The MacBook

I recently bought my first computer. And yes it’s a Mac. I don’t really intend to use it for anything except word processing and email, so yes, I did buy it for the lifestyle.  And now that I own it, boy, I sure feel hip. I sit in my nearly empty apartment (I am moving and most of the furniture is gone) and watch movies on my 1,400 dollar DVD player. I also sometimes take pictures of myself. And then share them with no one since all my friends have PC’s.  I do enjoy that my computer is white, so I can truly understand just how dirty my hands are. And of course, learning to right click all over again has been a real joy. But in all seriousness, my new computer has been a good thing, after all, trying to keep up my blog with a type writer has proven to be way too labor intensive.

 

 

 

Sunny D

A close friend of mine, a newlywed, recently moved to the fine city of Miami, Florida with her graduate student husband. Now this friend is a warm, down to earth girl with the utmost of Midwestern sensibilities, so as you can imagine, Miami does not exactly feel like home. The people are rude (except for the old folks) and everything is chic, hip, expensive, and trendy. It is a city lacking in mashed potatoes, stonewashed jeans and great lakes.

I was talking to this friend on the phone, trying to console her and pull her out of her unhappy state. She dislikes where she lives, her job is awful and she has not made any age appropriate friends (though Mr. and Mrs. Goldfarb upstairs are just dolls). In an attempt to console her, I point out that at least she is getting plenty of Vitamin D living in Miami, a vitamin essential for calcium absorption. I expect this to cheer her up, after all few Americans meet the recommended daily dosage of D, but all I got was silence on the other end.

I guess when you are feeling miserable, the intricacies of vitamin absorption are not enough to cheer you up...

The Foot Long

My friend and I were downtown one evening and with dinner time fast approaching but little money in our pockets, we headed to Subway. Truthfully, we went there because my friend has calculated the exact number of calories in a 6 inch turkey sub on wheat and allows herself to eat there twice a week. She really savors the anemic deli meat sandwiches and the array of bland veggies and breads they offer.

Anyway, as we walk into the small store in Dupont, we find ourselves between an angry woman and a poor fellow behind the counter looking quite bemused. Yells the woman “the sign says FOOT LONGS!!! And you’re telling me you don’t have hot dogs!?” The man replies meekly in broken English, “sorry no hot dog, sandwich.” Pointing to the window sized sign, the customer, now completely irate, screams “How can you have that sign up and no hotdogs!!!!!!!?” The clerk, still confused, repeats “sorry, no hot dog, sandwich.” Quickly realizing the confusion, I was about to interject and explain to the woman, on the sandwich maker's behalf, that the advertisement was for foot long sandwiches, not hotdogs. However, before I could do so, she whipped around and left the store in a huff, grumbling to herself all the way.

Moments later, as my friend begins to order her sandwich, the woman comes back into the store, slumped over and looking ashamed. She apologized and explained her misunderstanding of the advert. For several mintues, she tells us all how sorry she is, how “sincerely sorry” she is and that no, she still does not want a sandwich, but wanted the clerk to know how regretful she was of her behavior. Once she seemed satisfied with her penance, she left once again. Several minutes later we got our sandwiches.


Eat Fresh

The Parking Garage

My folks had been looking forward to seeing Anne Murray in concert for several months, but at the last minute were unable to attend. As their favorite daughter (and the only one in the area) the pair of tickets was left to me. I went with a friend and had a rockin' good time. The crowd was definitely an over 60 bunch, but I like old people and aside from the occasional crinkling of hard candy being unwrapped, you would have never known this excitable crowd was full of senior citizens. Anyway, the concert was great but the trouble began as I was exiting the parking garage.


I pulled out of my space and turned, following all of the appropriate arrows. Now, I was definitely going against a thick slow line of traffic, all the while silently wondering what those fools were doing. As I crawl along, accelerating with the pace of a two-toed sloth, I become aware of the glares coming from the other drivers as I inched by. There was one driver in particular shooting me vile glances, who had her head literally sticking out of her window, pointing at me. Her head was protruding so far out of her vehicle that if I were to pass her (and I was approaching quickly), the hood of my car would have lopped it right off. I continue my journey and am still against traffic when I slowly pull up to her, careful not to graze her forehead. "YOU are going the wrong way," she says coldly. I begin to think to myself that maybe I should just turn around and join the other downstream fish, perhaps all of the sign and arrows I have been following were incorrect…

Not wanting to resist any longer (I will never survive a revolution), I pull into a space to attempt a 3 way turn and join the line of traffic. Of course, much to the amusement of my friend and I, no one would let us in. I say amusement because at this point I am laughing so heartily tears are streaming down my face. Just as a car gave me space to inch backwards, two old ladies, who seemingly just materialized from the thin noxious air of the parking garage, ambled behind my car. Realizing I was maneuvering out of the space, the ladies then abruptly turned towards the front of my car, and though there was plenty of room, one of the dames actually walked into my hood. By this time, the kind soul letting me into the line had long since moved on and I was left in the same spot once again.

After several minutes of desperate looks and 180 degree head turns, one fellow begrudgingly gives me a millimeter of room to back in to. However, every time I inch out of my space, he inches forward. I finally pull out, happy to be on my way and leaving the exhaust filled parking jail, only to find myself parallel to the car I thought had let me in. Not only had he not allowed me to get in front of him, I had now created my own lane of traffic, similar the problem I had before. I put my head in my hands, ready to abandon the car and walk, when finally a huge white SUV took pity and let me in.

We escape the parking garage unscathed, emerging 30 minutes after the initial pullout. As I take a final turn out onto the main road, I look to my left and see the white SUV, the one that came to my rescue just moments before. I solemnly nod, hoping he receives my quit thanks. He does, nods back and turns down the road, disappearing into the dark, misty evening.


Boy, those Anne Murray fans are tough...

Menace to Society

I work with many eccentric people, one woman in particular who is slightly mad. She is often found grumbling to herself and talking on the phone to her dogs. Today at work she came to my part of cubical land and began screaming at us that the Diet Coke she had purchased just minutes before, and had left on the table in the staff lounge, had disappeared. I am not sure if she expected us to dust for prints or what, but moments later, the following note appeared on a sign on the Coke machine.

Ummm..yeah...

The Sandwich Police

I love sandwiches. Hot, cold, or toasty, I find anything you can stuff between two slices of bread quite appealing. Often, when I bring a particularly tasty sandwich in my lunch to work, I tend to tell people about it, as was the case today. That's right, I strike up conversations about my lunch and how awesome my sandwich is and that yes, you should be jealous, and no, I won't trade it for your tuna casserole... Anyway, this afternoon, as my sandwich was in the process of becoming all melty and delicious, I noticed that parts of the bread (a delicious whole grain Italian sub roll... mmmm.) were cooking unevenly in the archaic toaster oven my office has in our kitchen. I adjusted the sandwich accordingly and sat down, eagerly awaiting my culinary masterpiece.

Moments later, a particular meek colleague of mine poked her head around and said gently to me "I think you should check on your sandwich." Well sure enough, there was gray smoke wafting out of the oven, the top of by beloved sandwich blackened to a crisp. I attempt to blow the smoke out of the kitchen, my cheeks puffed, my lips pursed, but all efforts prove to be in vain. The fire alarm had been triggered and the room was consumed by blinking lights and piercing bells. I work in a large public building, which means that hundreds of people were forced to evacuate. As one of the designated individuals responsible for securing the evacuation of the 1st floor, I paced back and forth, urging people to exit as quickly as possible, all the while knowing I was the cause of their forced hasty retreat. As I patrolled the floor, I thought of ways to sneak back to the lunch room to dispose of the sandwich, obvious evidence since it was a blackened crumbling mass resting next to the oven, but I was soon forced to leave the building myself.


When the public safety officers finally gave the all clear to us evacuees waiting outside in the snow, I sheepishly made my way back to the lunchroom. As I walked down the hall, several colleagues gave me knowing glances and muted smiles. To some, I whispered timidly, "don't tell anyone, but I set it off," to which the response was "I know." Apparently, the entire staff was aware of my blunder since I had been talking all morning about how great my sandwich was gonna be. Boastfulness was my downfall, as was the trust I held in my office's toaster oven to handle my totally awesome lunch.

Joke # 1731

With less then a year left in his term, President Bush has begun work on securing his legacy, which, since the beginning of the Iraq war, has turned to complete Shi'ite.