Monday, April 21, 2014

Hey Shannon, you're on speaker...

Anyone who knows me, and my family should know before any others, that if I call you or you call me it is really best to let me know that I am on speakerphone BEFORE YOU EVER LET ME START TALKING.

YOU, human, have no idea what kind of day I’m having and chances are it is the first thing that you will hear about in our phone call. If I am having a bad day, my introduction will be laced with profanity. If I am having a good day, my introduction will be the laced the same. It is a constant. It will always be this way so you are best to let me know I am on speaker before I ever utter a word.

Husband, you learned the hard way that speakerphone without notification was a bad idea when I called you at work.

Son, you learned it was a bad idea in class.

Daughter, you became aware when I asked you odd questions about your laundry while you were at camp and your roommate was nearby.

Why do I do this? Because I hate talking on the phone and if you make me do it, I will hate you too.

I don’t know why I hate talking on the phone so much. When I was a teenager I loved the phone kind of like I loved the mall. Come to think of it, I hate the mall now too. Maybe I hate talking on the phone because I know that 10 minutes in I’m going to stop caring what you say. Eventually we will go to the bathroom together and I will tell you that it happened. Probably won’t need to because you will hear everything from the tinkle to the grunt to the ripping of toilet paper. I will hide nothing. I will hold the phone outward so you can hear the full depth of the flush when it is time for the fruits of my labor to be gone from me.

I have gone a week and not gotten an answer to a question simply because I didn’t want to make the phone call needed to answer it. I used to be a receptionist at an engineering firm which was a horrible idea because with the mixture of sarcasm, disgust of being told what to do, disdain for authority, dislike of being asked questions I couldn’t answer and hatred of talking on a phone which never stopped ringing seeping from my pores it created a vile aroma that no one wanted to be close to.

Which means it worked.

Talking on the phone, I hate. Me on a speaker, you'll hate.

So, if you ever have the need to call me or for me to call you, it’s best for your continued employment if you warn me about the speakerphone.

If you hate your job, then by all means call the CEO and the Board of Directors in, all while accompanied by impressionable children, forward your resume to your home email, call my number, lean back in your chair and hit the button.




A few months ago I had to go in for an MRI on my left shoulder. I really didn’t think too much about it, I mean, I’ve had MRI’s before and survived so I was okay with it. That being said, know that when my head MRI was taking place I seriously considered, while buried alive and having a freeway built over me, disassembling the entire machine and seeing myself out.

After that horror I thought the shoulder MRI would be a breeze.

It was a thought that turned out to be utter bullshit.

I walk into the MRI room, same room I had been in before, and found myself wondering what kind of grease to force ratio would to be used to get my big claustrophobic self into that little opening.

I laid on the too narrow table and the nice technician got me set up by strapping me down and putting some rigid contraption on my shoulder. Remember how I’m claustrophobic?

I’m all set up, the table starts moving and…


I reached out of the machine with my right hand and grabbed the outside of the machine to stop everything because there was no way that this thing was happening. The technician asked me if I was sure I wanted to stop.

Lady, I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.

She proceeded to tell me that 98% of people can’t finish the shoulder MRI. You can make that 99.

I thanked her for being patient with my refusal to be squeezed into the equivalent of a giant magnetic vagina, grabbed my stuff and left without an ounce of shame.

Luckily I was rescheduled for the bigger MRI machine (didn’t know there was one) and a dose of Valium. It’s amazing how a little pill can take you from “There’s no way I’m getting in that thing” to “I think I’ll just have my mail delivered here."

The next time I have an MRI appointment and get the chance to reprise my role as Augustus-Stuck-In-The-Pipe from “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory”, I’ll make sure that I am ridiculously unsober for the event.


Thursday, March 22, 2012

Poodle? Nah.

I don’t particularly care for poodles, not because they are bad but because they are, well, poodles and to own one makes me seem like somewhat of a candy ass. I look on CL and someone is getting rid of poodle puppies. They include a picture of one of the parents to let you know what the pups will look like when grown and it looks like this:

What the shit? No Erin, it’s not cute. It looks like some monkey-dog hybrid that was raised near a nuclear reactor. Yeah, that’s it, I’m going to buy a dog that I know is going to grow up to look like a growth stunted Chewbacca. For God sake at least brush this lint trap before you post a picture of it for the world to see.

Tuesday, January 17, 2012

My Aveo Rental

I have rented a Chevy Aveo, or similar, from Avis for the Fairbanks trip.

In summary, I’m going to die in something that looks like this:

...or similar.

I just want rescue and recovery teams to know what to look for.

Wednesday, November 16, 2011

It would be appreciated if...

It would be appreciated if the last person in the building turns off the hall lights.

It would also be appreciated if:

The person who uses the last binder clip or pen puts more in the tray;

And if the person who jams the copier fixes it or uses the last bit of paper in the copier replaces it instead of moving to another copier;

And if the person who uses the last roll of toilet paper puts more in the bathroom instead of complaining to those who have plenty of it in theirs…because we’re not 12 years old;

And if the person who asks others to do the same thing over and over learns how to do it themselves;

And if the person who “can’t see in the dark” stops driving in it;

And if the person who keeps talking will stop when the person engaged in this conversational hostage situation has walked off;

And if the person who slings coffee grounds all over the kitchen and then walks in them would not do it anymore;

And if the person who runs out of coffee in the pot would stop talking to those who don’t care that it happened;

And if those who clip their nails at work would stop because someone is going to lose an eye;

And if those who leave food in the refrigerator far past the date of intended consumption would learn what the rest of us already know…that is doesn’t just disappear;

I could go on….

Friday, November 04, 2011

Whipped Cream and Amber's Husband Joe

One day I decided to go out to the coffee shack in our parking lot to get a frozen coffee drink...which makes all KINDS of sense when it is 4 degrees outside and gale force windy. Amber's husband, Joe, was also getting a drink so I sat in his car with him.

I was invited. Don't think I just barrelled on in.

The girl making my drink and asked if I wanted some whipped cream in my sugar-free, fat-free drink and I replied that I would like some but "just a little bit".

She hands me the drink by way of Joe and wouldn't you just know that the "just a little bit" of whipped cream that I agreed to had filled all the air space in the dome lid and was pouring out onto the outside of the cup. I had to get the stuff off of there before I got it on my clothes and in the car and there was only one way to do it...

lick it off... front of Joe... the front seat of their family sedan.

I told him to look away and he gave me a rash of shit about it. I even put up hand blinders so he couldn't see me. Later Amber comes up and gives me a rash of shit in equal measure. This post was borne of this incident. It started off as an e-mail to Erin and Amber.

Hey Amber: Sorry about the soft-core porn in front of your husband. Sigh.

In my head I looked like this:

In reality I probably looked like this:

And this:

And then I was a black guy:

An Email Between Erin, Amber and I

This guy came into my work to fix our heater...his name was Brian and he was hot...and I once again got to display what an idiot I can truly be. All I have to do is open my mouth.

Okay Amber, Erin already knows this but you have to know too.

The heat went out today and they sent this guy *Brian* to fix it. Well, Brian was very, very good looking unlike the window licking chest thumper we normally get. AND he sounds just like Seth Rogan but way cuter.

So, Brian gets finished with his work and is talking to Mary in front of my desk. He says “Hopefully you guys won’t have to see me again” and what do I say Amber? AND WHAT DO I SAY OUTLOUD? I said “You can come back any time you want!”

He looked at me and smiled as he walked down the stairs.

I’m sure the last thing he saw after I smiled was me visibly attempting to suck the words back in.

Thursday, October 28, 2010

Erin, are you doing what I think you're doing?

Were you using some of these?

‘Cuz it sure sounded like you were using some of those.

And if you were, I will do this to you...

Thursday, October 14, 2010

Chipotle crumb IN MY EYE!

I bought some of the rice and adzuki bean chips with chipotle cheese from Costco and they are delicious. Well, I’m sitting on my couch eating some last night and I don’t know if I sighed into my hand or what but a rice and adzuki chip with chipotle cheese CRUMB flew INTO MY EYE.

The chips have chipotle in them. Chipotle burns the EVERYTHING.

I blinked a lot but didn’t rub because I had make up on which would’ve made it burn more and the crumb would shred my cornea in the process. I could have gone to the bathroom and rinsed the crumb out but that would have involved me leaving the couch and since I didn’t currently have to pee or anything I really didn’t see the point in taking it that far.

So, I sat there watching the television through one eye until the pain subsided. I kept eating the chips but avoided breathing into my hand.

Like I said, the chips are delicious and I would have told the emergency room that if needed.

Showing my kids "The God of Cake"

So, I read "The God of Cake" blog post from a blogger named Allie Brosh (, to the kids. I try to really amp up the drama by slowly scrolling up the pictures to really enhance the progression of the little girl coming into the frame to steal the cake.

Do you know how hard that is? I can totally ruin the experience by doing the following:

“Okay here we go! No, wait. Don’t look! Evan seriously! Turn around you’re going to ruin it!”

Evan: “I’M going to ruin it????”

Me: “Shush, I’m trying to make this work. Okay here it is she’s peeking up over the…wait, what happened? The computer froze? Sonofabitch!”

Connor: "Stop clicking the mouse, Mom!" (Then to Evan) "She always does that. It'll never work."

(***Evan rolls her eyes***)

Me: "Connor I KNOW what I'm doing!"

Connor: "No you don't."

Me: "Yes I do."

Evan: "Then why isn't it working?"

Me: "UGH!"

Connor: “Mom, can I finish watching my show?”

Me: “No you can’t, you both are going to enjoy this! Because it’s friggin’ funny! Pause the damn show again Connor…stop hitting play or I’m going to hit live and change the channel and make you wait for a re-run.”

Connor: “It comes on On Demand.”

Me: “Then I’ll cancel cable.”

Evan: “No you won’t.”

Me: “Watch the computer.”

Evan: “It’s not working.”

Me: “It will, hang on.”

Connor: “I hate this.”

Me: “Okay, here we go!”

Finally we got through it and the kids thought it was funny.

I finished out my night with alcohol.