker.
Incidentally, today's horoscope is:
It's time to downshift. Slow your pace of life and languidly savor each delicious moment. It's time to reacquaint yourself with some luxuries and indulge in some favorite earthy treats you've ignored until now.
Savor each delicious moment, eh? The freaky thing is that this morning's Nature Valley Granola bar, which usually comes in packs of two, was stacked with three bars, allowing me to savor each delicious moment just a little bit longer. Interesting.
Big deal. Astrology books are a dime a dozen, right? They are always fun. I usually read them and get a cute chortle and quickly move on. I've never been big on following that stuff. But this one, THIS ONE is quite different. I'm a Taurus and I fit the mold about 65% of the time. This book nailed me. It knew my aspirations, my goals, my sexual preferences, my turn-ons, and even got part of my physical description right. My fellow Barnes & Noble-goer, a Gemini, was intently reading his copy of the same book next to me. He then shut the book and just said "I hate this book! It knows me too well". He put it down, promising never to look at it again. The rest of the evening, we would jab at each other making quips about how much one was like their description, getting more and more frustrated at the fact that a book knows you as well as they do.
Why do we get caught up in this stuff? Is there really scientific evidence to back it up? Or has Dionne Warwick really just infiltrated our lives through infomercials long enough that we have adapted to our prescribed traits? I have no clue, but you know I'm totally going to read my horoscope every day now to see what lies in store for me. I'm such a sucker.
Incidentally, today's horoscope is:
It's time to downshift. Slow your pace of life and languidly savor each delicious moment. It's time to reacquaint yourself with some luxuries and indulge in some favorite earthy treats you've ignored until now.
Savor each delicious moment, eh? The freaky thing is that this morning's Nature Valley Granola bar, which usually comes in packs of two, was stacked with three bars, allowing me to savor each delicious moment just a little bit longer. Interesting.
Thursday, January 12, 2006
Ugly Babies?
By now, the news has broke that Brangelina is with child. I for one couldn't be more sad for Jennifer Aniston, who now has to see them all over the tabloid covers yet again. Yet she really hasn't even had that much healing time since their actual divorce.
As sad as I am for her, I can't help but think that baby making between Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie must have been hot as hell though. Which leads me to today's question. Will this child grow up to be the most incredible looking human ever, or will he / she /they (too early to tell) suffer from good looking gene overload?
Lets examine this. Angelina is the voluptuous offspring of Jon Voigt. Aside from similar facial features from which she is far more beneficial, everywhere else she is vastly different and highly superior. I've never seen Brad's parents, but considering that he is first generation Hollywood, I'd venture they are nothing to write home about. They are probably two average people who just happened to produce a miracle in the gene pool.
What will happen with the Jolie-Pitt kid? I have seen very good looking children spawn from very ugly parents. Even more often however, I have seen the converse. Will Angelina's lip chromosomes win out over his? Will Brad's body type look good as a woman, and vice versa? Will the sexy eye genes duke it out only to make peace in the form of a plain-jane round and brown product? What if all of the major features (lips, cheek bones, and eyes) choose the larger and more recognizable gene? Will that child be freakish? Does he / she even have a chance, if perhaps all of the good genes are recessive?
These are questions with answers that cannot be answered for more than 15 years. I can't wait!
God, I'm so excited about someone else's celebrity baby. Why do I care? I need another hobby!
As sad as I am for her, I can't help but think that baby making between Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie must have been hot as hell though. Which leads me to today's question. Will this child grow up to be the most incredible looking human ever, or will he / she /they (too early to tell) suffer from good looking gene overload?
Lets examine this. Angelina is the voluptuous offspring of Jon Voigt. Aside from similar facial features from which she is far more beneficial, everywhere else she is vastly different and highly superior. I've never seen Brad's parents, but considering that he is first generation Hollywood, I'd venture they are nothing to write home about. They are probably two average people who just happened to produce a miracle in the gene pool.
What will happen with the Jolie-Pitt kid? I have seen very good looking children spawn from very ugly parents. Even more often however, I have seen the converse. Will Angelina's lip chromosomes win out over his? Will Brad's body type look good as a woman, and vice versa? Will the sexy eye genes duke it out only to make peace in the form of a plain-jane round and brown product? What if all of the major features (lips, cheek bones, and eyes) choose the larger and more recognizable gene? Will that child be freakish? Does he / she even have a chance, if perhaps all of the good genes are recessive?
These are questions with answers that cannot be answered for more than 15 years. I can't wait!
God, I'm so excited about someone else's celebrity baby. Why do I care? I need another hobby!
Wednesday, January 11, 2006
Working Wounded
I have sent comments about the office before. In my company, I'm privy to some really outrageous things. Nothing is very provocative, but everything is really silly. For example, we are given explicit instructions on fire safety, witnessed great works of art, learned about the newest office technologies, tried to understand the intricacies of male urinary methodology, listened to obscene voicemails, and participated in juvinile name calling. But this e-mail conversation is perhaps the best ever. Keep in mind that I am from Pennsylvania-where we are headquartered-and C-I'll conceal her name-is from a California-based field office.
C: Hi Jason: One of the ladies here would like plain white cardstock in the following sizes:
8-1/2" x 11" and 11" x 17". Can you help her?
Me: I'll pass this order along to the supply guy, though it may be most efficient to pick some up at the local office supply store.
Supply Guy: We can order the cardstock, but Jason is right, it would be cheaper to get it from Staples, etc. That's where we get it. We'll gladly ship it twice for your laziness. Let me know.
Need I say more? Now THAT's an easy button. I totally deserve a raise.
C: Hi Jason: One of the ladies here would like plain white cardstock in the following sizes:
8-1/2" x 11" and 11" x 17". Can you help her?
Me: I'll pass this order along to the supply guy, though it may be most efficient to pick some up at the local office supply store.
Supply Guy: We can order the cardstock, but Jason is right, it would be cheaper to get it from Staples, etc. That's where we get it. We'll gladly ship it twice for your laziness. Let me know.
Need I say more? Now THAT's an easy button. I totally deserve a raise.
Ima check up on it
Dear crazy contact from long ago:
"You need to stop playing round with all them clowns and the wangstas."
Seriously. I don't know you anymore. You could be a clown or--worse yet--a wangsta (I hear they're thugtastic). We went to school 4 years ago. We were in a college club. We butted heads often, and it usually ended with you in your provocation-while-confrontation-evasion technique of storming off in a huff and then sending a lengthy and overly heart-felt apology e-mail.
Ok so why do you think I'd make a great professional reference? Tell me this again?
Sincerely,
Jaded Jay
What is this about? Well, I have a contact (we won't use the term friend) from college that has recently entered the job market. I received a 'hello' e-mail about two months ago under the guise of sending my a holiday card; he needed my address and contact information. Sweet gesture, but not necessary. I came to realize this week that I never received said card.
And why not? Fast forward to last week. I received a call from someone stating that he cited me as a reference. Could I speak on his behalf?
WTF? I didn't know I agreed to do that! Oh wait, I didn't actually.
Aside from being caught off guard, I had no idea how to respond. I haven't talked to the kid in 3.5 years. Other than knowing what you look like, I really don't remember much about you, and you want me to help you score a job? OH HELLLLL NO!
I'm not a bad person, I just don't want to do something that isn't smart. To associate myself with a loose cannon that didn't have the balls to ask my permission to flash my good name all over creation is really not cool. Furthermore, when I insist that I have nothing good or bad to say about a nearly perfect stranger, why do you continue to list me, only leading to frustration not just on my end, but on that of the potential employer's too.
Jesus, think man!
Side note - The Beyonce Lyric really had nothing to do with this other than a vague association with reference checking. But I primarily wanted correct any wrongs about the line Matt commonly misinterprets about pussy popping, though it would be fun. The correct line is actually "Dip it, pop it, work it, stop it." We should know better; Beyonce is too clean and wholesome to talk about pussy popping. Just ask Jay-Z. I'm sure he's right there with her. MMMM HMMMM.
"You need to stop playing round with all them clowns and the wangstas."
Seriously. I don't know you anymore. You could be a clown or--worse yet--a wangsta (I hear they're thugtastic). We went to school 4 years ago. We were in a college club. We butted heads often, and it usually ended with you in your provocation-while-confrontation-evasion technique of storming off in a huff and then sending a lengthy and overly heart-felt apology e-mail.
Ok so why do you think I'd make a great professional reference? Tell me this again?
Sincerely,
Jaded Jay
What is this about? Well, I have a contact (we won't use the term friend) from college that has recently entered the job market. I received a 'hello' e-mail about two months ago under the guise of sending my a holiday card; he needed my address and contact information. Sweet gesture, but not necessary. I came to realize this week that I never received said card.
And why not? Fast forward to last week. I received a call from someone stating that he cited me as a reference. Could I speak on his behalf?
WTF? I didn't know I agreed to do that! Oh wait, I didn't actually.
Aside from being caught off guard, I had no idea how to respond. I haven't talked to the kid in 3.5 years. Other than knowing what you look like, I really don't remember much about you, and you want me to help you score a job? OH HELLLLL NO!
I'm not a bad person, I just don't want to do something that isn't smart. To associate myself with a loose cannon that didn't have the balls to ask my permission to flash my good name all over creation is really not cool. Furthermore, when I insist that I have nothing good or bad to say about a nearly perfect stranger, why do you continue to list me, only leading to frustration not just on my end, but on that of the potential employer's too.
Jesus, think man!
Side note - The Beyonce Lyric really had nothing to do with this other than a vague association with reference checking. But I primarily wanted correct any wrongs about the line Matt commonly misinterprets about pussy popping, though it would be fun. The correct line is actually "Dip it, pop it, work it, stop it." We should know better; Beyonce is too clean and wholesome to talk about pussy popping. Just ask Jay-Z. I'm sure he's right there with her. MMMM HMMMM.
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
Don't stick things where they don't belong
Usually I write posts about insane things that others do. Today however, it is my turn to be the idiot.
I went to my favorite Chinese Take-out place for lunch today. Nothing goes better with my Chicken & Broccoli over White Rice and Egg Roll (No Duck Sauce) than an ice cold Coca-Cola. But this is a swanky Chinese Place (yes, seriously) and they don't have soda, just Snapple. So I typically wait until I pass the vending machine in my office hallway and get my delicious nectar there.
When you have been working at a place for a while, you learn all kinds of weird things. My useless trivia is the answer to "how exactly does the change sound when it descends through the bowels of the vending machine?" Answer: "Doink, dink, plink, plink, thud, pink, and (if empty) bllllllllll.
Today, all I got was "Doink, dink, plllllt". My quarter got stuck. So how do you get it out? I throw a nickel in there after it. Well, now I'm down 30 cents and my food will start getting cold and doing that nasty Chinese congeal soon. So I don't have time to run back to my desk and then back again. So how do you retrieve 30 cents from a broken vending machine? You stick a key in there.
"Crunch! Doink, dink, plink, plink, thud, pink, bllllllllll."
Well, it worked! I enjoyed a delicious soda with an only slightly congealed special sauce. But now I am locked out of the supply closet until I can get a replacement key made. I didn't lose the key; I kind of broke the key.
While it reminds me of the woman that ate the spider that wriggled, jiggled, and wiggled inside of her, I'm more reminded of Nick from 8th grade who thought it was cool to stick a lead pencil into the electric outlet during Mr. Seckar's math class. Who would have thought one kid's hair could stand up on end like that, not to mention the following power surge throughout the entire Jr. High wing.
Mom always said not to stick things where they don't belong. Perhaps , at 26, I should start to listen.
I went to my favorite Chinese Take-out place for lunch today. Nothing goes better with my Chicken & Broccoli over White Rice and Egg Roll (No Duck Sauce) than an ice cold Coca-Cola. But this is a swanky Chinese Place (yes, seriously) and they don't have soda, just Snapple. So I typically wait until I pass the vending machine in my office hallway and get my delicious nectar there.
When you have been working at a place for a while, you learn all kinds of weird things. My useless trivia is the answer to "how exactly does the change sound when it descends through the bowels of the vending machine?" Answer: "Doink, dink, plink, plink, thud, pink, and (if empty) bllllllllll.
Today, all I got was "Doink, dink, plllllt". My quarter got stuck. So how do you get it out? I throw a nickel in there after it. Well, now I'm down 30 cents and my food will start getting cold and doing that nasty Chinese congeal soon. So I don't have time to run back to my desk and then back again. So how do you retrieve 30 cents from a broken vending machine? You stick a key in there.
"Crunch! Doink, dink, plink, plink, thud, pink, bllllllllll."
Well, it worked! I enjoyed a delicious soda with an only slightly congealed special sauce. But now I am locked out of the supply closet until I can get a replacement key made. I didn't lose the key; I kind of broke the key.
While it reminds me of the woman that ate the spider that wriggled, jiggled, and wiggled inside of her, I'm more reminded of Nick from 8th grade who thought it was cool to stick a lead pencil into the electric outlet during Mr. Seckar's math class. Who would have thought one kid's hair could stand up on end like that, not to mention the following power surge throughout the entire Jr. High wing.
Mom always said not to stick things where they don't belong. Perhaps , at 26, I should start to listen.
Thursday, January 05, 2006
Napoleon was Black
Unfortunately, this post is going to lose something in the description as I didn't have my camera or my phone on me either time it happened. But seeing me attempt to describe the visual should hopefully be equally as funny.
This blog requires a bit of imagination as well as a bit of an early description to build it up.
Do you remember Princess Lea from Star Wars? Her hair got into that awesome bun shape
because she used real buns under her hair to hold them into place. Keep that image in the back of your head.
Imagine if you will: A very attractive black woman. Not Tyra attractive, but pretty nontheless. She is well spoken, sharp dresser, very personable.
Now imagine if you will: Take a hand towel from your powder room. Roll it up to the thickness of a paper-towel dispenser.
Now combine these images. Take a very attractive woman with a good sense of style. Next take rolled up towel and curve it around the top of her head from ear to ear. Now cover towel with hair in a manner similar to Princess Lea.
Now I'm not sure if there is actually a towel in there. I'm doubtful, as she sported this look today and yesterday, but otherwise, you have the image.
If you look at her from the front, you would swear she was a darker skinned version of Napoleon's hat. Now what did you imagine? Does she look something like this?
This blog requires a bit of imagination as well as a bit of an early description to build it up.
Do you remember Princess Lea from Star Wars? Her hair got into that awesome bun shape
because she used real buns under her hair to hold them into place. Keep that image in the back of your head.
Imagine if you will: A very attractive black woman. Not Tyra attractive, but pretty nontheless. She is well spoken, sharp dresser, very personable.
Now imagine if you will: Take a hand towel from your powder room. Roll it up to the thickness of a paper-towel dispenser.
Now combine these images. Take a very attractive woman with a good sense of style. Next take rolled up towel and curve it around the top of her head from ear to ear. Now cover towel with hair in a manner similar to Princess Lea.
Now I'm not sure if there is actually a towel in there. I'm doubtful, as she sported this look today and yesterday, but otherwise, you have the image.
If you look at her from the front, you would swear she was a darker skinned version of Napoleon's hat. Now what did you imagine? Does she look something like this?
If yes, then hopefully I did well and I can totally make money as a caricature portrait describer.
But if I wasn't close, you totally have to give me props for finding a picture where GW's face is placed over the original face of the world's first power-hungry dictator. I totally wasn't expecting that, but what a great bonus! To find out who created this wonder masterpiece, go here.
