A brief, non-African-safari-type interlude

So I think we can say that March was a month of epic FAIL for this blog. As you can see, I managed to post twice during the entire month. And April isn't off to much of a start, either.

I really wish I could say I was doing something exciting like climbing Kilimanjaro sans sherpa or glamorous like...showering two days in a row.

No such luck.

Instead, I've been trying to meet some wicked work deadlines, burning the midnight and weekend oils, and catching some sleep now and then.

And, OK, I also:

• Eked out a few minutes of playtime with the new puppy


• Was asked to speak at my alma mater


• Immediately began freaking out about speaking in public for the first time since taking a public speaking class at said alma mater


• Was swindled by an old, crusty man


• Am currently counting the days until vacation (Florida in T-minus 19 days!)


• Sadly broke my four-month caffeine-free streak (some things are unavoidable)


• Have missed all of you terribly

The crazy work times won't really be over until June. But there are simply too many things swirling around in my head that need to be jettisoned, and T is getting really tired of listening to the same stories over and over.

So.

Next up: Introductions. After that? We'll see.

The best and worst thing I've seen all week

Those moments, they come on out of nowhere.

The moments when I realize: I love living in a small town.

I was giving blood at the hospital earlier this week, and upon exiting my car, I was instantly stopped in my tracks by a truck parked adjacent to my unassuming little Honda.


I know -- at first glance it doesn't look like anything unusual. Black Dodge 4x4, lawn-care sticker on the gate, not-obnoxiously-oversized tires.

But such everyday, run-of-the-mill vehicle accoutrement were clearly not enough for this driver.

Upon closer inspection:


Oh, yes, ladies. Hold on to your girdles.

Awesome.

Have you heard about my new lov-ah?

I was on the Droid, weeding through my junk e-mail this week, looking for an errant message from Amazon (I weed out EVERYTHING), when I saw this subject line:

"A new eCard is waiting for you!"

Ooh, one of my friends sent me an e-card. Fun!

So I clicked the link. And when the page refreshed, I saw:

1. A little cartoon dude holding a sign that says "I Love You"
2. The headline "You have a secret admirer!"
3. A message addressed to "Lover"
   

OK, so obviously, this was a spammer of some kind. Because as much as I love and adore my T, he would never in a million years send me an e-card, much less one addressed to "Lover." (I mean, ew.)

But the message was so random and hilarious that I knew I had to share it with you here. Please enjoy with me (original message in bold, my commentary in italics, all spelling/grammar errors left in):

Lover,

(I've made my feelings about this word known, I think, but it bears repeating: Don't call your significant other this. It's just creepy. Unless you say it like "LOV-ah!" while batting your eyes and making loud smoochy noises. Then it's just funny.)

This is hard for me because I have never done anything like this.. but I have a huge crush on you. I have never been able to tell you for reasons which you would quickly identify as obvious if you knew who this was.

(In addition to appealing to the reader's vanity, bravo for keeping it juuuuust vague enough to intrigue the reader and yet say absolutely nothing. Also, kudos for using the ellipses' lesser known cousin, the double-period. Definitely under-utilized.)

To help you out with your guessing I made a few pictures and videos with "Lover" written on my body. They're kind of risque photos so I had to make a profile at My Site and post them there.

(OK, let's stop right here. If I had any doubt that this was a generic message intended to bilk something out of the recipient, it's now eliminated. No one I know would write "Lover" on their body and then record this abomination for posterity. Who is falling for this? Also, convenient that the identifying material is on a site I probably have to register for. Well-played, Mystery Lover. Not.)

My username in the members area is "LoverandME200"

(Of course it is.)

You've only got 30 minutes to signup & secure anonymous verify your identity before they expire. I only have 1 chance to find you I don't want to regret this.. Please hurry.

("Secure anonymous verify" is the newest in verbs, have you heard? This was totally written by someone I know. Uh huh. Props to the writer for assuming I would regret any part of NOT participating in this. How well you (apparently) know me. "Please hurry"? Maybe to get AWAY from you.)

Step 1: Go to "my profile" and signup. Step 2: You will be sent an email. Once you click the link in the email, you will verify yourself as my secret admirer and pay the little registration fee. Get started on Step 1 & 2.

(Wait. I thought YOU were MY secret admirer. When did we change roles? Oh, a "little" registration fee? Aha! At last my secret admirer shows his/her true colors. And, P.S., "get started" is a little bossy. Not a trait I cherish in my LOV-AHs.)

I'm shy and this is the bravest thing I've probably ever done, but you need to do the rest. You are honestly the best thing about this city.

(Oh, you're right. You wrote "Lover" on your body and posted sexy pictures of yourself on the Internet. The least I can do is PAY A FEE to see who you are, even though I'm happily married and you are in no way NOT a computer. I will say, though: For a fake lover, you are a really crappy researcher. If you actually knew me, you'd know that using the word "city" to describe my place of residence is a knee-slapping joke.)

Fraudster FAIL.

Today's definition of heartbreak

Telling Bubba that, between the two of us, we've eaten all the Cheerios.

Thursday Doodlefest

Work is crazy-busy.

It's almost Christmas.

!!!

For some reason, I decided I needed to knit presents for several of my family members. (When did I think I'd have time for that, again?)

AND we have our first Christmas celebration of the season on Saturday. And it's...at a water park. (More on this later.)

In other words: Free time is just not something I have a lot of these days. And, sadly, writing lengthy, meaningful, thought-provoking blog posts is nearly last on my priority list.

(I'm sorry.)

Which is how we've ended up here: The Thursday Doodlefest.

I had some particularly grueling conference calls this week, and sometimes, you know, you just need to doodle to keep from falling asleep. (You know you do it, too.) In the absence of any other ideas for posts, please allow me to invite you to my GALLERY OF ART (in all-caps because it is THAT IMPORTANT).

Brief disclaimer: As will become immediately evident, I am a horrible artist. I choose to believe this makes my doodles extra charming.

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1. Goofy Face No. 1


Right away, there are a few troubling elements. What is the mood of this person? He/she is smiling, but the eyebrows are cocked like "I might be smiling ironically!" The nose and the chin, obviously. And maybe most worrisome: Where is the rest of his head? Is he just a face, floating in the ether? Yes. Yes he is.


2. The Flower

This is a mainstay of my doodling repertoire. Mostly because it's kind of hard to mess up a flower. For some reason I always draw them very vine-y and/or droopy, and I always, always, ALWAYS draw one of the petals larger than the others, which then necessitates the heavy outlining and "shading" you see here.

You officially have my permission to tattoo this on your ankle. Or your right boob. (The left boob is just trashy.)


3. The Portrait

On the right: Frankie the Frankenstein ring.

On the left: An artist's rendering of the aforementioned Frankie. Yes the proportions are amazingly incorrect. But I think the likeness is remarkable. At the very least, this is good enough for a missing person's report or something, should Frankie ever be ringnapped.


4. Goofy Face No. 2 (Now with more warts!)

As with the first face, you'll note the distinct absence of any outward facial definition. This is a profile shot, so obviously we've reached the Intermediate level of Goofy Face Drawing. Key skills to master: One giant eye (giant eyebrow optional); completely ridiculous nose wart (with hair); freckles (naturally); rotting teeth in apparently-cavernous mouth (bonus points for ambiguous expression). Check, check, checkity-check.


5. Goofy Face No. 3


At first glance, it probably looks like we've taken a step back in the Goofy Face hierarchy. But I would argue that the glasses, the crossed eyes and the artfully-missing tooth in No. 3 set this Goofy Face apart from the rest. If only in a "Wow, she really wasn't kidding about the not being able to draw AT ALL" kind of way.

And besides, without the simplicity of Goofy Face No. 3, how would you ever appreciate the piece de resistance that I like to call...


6.Dog-faced Potato Girl!

Pretty sure this was one of those add-on drawings. Like, I drew a squiggly shape, and it kind of looked like a potato, so I added eyes to the body. The I drew a face, and it came out looking kind of dog-like, so I played up the nose, added wavy, hairy ears and sunglasses (obviously).

The hands and feet were probably added because, without them, it just looked like a dog-faced girl in a potato sack. And that's depressing. Although I'm not sure her tiny T-Rex arms are much of an improvement.

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In other news: This whole post was dumb, and I apologize profusely. Unless you found it entertaining, in which case: You are welcome. :)

Unsolicited conversation in a Sam's Club parking lot

(Above: Hyperbole and a Half)

****************************************************

Sunday night, T and I are walking out of Sam's Club after picking up a gargantuan bag of Pupperoni (Slim-Jims for dogs!) and the 1 millionth package of cucumbers we've purchased in the last two months (because SOMEONE who is NOT ME keeps "forgetting to eat them" and letting them go bad) when it happens.

We're almost home free. We've unloaded our wares into the car, and I'm pushing the cart into the corral when I hear T say "Pardon?"

I look over, and a smoking couple (by which I mean they were smoking cigarettes in the parking lot, not that they were smoking hot -- they really, really weren't) is calling something to him from their car a few spaces away. I can't hear what they're saying, but I hear the word "vibe" and can see that tell-tale "Awkward!" look on T's face.

Oh, crap. Are we being propositioned by swingers in a Sam's Club parking lot?!

I debate escaping back into the safety of Sam's, but I can't just abandon my poor husband. I walk over.

"...yeah, it's a good little car," Smoking Man is saying. "Like I said, we got rid of our first one, and we always regretted it."

"Yep," Smoking Wife agrees, ashing her cigarette on the pavement.

I look at T. He has a pained look on his face that I don't quite understand, now that it's become clear the Smokers aren't trying to lure us back to their love dungeon. We make eye contact briefly and he gives me one of those "OMG, I can't say it out loud, but we need to get out of here" looks.

"Like I was telling your husband," Smoking Man says, addressing me directly now, "our son had a Pontiac Vibe (aha! I knew I'd heard the word "vibe"!) just like yours. Really good car. We all really loved it. Really loved it. And then he died."

Wait. What?

"Now the car we had after that, THAT was a story," Smoking Man says, chuckling.

This went on for the next 20 minutes.

It appeared that Smoking Couple had, tragically, lost their son a few years back. Which is a horrible, horrible thing to happen to anyone.

I'm just still not sure how they ended up talking about it with us, total strangers, in a Sam's Club parking lot. And it's not a conversation you can just end with a "Wow, that's really rough. Well, our ice cream is melting. See ya!"

And, you know. It's not their job to make me feel comfortable. Why SHOULDN'T they be able to tell random strangers about losing their son, and expect some compassion in return? Was it really so important that we get home RIGHT then to put our cucumbers in the fridge, where they will probably spoil yet again before someone eats them? Was it so awful that we spent a few awkward moments possibly helping someone voice their grief?

I...don't have a clever end to this post. It was just one of those strange things -- a conversation that left me feeling both uncomfortable (why are you telling me this again?) and sad. I kind of wanted to hug them; in the end we just said a goodbye as awkward as the conversation we'd just had.

How would you have handled this?

Chair graffiti

My office is enormous. Last time I heard the human capacity quantified, it was somewhere around 10,000 people.

And, unlike most giant buildings, it's long instead of tall.

It's roughly the size of the Empire State Building lying on its side. For real.

Because it's so spread out, it has a huge, mall-like atrium running through its center, lined with towering trees, burbling pools and squashy armchairs where employees hold impromptu meetings and take personal calls throughout the day.

And, sometimes they nap. Really.

Just outside my wing of the building, one such arrangement of squashy chairs is nearly always occupied by a woman in her early 20s, usually clad in a very work-inappropriate outfit (think belly shirts exposing both muffin top and tramp stamp), talking loudly on a crystal-encrusted cell phone.

She's there almost every time I walk by. In the morning. Lunchtime. Mid-afternoon. When I go home in the evening. I find myself not only wondering when this woman ever gets any work done, but also: What can she possibly be talking about?

I think I know now:

Scrawled on the arm of her favorite squashy chair

LOVE KILLS

That may be, Inappropriately-Dressed Loud-Talker. That may be. But something tells me that, if you worked a little bit harder and defaced your employers' property a little less, your life might improve.

This has been a public service announcement.

Random Saturday-ness

1. The Fringe apple with the baby seeds makes my insides feel squirmy:

2. Some weird, horrible things are going on with my nose and sinuses; I haven't been able to properly breathe for weeks. The inside of my nose feels like a dry, barren wasteland, and in a desperate effort to see what was going on in there, I just used a hand mirror and the LED light on my Droid to look up my own nose. It wasn't my proudest moment.

3. Two weeks ago, I had never heard of Demi Lovato. How is she already famous enough to be in rehab?

4. Still cold in my house. (I think it might be warmer outside than it is in my house.) Still wearing my Snuggie. Still totally creeped out by Baby Tumor Snuggie.

5. I've always wanted red hair. Like, natural copper-red hair. I ended up with orange hair once, when the stylist at Fiesta Hair interpreted "Can you warm up my dark brown hair color?" as "Can you please bleach the crap out of my hair, leaving it with the consistency of straw, and then throw some orange dye on it in a misguided attempt to make up for your incompetence?"

6. Red hair DOES run in one side of my family and in T's family, so it's conceivable we could end up with a red-haired baby one of these days. Which should be fun to explain to people, since we both have dark brown hair, and people are judge-y.

7. T and I have been watching every season of Bones on Instant Netflix for the past month or so, and we're locked in a no-holds-barred, fight-to-the-death argument about who is the more beautiful Deschanel sister. (I say Zooey, he says Emily.)

Both of us can agree, though, that David Boreanaz is not nearly as hot as he thinks he is.

World-weary...and three feet tall

The scene: Thursday evening, Family Dollar, standing in line, waiting to purchase shower curtain liner.

In front of me, a grandmother is waiting to purchase a few miscellaneous items while wrangling two grandchildren: a bespectacled boy around 8 years old and a girl around 6.

The girl is bouncing up and down, touching everything within reach, prompting Grandma to grasp wildly for and then hold the little one's hands at her sides.

At this point the girl, although restrained, continues to bounce up and down, up and down, up and down and chant loudly -- while her brother faces bravely forward.

Bouncy: We're going to Grandma's! We're going to Grandma's! Grandma's! Grandma's! GrandmaGrandmaGrandmaGrandma! GrammagrammagrammagrAAAAAAAAAMMMMAAAAA--"

Grandma: (trying and failing to clap one hand over Bouncy's perpetually moving mouth, but still kind of laughing, because, obnoxious or not, the girl is adorable) Oh, my God, you are LOUD.

Older Brother: (over his shoulder, with a world-weary roll of his eyes) Welcome to my world, Grandma. Welcome. To my world.

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As a fellow older sibling, I wanted to hug the little guy. Hug him, pat him on the back, and reassure him that...it's just going to be like this for the rest of his life, so he might as well get used to it.

:)

Sidenote: As Grandma was paying for their purchases, Older Brother was trying in vain to justify adding a bag of chips to the pile. "Sometimes I wake up really early in the morning, like 5:00, and I just NEED Doritos."

I sort of wanted to adopt him on the spot.