I roused myself from my now usual 8:45-9:30 nap with the goal of writing a wry and charming blog post. On the way to the computer I had the brilliant idea that I’d put those grocery store cookies in the oven and reward myself after my post with a nice warm chocolate chip cookie before tidying up and heading off to bed. But then I got distracted by dinner leftovers still on the stove, and quickly loaded the dishwasher, ate three unbaked chocolate chip cookie dough balls and the oven timer went off before I even had time to open wordpress. Now I can’t remember what I wanted to write about, and my tummy is full of cold raw cookie. This is it, isn’t it? The slow slide into ding-bat motherhood. One day I’ll wonder why my kid thinks I’m a nut. And I’ll remember this is how it started.
Archive for the ‘funny stuff’ Category
I offended a co-worker this week.
We were in our weekly development staff meeting (which only happens about one week in three, and is not to be mistaken with staff development meeting, which would be for our betterment – this is in fact, development, that is, fundraising, staff, sitting around yakking about what we need to be working on).
After some interesting conversation about [trade secrets] and a few quick reviews of [confidential] we were kind of just wrapping up, and someone commented wouldn’t it be great if our boss brought his new baby in for an afternoon to liven up the office. We joked about the playpen in the hallway and where to stash mommy in case biological needs reared (ha, get it) their head. I added, “Plus we could have a baby crying in the background on donor calls. We could say, Do you hear that? That baby’s crying because of cancer.” Laughs were had by all. Except by one coworker who said under the laughter, “That’s over the line.” Someone, not me, waved a hand at her and she said quite forcefully, “No, it’s not ok. That was over the line and I am offended by that kind of talk.”
I apologized, but come on. Babies crying at cancer. Fundraising gold.
December 11 – 11 Things. What are 11 things your life doesn’t need in 2011? How will you go about eliminating them? How will getting rid of these 11 things change your life? –reverb10.com
1. Work for pay. My life does not need this exchange of my creativity for money. It’s crass. I’m happy to do nice things to help you if you need it and I know how to do it. I’d like to discuss play for pay. Deal? (more…)
First I want to say to Jon Stewart and his “Rally to Restore Sanity” crowd, welcome to our city. We’ve been waiting for you! It’s been two years of over-wrought red-staters with misspelled signs, fanny packs and racial epithets leaving McDonald’s wrappers in their wake for those of us who call the nation’s capital home. We need a real party – not a tea party. A party like we threw on November 3 (and well into November 4th), 2009. You know what I’m talking about.
Washingtonians collectively giggled over a recent guide to visiting DC written by some random tea-party blogger in Maine ahead of Beck’s Rally to Restore whatever. He’d been here once before and decided to share a thing or two with his compatriots. You can read excerpts along with the acerbic commentary of some elite liberal media here. As a counterpoint, I offer this guide to visiting DC for the Sanity Ralliers. Because who needs a tea bag when you can have a nice cocktail? (more…)
In honor of the OED, I offer readers my best dictionary story, one of the many delightfully bizarre incidents that occurred during my time as a bookseller for Barnes & Noble.
I liked working customer service because the best interaction with customers happened there – cash register was never as interesting. One particular winter day, a couple walked into the store and directly to the customer service desk where I greeted them brightly. They were somewhat atypical customers. By that I mean the gentleman was wearing overalls over a well-worn undershirt, and his lady-friend was less-memorable but clothed in complimentary fashion to him. They had the home-made looking haircuts of those who might have traveled into town for a special evening of Denny’s and a quick foray into an exotic book store. I’m beating around the bush here: they looked like red necks. And they talked like red necks. (more…)
A few months ago I posted a link to a blog that cracks me up: Unhappy Hipsters. The writer captions images from Dwell Magazine with emotionally bleak expositions of the underlying mental states of the inhabitants of these artful homes.
I’ve been searching (so far mostly fruitlessly) for real research on the impact of your home’s layout and general state of tidiness or lack thereof on stress and peace of mind. But I did come across a fun little article in Psychology Today that touches on the topic I want to learn more about in light of these poor unhappy hipsters. Thought it was worth sharing: Does Modern Architecture Make Us Gloomy?
I had to purchase a new Kindle book, for a couple of reasons. First, we have lots of very short breaks in our day on jury duty. Usually between one attorney and the next, or while the next attorney waits for or prepares a witness. The history of food book was hard to just pick up and get right into, so I bought the third book in Stieg Larsson’s series. The other reason was I needed something interesting enough to keep me from having to interact with Betty. (more…)
Pour a glass of wine, this is a long post. Names have not been changed, because there are no innocent to protect.
Betty took a near-instant dislike to me, which made sense I guess, because I took an even nearer-instant dislike to her. It was not a race thing – I’m not like that. It was personality all the way.
When I entered the courtroom filled with other prospective grand jurors, all with reading material in one hand and their summons in the other, Betty – or as I knew her then “That Loud Lady in the White Denim Suit Up Front Sharing Her Business with the Whole Room” – was preening her white denim suit in the front row and loudly sharing her business with the whole room. Her conversation was aimed at one prospective juror, one clearly more inclined to enjoy it than I was, but her voice filled the courtroom from its acoustically dampened ceiling to its stain-resistant mauve carpet. From my spot in the back row, I actively tuned her out while chatting with those around me, and halfheartedly reading something in my Kindle about the history of food. (more…)
I know this song from my childhood. I tried to sing it to the Monkey tonight but couldn’t recall the lyrics, and when I went to find it on You Tube, low and behold: it’s not sung by a dude. It’s a chick who sounds like a dude.
Copied with permission from Tastee Pudding.
A few days ago, Amanda posted this photo, followed by the tantalizing prompt “How, exactly, do you find a parakeet? Explain the story behind this flyer in 250 words or less.”
Here, from the comments section of Amanda’s post, is my reply:
I wake with a start. The dream again. The one where I am caged, and something tips my cage. A glint of metal, a scrape, the door is open and without another thought I fly.
I know that’s how it must have happened. And the chances that the window would be raised – however it happened, I’m out now, aren’t I?
And oh, this ecstasy, this pure unfettered flight, rough branches under my tender claws swaying in a breeze I never knew existed before now. No more mirror mocking me. No more tepid water growing stale while I sit alone in an empty room waiting for any sign of life besides my own. I eat bugs.
I have found myself.
But it’s cold. Bugs don’t fill me like millet did. I found this cell phone. Please call if you lost a parakeet.