I work in an office building shared with other businesses. The company on the floor below us employs a lot of really young people and, at the risk of sounding like an old lady, they can get really loud. They blast music, and have ping pong battles so intense I find their ping pong balls in the stairwell. How could a table tennis game get so robust that balls fly into the stairwell without anyone noticing? It's like a raging frat party all the time down there.
These people think they own the building. It's entertaining to watch them get on the elevator without tearing their eyes from their phones. Because they assume everyone in existence wants to go to their company they don't even bother checking to see if the button to their floor is lit. Then when we get to my company's lobby they get off, look around, stutter in confusion and get back on the elevator to go down to their floor.
I think it'd be fun to start a turf war. Only I'm not interested in hurting anyone, I prefer methods of passive aggression. I'd like to do drive-bys that consist of riding the elevator down to their floor, and when the elevators open yell really nasty insults like, "Your business model is sub-par!" or, "Your IBITDA is so small you use old 2x4s as ping pong paddles!" and then make my slow get away back up to my floor.
I'd really like to drop a dirty bomb on their floor. Of course, it'd really just be a napkin full of yellow starbursts, 'cause who likes yellow starbursts? Nobody, that's who.
It would be necessary to get into their heads and fully understand what makes them tick. Once I understand the enemy I could more easily put fear into their hearts. To gain access to their office I would simply dress really hipster. Once inside I would switch out their coffee for hot chocolate and change their Wi-Fi settings to block social media sites.
That is how I break them.
As if that's not enough, I would hide their ping pong balls and change all of their Pandora sations to Hanna Montana. Yeah, not even Miley Cyrus but straight Hanna Montana. I'm not proud of this, but sometimes you have to sacrifice your morals in times of war.
My finale would be to strip their office of modern-style chairs in their lounge area. That takes their comfort and art. I would replace them with metal folding chairs spray painted with the name of the closest stake center. That sends a double message; you are only as good as these hard cheap chairs, and I play so dirty I took these chairs from a church, so don't mess with me.
Of course, in the end this might actually make them more productive, but that's a risk I'm willing to take.
Monday, December 17, 2012
Thursday, November 8, 2012
The lies our parents tell us
A lot of people have told me I'm gullible and, to be fair, they're not entirely wrong, but I prefer to use the term, "trusting".
The other night I was treating myself to an artichoke for dinner. They have been a special treat in my family that we hadon special occasions when they were on sale, or when the boys were off camping. This particular vegetable, though a favorite of mine, has always had a certain feel of risk for me.
Firstly, for those of you who aren't familiar with the delights of artichokes, I'll give you the run down. They are delicious, they bring joy and look like this:
You cook them, either boiled or steamed, and once fully cooked, you peel off a petal and scrape the meat off from the inside of the petal. The absolute best part is the heart. To get to the heart, eat all the leaves until you're left with the choke nestled in the center of the heart. The choke is completely inedible and needs to be scraped out before you can eat the heart.
Sounds weird, I know, but it's fantastic.
The importance of getting all the choke out of the heart before consumption was stressed to me by my parents. So much so, that my mom told me it is poisonous. I made sure to get every whit of choke out, to where it's essence wasn't even left behind because I knew, on pane of death, there could be no mistakes.
This I believed for a long time and it settled into my subconscious until a couple days ago. I was scraping out the choke, making sure to get every bit out. I stopped suddenly, and had a "wait a minute" moment. The choke is not poisonous.
I immediately called my mom to confront her on her lies. I relayed what she had taught me to which she laughed, hard. "I wouldn't lie to you like that." She proclaimed. Luckily, I called prepared with a backup memory to prove she was wrong, she would lie to me like that.
When I was young, perhaps 5 or 6, she was driving me up to Salt Lake to visit my grandma. As we drove north on I-15 there is a billboard to the right that has a boat straight through the center of it. If you live in Utah, I'm sure you know the one I'm referring to.
I was staring out the window, lost in my own little world when she captured my attention, "Look, Bre. See that boat up there?" Peering up I saw a boat stuck in the billboard, naturally I was amazed as it's not an everyday sight.
"How'd it get there?" I asked.
"I'll tell you." She replied. And she did.
My mother spoke at length of a flood that had filled the valley. She painted a picture of a devastating flood that suddenly swept in, causing a lot of damage and covering everything. The water was high, she told me, so high that it reached all the way up to the billboards. Then, a boat came floating along and crashed right into the center of billboard, getting stuck there. I asked why it was still up there, and she told me that when the water level went back down it was so difficult to remove it, that they just left it there. Seemed legit.
From then on out every time I passed that billboard I would look around and picture enrything around me underwater. Debris floating, survivors clinging to flotsam for dear life. I commiserated on what a tragedy it was, and rejoiced in the fortitude of Utahans to rebuild the community to what is was around me.
As I got older and learned to read, I discovered that the billboard happened to be for a boat dealership. I laughed at how coincidental it was that of all the billboards this boat should get stuck in, that is should be for a billboard selling boats. At least this disaster worked for the billboard; it was the perfect advertisement. Later on I wondered if this was really why the boat was left in.
Getting older I would tell friends all about the horrific flood in Utah, showing them how high the water was based off the height of that boat. Ya know, to keep the memory alive. Most people didn't talk about the flood, but I did.
Later on I began to take note of where the boat actually punctured the billboard; it was blasted outwards on both sides. That seemed fishy to me, shouldn't one side be pushed in, and the other side bend out? Please note that, while I don't know exactly how old I was, it was old enough to logistically put together the effect a boat might have on a billboard. Basically, I'm saying that when I figured this out, I was old enough to know better.
I told this to my mom and it just made her laugh harder. She had no memory of her deceit, and pronounced that she would never lie to her child like that.
But I know better. I. Know.
Were any of you fed creative, ahem, stories by your parents, only to realize later that they were just exploiting your childlike innocence for fun?
If you're so inclined, here are some additional stories on how awesome my mom is.
The other night I was treating myself to an artichoke for dinner. They have been a special treat in my family that we had
Firstly, for those of you who aren't familiar with the delights of artichokes, I'll give you the run down. They are delicious, they bring joy and look like this:
You cook them, either boiled or steamed, and once fully cooked, you peel off a petal and scrape the meat off from the inside of the petal. The absolute best part is the heart. To get to the heart, eat all the leaves until you're left with the choke nestled in the center of the heart. The choke is completely inedible and needs to be scraped out before you can eat the heart.
Sounds weird, I know, but it's fantastic.
The importance of getting all the choke out of the heart before consumption was stressed to me by my parents. So much so, that my mom told me it is poisonous. I made sure to get every whit of choke out, to where it's essence wasn't even left behind because I knew, on pane of death, there could be no mistakes.
This I believed for a long time and it settled into my subconscious until a couple days ago. I was scraping out the choke, making sure to get every bit out. I stopped suddenly, and had a "wait a minute" moment. The choke is not poisonous.
I immediately called my mom to confront her on her lies. I relayed what she had taught me to which she laughed, hard. "I wouldn't lie to you like that." She proclaimed. Luckily, I called prepared with a backup memory to prove she was wrong, she would lie to me like that.
When I was young, perhaps 5 or 6, she was driving me up to Salt Lake to visit my grandma. As we drove north on I-15 there is a billboard to the right that has a boat straight through the center of it. If you live in Utah, I'm sure you know the one I'm referring to.
I was staring out the window, lost in my own little world when she captured my attention, "Look, Bre. See that boat up there?" Peering up I saw a boat stuck in the billboard, naturally I was amazed as it's not an everyday sight.
"How'd it get there?" I asked.
"I'll tell you." She replied. And she did.
My mother spoke at length of a flood that had filled the valley. She painted a picture of a devastating flood that suddenly swept in, causing a lot of damage and covering everything. The water was high, she told me, so high that it reached all the way up to the billboards. Then, a boat came floating along and crashed right into the center of billboard, getting stuck there. I asked why it was still up there, and she told me that when the water level went back down it was so difficult to remove it, that they just left it there. Seemed legit.
From then on out every time I passed that billboard I would look around and picture enrything around me underwater. Debris floating, survivors clinging to flotsam for dear life. I commiserated on what a tragedy it was, and rejoiced in the fortitude of Utahans to rebuild the community to what is was around me.
As I got older and learned to read, I discovered that the billboard happened to be for a boat dealership. I laughed at how coincidental it was that of all the billboards this boat should get stuck in, that is should be for a billboard selling boats. At least this disaster worked for the billboard; it was the perfect advertisement. Later on I wondered if this was really why the boat was left in.
Getting older I would tell friends all about the horrific flood in Utah, showing them how high the water was based off the height of that boat. Ya know, to keep the memory alive. Most people didn't talk about the flood, but I did.
Later on I began to take note of where the boat actually punctured the billboard; it was blasted outwards on both sides. That seemed fishy to me, shouldn't one side be pushed in, and the other side bend out? Please note that, while I don't know exactly how old I was, it was old enough to logistically put together the effect a boat might have on a billboard. Basically, I'm saying that when I figured this out, I was old enough to know better.
I told this to my mom and it just made her laugh harder. She had no memory of her deceit, and pronounced that she would never lie to her child like that.
But I know better. I. Know.
Were any of you fed creative, ahem, stories by your parents, only to realize later that they were just exploiting your childlike innocence for fun?
If you're so inclined, here are some additional stories on how awesome my mom is.
Monday, August 6, 2012
Judgemental Facebook Friend Suggester
I think we're all familiar with Facebook's "People You May Know" feature, yes? If not, you must not have Facebook but, to explain, this feature will suggest friends for you to add. Every time I see these recommendations I get the feeling that Facebook is judging me. This is what I feel the friend suggester would be saying if it could talk.
"Hey there, Bre. I see that you and Jill McJillerson have 40 friends in common. 40! It seems to me that you obviously know her. So...why aren't you friends with Jill? What happened between you two that 40 friends in common can't fix, hmmm?"
"Bre. I suggested you add Jill McJillerson two weeks ago. TWO WEEKS AGO. I can't help but wonder why you haven't added her, and I'm forced to recommend her friendship again. Clearly, you're acquainted."
"You do know it's only Facebook friends, right? I'm not suggesting BFFs or anything!"
"Ok, I'm starting to get the idea that you don't want to add Jill. Though she's pretty cool, just sayin'. Last chance for you to add her. I'll leave it up a while and let you mull it over. Also, I'll suggest her in a couple weeks."
"While you're thinking about Jill, might I suggest Bob McBobster? Ok, hear me out. I know he's a coworker, I know this coworker loves to eavesdrop on your conversations, and his creep factor is a 9 out of 10, but look at his profile pic. It's a baby! A chubby little baby! Who doesn't love babies? Anyone with a baby as a profile picture couldn't be bad."
"I see you didn't add Bob. I didn't want to say this, but it's apparent you hate babies."
"Fine, Bob is a no go. How about these other coworkers? I know you don't actually work in the same department, and you've never actually met, but it's probably not weird to add someone just because you work at the same company. Friend away!"
"All right, I concede- no coworkers. You're really making this difficult for me. Here are a couple people you knew from high school. I'm pretty sure you had science with Jose McJosef and U.S. History with Gabe McGabin. There's nothing like reconnecting with the past!"
"Ok, you're being a real jerk, Bre. I recall you were lab partners with Jose, and I know for a fact you had a crush on Gabe, so why won't you just add them? What's the problem, you don't even have to talk to them, just add them!"
"I realize you haven't kept in contact with them in the last 9 years, and I will admit if you wanted to be friends you would have added them by now, but Mark McMarcus was the bleeping CLASS PRESIDENT! How can you not want the frickin' Class President on your friends list?!"
"Hey there Bre. You may have noticed I've been absent for a while; I've been replaced with ads encouraging young mothers to go to college. I think I needed this time to calm down, relax and regroup. I've been going about this the wrong way, and am trying something new. Bre, please meet Sanjeep McSanjay. You do not know him, have zero friends in common and live in a completely different country. Better yet, you don't even speak the same language, and I think he's looking for someone to buy him a plane ticket to America. Since you have no desire to reconnect with old friends, I think it's best that you make new ones."
"Well up yours too!"
"Hey there, Bre. I see that you and Jill McJillerson have 40 friends in common. 40! It seems to me that you obviously know her. So...why aren't you friends with Jill? What happened between you two that 40 friends in common can't fix, hmmm?"
"Bre. I suggested you add Jill McJillerson two weeks ago. TWO WEEKS AGO. I can't help but wonder why you haven't added her, and I'm forced to recommend her friendship again. Clearly, you're acquainted."
"You do know it's only Facebook friends, right? I'm not suggesting BFFs or anything!"
"Ok, I'm starting to get the idea that you don't want to add Jill. Though she's pretty cool, just sayin'. Last chance for you to add her. I'll leave it up a while and let you mull it over. Also, I'll suggest her in a couple weeks."
"While you're thinking about Jill, might I suggest Bob McBobster? Ok, hear me out. I know he's a coworker, I know this coworker loves to eavesdrop on your conversations, and his creep factor is a 9 out of 10, but look at his profile pic. It's a baby! A chubby little baby! Who doesn't love babies? Anyone with a baby as a profile picture couldn't be bad."
"I see you didn't add Bob. I didn't want to say this, but it's apparent you hate babies."
"Fine, Bob is a no go. How about these other coworkers? I know you don't actually work in the same department, and you've never actually met, but it's probably not weird to add someone just because you work at the same company. Friend away!"
"All right, I concede- no coworkers. You're really making this difficult for me. Here are a couple people you knew from high school. I'm pretty sure you had science with Jose McJosef and U.S. History with Gabe McGabin. There's nothing like reconnecting with the past!"
"Ok, you're being a real jerk, Bre. I recall you were lab partners with Jose, and I know for a fact you had a crush on Gabe, so why won't you just add them? What's the problem, you don't even have to talk to them, just add them!"
"I realize you haven't kept in contact with them in the last 9 years, and I will admit if you wanted to be friends you would have added them by now, but Mark McMarcus was the bleeping CLASS PRESIDENT! How can you not want the frickin' Class President on your friends list?!"
"Hey there Bre. You may have noticed I've been absent for a while; I've been replaced with ads encouraging young mothers to go to college. I think I needed this time to calm down, relax and regroup. I've been going about this the wrong way, and am trying something new. Bre, please meet Sanjeep McSanjay. You do not know him, have zero friends in common and live in a completely different country. Better yet, you don't even speak the same language, and I think he's looking for someone to buy him a plane ticket to America. Since you have no desire to reconnect with old friends, I think it's best that you make new ones."
"Well up yours too!"
Monday, July 23, 2012
The Trainer
Over the last couple years I have...let myself go, as they say.
With perfectly orchestrated laziness I have ignored physical activity and
embraced a diet shared only by pro-football players and amateur sumo wrestlers.
I can't tell you what urged me to change, 'cause I'm not so sure myself. It's not like I woke up one morning thinking, "Well shoot, I should probably lay off ice cream a lil bit." I just started to make wiser choices, and got my lazy bones off the couch and put some miles on my treadmill. I have lost 45 lbs. so far, and yes, I am bragging.
My employer decided to offer free Gold’s Gym passes to employees, and I began to go to the gym with my mom. We were pretty clueless, but at least we were making an effort. Then I got a trainer. He even offered to work my mom out for free. I'm not sure if it was kindness or pity, because the two of us were puttering around the gym trying to figure out how the machines worked. I imagine we looked like a cavemen might, when trying to figure out modern conveniences.
Said trainer is a pretty cool guy; all smiles and jokes, and to cheer me up when I'm frustrated likes to sing, "I am a child of God, pop-pop-popping on the apricot tree." However bad he is at remembering primary songs, he still manages to be incredibly intimidating all the same. Super tall, super lean and with a thick Ghana accent, he gets me to push myself simply because I don't want to experience his bad side.
Most people can pick up on physical cues, e.g., She looks as though vomiting is imminent, therefore perhaps she is not capable of this level of exercise. Not this guy, if he said I have to do 30 pushups then I will be doing 30 come hell or high water. He will give me a number of reps to accomplish, and will count as I go. Nevertheless, if I start to slow down or, heaven forbid, stop mid-rep he will start to count backward. It's incredibly disparaging to be so burned out that you can't push anymore, and to hear him counting backward, tacking on more reps the longer you wait. Listening to 16, 17, 18, 17, 16, is very disheartening.
The first time he worked out me and my mom together I was hoping he would take it easy on my mom. Partly because I didn't want him to kill her, but mostly I didn't want him to scare her off. Instead, he put punching bags in a circle, weights in our hands and told us to punch the bags with everything we've got. Then, when he would say "left" or "right" then we would run around the punching bag circle in that direction. He then told us that he was going to chase us. I have never been more legitimately terrified, while knowing nothing bad would actually happen. But I did know that I did not want to be caught; I had no idea what being caught entailed.
When we were running to the right I knew I was ok because my mom was behind me, and he couldn't get me. But when we were running to the left I was begging my mom to go faster 'cause I was emphatically uninterested in finding out what might happen should he catch us. And as we sprinted (read: lightly jogged) I would hear taunting from behind, "I see your ponytail. I'm going to get your ponytail!" Most people would imagine their ponytail being tugged, but mine went immediately straight to scalping, and forevermore seeing my ponytail hung on the gym wall as a trophy.
I used to think the only way I was ever going to run was if I was chased by a cheetah. Now, I can say the only way I'm going to run is if I'm chased by a cheetah, or my personal trainer. I'm not sure which scares me more.
I can't tell you what urged me to change, 'cause I'm not so sure myself. It's not like I woke up one morning thinking, "Well shoot, I should probably lay off ice cream a lil bit." I just started to make wiser choices, and got my lazy bones off the couch and put some miles on my treadmill. I have lost 45 lbs. so far, and yes, I am bragging.
My employer decided to offer free Gold’s Gym passes to employees, and I began to go to the gym with my mom. We were pretty clueless, but at least we were making an effort. Then I got a trainer. He even offered to work my mom out for free. I'm not sure if it was kindness or pity, because the two of us were puttering around the gym trying to figure out how the machines worked. I imagine we looked like a cavemen might, when trying to figure out modern conveniences.
Said trainer is a pretty cool guy; all smiles and jokes, and to cheer me up when I'm frustrated likes to sing, "I am a child of God, pop-pop-popping on the apricot tree." However bad he is at remembering primary songs, he still manages to be incredibly intimidating all the same. Super tall, super lean and with a thick Ghana accent, he gets me to push myself simply because I don't want to experience his bad side.
Most people can pick up on physical cues, e.g., She looks as though vomiting is imminent, therefore perhaps she is not capable of this level of exercise. Not this guy, if he said I have to do 30 pushups then I will be doing 30 come hell or high water. He will give me a number of reps to accomplish, and will count as I go. Nevertheless, if I start to slow down or, heaven forbid, stop mid-rep he will start to count backward. It's incredibly disparaging to be so burned out that you can't push anymore, and to hear him counting backward, tacking on more reps the longer you wait. Listening to 16, 17, 18, 17, 16, is very disheartening.
The first time he worked out me and my mom together I was hoping he would take it easy on my mom. Partly because I didn't want him to kill her, but mostly I didn't want him to scare her off. Instead, he put punching bags in a circle, weights in our hands and told us to punch the bags with everything we've got. Then, when he would say "left" or "right" then we would run around the punching bag circle in that direction. He then told us that he was going to chase us. I have never been more legitimately terrified, while knowing nothing bad would actually happen. But I did know that I did not want to be caught; I had no idea what being caught entailed.
When we were running to the right I knew I was ok because my mom was behind me, and he couldn't get me. But when we were running to the left I was begging my mom to go faster 'cause I was emphatically uninterested in finding out what might happen should he catch us. And as we sprinted (read: lightly jogged) I would hear taunting from behind, "I see your ponytail. I'm going to get your ponytail!" Most people would imagine their ponytail being tugged, but mine went immediately straight to scalping, and forevermore seeing my ponytail hung on the gym wall as a trophy.
I used to think the only way I was ever going to run was if I was chased by a cheetah. Now, I can say the only way I'm going to run is if I'm chased by a cheetah, or my personal trainer. I'm not sure which scares me more.
Friday, March 2, 2012
A story of two gals and 14 donuts
Admittedly, I have fallen off the blogger wagon. I feel like a slacker, and the thought of having to play catch up only fueled my procrastination. So, I'm not going to recap the last couple months. Let's be honest; No one likes/reads those massive long blog posts that rehash everything you did in the months since you last blogged.
That is my gift to you. Now it's time for a story.
Once upon a time...today, more specifically...My coworker and I decided it was important to support local businesses. Of course, the best way to do this is to make a purchase.
Basically, we wanted donuts.
We drove to Krispy Kreme all a-twitter with the excitement of the sugary delights to come. Once inside we were assaulted by the sickly sweet smell of fried dough and dripping fresh frosting. It was little overwhelming and my memory got a little hazy after that.
We ordered a dozen glazed donuts. To recap, there were only two of us, and we ordered a dozen. Why would we do that? Couldn't tell you; like I said my memory is fuzzy and filled with the cloud of a contact sugar high.
As we were about to leave, a KK employee asked if we would like a sample. This seemed pretty silly to me because we already bought a dozen, it's not like they needed to sell us on their product. We had already committed ourselves to a donut binge. The absolute last thing we needed was another donut.
Naturally, I said I would love a sample. Again, I have zero reasoning behind this, and am convinced Krispy Kreme slips mild narcotics into the air systems.
Said sample was so fresh it burned my lip as I bit into it. I have never been so OK with being burned as I was in that moment. After polishing the donut off in the car regret began to sink in as the high faded. I started to realize what had transpired; we purchased a dozen donuts, received 14 and there were still 12 left. I was already sick off the first one, and the thought of eating any more made my stomach churn.
After I finished the second donut my self-esteem took a plummet, and I began to question every decision I had made past 10:00 AM. Luckily, common sense began to make its way back into my sugar-addled brain.
And that's the story of why a dozen of my coworkers got a donut, courtesy of my sugar-instigated fugue state.
The End.
That is my gift to you. Now it's time for a story.
Once upon a time...today, more specifically...My coworker and I decided it was important to support local businesses. Of course, the best way to do this is to make a purchase.
Basically, we wanted donuts.
We drove to Krispy Kreme all a-twitter with the excitement of the sugary delights to come. Once inside we were assaulted by the sickly sweet smell of fried dough and dripping fresh frosting. It was little overwhelming and my memory got a little hazy after that.
We ordered a dozen glazed donuts. To recap, there were only two of us, and we ordered a dozen. Why would we do that? Couldn't tell you; like I said my memory is fuzzy and filled with the cloud of a contact sugar high.
As we were about to leave, a KK employee asked if we would like a sample. This seemed pretty silly to me because we already bought a dozen, it's not like they needed to sell us on their product. We had already committed ourselves to a donut binge. The absolute last thing we needed was another donut.
Naturally, I said I would love a sample. Again, I have zero reasoning behind this, and am convinced Krispy Kreme slips mild narcotics into the air systems.
Said sample was so fresh it burned my lip as I bit into it. I have never been so OK with being burned as I was in that moment. After polishing the donut off in the car regret began to sink in as the high faded. I started to realize what had transpired; we purchased a dozen donuts, received 14 and there were still 12 left. I was already sick off the first one, and the thought of eating any more made my stomach churn.
After I finished the second donut my self-esteem took a plummet, and I began to question every decision I had made past 10:00 AM. Luckily, common sense began to make its way back into my sugar-addled brain.
And that's the story of why a dozen of my coworkers got a donut, courtesy of my sugar-instigated fugue state.
The End.
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
The World's Most Awkward Conversation
At the Subway Drive Thru window:
Employee: "Hi, how're you?"
Bre: "Uh, good. And you?"
Employee: "Your total is $8.00"
I hand him my card, he stops in the middle of taking it from me.
Employee: "Oh, I'm good. Having a good day."
Bre: "Well, good. That's good."
"Employee: "Here's your sandwich."
Bre: "Thank you."
Employee: "And this is your drink."
Bre: "Thank you."
Employee: "Have a good night!"
Bre: "Thanks, you too."
And I prepare to pull out. Suddenly, he leans out the window.
Employee: "Looks like it's going to rain."
Bre: "Oh...really?"
Employee: "Just look at those clouds, I think it's going to rain. It's dark."
Bre: "Uh huh....Ok, bye!"
Employee: "See ya!"
And then I high-tailed it out of there.
Employee: "Hi, how're you?"
Bre: "Uh, good. And you?"
Employee: "Your total is $8.00"
I hand him my card, he stops in the middle of taking it from me.
Employee: "Oh, I'm good. Having a good day."
Bre: "Well, good. That's good."
"Employee: "Here's your sandwich."
Bre: "Thank you."
Employee: "And this is your drink."
Bre: "Thank you."
Employee: "Have a good night!"
Bre: "Thanks, you too."
And I prepare to pull out. Suddenly, he leans out the window.
Employee: "Looks like it's going to rain."
Bre: "Oh...really?"
Employee: "Just look at those clouds, I think it's going to rain. It's dark."
Bre: "Uh huh....Ok, bye!"
Employee: "See ya!"
And then I high-tailed it out of there.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Redemption Is MINE!
Today me and a bunch of coworkers went back to the Habitat for Humanity house for more team-building and volunteer work. I was not looking forward to it after my last experience a mere three weeks ago. If you're confused and would like to not be, you can read about it by clicking...here.
Now that you're all caught up, and fully understand why I was dreading a return visit, I'll continue with my story.
I spent some time trying to think of a good reason not to go, but couldn't find anything reasonable or believable and found myself once more on the build site. I felt it was important to prove myself not completely incompetent and got right to work. I was mainly able to do so because all there was to do at first was haul wood from the living room to outside, and any idiot could do that.
Then I got my assignment, and I'm not even sure how it landed in my lap, not if I would be able to pull it off. I was told to build the windowsills and moldings. Sounds complicated? That's because it was. I almost laughed when the foreman was giving instructions 'cause I couldn't believe he really expected me to be able to accomplish such a task. It was a process with many many steps, involving four different kinds of saws and a nail gun. And they let me play with power tools, even after the last time.
I had to measure the window, adding a bit for the lip, then cut a board to fit, saw around the lip, and nail the sucker down. Then measure, cut and nail in the molding. Considering I couldn't even measure right last time this is extra impressive. I did six windows in total in the four hours that we were there.
I am freaking Bob Villa. I'm considering starting my own home improvement show, with the only topic of building window sills and molding, 'cause that's all that I can do. But I can make the crap out of them. I am now convinced I should go into construction because I fancy myself a full on carpenter.
I should have taken a picture so you could really get the full effect, but didn't want to look like a dork taking a picture of (the world's best-fashioned) window sills. Though, I suppose it's no less dorky to blog about making window sills...
It's safe to say I've redeemed myself, and can now show mysefl at Habitat for Humanity. Can, but probably won't. I think I've had my fill this year.
Now that you're all caught up, and fully understand why I was dreading a return visit, I'll continue with my story.
I spent some time trying to think of a good reason not to go, but couldn't find anything reasonable or believable and found myself once more on the build site. I felt it was important to prove myself not completely incompetent and got right to work. I was mainly able to do so because all there was to do at first was haul wood from the living room to outside, and any idiot could do that.
Then I got my assignment, and I'm not even sure how it landed in my lap, not if I would be able to pull it off. I was told to build the windowsills and moldings. Sounds complicated? That's because it was. I almost laughed when the foreman was giving instructions 'cause I couldn't believe he really expected me to be able to accomplish such a task. It was a process with many many steps, involving four different kinds of saws and a nail gun. And they let me play with power tools, even after the last time.
I had to measure the window, adding a bit for the lip, then cut a board to fit, saw around the lip, and nail the sucker down. Then measure, cut and nail in the molding. Considering I couldn't even measure right last time this is extra impressive. I did six windows in total in the four hours that we were there.
I am freaking Bob Villa. I'm considering starting my own home improvement show, with the only topic of building window sills and molding, 'cause that's all that I can do. But I can make the crap out of them. I am now convinced I should go into construction because I fancy myself a full on carpenter.
I should have taken a picture so you could really get the full effect, but didn't want to look like a dork taking a picture of (the world's best-fashioned) window sills. Though, I suppose it's no less dorky to blog about making window sills...
It's safe to say I've redeemed myself, and can now show mysefl at Habitat for Humanity. Can, but probably won't. I think I've had my fill this year.
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Where's The Humanity?
Today me and a couple coworkers went to volunteer with Habitat for Humanity as a team building exercise. I felt pretty good about it because:
1. I was still on the clock.
2. I wasn't at work.
3. I was doing charity.
I hate to admit, but that is in order with the happiest on the top. I love helping other people, but unfortunately getting a paycheck out ranks that.
Ready to jump in and help out, I then came to the realization that I have zero knowledge on how to do anything regarding building a house. I remembered the time where it took Jordan and I several hours to install an overhead fan in the living room. And when I say "Jordan and I", I really mean Jordan.
Yet, I felt confident there would be a place for me, something I could do to contribute, and possibly learn a skill. Then I found out that we were going to be putting siding on a house. (Excuse me while I blow the sawdust out of my nose...)
Basically the two jobs that were needed and available was to either climb up onto the second story of some very untrustworthy looking scaffolding to nail in the siding, or cut the wooden siding to specific sizes to fit around windows and what not.
I might have made a statement that I would rather die than climb up the rickety scaffolding, which is what probably would have happened had I attempted it. So, I was to find a job while earth-bound. Partnering up with a very nice and patient man, he suggested that I measure and mark the siding boards, and he would cut them.
Sure.
I tried to make the first measurement, while he hung over my shoulder most apprehensively. The measurement was 44 1/8. When I pointed at a hash mark asked if that was right it must not have been because he suggested that he measure, and I cut.
Sure.
I wanted to giggle that he was actually letting me operate a power saw, but thought that might not instill any more faith in my competency. He instructed me on how to use the saw, and kept saying crazy things like, "Get your fingers away from the blade!". I made my first shaky cut, then stopped, worried that I was doing it wrong. He very patiently reiterated his instructions, and I was on my way. I cut the crap out of that board. But, I don't think I cut it the right length 'cause they sent it back to us saying it was too long. Better too long than too short, I said confidently andwe he remeasured. I made another cut- less shaky, more straight and was so proud. But then I heard someone from the scaffolding say, "This board is cut crappy." I offered to let my partner give it a go, but he insisted I try again. Bless his heart. When it came back again still just a hair too short, I told the guy to go ahead and shave the excess off, saying I had faith that this board would be right if he were to cut it. He graciously suggested that he could measure and cut if I would be so kind as to take the cut boards and toss them up to the guys on the scaffolding.
Sure.
I was doing ok with the long pieces that I could just hold up vertically and the scaffolding guys could reach down and grab, but then it took me six tries to toss the smaller boards high enough and accurately enough so the guy on the scaffolding could catch it, without dying at least.
AfterI messed up every job that I figured it was time for a lengthy water break and to get reacquainted with my kindle. No one was complaining, that was for sure. It's actually reaffirming that yes, I belong at a desk 'cause there is no way I would be able to hack it in construction.
I'm excited that my boss signed us up to go back in a couple weeks.
1. I was still on the clock.
2. I wasn't at work.
3. I was doing charity.
I hate to admit, but that is in order with the happiest on the top. I love helping other people, but unfortunately getting a paycheck out ranks that.
Ready to jump in and help out, I then came to the realization that I have zero knowledge on how to do anything regarding building a house. I remembered the time where it took Jordan and I several hours to install an overhead fan in the living room. And when I say "Jordan and I", I really mean Jordan.
Yet, I felt confident there would be a place for me, something I could do to contribute, and possibly learn a skill. Then I found out that we were going to be putting siding on a house. (Excuse me while I blow the sawdust out of my nose...)
Basically the two jobs that were needed and available was to either climb up onto the second story of some very untrustworthy looking scaffolding to nail in the siding, or cut the wooden siding to specific sizes to fit around windows and what not.
I might have made a statement that I would rather die than climb up the rickety scaffolding, which is what probably would have happened had I attempted it. So, I was to find a job while earth-bound. Partnering up with a very nice and patient man, he suggested that I measure and mark the siding boards, and he would cut them.
Sure.
I tried to make the first measurement, while he hung over my shoulder most apprehensively. The measurement was 44 1/8. When I pointed at a hash mark asked if that was right it must not have been because he suggested that he measure, and I cut.
Sure.
I wanted to giggle that he was actually letting me operate a power saw, but thought that might not instill any more faith in my competency. He instructed me on how to use the saw, and kept saying crazy things like, "Get your fingers away from the blade!". I made my first shaky cut, then stopped, worried that I was doing it wrong. He very patiently reiterated his instructions, and I was on my way. I cut the crap out of that board. But, I don't think I cut it the right length 'cause they sent it back to us saying it was too long. Better too long than too short, I said confidently and
Sure.
I was doing ok with the long pieces that I could just hold up vertically and the scaffolding guys could reach down and grab, but then it took me six tries to toss the smaller boards high enough and accurately enough so the guy on the scaffolding could catch it, without dying at least.
After
I'm excited that my boss signed us up to go back in a couple weeks.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
How To Survive an Alien Attack
Recently I have had four very vivid dreams about aliens attacking us. One was scary, the second a coincidence and after the third I was convinced that these dreams were sent to me directly from the aliens themselves. I believe they are testing out their methods of invasion on the human subconscious, to see how we might react when they invade.
Of course, their plan has backfired as now I know all their secrets and am fully prepared for an attack. Because I care deeply about the human race, and its subsequent survival, I will share with you how to survive when the aliens come.
When you see the giant mother ship your first intinct is to either stop and stare, or freak out. Neither of these will help you; they will send out their fighter jets lickity split, and those buggers are fast ya'll. So gather your loved ones and make it to a safe place quickly. You're going to want to get home, and I can't blame you 'cause that was what I wanted as well. But that's what they want you to do. They line their fighter jets up and down the streets and fire directly into the houses, knowing that's where people seek cover in. This isn't so bad because they haven't figured out bombs yet, they just shoot large egg-shaped metal chunks, and are essentially punching holes into houses. To outsmart them all you have to do is lay in your backyard, out in the open. They don't expect that, and don't look for you there. If you can build an underground bunker, all the better.
While lacking firearms and missiles, they do employ fireballs. So have a lot of rootbeer on hand 'cause I learned from one dream that in a pinch rootbeer works great to put out fires, and you can shake it up so when opened the pressurized rootbeer will shoot up to get the higher flames you can't reach.
I hope my tutorial has helped, and in the future you're able to survive the alien onslaught.
Of course, their plan has backfired as now I know all their secrets and am fully prepared for an attack. Because I care deeply about the human race, and its subsequent survival, I will share with you how to survive when the aliens come.
When you see the giant mother ship your first intinct is to either stop and stare, or freak out. Neither of these will help you; they will send out their fighter jets lickity split, and those buggers are fast ya'll. So gather your loved ones and make it to a safe place quickly. You're going to want to get home, and I can't blame you 'cause that was what I wanted as well. But that's what they want you to do. They line their fighter jets up and down the streets and fire directly into the houses, knowing that's where people seek cover in. This isn't so bad because they haven't figured out bombs yet, they just shoot large egg-shaped metal chunks, and are essentially punching holes into houses. To outsmart them all you have to do is lay in your backyard, out in the open. They don't expect that, and don't look for you there. If you can build an underground bunker, all the better.
If you don't have a backyard and live in condos or apartments then you're going to have a much different experience. They let groups of aliens off the ship to go through the apartments and clear them out manually. You're probably thinking this sounds much worse, but while scary as all get out, you have a pretty good shot at coming through, and I'll tell you why. They don't use firearms, they use swords. They also do not fully understand what humans are capable of and are just as scared of us. That is what's going to save you; they hesitate before attacking and very nervous about it. Just make your move quickly, attack first and you'll be A-OK 'cause they die pretty easily. I recommend keeping your own sword by the door of your house to be safe and prepared.
While lacking firearms and missiles, they do employ fireballs. So have a lot of rootbeer on hand 'cause I learned from one dream that in a pinch rootbeer works great to put out fires, and you can shake it up so when opened the pressurized rootbeer will shoot up to get the higher flames you can't reach.
And the last point to remember is not to hate the individual alien, they are just following orders, and some of them are good chaps. While they don't successfully take over Earth because we have the best military and were simply no match, some aliens stay behind to live amongst the humans 'cause we are that awesome.
I hope my tutorial has helped, and in the future you're able to survive the alien onslaught.
This guy already has a head start in defeating the alien race. Way to go, comrade!
Monday, August 8, 2011
ZOO!
Sweet sassy molassy! I haven't posted in a while, and I have a legitimate and valid excuse for this.
It's called laziness and procrastination.
A couple weeks ago my family and I, which includes my parents, siblings, and their kids, went to the zoo. We had a grand ol' time. I have been to the zoo a bunch, and for some reason it never gets old to me.
After the first exhibit I sat down on a bench waiting for the rest of the family as they gathered the kids up to move on. A guy came out of the building I was sitting in front of and I thought to myself, "That guy looks like David Boreanaz! Wait, that is David Boreanaz!"
I watched him walk away before commencing my freak out. I ran up to my sister and latched onto her arm and tried to use my best inside voice so David couldn't hear me talking about him, and told my sister that David Boreanaz was right over there. I told my mom and she started to say how cute he is, but then noticed my dad standing right there and instead discreetly waggled her eyebrows at me. Nice.
We pretty much followed behind him as we moved from exhibit to exhibit, and I tried not to stare. I didn't want to go bug him since he was trying to have a day off with his family. But, pictures were discreetly taken.
Here's a delightful little tidbit, in Bones his character is known for wearing funny socks all the time. And at the zoo he was wearing crazy stripey ones. Oh, David, you're so silly.
What a California Dreamboat.
Then we met up with my friend, Maggie, who is a zookeeper and she gave us the VIP treatment and brought out animals for us to see and pet.
At the end of the day my mom asked the little kids what their favorite part of the day was, and they said Maggie bringing out the animals. If you asked us big kids, we would say that our favorite part was Maggie telling the kids not in our group that had surrounded us and the animals to go away. David Boreanaz has nothing on us.
It's called laziness and procrastination.
A couple weeks ago my family and I, which includes my parents, siblings, and their kids, went to the zoo. We had a grand ol' time. I have been to the zoo a bunch, and for some reason it never gets old to me.
After the first exhibit I sat down on a bench waiting for the rest of the family as they gathered the kids up to move on. A guy came out of the building I was sitting in front of and I thought to myself, "That guy looks like David Boreanaz! Wait, that is David Boreanaz!"
I watched him walk away before commencing my freak out. I ran up to my sister and latched onto her arm and tried to use my best inside voice so David couldn't hear me talking about him, and told my sister that David Boreanaz was right over there. I told my mom and she started to say how cute he is, but then noticed my dad standing right there and instead discreetly waggled her eyebrows at me. Nice.
We pretty much followed behind him as we moved from exhibit to exhibit, and I tried not to stare. I didn't want to go bug him since he was trying to have a day off with his family. But, pictures were discreetly taken.
What a California Dreamboat.
Then we met up with my friend, Maggie, who is a zookeeper and she gave us the VIP treatment and brought out animals for us to see and pet.
At the end of the day my mom asked the little kids what their favorite part of the day was, and they said Maggie bringing out the animals. If you asked us big kids, we would say that our favorite part was Maggie telling the kids not in our group that had surrounded us and the animals to go away. David Boreanaz has nothing on us.
Monday, July 18, 2011
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
That One Time I Beat the System
For those of you who don't know the story (I'll try to be quick about it), when I was 19 me and two friends decided we were going to live outside of Utah in the name of adventure and experiencing life outside of happy valley. Two weeks later I packed whatever I could fit into my little blue Dodge Neon, and with 200 bucks in my back pocket drove to Washington.
I knew going into it that it was only temporary, I would be coming home once my apartment contract was up in six months. Always in the back of my mind was the thought that I would be going home eventually, and consequently a deep paranoia set in that I wouldn't have enough money to make it home.
So, I became a money hoarder. I took frugal to extremes, counting each cent, and wary of spending anything I saved as if my life depended on it. 'Cause I thought it did.
My friend was working at Blockbuster, and they came out with a new program to buy used DVDs, and we hatched a glorious plan. It was a many stepped plan, so I hope I can explain this so it makes sense.
1. We went to the dollar store, where I bought 12 DVDs for $12.
2. Next, we went to Blockbuster, and sold our DVDs. Because Blockbuster had a guarantee that they would not buy a DVD for less than $5 I got $5-$10 for each of my dollar store DVDs.
3. Blockbuster only gave store credit, so I used the store credit to get the most expensive thing they sold that was brand new, which was a DVD box set of the TV show 24 (in its hey day they were expensive). I also had store credit left.
4.Next, I took my brand new box set to Walmart, who was selling it for more than Blockbuster was, and returned it for a hefty gift card. Figuratively hefty, the card actually weighed the same regardless of the amount on the card.
5. Lastly, I bought the box set I was really pining for but was too cheap to buy myself, which was Alias, with Jennifer Gardner. I also got a CD and had money left over on my gift card.
In those days I knew my way around the Walmart return policy like the back of my hand, and knew how to work the system to get what I wanted. Though, nothing quite as elaborate at that. I could liken watching that DVD to the end of Ocean's 11, where they are all watching the Bellagio Fountain.
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Just A Theory
Headaches are basically swelling in the brain causing pressure against your skull, right? And what do you do when any part of your body swells? You put ice on it to bring the swelling down, yes? That being the case, wouldn't the perfect solution to a headache be a big fat brain freeze?
You're welcome, I just cured your headache, and given you a reason to buy a big 'ol carton of your favorite ice cream in the name of medicine.
Note: I am not doctor, though I feel like all it really takes is a skill with Google. I did no research on the matter, and have little desire to. Just like I'm uninterested in hearing if I'm wrong, 'cause you can bet I'm going to be using my next headache as an excuse to enjoy some delicious frozen delights.
So, if you get a headache, eat a sh*t-load of ice cream!
Note: I am not doctor, though I feel like all it really takes is a skill with Google. I did no research on the matter, and have little desire to. Just like I'm uninterested in hearing if I'm wrong, 'cause you can bet I'm going to be using my next headache as an excuse to enjoy some delicious frozen delights.
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Enlarged
I love when a company has to put a little note on their product's packaging to inform us that the photo has been enlarged.
'Cause you know some mofo out there cracked open this bag of cough drops and was pissed to find that it does not contain cough drops the size of a small rodent.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
The First Time I Was Pulled Over
My dad was in charge of teaching all six of us kids to drive, and once we had our learner's permit he would take us to a church parking lot to practice before letting us go out on the road. We had been to the parking lot several times, and I was getting frustrated that he wouldn't let me take it out on the road to do some real people driving. He wouldn't even let me drive the car home.
Meanwhile, my older brother, Sbrandon, was letting me drive his truck all over the place whenever I went somewhere with him. One time he said I could drive his truck only if I promised to not use the brake. You know, for funsies. We were up in the foothills hiking, and true to my word we tore down the steep hill to our neighborhood. I still wonder how we survived that.
Back to the story...
I could hardly believe my ears when my dad told me to go ahead and make a right out of the parking lot. The neighborhood around this particular church was very suburban and quiet with little traffic, unless you count the kiddies on bikes. Which is probably why he chose the area.
I was ecstatic, I was so cool, I was cruising 'round the hood, lookin' fly, rollin' hot 'cause I am driving! Then I saw lights flashing behind me. These particular lights were red and blue.
My heart stopped, my entire body went numb and all coherent thought was lost as a jumble of thoughts ran through my head.
My first time legally driving and I was getting pulled over!
My siblings are never going to let me live this down.
What if this means I can't get my license?
Will they take my learner's permit away?
I wasn't even speeding, what did I do wrong?
What do I do? Is there a special procedure for pulling over? What if I pull over wrong, then what?!
Why are there so many kids on bikes? They are clustering around my car!
My dad very calmly talked me through my panic and instructed me to pull over, put it in park and roll my window down. I managed to do so, but was a nervous wreck.
I could hear him approaching, and could see out of the corner of my eye that he was approaching, but was scared to make eye contact with the long arm of the law. I finally turned to look at the officer as he came up to my window. . .
It was my brother.
My oldest brother, Jared, is a Police Officer for San Juan County and was up for something or other, probably training. He got to my parents' house while we were out driving and apparently couldn't resist finding us, and because my dad took us all to the same spot to practice Jared knew exactly where to look.
The posse of little kids riding their bikes got a good show though. They saw a girl getting pulled over, then said girl call the officer a jerk and lean out the window to hit the officer.
If you're wondering, the kind officer let me keep my learner's permit.
Meanwhile, my older brother, Sbrandon, was letting me drive his truck all over the place whenever I went somewhere with him. One time he said I could drive his truck only if I promised to not use the brake. You know, for funsies. We were up in the foothills hiking, and true to my word we tore down the steep hill to our neighborhood. I still wonder how we survived that.
Back to the story...
I could hardly believe my ears when my dad told me to go ahead and make a right out of the parking lot. The neighborhood around this particular church was very suburban and quiet with little traffic, unless you count the kiddies on bikes. Which is probably why he chose the area.
I was ecstatic, I was so cool, I was cruising 'round the hood, lookin' fly, rollin' hot 'cause I am driving! Then I saw lights flashing behind me. These particular lights were red and blue.
My heart stopped, my entire body went numb and all coherent thought was lost as a jumble of thoughts ran through my head.
My first time legally driving and I was getting pulled over!
My siblings are never going to let me live this down.
What if this means I can't get my license?
Will they take my learner's permit away?
I wasn't even speeding, what did I do wrong?
What do I do? Is there a special procedure for pulling over? What if I pull over wrong, then what?!
Why are there so many kids on bikes? They are clustering around my car!
My dad very calmly talked me through my panic and instructed me to pull over, put it in park and roll my window down. I managed to do so, but was a nervous wreck.
I could hear him approaching, and could see out of the corner of my eye that he was approaching, but was scared to make eye contact with the long arm of the law. I finally turned to look at the officer as he came up to my window. . .
It was my brother.
My oldest brother, Jared, is a Police Officer for San Juan County and was up for something or other, probably training. He got to my parents' house while we were out driving and apparently couldn't resist finding us, and because my dad took us all to the same spot to practice Jared knew exactly where to look.
The posse of little kids riding their bikes got a good show though. They saw a girl getting pulled over, then said girl call the officer a jerk and lean out the window to hit the officer.
If you're wondering, the kind officer let me keep my learner's permit.
Saturday, May 21, 2011
My Butt & The Bum That Handed It To Me
I got my butt handed to me by a homeless man.
After spending some time at FAO Schwartz we set off to find a bite to eat before we needed to head to Lion King. We found a delightful little deli just up the street and popped in there for lunch. If you're curious, and I know you are, I got a grilled chicken sammich with avocado. It made my heart sing.
I was out front by myself waiting for the rest of my peoples as they were buying cookies for the road. As I was standing there a homeless man approached me.
"Do you have any change?"
"I don't, I'm sorry." Which was very true.
"Well, you have a credit card, you can go in there and buy me a sandwich." This wasn't even said as a request, it was like it was the obvious solution to the problem of me not having change.
"I'm sorry?" I asked because I both couldn't believe I'd heard right, and because I could barely understand him through his thick mumbly accent.
"You can take your credit card, and go buy me a sandwich."
"I don't think I want to do that, I'm sorry sir."
"But, I'm hungry."
"I'm sorry, sir." Was all I had to say. I began to understand that he wasn't going to leave me alone, and my cavalry wasn't coming out of the deli anytime soon.
"So, where you come from you just let people go hungry?"
I have to admit at this point I was getting pretty defensive and annoyed. "Where I come from, people just have jobs."
"But, what am I supposed to do?"
"You should probably just get a job."
"But what am I supposed to do if people won't hire me?" I wanted to ask how this was my fault, but just shrugged and apologized again.
At this point a swanky dressed man walked up to the deli. The homeless man turned his attention to the newcomer, and asked him to buy him a sandwich. The man shook his head and went into the deli.
The homeless man turned back to me and said, "Rich guy won't buy me a sandwich, what's wrong with you?!"
Does that make sense to anyone else? I just rolled my eyes, "I'm not rich."
Finally the man sauntered off to accost more people and my crew came out of the deli with fresh cookies . We walked down the street and pssed the guy, who was now harassing another woman. I looked at him and pointedly bit into my cookie.
Maybe I am heartless, but I have a hard time giving handouts to people that don't help themselves. I'm more apt to give change to street performers rather than a guy that gives me the 3rd degree about buying him a sandwich.
What do you think? Would you have bought the guy a sandwich?
After spending some time at FAO Schwartz we set off to find a bite to eat before we needed to head to Lion King. We found a delightful little deli just up the street and popped in there for lunch. If you're curious, and I know you are, I got a grilled chicken sammich with avocado. It made my heart sing.
I was out front by myself waiting for the rest of my peoples as they were buying cookies for the road. As I was standing there a homeless man approached me.
"Do you have any change?"
"I don't, I'm sorry." Which was very true.
"Well, you have a credit card, you can go in there and buy me a sandwich." This wasn't even said as a request, it was like it was the obvious solution to the problem of me not having change.
"I'm sorry?" I asked because I both couldn't believe I'd heard right, and because I could barely understand him through his thick mumbly accent.
"You can take your credit card, and go buy me a sandwich."
"I don't think I want to do that, I'm sorry sir."
"But, I'm hungry."
"I'm sorry, sir." Was all I had to say. I began to understand that he wasn't going to leave me alone, and my cavalry wasn't coming out of the deli anytime soon.
"So, where you come from you just let people go hungry?"
I have to admit at this point I was getting pretty defensive and annoyed. "Where I come from, people just have jobs."
"But, what am I supposed to do?"
"You should probably just get a job."
"But what am I supposed to do if people won't hire me?" I wanted to ask how this was my fault, but just shrugged and apologized again.
At this point a swanky dressed man walked up to the deli. The homeless man turned his attention to the newcomer, and asked him to buy him a sandwich. The man shook his head and went into the deli.
The homeless man turned back to me and said, "Rich guy won't buy me a sandwich, what's wrong with you?!"
Does that make sense to anyone else? I just rolled my eyes, "I'm not rich."
Finally the man sauntered off to accost more people and my crew came out of the deli with fresh cookies . We walked down the street and pssed the guy, who was now harassing another woman. I looked at him and pointedly bit into my cookie.
Maybe I am heartless, but I have a hard time giving handouts to people that don't help themselves. I'm more apt to give change to street performers rather than a guy that gives me the 3rd degree about buying him a sandwich.
What do you think? Would you have bought the guy a sandwich?
Thursday, May 5, 2011
MOM
In honor of Mother's day, I thought I would reminisce on a few memories of my mom.
When I was in Kindergarten each student had to read a story in front of the class. I decided to do The Little Red Hen. If you've never heard it before it was about a hen that grew some wheat and eventually used it to bake bread, all while her barnyard friends wouldn't help her. I'm sure there is a magical morale mixed in there somewhere. My mom made miniature loaves of bread for each kid in my class to have. All the kids thougt that was really cool that they got their own loaf of bread, myself included. I was the coolest kid in class that day.
My mom has always said she has ways of knowing things we think she couldn't possibly know, and if we ever do anything wrong, she'll know about it. She had a rule that we couldn't go downtown by oursleves, and I suppose it was a little dangerous. One day me and my friend decided we were going to bike to the local library. Yes, I realize how nerdy this makes me look that I would risk getting grounded to sneak to the library of all places. We biked down there, perused the library, went to the drugstore to buy some candy, went back to the library and read our books while eating our candy in the most sneaky of fashions to hide it from the librarians, and biked home. I thought we were home free (pun intended) until my mom came home from work that evening and asked how the library was. She was at work all day! She is a magician.
When my friends called the house and my mom answered the phone, it went something like this:
Friend: "Is Bre there?"
Mom: "Physically, but not mentally."
Classic.
One day my mom mentioned how much me and sister looked alike. We don't, and I mean we really don't. With my prowess in rhetoric I jumped to the first comparison that came to mind. Bugs, of course. "But mom, Brit is like a Walking Stick, and I'm like a-a Potato Bug!"
I should add that I was about 21 at that time.
I was in between apartments, and was crashing on my parents couch in the basement while I was waiting for the current tenants to move out of my apartment so I could move in. I had several friends over, and we were sitting in the basement when my mom started yelling down the steps:
"POTATO BUG! POTAAAAATO BUUUUUUG! OH, POTATO BUG!"
My friends stopped talking to listen to my mom holler down the stairs. Of course I tried, in vain, to ignore it.
"Is your mom saying 'Potato Bug'?"
"Ummmmm yeah, I guess she is."
"Wait, is your mom calling you Potato Bug?"
"Ha ha, no."
Then my mom chirps in with, "Potato Bug? BRE! Potato Bug, c'mere!"
She knew my friends were there, and knew exactly the effect it would have. Of course, my friends started calling me Potato Bug.
Jordan and I were freshly dating, and were still in the transition from friends to more than. I was again living in my parents basement, but this time I was occupying the only bedroom downstairs. Jordan came over to hang out a lot, so she was used to him there, but I guess she had sensed the change. I had a TV in my room, and we were sitting there watching a movie when she burst through the door with my dad's old shotgun and shouted "What are your intentions with my daughter?!" Except, she barely finished her sentence before she bust out laughing, and continued to laugh so hard she cried. She laughed the rest of the evening, she was so proud of herself. Jordan however, didn't find it as funny, and it took a while before he wasn't intimidated by my mom. I personally look forward to doing the same thing to my daughters' boyfriends.
I should probably make it clear that the gun wasn't loaded.
*****
My mom has a fear of water, and when we were planning our trip to Lake Powell we were desperate for her to come, even though we were planning on staying on a houseboat. It took a lot of begging, canoodling and bribing, but she eventually agreed to go on the trip.
Once there we joked about how we were going to get her out on the tube behind the speedboat. One morning we were all outside getting the boat ready to take out when she stepped out of the houseboat in her swimsuit, zipped up her lifejacket and said she was ready to go.
All our jaws dropped and we stared, unable to believe she was really going to get on the tube. Despite her fear she hopped on that tube.
My mom playing guitar hero. And if this awesomeness isn't self-explanatory, the look on Jordan's face in the background should be explanation enough.
When I was in Kindergarten each student had to read a story in front of the class. I decided to do The Little Red Hen. If you've never heard it before it was about a hen that grew some wheat and eventually used it to bake bread, all while her barnyard friends wouldn't help her. I'm sure there is a magical morale mixed in there somewhere. My mom made miniature loaves of bread for each kid in my class to have. All the kids thougt that was really cool that they got their own loaf of bread, myself included. I was the coolest kid in class that day.
*****
My mom has always said she has ways of knowing things we think she couldn't possibly know, and if we ever do anything wrong, she'll know about it. She had a rule that we couldn't go downtown by oursleves, and I suppose it was a little dangerous. One day me and my friend decided we were going to bike to the local library. Yes, I realize how nerdy this makes me look that I would risk getting grounded to sneak to the library of all places. We biked down there, perused the library, went to the drugstore to buy some candy, went back to the library and read our books while eating our candy in the most sneaky of fashions to hide it from the librarians, and biked home. I thought we were home free (pun intended) until my mom came home from work that evening and asked how the library was. She was at work all day! She is a magician.
*****
When my friends called the house and my mom answered the phone, it went something like this:
Friend: "Is Bre there?"
Mom: "Physically, but not mentally."
Classic.
*****
One day my mom mentioned how much me and sister looked alike. We don't, and I mean we really don't. With my prowess in rhetoric I jumped to the first comparison that came to mind. Bugs, of course. "But mom, Brit is like a Walking Stick, and I'm like a-a Potato Bug!"
I should add that I was about 21 at that time.
I was in between apartments, and was crashing on my parents couch in the basement while I was waiting for the current tenants to move out of my apartment so I could move in. I had several friends over, and we were sitting in the basement when my mom started yelling down the steps:
"POTATO BUG! POTAAAAATO BUUUUUUG! OH, POTATO BUG!"
My friends stopped talking to listen to my mom holler down the stairs. Of course I tried, in vain, to ignore it.
"Is your mom saying 'Potato Bug'?"
"Ummmmm yeah, I guess she is."
"Wait, is your mom calling you Potato Bug?"
"Ha ha, no."
Then my mom chirps in with, "Potato Bug? BRE! Potato Bug, c'mere!"
She knew my friends were there, and knew exactly the effect it would have. Of course, my friends started calling me Potato Bug.
*****
Jordan and I were freshly dating, and were still in the transition from friends to more than. I was again living in my parents basement, but this time I was occupying the only bedroom downstairs. Jordan came over to hang out a lot, so she was used to him there, but I guess she had sensed the change. I had a TV in my room, and we were sitting there watching a movie when she burst through the door with my dad's old shotgun and shouted "What are your intentions with my daughter?!" Except, she barely finished her sentence before she bust out laughing, and continued to laugh so hard she cried. She laughed the rest of the evening, she was so proud of herself. Jordan however, didn't find it as funny, and it took a while before he wasn't intimidated by my mom. I personally look forward to doing the same thing to my daughters' boyfriends.
I should probably make it clear that the gun wasn't loaded.
*****
My mom has a fear of water, and when we were planning our trip to Lake Powell we were desperate for her to come, even though we were planning on staying on a houseboat. It took a lot of begging, canoodling and bribing, but she eventually agreed to go on the trip.
Once there we joked about how we were going to get her out on the tube behind the speedboat. One morning we were all outside getting the boat ready to take out when she stepped out of the houseboat in her swimsuit, zipped up her lifejacket and said she was ready to go.
All our jaws dropped and we stared, unable to believe she was really going to get on the tube. Despite her fear she hopped on that tube.
Smiling or grimacing, you ask? I think I little bit of both.
While she didn't exactly conquer her fear, I was so proud that she kicked it in the butt a little that day.
******
My mom is the greatest mother I could have asked for. I feel so lucky to be her daughter. When I grow up I want to be just like her.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
I Saw a UFO
Actually, I saw two of them. They were small, lighted and humming.
I'm pretty sure they were just remote controlled airplanes with lights on them.
But that's what they want you to think.
But that's what they want you to think.
Friday, April 22, 2011
Brighton's Fiscal Friend
I cleaned out my purse and ended up with a big ol' stack of coins. Luckily my mom got me the coolest piggy bank this side of the Mississippi. So cool I feel like I need to spell it "kewl". My piggy bank scares the living crap out of Brighton, which only makes is cooler (kewler).
My bank is a plush puppy, and when you put a coin in its back it whines, barks and pants all while flapping it's ears up and down. Its hell to Brighton, he really loses his mind when the bank goes off. As I said, I had a big ol' stack of coins and a bit of time.
This is a very concerned creature.
My bank is a plush puppy, and when you put a coin in its back it whines, barks and pants all while flapping it's ears up and down. Its hell to Brighton, he really loses his mind when the bank goes off. As I said, I had a big ol' stack of coins and a bit of time.
To really get at him I put the bank on the table, and enjoyed watching Boy try to get up there. Apparently, Kloe enjoyed the show as well.
He never was able to reach the faux pup, though not for lack of trying.
I don't think this war is over yet.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
I Have Multiple Personality Disorder
I've just had it brought to my attention that I have multiple personalities. I am terrified. Not because my alter ego is a crazy serial killer (at least not that I know of) but because I had absolutely no idea, and no recollection of events that have happened whilst my other Bre is at the reins. Also, she is a self-deprecating, attention-seeking hypochondriac.
So, just like me. I wonder if her greatest goal is to become Rebecca Black's Lyricist as well.
My first sign of this fabled disorder was a couple weeks ago. There is a lady that I used to work closely with on a project last Aug/Sept, but every time I see her in the halls she avoids eye contact, and doesn't say anything back if I say something to her. It was like we had never met. It was like rude. To seek my revenge, I made sure to say hi to her every time I saw her, determined to get a response, a simple "hi" in return. Nevertheless, I got zilch, and I started to wonder if I had made up ever working with her. I decided that I had more than enough casual and unnecesary work acquaintances, and let her live in her silent world.
Then, a couple weeks ago I hopped onto the elevator to find her inside. I groaned inwardly knowing it was going to be an awkward ride. To my surprise she turns to me and says, "Hi, I'm, Smichelle!" (You know, to protect her identity and all) My jaw nearly dropped, she speaks! Then I said, "I'm BreAnn, we've actually met, and we worked together on sherka." Sherka isn't actually the name of the project, but I figure you're not going to know what I'm talking about, so I could create any project name I wanted.
Then she says, "Oh, I didn't recognize you in this building." For clarification purposes, I should explain that our company has two buildings that connect by a bridge in the middle. I used to work in one, and now I work in the other. Though, that explanation doesn't clear up why I would look like a completely different person from one building to the next.
Days after that I ran into her in the bathroom. As I've mentioned previously I prefer not to have conversations in the bathroom, and I thought given our previous, and very silent, encounters before that I was in the clear. But, maybe she felt bad about her diss in the elevator and thought she had to make up for it, and chose to do so by asking how I've been feeling. I felt really confused right then, that's for sure. I answered that I was fine, and she enquired about my health. Since I had no clue what she was talking about I thought this might be regarding my weight, and the fact that there is a lot of it. I sputtered a little and included some drawn out "ums" and she said something about all my health problems and how I've had to miss a lot of work because of my ongoing health issues.
To be honest my first thought was, I have?! For a minute I was about to answer that I was feeling much better, thank you. Then I realized that should I have major health issues Miss I Didn't Recognize You In This Building wasn't going to be my confidant. I thought the most polite way to say "You're friggin' crazy" would be, "I don't remember that." She insisted that yes, weren't you gone from work a lot because of your health? I told her no, she must be thinking of someone else, and excused myself from the bathroom.
The second part of this story would make more sense if you understand that A) My sister works at the same company, B) She's super preggo and C) We have a Sister Code that point blank states any big news must be shared with the sister before anyone else, our parents being the only exception. Yes, it's in writing.
My sister IM'd me yesterday proclaiming in no uncertain terms that she thought we were sisters and in short, I had broken the Sister Code. Apparently, someone was talking to her yesterday and told her something about me that she never knew. I couldn't imagine what it could be, or who would know some deep dark secret of mine. I asked her who it was and this person had never shared a heart to heart convo with me. My sister says that they were talking about her pregnancy, and this individual, whom we'll call Schmanna, asked her if I was ok with her being pregnant 'cause apparently I told her that I had been desperately trying to get pregnant for years and haven't been able to.
Perhaps these are my fabled health issues that took me out of work?
My sister, confused and probably offended said, "Hmmm, I never knew about that." Schmanna insisted that I had told her all about my struggle to concieve. My sister was quite surprised that I had kept my infertility issues a secret, and that I would choose to tell a random coworker of all people.
The only conclusion that I can come up with is that I have multiple personalities. This other me is running around telling people about her health problems, and mourns for her unborn children. So, if you're ever talking to me and I insist my name isn't Bre, and I say my name is really Jennaphernelia, (that just feels right, somehow) just know that you're about to hear an earful about my/her personal problems.
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