Monday, July 25, 2005

Beware of Elephant!

"What was that?"
"Did you see that guy across the parking lot?"
"He farted before he got in his car."
"That was a FART, are you serious? Is it humanly possible to fart that loud?"
"Apparently so. I saw him do 'the Squat' before he sat down and closed the door." (proceeds to mimick 'the Squat')
"That sounded like an elephant."

Just so you know, if you set any kind of a world record for fart volume, even if you think nobody is around, someone is bound to hear it. And that someone will then proceed to tell the world about it on the internet.

And that someone's husband will also mimick you doing "the Squat," which will further provide entertainment in the form of mental replays.

Wednesday, July 20, 2005

Dibby Dibby Update

The monotony of the disco cell phone tune was just interrupted by The Boss' cell phone. Which plays that really COOL RUSSIAN DANCING SONG.

Dibby Dibby

I hate my boss's cell phone. For those who have kept up with previous work-related posts, I'm talking about Partner-Boss. Because he's the most popular person in the world and has more people trying to get in touch with him than God, it rings ALL THE TIME.

Dibby-dibby-doo-beepa-beepa-dibby-bing (insert pulsing background disco drum beats here).

And he never answers it. Never. Actually, that's not true. I did call him on it this morning and he answered, after which I promptly hung up on him because I figured I had the wrong number.

Dibby-dibby-doo-beepa-beepa-dibby-bing (insert pulsing background disco drum beats here).

If you don't intend to answer it, WHY IS IT ON? So the rest of the world can hear the incessant disco doorbell chime 64 times a day and DANCE??? I think not.

Dibby-dibby-doo-beepa-beepa-dibby-bing (insert pulsing background disco drum beats here).

I'm currently trying to write an instruction manual so that things won't fall apart when I'm gone on maternity leave. I just wrote that sentence to remind myself what exactly I'm trying to accomplish sitting here listening to

Dibby-dibby-doo-beepa-beepa-dibby-bing (insert pulsing background disco drum beats here).

It's not working.


I need to go home now. Call in the guys in white jackets to tell me why I should stop banging my head on the desk.


Tuesday, July 12, 2005

Bud's Sigh of Relief

Well, Bud Selig is off the hook for the time least until next year. He should be having his neck wrung today for completely ruining the Home Run Derby by attempting to turn it into the International Equality Derby and therefore completely destroying the whole POINT of the game - being to see the best of the best sluggers duke it out.

By all means, the fans should have been severly disappointed in last night's Derby episode, and I don't think anybody really had high hopes for it...


First up to bat, he single-handedly broke all kinds of home run records, gave the crowd an amazing show, and consequently saved Bud Selig's neck.

Even David Ortiz' 17 homeruns in the first round, which broke the previous record of 16, was completely shadowed out by Abreu's 24. A bit of baseball history was made, and it was a beautiful site on our new plasma TV.

Bud, you had better buy the guy a gormet dinner for that. Or send his family on vacation for two weeks.

Other festivity highlights included Johnny Damon singing with the band, Pudge's kid getting totally pumped about his dad in the finals, and the kids falling all over each other in the field trying to catch the "outs".

Thursday, July 07, 2005

Breakin' Up is Hard to Do

Had to end things with the Fed Ex guy this week. You can tell by the added "the" in front of his title that this relationship was doomed to failure. He doesn't even get an official "Fed Ex Guy" name - just THE Fed Ex guy.

We have officially switched to DHL and have cancelled our Fex Ex daily pickup. But somehow, nobody told the Fed Ex Guy, so he came by anyway and saw a pile of DHL packages sitting outside our door.

Caught cheating. Oh the shame.

Jamie and I were hoping to get away without a confrontation but we should have known better. We knew we were in trouble when he strolled into Jamie's office and leaned on his dolly (usually a warning sign for "LOOK OUT - he's about to break into another 1960's hippie story). We tried to head it off, hoping he would just get the picture and go away.

"Got nothing for you today."

"You didn't have anything for me on Friday either. I came by and saw a bunch of DHL packages."

There was no avoiding it this time.

The crusher: "Yeah, we've switched to DHL."

Then came the excuses. "They're cheaper. And we can get supplies the same day if we run out. And the billing is easier. And they can pick up Ground and Express shipments."

All true enough. But essentially the courier equivilent of "It's not you, it's me. I just don't want to be in a relationship right now."

When what we really meant was "You talk too much. We don't have time - and when we do have time, we don't care - to listen to more stories of your hippie days. Or your constant teasing about 'did we come from our other dancing job' when we wear heels to work. Or incessant forced jokes about 'are we really working today.' Take the packages and be on your way! And stop flirting with Jamie, you're older than her father! We're tired of feeling like we have to hide in the back around 2:30 every day so we can avoid the agonizing five minutes of the 'stop, lean and talk' routine. It's not us - it's you. So it's over, we're through, and we've already moved on to fabulous no-nonsense DHL Guy."

(Notice that DHL Guy gets a name...this relationship has great potential).

Hello My Name Is...

J's uncle Tim had a wedding reception this past Saturday in Colorado. After months of debating about how practical it would be for us to attend, we eventually decided that we really should skip this family gettogether because of the expense of traveling on a holiday weekend.

Friday morning, we suddenly realized that we had deliberately missed our last opportunity for a real vacation for the next 18 years (Disney World doesn't really count). We panicked, and decided "hang it all, we're going." So we boarded the dog, piled in the car and prepared to drive 13 hours to Colorado to reunite with his side of the family.

And then we realized...we didn't know where to go once we got there. J tried calling his parents but nobody was answering, so we were unsure if they had even brought the cell phone with them. Next option: Directory Assistance.

Fortunately, there was only one Tim ***** listed in Denver.

"Hello, this is Tim."
"Hi Tim. This is J."
"Doing well. Looks like we will be joining you tomorrow after all."
"Um...for the wedding reception..."
"Um...Tim, when I said 'This is J ******' - did that mean anything to you?"
"Not a thing!"
"Ok then. I think I have the wrong number."

The Other Tim, as he is now affectionately referred to, gets 10 points for enthusiasm. And faking.