You and me, we go in style.

Whenever I hear Neil Diamond's Cracklin' Rosie, I can't help but think of a guy I used to work with. Actually, we were both promotions interns for a radio station at the same time. His name was Bill, but we started calling him "June" because he was a Junior. He was a really funny guy, but he had a bit of an abrasive sense of humor. He was always setting somebody up to be the brunt of his joke. Sometimes it was kind of annoying, but I have to admit, he was funny...even when it was at my expense.

Bill and I worked together every Tuesday, and we were the only interns there that day. Tuesdays were generally Corporate Takeover day, which meant that Bill and I were usually faced with the task of hauling a bunch of swag to the office of whichever company had won the weekly contest. Our weekly trips were always an adventure because we always had either bad directions or were headed to a hard-to-find address, or both. Bill always drove because he was a smoker, and I wouldn't let him smoke in my car. He was definitely one of those guys who would never admit or even acknowledge the fact that he was lost...and we always were.

I can remember one time, in particular, when our travels took us to downtown Chicago, about as far east as you can go on Randolph without being in Lake Michigan. The thing that we didn't realize was that Randolph was a one-way street heading west. And there was also a Lower Randolph (screwy Chicago and its screwy lower streets...). To make a long story short, we circled around the Grant Park area no less than 10 times, each time ending up on Lower Randolph when we wanted to be on Upper Randolph, with Bill getting more and more agitated with each loop we made. By the time we finally figured out how to get to the building we were heading towards, he had eaten a bunch of the candy bars and stuff that we had brought to give out.

The other thing I remember from that particular trip was that he told me, as we passed over a drawbridge on the way back out to the west side of the city, that he'd like to be the guy who sits in the tower and occasionally has to raise and lower the drawbridge. He insisted that he would like either that job, or the graveyard shift at any gas station, because he wouldn't have to do much and would have a lot of down time to play his banjo. That's the kind of guy he was.

One of my favorite moments from my internship involved Bill and I traveling either to or from a Corporate Takeover. Once we got over the initial weirdness of the, "Um, do you care if we don't listen to the radio station that we are currently working for," Bill would station surf to the point I wanted to smack him. Then he would inevitably settle on something weird. One day, he paused on the Oldies station and Cracklin' Rosie came on. At that point in my life, I don't remember having strong feelings one way or the other toward that song. I certainly didn't mind it, but I fully expected him to change the station. Instead, he turned the song up REALLY loud. And then proceeded to sing even louder. Then I joined in, and for the next 3 minutes, we did nothing but drive and sing Cracklin' Rosie at the top of our lungs. We must have been a sight to behold. When the song finished, he turned down the radio and said, "Sorry. I just really like that song." And then we proceeded along as if nothing had happened.

When our internships ended at the end of 2001, we parted ways and I haven't seen him since. Occasionally he'll cross my mind, along with all sorts of other people that I wonder what the hell happened to. Today I heard Cracklin' Rosie on my way home from work and it prompted me to run a google search on him to see anything turned up. As it turns out, he's doing quite a bit of improv these days, which of course makes me insanely jealous. But I'm happy for him--I bet he's really good at it. And I wouldn't want the song Cracklin' Rosie to remind me of anyone else.

Why me?

The other night, as I was on the way home from my birthday party (more on that later), I needed to stop and get gas and pick up milk for the King. First of all, when I went into the store, I swear to god that the two Indian men who were working in there were speaking to each other in a series of clicks and guttural noises. No shit. When I brought the gallon of milk up to the counter, the man swept it up, scanned it and put it back down in one swift motion. Except, when he put it down, he misjudged the distance to the counter, and slammed it down really hard. Next thing I knew, there was a little puddle of milk on the counter. I pointed out that it was leaking, and said I was going to grab another one. As I was selecting a new milk gallon, he started screaming to me, “No, lady! It’s not leaking! It’s not leaking. You take this one!” I told him that I’d prefer a new one anyway and walked back to the counter. Upon my arrival, I noticed that there was now milk all over the entire counter, which was funny, you know, because according to him, the gallon wasn’t leaking. He was trying to clean up the mess, and still insisting that it is fine, and that I needed to take the leaky one. Finally, he picked up the gallon, and we could both clearly see the spot from which the milk is leaking. Then he said, “Oh. You’re right,” and instead of finishing my transaction, he carried the milk to another part of the counter, covered the leak with duct tape (duct tape!) and put it back in the cooler. THEN he finished my transaction.

I’m sure that the gallon of milk with about 6 oz. missing, and a big duct tape patch is going to be a big seller. I’ll bet he put it right in front, and pushed the other ones back, too. It reminds me of when my brother and I used to play old maid as little kids. Before we really got the concept of strategy, when it was time to draw from each other’s hands, whoever had the Old Maid would pull it up really high so that it stood much taller than the other cards, then we would clutch the remaining cards in a death grip so that they couldn’t be pulled from our grubby little hands. Seriously, though, I wonder what that guy was thinking. He’s obviously not a very good business strategist.

My cuppa tea...

From Nora's 5 things meme; inspiration: Kaptain Klepto

Five Prime Numbers
23
47
71
Kristentatious
5

Feeling Violated

The people in my office building are serious violators of what I believe is the unspoken universal bathroom code: never EVER sit in the stall directly next to an occupied stall unless that is your only option. All of the bathrooms in our building have three stalls. I always take an end stall so that, should someone else come in to the bathroom, they can leave the standard one stall buffer. But, nobody in the building ever observes this standard courtesy and it’s starting to DRIVE ME NUTS. That’s all, thank you.

Help for the clueless

I finally have a real desk…you know, with drawers and stuff. So…here’s the big question. What sorts of things do people fill their drawers with? I’ve been surviving with the bare minimum because my former, temporary “desk” had no drawers. I had a cup of pens, and little tiny stacking tray contraption which held things like post-its, binder clips and white out. I also have paper clips, tape, a stapler, scissors and the ever important rubber thumb (which I found yesterday and took for comic value). What other things do normal people have in their desks?

Off-campus lunch for high schoolers is the worst idea EVER.

Oh my god. Shoot me now if this is what lunch time has in store for me for the rest of the school year. Most of the school districts in the vicinty of my office just started school yesterday or today, and all of them, apparently, have off-campus lunch privileges. Yesterday, there were about 40 HS students all crammed into the cafeteria section at Target. They were loud and obnoxious and running all over the place like idiots. Today I went to Jimmy Johns, in the other direction from the office. Different school district, same deal. Except Jimmy Johns is a narrower space, and all these kids had on backpacks...so I almost got taken out by somebody's math, chemistry and history books about 12 times. Seriously, it's the first day of school. Do you really need to carry a full back pack to lunch with you? If this is what the overacheivers look like, I'd hate to see how the less academically motivated kids act in public.

Oh man...I'm getting old. I just hope my kid doesn't act like a moron when he grows up.

Tis better to be 5 minutes late than to be 1 minute early

I have a problem. It involves getting to work early. I just can't do it. I can get to work on time or late with no problem, but I just can't be early. For example, it takes me about 10 minutes to get from daycare to my office. Let's say I drop Eric off and get back to the car at 8:47. I would not physically be able to resist the temptation to stop and get coffee. You know, because I have three minutes. Even though it probably takes 5 or more minutes to get coffee. And then, not only am I walking into the office late, but I'm walking in late with coffee. Which always makes a good impression, I think. Today at lunch time, I went to Target. I made a couple of returns, ate lunch there and picked up a few odds and ends. I looked at my watch and saw that it was 12:40. Last time I was at that Target, it took me a hundred and forty-two minutes to check out, so I decided to head to the check-out aisle. Due to a combination of both my watch and the check-out lanes running fast, I got in my car at 12:42. I sat there for a moment and thought, "I have a few extra minutes. What else should I do?" It was the first time in a long time that I really couldn't think of anything to do. I contemplated stopping at Starbucks or Baskin Robins and getting a frapuccino or the Baskin Robins equivalent. But, I was still full from lunch, neither of those places were really on my way back to the office and I didn't really need extra calories or $4 hit to the old pocketbook. So, I came back to the office, talked to the new attorney for several minutes about where there was to eat in the area and now I'm blogging. So, you see, I'm still not working. But when you're sitting at your desk, typing away, nobody seems to question you. Unfortunately, next week, I'm moving to a new desk, which is on the main drag here in the office, and my back and computer will face the aisle so that all who walk by will be able to clearly see what I'm doing. I'm not looking forward to that at all. I do not like the feeling of people looking over my shoulders. And I do not like having to be productive at all times. Yuck.

It's not because I don't have anything to say...

No, no, don't be fooled by the lack of posts--I still have plenty to say. I just don't have time to say it, that's all. I've been having a hard time balancing work and family and house cleaning and everything else, and lately, sleep wins over blogging. But, most likely, I've been talking in my sleep to make up for it. Hopefully I say interesting things and you all enjoy them immensely. Nothing would make me happier.

In other news, that kid that I have--the one that I never write about anymore? He's still cute and stuff. He's turning into a big boy, and all too quickly, might I add. Although we've had very cute monkey bedding for his "big boy bed" (meaning a twin or full sized bed which conspicuously lacks rails with which to prevent him from having a middle-of-the-night free-for-all in his bedroom, or worse, trying to come into our bed) for a few months now, I think we've decided to hold off on moving him into a new bed until sometime this winter. Yesterday, though, I made the first step in turning his crib into a more boyish, rather than babyish, bed. I bought him Cars sheets and a fleece throw from Target. Last night, I removed all of his adorable pastel jungle animal bedding from his crib and put on the cars.

At one point, because I'm not a masochist, I took off one side rail on the crib, so that I could reach the mattress without the added fun possibility of puncturing a lung or rupturing my spleen. After I got his new sheets put on, but before I put the side rail back up, Eric came to investigate. I think his initial thought was that we would be leaving the side rail off, and to tell you the truth, Chris and I actually contemplated the idea. Once we saw that Eric's take on the situation was, "Cool! Now I can jump off my bed!!!" we decided against it for the time being. Actually, in the near future, I do plan to take the crib rail off, but not until I can find a shorter bed rail that I can attach to the bed to keep him from falling out at night. I tried the crib rail at the lowest setting, but that seemed just low enough that he would try to climb over, but just high enough that he would possibly get stuck or hurt himself.

In any case, Eric seems to be very excited by this new development. Both last night and this morning, he kept telling us, "I got a race car blankie!" Although, he does still seem torn by the excitement of the race car blanket and the familiarity of his old "bonkie." Not wanting to hurt bonkie's feelings, he's been carrying them both around the house together. Hopefully they'll get to be friends.

Well, something's telling me that now would be a good time to get back to work. I do have more to say, though. Just remember that.

Hair styles of the ill-advised

This morning, as I was driving to work, I was stopped at a red light next to a hispanic woman. I glanced over and saw that she had her hair pulled back into a tight, high pony tail. By having her hair pulled up like that, I could see that she had the bottom inch or two of her scalp (neck) completely shaved. She also had shaved off her "side burns," except she went a little too high, giving the appearance of both an awkward hair line and a five o'clock shadow where she had shaved. It was a really odd look, and beside the strange haircut, she didn't appear that she was trying to make any kind of particular statement with her clothes or makeup. What makes people do those kind of things? Maybe she just couldn't get the pony tail high or tight enough with all that hair? I can certainly understand that.

Good grammar costs nothing

I hope, hope, hope that the lyrics of that SOS song by Rihanna are "Y-O-U are making this hard," and NOT "Y-O-U-R making this hard."

And also, the question Chris and I pondered on vacation: would a self-loving black person be caught dead eating at the Cracker Barrel?

Farewell my friends

I'm vacation bound, with no or extremely limited web access. Have a nice week!

Ample warning

Last night I put 15.56 gallons of gas in my car. The tank holds 16 gallons. The question I have is this: at what point, exactly, did my fuel light plan to go on to alert me to a lack of petrol? I know it works, too, because it definitely came on last time I needed gas TWO DAYS AGO (OK, fine, I only put in a third of a tank then...and then drove a lot...but, still.)

My baby looks like Jackie O.

And I look like Shakira, Jamie Lynn Spears AND Christina Aguilera (as well as Marcia Cross, Drew Berrymore and Ashley Judd...I'm not sure how much I trust this website...).

Who do you look like?

http://www.myheritage.com/FP/Company/tryFaceRecognition.php

Why I should be fired

(Not because I'm blogging from work.)

Because I say things like this: (in reference to a person who claims to have been wronged by one of our clients)

Let me get this straight. Not only is this guy part black, part white and part Native American, but he's also part Asian and a practicing Jew? Are we sure he's not also on the endangered species list?

Maybe I should be in sensitivity training with Ozzie Guillen.

If I could turn back time...

I wish I had gone to this university: http://www.liberty.edu/studentaffairs/index.cfm?PID=1378

Those are some good rules and regs right there.

Pet Peeve

It always makes me mad when people driving company vehicles with the company name and phone number plastered all over drive like complete assholes. I'm always tempted to call the number and turn them in, but then I think: What if the number on the vehicle is the cell phone number of the driver? And what if he then tries to run me off the road?

What a ripoff.

I just went to Panera for lunch. I had a bowl of french onion soup and a lemonade. The grand total came to $7. For soup and lemonade. That kind of makes me sick. I mean, why does any restaurant that is able to promote their food as being halfway healthy get to charge up the ass for it? I don't think I could possibly order $7 worth of McDonald's food for myself and eat it in one sitting. If I went to Portillo's, I could get a beef and cheddar croissant with french fries and a coke for around $7, and I wouldn't be able to finish it. And I can think of a bunch of other crappy food that would be cheap and abundant too. But $7 for soup and lemonade (which barely made me full and, by the way, probably wasn't especially healthy either)?!? What is this world coming to? No wonder so many people are so fat. It's just easier and cheaper that way.

Africa Hot in Here

Happy Monday, everybody! Hey--guess what! The AC in my office building is not functioning! And guess what else! It's 93 degrees outside! Oh, but it feels like 103. Actually, I don't find that to be very accurate. I was just outside at lunchtime, and it definitely feels hotter inside the building that outside. Please, oh please, let us go home. Nothing is getting accomplished, save for lots and lots of complaining and sweating. The powers that be (and get to say "Go home") still have hope that the AC units will be restored today (actually, one unit is working--two are not, but it is either not enough to notice, or it doesn't affect our part of the building). Seriously, though, it's after 1 pm. There's no way that this building could possibly cool down by 5, even if they get both broken units up and running. It's just *that* hot in here. Africa hot, as a friend used to say. Or, maybe that should be, "As a former friend says." Who knows. Anyway, it doesn't change the fact that I'm miserable. Although, in an act of kindness, the partners did send the clerk to 7-11 this morning, and he came back with Slurpees for everyone, as well as a variety of Arizona canned teas and lemonades. And that did help, for as long as the slurpee lasted. OK....back to the grindstone. I'm keeping my fingers crossed for an early release. But I'm not holding my breath, because I'd surely pass out.

Items of interest.

1. Weezer announced their breakup.

2. Today at lunch, I watched a bus boy wipe down a table by pushing the large chunks of crumbs and a big blob of some kind of sauce-looking thing off the table and directly onto the seat of the booth--except some of that stuff just stuck right to the edge of the table. And then he didn't wipe down the seats or the table edge. And then people sat there.

3. I need a pair of pants that are comfortable. I mean, pants that are appropriate to wear to work on casual Friday (i.e. no pajama pants). Everybody on earth should have access to comfortable pants, but I don't. I just simply can't find a single damn pair of pants in any store that work for me. It's just not fair.

4. I had half of a plain doughnut with chocolate frosting today for breakfast. (One of the Boss-men brings in breakfast treats every Friday.) That made me very happy! I wonder if it was from Spunky Dunkers? I doubt it, but that would make me extra happy!

5. I am not looking forward to the next 5 days of forecast 90+ degree temperatures!

6. I bought these shoes: (In a different color)

I have only worn them a handful of times and they are already gross and stinky. As such, I cannot recommend them to anyone, despite their cuteness. Avoid, avoid, avoid.

7. Have a nice weekend!

I'b dyeeg.

Sometime around the 25th of June, I came down with a cold. I caught it from Eric who caught it from some daycare host monkey. And guess what, as we rapidly approach the beginning of the 13th of July, I still have the damn cold. Only, over the past few days it decided to stop getting better each and every day and, in fact, has taken a sharp turn for the worse. So I finally went to a doctor tonight. He visited with me for all of 12 seconds and presrcibed me amoxicillin, which he hoped would thwart the plans of the tonsils that are staging a coups against the rest of my body. We'll see. But, in the meantime, it huhts when I swawwo. :(

I really do have things I need to blog about, but right now I'm too busy not letting my head explode. And also, working. Yes, that's right folks, I'd like to write interesting things, but I'm too busy doing my part to make the law happen correctly. But mostly, it's the part about the potentially exploding head that has me scared into blogging submission.

Please, please send your get well vibes this way. I'm pitiful and whiney and my husband is getting sick of me.