Today's uncomfortable conclusion

Pepe Le Pew was a sex offender.

Think about it for a minute and you'll realize I'm right.

Women are gross, but...

Men are worse.

This week, a little sign appeared on the door leading out of the ladies room:

WASH YOUR HANDS!

Which leads to the inevitable thought that someone is NOT doing so and this passive-aggressive little reminder is designed to shame them (I'm not above shaming--my Facebook friends can testify to that).

These are the same folks who handle the doorknobs, pens, faucets, and coffee cups that I do.

[shudder]

But at least we're not men.

Because something WORSE is going on in the men's room.

I've heard (proud to announce that I'm not an eyewitness--there's a photo floating around somewhere, but I decided that was a mental image I could live quite comfortably without) that someone in the men's room on this floor picks his nose and leaves boogers on the wall.

What kind of depraved mind does that???

This is supposedly an office full of educated adults.

Somewhere in our midst is an overgrown third-grader.

Where'd I put that damn hand sanitizer???

I'm losing all hope for the human race.

Another reason I left Oklahoma

Shit like this happens a lot more often than you'd think.

(A Facebook status update from a friend in Owasso, Oklahoma.)

They might not have meant

Party of one, but that's what they get for failing to be specific.

A typical Friday morning

While I sit at my desk, my phone rings.

I pick it up.

Beau: Whatcha doing?

Me: Oh, just sitting around, doing some editing. 

B: Do you have a calculator on your desk? 

M: Yup.

B: I need you to add these numbers for me.

[He lists them off, and I give him the total.]

M: Is that all you needed?

B: Yeah, I'll have to call you later. I'm working.

M: Ok, bye.

I put the phone down and my cube mate asked Didn't he just call you from his iPhone?

He did. 

But he needed you to add those numbers? 

It would have taken much more time and frustration to explain where the calculator is on his phone [he's a technotard] and that he could do it himself than it took me to add the numbers.

We smile, chuckle, and go back to work.

In love, we pick our battles. :) 

 

How, exactly....

Does one get "dragged into" a gay sex phone scandal???

I'm so curious, and yet not curious enough to buy the paper or scan the article.

I need someone to educate me on this one.

Kitchen decor

Walking to the mailbox last night, I saw into one of my neighbor's kitchens (I'm not a peeping zickle, but if you leave your drapes open and the lights on when I walk by, I'm lookin').

She has a HUUUUUUUGE print of da Vinci's The Last Supper on the wall in her kitchen.

Full disclosure, my kitchen decor consists of weird photographs of little tiny deer hanging out in lollipop forests and climbing cupcake-frosting mountains, leaving me little room to judge here, but doesn't The Last Supper seem a bit... heavy for the kitchen? You walk in for a turkey sammich and there's Jesus and his Apostles, having one last meal before they nail him to the cross.

Might make me feel guilty enough to put the turkey sammich back.... and grab a glass of wine instead. 

Heeeey. Maybe there's a method to her madness!

I don't know. Am I wrong about this whole thing?

Another really satisfying noise

I heard it this morning on NPR while they were replaying part of the inauguration speech: gloved applause.

It's such a satisfying noise. Much better than naked-hand applause. You can hear the civility (or the bone-chilling cold).

Also awesome is THIS. (If you love Michelle Obama or don't like John Boehner, you MUST click.)

Oh, Olive Garden

Seasonal Favorites?

Gag me.

When will chain restaurants understand that booze doesn't have to taste like melted ice cream and have the caloric equivalent of four Big Macs?

I got a Target Red Card

As a money-saving effort.

You get 5% off every purchase (and their stuff is usually cheaper than other stores anyway). Because there's a Target within walking distance from the office and I do most of my grocery shopping there, I decided it was a good "financial experiment" that I'd take on for a year. 

I promised myself that I'd pay it off every month (because groceries on a credit card is just too sad).

The first bill was... sobering, folks.

SO-BER-ING.

I cannot believe I hand that much money to Target each month.

I'll be spending the next couple of weeks in the Ramen aisle.

I know you shouldn't judge a book by its cover

But when the book wears this creepy hoodie/coat combo, it just looks like trouble.

Am I the only one who feels this way?

(Full disclosure: I've been a sick, grumpy old lady lately)

Collector's Issue?

What are these collectors collecting?

Herpes?

I've cracked the daytime TV talk show code

I've had that horrible virus that everyone else has had lately. I spent a lot of time in bed/on the couch in front of a lot of bad TV.

I've figured out the formula. 

The host/hosts of daytime talk shows (especially in the mornings) must be attractive/fit enough to make you feel a little bad about yourself, but they must appear stupid enough to make you feel intellectually superior.

Oh, and as far as the BIG morning talk shows are concerned, they all have one"legitimate" news guy who can be above it all. But everyone else must absolutely be riveted regarding subjects such as "meggings" (man leggings) and the merits of "the upscale leather sweatpant."

Basically, it's a bunch of pretty morons yammering on about tooth-whitening and spanx.

I told Beau

That I dreamt that we went on a trip to Chicago last night.

He responded with:

I dreamed I got to warm up for Charlie Watts on drums and the Rolling Stones, but I was perched way up on a circus tent with no chair...and I sucked on the drums.  I also dreamt we were hauling a corpse around in a box and her ghost was with us helping us solve her death.

He wins.

I cannot be the only one who thinks this way

Is it just me, or does the idea of the POCKET HOSE give you endless giggle fits?

Don't tell me they didn't have a field day writing this copy in the marketing department.

The Hose That Grows!

Grows to 50ft!

Fits in the palm of your hand.
KINK RESISTANT!!!

Charming

Grandma gave me something special this week: her 1940s charm bracelet.

She never let Mom wear it.

It's silver, and the detail of the charms is amazing. Most of them have moving parts.

They don't make things like this anymore. Here are some of my favorites (Sorry the photos are a bit grainy. That's how tiny these charms are.)

Pet Milk. My mom's favorite charm.

It's Cupid, stupid.

Saddle (moving parts).

Boomer Sooner (moving parts)!

Three Blind Mice (my favorite).

Cuckoo clock (moving parts).

Bird cage (with a tiiiiiiiiiny little bird inside).

The whole dang world (moving parts).

In the midst of heartbreak, a glimmer of humor

A week ago, my beloved grandpa died.

He was 92, he didn't suffer at all, and he lived a good life full of love and kindness.

But all the same, it was very sudden and my family is crushed.

The next days were full of the horrible things you have to do when all you want to do is... nothing.

I hate planning funerals. I hate the markup on every single "service" they offer at the mortuary. I hate the pressure. I hate it that they warn you that the cheaper caskets "don't seal as tightly" as the others. It's all shitty. Put me in a Hefty bag and leave me on the curb when it's my time. 

Anyway, Mom, Grandma, and Dad had a meeting with the pastor of Grandma's church so that the pastor could further personalize the eulogy.

They told him about his heroic efforts in WWII and all kinds of great stories about what a wonderful man he was.

The pastor turned to Grandma and said, "Elsie, when you and Don were first dating, what kind of things did you enjoy doing together?"

Without batting an eye or blushing, this is what Grandma said:

We liked to park. But it was always difficult to park because there were police around all of the time just waiting to catch teenagers in cars. So we parked when and where we could. We parked in front of my house once, until Aunt Beth sent my sister out to tell me to come in the house before the whole neighborhood was scandalized.

And that's exactly what went into the eulogy. (Along with the war-hero/wonderful-man stuff.)

And it's the only thing that made us smile at all on the day we buried him.

We love and miss you, Grandpa. This old planet is awfully lonely without you.