Howdy! Been a while. Dave, my faithful follower, I know you'd be thinking I was dead if you didn't see me at work on a regular basis.
This blog thing started out with a bang but fizzled out rather quickly once I realized there was actual work involved. I work enough at work so working at home did not appeal. A couple of years later, I've decided to give it a go again.
I'm back for a minute.
Not a story today, but a rant. I used to post my rants on a forum until I realized it's just a bridge under which trolls and other rabble-rousing vermin reside.
So...
What is wrong with drivers in and around this city? I've lived here going on 11 years and I've made a few observations. I feel it's time to address the issues:
1. There's a little doohickey on the side of your steering column called a Turn Signal. I know you think it's some type of decoration or merely put there to aesthetically balance the doohickey on the other side but this is not the case. The Turn Signal actually has an important role. Please see your owner's and/or driving manual for instructions and USE the damned thing.
2. The left lane is for passing. Really. I'm not making this shit up. I suspect it's sheer laziness that keeps you camped in the left lane. God forbid you should have to turn the steering wheel the slight measure it would take to ease over. Or perhaps you have a giant stick up your ass about people who speed and you have appointed yourself as the Slow Down Brigade. Hot tip for you: I WILL pass you on the right...and I will STILL speed merrily along my way. You're not the Grand Marshall in a fucking parade. Look in your rear view mirror and, if you see a line of cars behind you, MOVE THE HELL OVER.
3. At a stoplight on a 70 mph highway, it's really not good form to move - from a complete stop - over to the next lane as the light changes to green. That little dick dance is going to earn you death. Traffic coming up has seen the light change and NO cars ahead of them so they are still humping along at a pretty good clip. I'm pretty sure you won't like when someone's engine block lands in your lap. Be satisfied where you ended up when the light went red and nobody gets hurt.
4. Pick a fucking speed. Mach, Snail...I don't care - just be consistent! And see 1-3.
I've decided to mount my video camera on my dashboard. My commute is 45 minutes one-way and I see stupid shit in that 45 minutes every day that can't be explained. Must be seen to be believed.
It's always amazing to see people sit up and drive right when a cop is present. Turn signals are used, road rage is tamped down, everybody suddenly remembers the rules.
So, here's my advise to all of you: drive like you know you're being recorded. Drive like the car next to you is a cop. The world will be a better place.
Done. For now.
Friday, November 22, 2013
Friday, December 3, 2010
Physics and Chemistry
I burned my ass yesterday. Not lying. I don't think anyone else in the entire world could accomplish this feat in such a spectacularly mundane fashion.
It was a lit cigarette. I was out at the gazebo hammering another nail in the coffin. I had to get something out of my purse so I set the cigarette down on the edge of the bench on which I was sitting. Apparently, while my attention was diverted, a very slight breeze gently rolled the cigarette up under my right butt cheek. The sensation of slowly catching on fire is like nothing else on earth. It sneaks up on you.
Did you know flesh underneath clothing can burn while the clothing does not?! I didn't. But I do now. Lesson in physics and chemistry - I don't know exactly how it works but that's what happened. The pants were fully intact but I almost soiled them in the same general area. Fire hurts.
Needless to say, the folks around me were concerned about my sanity when I jumped up for no apparent reason and started gyrating like a fool. I'm sure it was fun to watch. A little humor for ya, fellas - you're welcome.
I'm adding this incident to my long list of reasons to quit.
It was a lit cigarette. I was out at the gazebo hammering another nail in the coffin. I had to get something out of my purse so I set the cigarette down on the edge of the bench on which I was sitting. Apparently, while my attention was diverted, a very slight breeze gently rolled the cigarette up under my right butt cheek. The sensation of slowly catching on fire is like nothing else on earth. It sneaks up on you.
Did you know flesh underneath clothing can burn while the clothing does not?! I didn't. But I do now. Lesson in physics and chemistry - I don't know exactly how it works but that's what happened. The pants were fully intact but I almost soiled them in the same general area. Fire hurts.
Needless to say, the folks around me were concerned about my sanity when I jumped up for no apparent reason and started gyrating like a fool. I'm sure it was fun to watch. A little humor for ya, fellas - you're welcome.
I'm adding this incident to my long list of reasons to quit.
Kolaches & Dirt - The Correlation
(Originally occurred 3 Nov 2010)
I wish I could remember all the goofy shit The Teenage Daughter has ever said or done but, alas! I'm getting older and don't retain information well. Time to start recording for posterity.
I was driving her to Cross Country practice this morning at the butt-crack o' dawn. She has to be there at 5:45 a.m.. The coaches are sadistic Nazis with no sense. People in Texas take their sports way too seriously.
She asked if we could get Kolaches - the German version of Pigs-In-A-Blanket. So we went through the drive through. I have to say here: I find it sad that the little Asian woman already knew what we wanted. What does that say about us?? Anyway, we left the drive-thru chuckling because we'd only wanted 3 Kolaches and the woman assumed we wanted our 'usual' 1/2 dozen. We caved and got 6. Slaves to our cravings.
The Daughter magically produced a small paper bag and stuffed 2 of the Kolaches into it. I asked what had previously resided in the bag. She said it was a Kolache we'd gotten last Friday. We back-and-forthed a bit because I was sure Tiny Asia had given us a donut freebie in that white bag last Friday. We got it sorted out - it was a Kolache.
I then asked her what she did with the Kolache from 4 days ago and she said...she ate it - and showed me the remnants still in her hand. I asked if she'd actually eaten a 4 day old Kolache. She said, "yeah, I was hungry!" like I was a complete idiot for even asking! She muttered, "5 day rule". I told her I was pretty sure there was such a thing as a 5 Second Rule but she was damaged if she observed a 5 Day Rule.
Then she said she'd heated it up, as if this information somehow made it all better. I had thought the damned Kolache was in the TRUCK the entire time so, trying to sort out in my head how she could have heated it up, I asked her where the Kolache had been for the last 4 days. ??
And she said (I CAN NOT believe this), "It was in my gym bag".
This is where I lost my mind and had to pull over - I was crying, laughing so hard my sides hurt. She was laughing her ass off too and she tried to defend herself, saying, "well, it was in the sanitary part of my gym bag". That sent me into another spasm of hysteria. If you've ever been in the same room with a teenager's gym bag, you know there is NO sanitary part. The entire thing reeks.
Thank God I let her eat dirt when she was a kid. Maybe she's built up an immunity to skanky stuff.
We were both still laughing as she got out at the school gym. At least I know she started her day off in a great mood.
But my child, bless her heart, is seriously gross.
I wish I could remember all the goofy shit The Teenage Daughter has ever said or done but, alas! I'm getting older and don't retain information well. Time to start recording for posterity.
I was driving her to Cross Country practice this morning at the butt-crack o' dawn. She has to be there at 5:45 a.m.. The coaches are sadistic Nazis with no sense. People in Texas take their sports way too seriously.
She asked if we could get Kolaches - the German version of Pigs-In-A-Blanket. So we went through the drive through. I have to say here: I find it sad that the little Asian woman already knew what we wanted. What does that say about us?? Anyway, we left the drive-thru chuckling because we'd only wanted 3 Kolaches and the woman assumed we wanted our 'usual' 1/2 dozen. We caved and got 6. Slaves to our cravings.
The Daughter magically produced a small paper bag and stuffed 2 of the Kolaches into it. I asked what had previously resided in the bag. She said it was a Kolache we'd gotten last Friday. We back-and-forthed a bit because I was sure Tiny Asia had given us a donut freebie in that white bag last Friday. We got it sorted out - it was a Kolache.
I then asked her what she did with the Kolache from 4 days ago and she said...she ate it - and showed me the remnants still in her hand. I asked if she'd actually eaten a 4 day old Kolache. She said, "yeah, I was hungry!" like I was a complete idiot for even asking! She muttered, "5 day rule". I told her I was pretty sure there was such a thing as a 5 Second Rule but she was damaged if she observed a 5 Day Rule.
Then she said she'd heated it up, as if this information somehow made it all better. I had thought the damned Kolache was in the TRUCK the entire time so, trying to sort out in my head how she could have heated it up, I asked her where the Kolache had been for the last 4 days. ??
And she said (I CAN NOT believe this), "It was in my gym bag".
This is where I lost my mind and had to pull over - I was crying, laughing so hard my sides hurt. She was laughing her ass off too and she tried to defend herself, saying, "well, it was in the sanitary part of my gym bag". That sent me into another spasm of hysteria. If you've ever been in the same room with a teenager's gym bag, you know there is NO sanitary part. The entire thing reeks.
Thank God I let her eat dirt when she was a kid. Maybe she's built up an immunity to skanky stuff.
We were both still laughing as she got out at the school gym. At least I know she started her day off in a great mood.
But my child, bless her heart, is seriously gross.
Classic Briana - The Parking Lot Incident
(Originally occurred 28 July 2010)
I arrived just a little bit late for work today. Here's why...
All the way in to work, I could tell the passenger-side door wasn't fully closed because of the horrendous cacophony inside the truck cab when the door isn't latched - sounds like running up the engines on a fighter jet. When I parked, I decided I'd get all my bags out of the passenger side, thus affording me the opportunity to slam that door shut properly so the ride home wouldn't have the taste and texture of a flight line. I dutifully hit the unlock button (I lock the doors when driving down Old Pearsall road - bad element there, as evidenced by last week's news story of the dum-dum in that area who pulled a knife on a cop and was shot and killed for his efforts). I then walked around to the passenger side, opened the door, grabbed my Big Betty Bag O' Shit, lunch bag (the high-end Target plastic bag variety) and coffee mug and locked the door...only to realize I'd forgotten to put up the dash shade. Mama does NOT like to get in a hot car at the end of the day so I fumbled with the damned shade, hoping I could place it under the visors while standing outside the passenger side door. This was not pretty - I won't describe my contortions. Suffice it to say, it was a no-go. So, I put down all my crap, slammed the door (thus achieving the desired noise-reduction) and started walking around to the driver's side.
Now, there's this annoying little dwarf woman (sorry, not PC, but very descriptive) who loves to pull up right next to my truck while I'm standing there with the door open...even if there's a space on the other side of my truck. We seem to arrive every morning at about the same time and she does this EVERY morning. I deliberately park next to an empty space on the driver's side so I can get out comfortably without feeling like I'm packed into a ride at Disneyland. This morning, while I was walking around to my driver's side, she drove up and stopped...waiting. It was a standoff. After a few seconds, I gave her my best stink-eye and I think she got the message because she backed the hell up and took another spot (closer to the building I might add. Is the woman OCD??).
Having solved THAT little problem, I proceeded to my driver's side door. If you've been reading carefully, you know what happened next...
Oh, yes, I DID lock myself out of my truck. Now, I had a dilemma: do I ask the Dwarf - who I just probably offended with my nasty glare - to borrow her cell to call The Husband and ask him to bring me his truck key? Probably not. Saving grace! Another woman pulled up two spaces over. I ran over and asked to borrow Martha's cell (I later learned her name...she got to witness the whole debacle and has seen me at my ugliest). She handed me the phone and I started to dial only to realize something very important.
But first, a little tidbit of information about me...
Keys annoy me. Key RINGS are my own little special place in Hell - I despise them. About a week ago, I took my truck key off my key ring. It's so much easier to carry around in a pocket or small purse, you know? But I digress. When I got home one afternoon, I casually threw my truck key into my Big Betty Bag O' Shit...where it got lost. I had to pick up The Teenage Daughter at the airport last Friday night and I was in a hurry so I took the truck key off The Husband's key ring. Never gave it back to him.
Are you picking up what I'm putting down here? Smellin' what I'm stepping in? You betcha...BOTH keys were in my Big Betty Bag O' Shit which was sitting conveniently on the passenger seat - just inches from me - in my LOCKED TRUCK.
Ding! A lightbulb went on over my head:
The little sliding window in the back of the truck hasn't latched properly in the 4 years I've been with my husband. I could open that window and get into the truck that way. Right? I handed the phone back to Martha and walked around to the back of the truck. And promptly discovered the next in my series of problems. Since retirement, I've put on a few pounds mostly in the posterior region. I was pretty sure my big ass wasn't going to fit through that tiny window.
Briefly, I again considered the Dwarf. She'd be able to get in there no problem. As annoyed as I was at that point, I fantasized for just a second about shoving her little ass in there. But I then remembered that I'm a nice person and nice people don't molest little people.
Resolutely, I climbed up onto the truck bed cover - I can't describe the noise it made as I tip-toed across it. Let's just say, it wasn't flattering and I'm ashamed to admit that I was offended by an inanimate object. Moving along...
I opened the window and easily managed to insert myself to my hips. Please feel free to imagine the visual here: On my knees with my butt up in the air, half of me inside the truck, shirt hanging down for all the world to see the color of my bra. Thankfully, I was able to reach my purse on the passenger seat - I'd like to take this brief opportunity to thank my Dad for my Neanderthal arms. Now for the fun part: extricating myself from the window. Mind you, my pants were a little too roomy in the waist area this morning so I'd rolled the waistband down once. This came back to bite me in the ass - pun intended - because, as I tried to remove myself from the truck, my pants pulled down even further and my thong underthang was on glaring display. To add to this stunning, train-wreck-can't-look-away debacle, as I backed out my shirt got caught on the bottom of the window opening and rode up OVER my bra to my neck. Thus, I was for a very brief moment this morning, clad from my neck to my butt only in my bra and panties out in the parking lot.
Now...looking back at my clothing option yesterday, I can only say ThankYouBabyJesus that it happened today instead!
(Yesterday I was wearing a skirt)
I arrived just a little bit late for work today. Here's why...
All the way in to work, I could tell the passenger-side door wasn't fully closed because of the horrendous cacophony inside the truck cab when the door isn't latched - sounds like running up the engines on a fighter jet. When I parked, I decided I'd get all my bags out of the passenger side, thus affording me the opportunity to slam that door shut properly so the ride home wouldn't have the taste and texture of a flight line. I dutifully hit the unlock button (I lock the doors when driving down Old Pearsall road - bad element there, as evidenced by last week's news story of the dum-dum in that area who pulled a knife on a cop and was shot and killed for his efforts). I then walked around to the passenger side, opened the door, grabbed my Big Betty Bag O' Shit, lunch bag (the high-end Target plastic bag variety) and coffee mug and locked the door...only to realize I'd forgotten to put up the dash shade. Mama does NOT like to get in a hot car at the end of the day so I fumbled with the damned shade, hoping I could place it under the visors while standing outside the passenger side door. This was not pretty - I won't describe my contortions. Suffice it to say, it was a no-go. So, I put down all my crap, slammed the door (thus achieving the desired noise-reduction) and started walking around to the driver's side.
Now, there's this annoying little dwarf woman (sorry, not PC, but very descriptive) who loves to pull up right next to my truck while I'm standing there with the door open...even if there's a space on the other side of my truck. We seem to arrive every morning at about the same time and she does this EVERY morning. I deliberately park next to an empty space on the driver's side so I can get out comfortably without feeling like I'm packed into a ride at Disneyland. This morning, while I was walking around to my driver's side, she drove up and stopped...waiting. It was a standoff. After a few seconds, I gave her my best stink-eye and I think she got the message because she backed the hell up and took another spot (closer to the building I might add. Is the woman OCD??).
Having solved THAT little problem, I proceeded to my driver's side door. If you've been reading carefully, you know what happened next...
Oh, yes, I DID lock myself out of my truck. Now, I had a dilemma: do I ask the Dwarf - who I just probably offended with my nasty glare - to borrow her cell to call The Husband and ask him to bring me his truck key? Probably not. Saving grace! Another woman pulled up two spaces over. I ran over and asked to borrow Martha's cell (I later learned her name...she got to witness the whole debacle and has seen me at my ugliest). She handed me the phone and I started to dial only to realize something very important.
But first, a little tidbit of information about me...
Keys annoy me. Key RINGS are my own little special place in Hell - I despise them. About a week ago, I took my truck key off my key ring. It's so much easier to carry around in a pocket or small purse, you know? But I digress. When I got home one afternoon, I casually threw my truck key into my Big Betty Bag O' Shit...where it got lost. I had to pick up The Teenage Daughter at the airport last Friday night and I was in a hurry so I took the truck key off The Husband's key ring. Never gave it back to him.
Are you picking up what I'm putting down here? Smellin' what I'm stepping in? You betcha...BOTH keys were in my Big Betty Bag O' Shit which was sitting conveniently on the passenger seat - just inches from me - in my LOCKED TRUCK.
Ding! A lightbulb went on over my head:
The little sliding window in the back of the truck hasn't latched properly in the 4 years I've been with my husband. I could open that window and get into the truck that way. Right? I handed the phone back to Martha and walked around to the back of the truck. And promptly discovered the next in my series of problems. Since retirement, I've put on a few pounds mostly in the posterior region. I was pretty sure my big ass wasn't going to fit through that tiny window.
Briefly, I again considered the Dwarf. She'd be able to get in there no problem. As annoyed as I was at that point, I fantasized for just a second about shoving her little ass in there. But I then remembered that I'm a nice person and nice people don't molest little people.
Resolutely, I climbed up onto the truck bed cover - I can't describe the noise it made as I tip-toed across it. Let's just say, it wasn't flattering and I'm ashamed to admit that I was offended by an inanimate object. Moving along...
I opened the window and easily managed to insert myself to my hips. Please feel free to imagine the visual here: On my knees with my butt up in the air, half of me inside the truck, shirt hanging down for all the world to see the color of my bra. Thankfully, I was able to reach my purse on the passenger seat - I'd like to take this brief opportunity to thank my Dad for my Neanderthal arms. Now for the fun part: extricating myself from the window. Mind you, my pants were a little too roomy in the waist area this morning so I'd rolled the waistband down once. This came back to bite me in the ass - pun intended - because, as I tried to remove myself from the truck, my pants pulled down even further and my thong underthang was on glaring display. To add to this stunning, train-wreck-can't-look-away debacle, as I backed out my shirt got caught on the bottom of the window opening and rode up OVER my bra to my neck. Thus, I was for a very brief moment this morning, clad from my neck to my butt only in my bra and panties out in the parking lot.
Now...looking back at my clothing option yesterday, I can only say ThankYouBabyJesus that it happened today instead!
(Yesterday I was wearing a skirt)
Thursday, December 2, 2010
They said I should do it ... so I'm doing it
Earlier this year, I had an unfortunate incident in the parking lot where I work. I'm the first person to laugh at myself so I wrote a humorous e-mail detailing the incident and sent it out to friends. They all got a kick out of it and, being a whore for attention, I began spamming their e-mail with 'no shit, there I was!' stories. A couple of friends suggested I start a blog. And so it begins...
No guarantees I'll keep this thing going but I'll give it the old college try.
Next opportunity (read: when I find some time), I'll post my Parking Lot Incident.
No guarantees I'll keep this thing going but I'll give it the old college try.
Next opportunity (read: when I find some time), I'll post my Parking Lot Incident.
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