I forgot to mention that my dad bought a locking gas cap for Millie. I left this little inscription should the Low-Life Scum Bag ever return:
Why there was no Foreign Phrase Friday this week June 29, 2008
Hello, most faithful readers. A few of you commented on the fact that there was no FPF post the other day. And here is why.
To make a long story a little less long, my truck, Millie, died the other day, right in front of First Presbyterian. I checked her oil and transmission fluid, and noted that I had only driven 76.3 miles since filling up her tank. (***Important detail: Millie’s gas gauge does not work. I have to keep track of the miles I’ve gone to know when to fill up; usually I have to fill up at around 250 or 300.)
So my lovely roommate, Brookie my Cookie, had to take me to work for two days. Fortunately my family came up on Saturday for a visit. We spent some time looking at my beloved truck and discovered that SOME LOW-LIFE SCUM BAG SIPHONED THE GAS OUT OF MILLIE! Although relieved that nothing serious was the matter, I was rather put out. And when I spent $65 filling her up again, I thought of the Low-Life Scum Bag and prayed that justice would roll like a mighty river.
So Millie is alive and well. And no one is more thrilled than Norbert, Brooke’s SUV and Millie’s significant other. He clearly likes older women as there is a 10 year age difference between them. You should see them together in the parking lot; it’s so cute. Just two kids in love…
A splendiferous day! June 27, 2008
My car died this morning. I got really sunburned on my shoulders. I knocked an expensive and heavyish piece of equipment off the counter at work this morning and watched, mortified, as it hit the ground, bounced, flipped, and landed on my manager’s foot. BUT, it’s ok because my beautiful, wonderful, charming, hilarious, highly intelligent roommate (who has gorgeous arms) is coming home tonight. It’s only been two weeks since she left us for the wild jungles of Ecuador, but it feels like an eternity. Nay, a thousand eternities.
Izumi, my friend/fellow sign language extraordinare/lover*/fiancee**/roommate, I dedicate this post to you.
*I promise I’m not weird.
**No really, I’m not.
If you are a cynic or a naysayer, don’t read this post June 25, 2008
Well, world, Brooke and I have decided to open our own climbing gym. We decided this yesterday, and immediately set to work scheming about ways to get the money. So far, this is what we’ve come up with:
Plan A:
Step 1. Enter a creative, ingenious, heartwarming video (complete with goofy costumes) into the “What Would You Do For a Klondike Bar?” commercial*.
Step 2. Win $100,000
Plan B:
Step 1. Ask Brooke’s semi-wealthyish grandmother for the money to fulfill our dreams.
Step 2. Wait for her reply with our fingers and toes crossed.
Opening our own climbing gym might seem like a bit of a rash decision seeing as how A. We are young and naive and have no experience running a business and B. I’ve only been climbing once. ‘Twas just last Tuesday, in fact; and I only made it to the top of the easiest course one time and even then I had to cheat a little bit…
But we like to dream big. And we will not be stopped by cynics and naysayers. And if any of you know of a place that sells modular handholds for not too expensivish, let me know.
*We’ve watched said commercial about 137 times while watching the entire season 4 of The Office online yesterday and today. (And all I have to say is this: Ryan, tsk tsk tsk…)
A to the M goes high-tech… June 23, 2008
…Well, sort of. This is really rather embarrassing. I definitely need to make an appointment with Bloggy Mommy asap so I can learn how to make the pictures normal size…and, you know, not horizontal when they’re supposed to be vertical…
The story behind the pictures: You see, my roommate Rachael is lactose intolerant. But she dearly loves cheese and other dairy products, even though it’s no fun being around her once she’s consumed them. Brookie and I have tried to break her of this habit for ever so long but just hadn’t had much of a breakthrough…
Until a month or two ago I went to Walmart, bought a pack of flyswatters (2 for $0.92), and implemented what we call the “Rachie swatter.” See picture #1 below.
You probably can’t read the writing, but it says “Swat Rachel with this when she says ‘piss’ or eats dairy.” (I’m also trying to crack down on her sometimes crude language. Like Barney Fife always said, you’ve got to nip it, nip it in the bud!) The Rachie swatter worked well enough at first, but then the newness wore off and she returned to her old ways. But just last week Brookie found this beast, which I’ve christened “the Rachie Swatter 5000″:
Oh, yes. The Rachie swatter got quite an upgrade. How’s it working, you ask? I’ll let pictures 3 and 4 answer that question:
I guess I won’t be bringing THEM a basket of cookies as a housewarming gift… June 22, 2008
I’d been wanting to meet the new neighbors who just moved into my apartment building. I just wish the circumstances had been more normal. It probably would have helped if the neighbors had actually been, you know, sober?
Last night, I heard the voices of some rowdy hooligans in the parking lot outside my window. Moments later, some girls (who were already rather wasted) peeped into our living room window and invited us over for some tequila. How very thoughtful of them. Our response? “Foo’! You just interrupted our Office marathon!Vamoose!”
Really, can’t they tell by the fact that we leave the house in broad daylight dressed like ninja turtles and deranged pirates that we’re not the type you want to invite to a drinking party? Now if they’d had chocolate soymilk, things might be different. That stuff’s off the chain.
FPF, week 3 June 20, 2008
Good evening. If you haven’t figured it out yet, the time thingy on this blog is messed up. It is 6:24 pm as I post this. Just another hiccup I will need to consult Bloggy Mommy about.
But you’re not here to discuss hiccups; you’re here for another dose of Foreign Phrase Friday. And that, my friends, is exactly what I am about to give you.
Today’s random phrase:
“Don’t watch ‘The Science of Sleep.’ It will only leave you irked and very, very confused.”
Today’s random phrase in Estonian:
“Ära tunnid ‘A Teaduo Odr Uni.’ Id tahe ainult vebadus paan läbikukkunud a väga, väga hämmingus.”
I chose this phrase simply because I tried to watch said film a few nights ago and was sorely disappointed. I’m a pretty random person myself; I enjoy a little MST3K and some Monty Python here and there, but “The Science of Sleep”? Yikes. My dreams are weird enough as it is, thank you. I just wanted to warn all my homies in Estonia to rent something worth your time. (I highly recommend “The Adventures of Scamper the Penguin.” It was a childhood favorite of mine which I recently borrowed from the library. I’ve always wondered what those little round yellow things are they eat on the ship after they get kidnapped by the Russians…)
*Disclaimer: If you happen to have seen “The Science of Sleep” and enjoyed it, good for you. But really, what was with the ginormous hands? And that horse? And the creepy guy at the club? And why didn’t he want the girls to know he was their neighbor? As you can see, I’m still fairly hämmingus and a wee bit läbikukkunud.
Is it sad that people I work with remind me of characters from “The Office”? June 17, 2008
So far, we have a Kevin. He’s actually one of my favorite characters from the show and happens to be my favorite person to work with. Real-life Kevin is a drummer in his own band, is very much in touch with his inner child, is of similar build as the original Kevin, and has the same laugh. And much like original Kevin, he cracks me up rather frequently.
We also have an Angela. I’m not going to give any more details on that…
And we have a Darrell; you know, the guy who works downstairs in the warehouse with Roy?
But who am I? Glad you asked. I’m Pam. My first week at work one of my supervisors told me I reminded her of Pam from “The Office”, and it’s been my nickname ever since. I consider it quite a compliment, except for the whole being engaged to a total jerk for three years…
I have not yet identified a Michael or a Dwight, which is probably a very good thing. And thank God there is no Andy. However, we are lacking a Jim, which is definitely a problem. But I do have a mug with Jim’s face on it which I drink my tea out of each morning. I’ll take what I can get.
My longest, most thrilling post yet June 16, 2008
Friends, it’s been quite a night. I’ll start at the very beginning, because, as Julie Andrews sang, it’s a very good place to start.
Yesterday at work I overheard a coworker talking about how two other coworkers were moving in with her as their house had recently been broken into on a few different occasions. Those girls happen to live with a friend of mine, whom I’ll call Sally. No wait, I’ll call her Sidonia Pearl. (Isn’t that a beautiful, exotic name?) So anyway, as soon as I got off work I called Sidonia Pearl to make sure she was ok. She assured me that she was; she was out of town and so had not been at home during the most recent break-in. She filled me in on more of the details; nothing valuable had been stolen, just silly random things like some chicken and a pair of shorts, but the perpetrator obviously had gotten hold of a key as he or she kept coming in through the back door and leaving it unlocked. The police had been notified and suspected someone who lived down the street. The locks had been changed, but I told Sidonia Pearl that she would be spending the night with me that night.
Well, Sidonia Pearl didn’t get back in town until after midnight. She called me when she got to my apartment, and I’ll skip most of the details, but she decided she needed to go back to her place as she had an exam the next morning and all of her things were there and she needed to get a good night’s sleep in her own bed. I accompanied her, as I was not going to let her stay there all alone. We really were not at all frightened, but we did take extra precautions like putting the garbage can in front of the back door and locking ourselves in her bedroom. Exhausted, we crashed in our beds.
Fast forward to 5:30 this morning. The fire alarm starts beeping. We both panic and assume the worst, that some creepster is downstairs fiddling with the alarm in an attempt to get us to rush down there and right into his clutches. We huddled together on the bottom bunk, shaking and pumped with adrenaline. Sidonia Pearl was convinced she heard voices and dialed 911; I began yelling in tongues. A few minutes later, a police car and a fire truck pulled into the driveway. I’m sure the neighbors just love us.
As soon as the cop knocked on the door we booked it downstairs and let him and the two firemen inside. We both explained the entire situation in 43.9 seconds, neither of us pausing to breathe. The men examined the downstairs fire alarm and determined that it needed new batteries. The firemen left, the cop stayed with a smirk on his face as we tried to explain to him that there was, indeed, someone besides the tenants who’d been getting in.
And then he said this gem of a line. Are you ready for this?
“Well, all you need to do is go to Walmart and get yourselves a hunting camera.”
Sidonia Pearl and I looked at each other. Duh! How silly of us. The locks were changed but that obviously mattered but a little if one did not own such an indispensable piece of gear as a hunting camera.
“They cost about $40. Get one with night vision and set it on your windowsill; it has a motion sensor so it’ll take a picture of anyone who tries to break in.”
Only in Tennessee, my peeps. Only in Tennessee.
(He also suggested that we tape a piece of hair on the door frame as he still wasn’t convinced that the thief was not one of the roommates. Perhaps if I’d been wearing something other than blue and orange froggy pajama bottoms we would have been taken more seriously.)
The Lonely Little Octopus June 14, 2008
Wanna hear a poignant story about love and loss, tragedy and joy, separation and reunion? I knew you would.
Once upon a time at a store not too far away, a plastic toy fishing set was brought to the service desk counter. The set had two magnetic fishing poles, two blue fish, two sting rays, two of another underwater creature that I don’t remember right at this moment, but only one octopus. And so the service desk worker girl had no choice but to repackage the fishing set, scan it, scan the printer, print a label, and put an orange and white “as is” sticker on it.
The next day, someone found a lonely plastic octopus sitting all by himself in the corner of a shopping cart. The service desk worker girl’s heart was heavy as she threw the octopus away. Oh, the irony. The cruel, cruel irony. Unfortunately, someone had already bought the incomplete fishing set and now there was no hope for the octopus to be reunited with his mate.
Or was there?
The next day a woman and her son approched the service desk to return an incomplete toy fishing set. “Service desk worker girl!” Called the store manager. “What did you do with that plastic octopus?”
The service desk worker girl plunged her hand into the nearby garbage can, pulled out the missing octopus, and slipped it into place inside the plastic packaging, right next to its mate.
“Perfect!” Said the customer.
“Yay!” Said the customer’s son.
“Oh, that makes me so happy!” Said the manager.
“Hey look! All the fish are so excited that they’ve started a conga line and are dancing around the sides of the box!” Said the service desk worker girl.
The customer, her son, and the manager stared at the girl as if her head was a transparent sphere with a seven-legged hamster running laps inside.
The end.
