Pretty Toes The Bizarre Way

Recently a dear, sweet friend emailed me to tell me how exciting her Friday was turning out to be. She was way excited about winning a fabulous manicure package at a local spa on the radio! She listens to this particular radio station every morning and something took over her brain and she decided to call in during the morning shows Question of the Day. What was the question? What's the weirdest thing you have in your closet? Hmmmm. I thought to myself. What could it be? All kind of twisted, sinister things pop into my head. Guess what her winning answer was? Her mother's urn. Well. That's um weird I suppose (I currently have the un-urned remains of the old boys poppa in my china cabinet - is that weird too?) Well it really was not the funniest part of the story. You see my friends mom is alive and kicking (thank you very much!) Yup, her mother bought the urn, gave it to her dear daughter about 10 years ago and my pal has been moving the sucker around from new home to new home, from closet to closet for all these years (and most likely many more!) Sister, your mom brings organization to a whole new level, all be it a little creepy. That or the chick has some serious control issues and does not trust you to pick out the most fashionable urn. You know what? This story has inspired me! I have decided that the kid that pisses me off the most over the next ten years or so will receive my urn to pack around with them and keep until I kick it. Oh and I have a lot of crap to do before I walk the big walk, let me tell ya! (mostly think it will totally creep out any future wife that comes into the picture therefore effectively ruling out any buttbag with no sense of humour who decides to hook up with one of the "boys". Ha ha bitches!)

My friends day......awesome. Her mom's obsessive compulsiveness has spooked her for years, but all that urn packing and moving paid off. Her toes.....beautiful. Thanks mom!

(PS - Dude, you should have fought fire with fire and totally put flowers in that sucker and put it in the most prominent place in your house when mom came over. I betcha 10 years later the old bird would have said "Goodness, what a lovely vase!" Jokes on you mom.)

And A Running We Shall Go

Well, I did it. I finally convinced my running partner to hit the street, so to say. We went out yesterday for our first outside run in many months. Oh the feeling of the wind in my hair… scratch that – I wear a hat….. Oh the feeling of the blood rushing through my body…… oh, that was a near heart attack. Um. How about this (for those of you who think running is FUN) we hit the road like a couple of ladies running to the blue light during the famous “blue light special”. Outta the gates at top speed – think cheetah chasing prey. This insane, unconscious idea was mostly likely a combination of excitement to finally be outside running and because it was so freaking cold if we did not get a move on we most likely would have frozen to death (In reality it was me who was cold. I’m a sissy.) After about 15 minutes of running at top, turtle speed we both practically hyperventilated and had to walk it out for a minute. It took about 20 minutes in to realize that we probably messed up not pacing ourselves right from the start. Especially since we are both not in top racing form. Alas, we sucked it up and continued on, patiently waiting for the other one to call “mercy” (which does not happen often because my running partner is a great runner and I am stubborn). Finished strong (still standing) and went the hell home to warm up the appendages. As soon as the hot water hit my cold, beet red arms in the shower I again wondered what the hell is fun about running and why I put myself through this. After my litany of curse words and having to turn the water to frigid, I started to feel good. Finally, this is what it’s all about…..the finish feel good. There is nothing like it. Side note: about six hours later I took a couple painful steps down the stairs. As soon as the old boy heard me cry out all he said was: “you went running”. Ah, thanks for the reminder dude. That’s why I can’t get down the stairs. Better re-think the “half-marathon in 20 days” training if just getting down the stairs is like an Ironman event.

Would you like a donut with that?

Who hasn’t made a little location error every once and a while when going through a drive thru? You know: driving over the odd curb, bumping the car in front of you while getting your change, driving too far away from the window and having to get out of your car to hand over your money and get your order? Well, I have committed a brand new offence and I have no excuses. I was not up all night at the casino winning at blackjack. I was not at the pub telling people my opinion. Nope, nothing. Can’t even say I was tired. I actually pulled up to one of the extremely convenient garbage cans and tried to place my order! In my defense this particular Tim’s was littered with garbage cans (irony). It was like the yellow brick road of garbage cans…….. I got so exhausted from the mere act of cleaning out my car and taking advantage of every single garbage receptacle that by the time I ran out of junk in the car I certainly MUST have come to the little speaker that politely asks “pick your poison?” This would have just been a funny little story I kept to myself but alas there was a passenger and if I don’t start spilling the story soon you know its going to come out even worse for me. I’m pretty sure this trumps the time I drove past all the garbage cans AND the talky speaker thing right up to the pick-up window and tried to place my order. You should have seen the look I got from the chick behind the window! I thought she was going to call the National Guard right there on the spot. Seriously, do I look like i'm gonna rob the joint? (Although there have been times I have had a nearly homicidal need for coffee). I don’t know what came over me that time. Maybe because there was not a car in sight and I was so excited to be at the front of the line I freaked out and went right to the prize? I can’t really say but you can bet there was a little extra love in the cup of coffee I got that day.

The Bird Whisperer

This past weekend I was delegated the task of babysitting our neighbours two birds. Yup, birds. Although it would have been extremely amusing for me, our neighbours insist that the babysitting be done at their house, not mine. This might be due to the two cats. Not sure. Just the visual of the cats lying on top of the bird cages waiting for someone, anyone to open up the Kentucky Feathered Cage just kills me (does not amuse said neighbours. At all.)

I must admit to a small pathological fear of birds. Really, I don’t mind them as long as they don’t flap around and get in my hair or sit on my shoulder and try to peck my eyes out. Don’t even get me started on flying poop. Apart from the fear I have gotten used to and bonded with their Crazy Ass Woman Hater bird – Crackers. All other times I have babysat ole Crack Head I always feel bad for the darn thing being in the house all alone with no one to squawk at. This being said I always make a point of turning on the radio during the day and doing the “Pretty Bird” talk whenever I go do the food and water runs. Despite my efforts the bird always just hisses at me and will never come out of the cage (probably has nothing to do with the two pounds of cat hair hanging off me.) This Christmas, Crackers lobbied his family and pled his case for companionship. Dear family: “If you people keep going on hockey road trips and holidays and can’t take me with you I insist you bring in a friend. No, not a cat. They piss me off and seriously, they lick themselves. I would like another bird. Particularly one less beautiful than I. If you don’t get me someone to talk to I will promptly grab a stick, put a paper towel full of food at the end and leave. Vamoose. I’m going into the wild.” Cracky’s mom and dad promptly got him a friend. Great for Crackers. Bad for the babysitter. The new edition to the National Geographic scene looks exactly like Crackers! I can’t tell them apart. So on my first food and water run this weekend I open up the Alpha Bird’s cage first and low and behold the thing hops on my hand and walks up my arm to my shoulder. What? I don’t get it. This bird does not like women and certainly does not like me. It’s probably showing off for the new kid in town, Popcorn. So I do the water and food thing and then proceed to open Poppy’s cage to do the same and almost have a panic attack – what if they switch cages on me when I am not looking. Shit. Better put Cracky in the cage and then do Poppy. Good plan. Once I have foiled the Bird Babysitter Evasion Plan I do the food and water in the other cage. Strangest thing. Our friends told us Popcorn loves chicks and is super friendly. Not so much? Whats going on? Popcorn gives me the evil sidways look and won’t come out. I think my neigbours switched the birds on me and now I am concerned that I don’t know who is who. What if they come home and think I have messed up their pets? I spend the rest of the weekend suffering with a Bird Identification Crisis and call them both “pretty chicken” in the most sing-songy, pretty bird voice I can. Now that the neighbours have come home I am waiting for the phone to ring with “What the hell did you do to the birds?” What can I say? Would it have been to much to ask for you guys to get a bird of a different feather? Like BLUE.

Employer Wanted: Apply Within

So as I get on in age and as the economy turns (cool soap opera name: As The Economy Turns) I keep thinking that I am getting a bit to old to go out, resume in hand, peddling my better work qualities to prospective employers.  I think I am going to turn things around a little bit and be the interviewer, not the interviewee.  This is a first draft of the ad I will be placing to find my dream job.  If you have ever worked with me feel free to email particular quirks or a charming idiosyncrasy that I may have missed.
 
EMPLOYER WANTED:  Apply within.  Very tolerant employer with great sense of humor wanted for extremely hard worker with a teeny, tiny attitude issue.
 
Employer must be willing to provide more work than employee can possibly get done in a day in order to reduce boredom.  Employer must keep employee busy and mentally stimulated at all times.  If this condition is not met and employer lets guard down, paid napping and web shopping will ensue.  If workload dimishes enough, employer will be cited for misuse of employee time and said employee will leave.  Employee has better things to do (await delivery of above noted web shopping).
 
Employer must not require employee to conduct communication with other humans, of course unless they personally screen the humans for sense of humor and sarcasm tolerance, then communication will be considered.  As well, employer must be willing to take honesty. Brutal honesty.  If your outfit does not match, is flat out ugly, or really if you are breathing you open yourself up to honest critiquing, and it will be forthcoming.  Reverse criticism is acceptable and encouraged.
 
Employer must be willing to overlook employees obsessive compulsive level of attention to detail and be willing to have even a quick note or email proof read for grammar, punctuation and spelling (past and present tense will be reviewed as well).  That and if employee is given a beautiful, working IN box and you leave stuff on the chair, you open yourself up to a serious can of whooping.  Employee will take responsibility for any and all mistakes made but will not, under any circumstances, take the crap for someone else’s incompetence.
 
Employer must not, under any circumstances, expect employee to become buddies with the other employees or go shopping on lunch break.  Employee will be nice to the other employees - only if they do not present themselves in COW form, if that is the case, all bets are off.  This employee is there to work, not eat and socialize.  Coffee consumption completely different story and will be written into contract under Paid Mandatory Caffeine Break Article 2.2.
 
If you want to meet with employee you better be organized and your presentation of the information would best be kept in the most humorous way possible, again to reduce boredom.  I expect to be entertained.   My time is your money. 
 
Employer must expect voicemail to be used or take your own calls.  Babysitting is not a service employee offers.  If your phone answering expectations are different than this, hire Mrs. Wiggins.  If you don’t know who Mrs. Wiggins is, you are to young to be doing any hiring and get your ass back to the mailroom. 
 

Never, I mean NEVER, email under the influence!

As promised, I am delivering one of two embarrassing moments in my life (and my life seems to be riddled with them) that involve email. This happened a few years ago so I have dealt with the stupidity of the whole thing and it does not wake me up at night any more. Apparently my judgment is not the best after a couple of drinks.

We have friends (stop laughing, we do) whose son’s goal in life was to become a fireman (yes, I tried to talk him out of it, it didn’t work. His dream was bigger than my wisdom.) Over a few years this young man took every course you can possibly imagine and dedicated his entire life to getting his crazy ass into a firehall. He happened to stop in one night while his parents were celebrating something with us, I’m guessing we might have been toasting the fact that we all just woke up that morning (really, we are not getting any younger you know!). It was then the young fella explained the difficulties he was having applying for firedude positions. It seemed that although he was educated, fit and fabulous they would not consider him because of his youth. (Or yoootth if you are in New York).

Where does the embarrassing moment that you are all waiting for begin you ask? About now: I, in all my glory, (marg. a. rita.) went all Queen Injustice when I found out that one of the towns he was going to apply to was CHARGING people to just look at their credentials. What? You can’t be serious? He’s going to pay you to look at his application? I don’t think so! You should consider yourself lucky Junior sent his application to your horse riding, cow plopping, no mountain town in the first place! Well it was not enough for me to just go off about it, I took my salt rimmed attitude to the computer and promptly found the towns “mayor” and emailed him to let him know exactly what I thought of him making people pay for applying to work in his town. Oh it was not pretty. In the end I told him he was a criminal and he could not have our talented young lad and anyone who pays to apply for a job is just stupid and he deserves those type of people working for him anyway. Good luck when Town Hall catches on fire buddy! (I'm pretty sure I cc'd the Chief Fire Mucka Mucka too!) Oh did I feel better after that little ditty was done and I hit SEND. Of course until the next morning when I went into the SENT items (only after dredging up some memory of even being on the computer the night before!) and re-read the thing. Did you know that you not only slur your words when drunktalking you also slur your words when drunkwriting? Amazing phenomenon. (Every single time I even think that word I always sing the song from The Muppet Show – phenomenon, du du da da, phenomenon du da da da – please tell me a couple of you remember this?)

Future note: no matter how witty you think you are after a few drinks, it’s a delusion. That wonderful, warm feeling of superiority is false bravado. You seriously get dumber. Trust me. Therefore the rule stands: Never, and I really mean never, let me get near any kind of communication device when under the influence. I have already looked into purchasing a breathalyzer for my Blackberry.

Footnote to story: The young lad did get a position as a Fireman, in his own hometown. Apparently they know talent when they see it. And no, he did not take my advice to put “Have own pillow, will travel” on his resume.