So having nothing better to do on a Saturday Chad suggests we cruise by our local auto mall "just to take a look". "I really want you to take a look at the Ford Edge, Maureen has one. I think you might really like it" he says enthusiastically.
I really love the car I have now. With the exception of its lack of a jack to plug in my MP3 player, it is by far the best car I have ever owned. But boys will be boys. Especially my boy. He is a electronics/technology/vehicle man whore, always wanting, needed the latest and bestest and then wanting to upgrade once something newer and shinier comes along. Don't get me wrong, I am not complaining. I have the same affliction. Except mine is with shoes. So I can totally relate.
Chad's dream car, the car he has always wanted is the polar opposite of what I would pick out. It's big, a total dude car. I have to physically CLIMB to get in the damn thing. I am so not a climber. Especially not when wearing a skirt and heels. But the look on his face when the dealer is telling us the all the great features the car has, is a huge dopey grin that is identical to the one he was sporting when he found out they were building a Me N Ed's pizza in the next town over. I love that goofy face. And how can I divide my honey and his dream machine?
So I mentally bid my old car farewell, we had good times together, my car and I. Now it's Chad's turn to drive the dream. And as we drive home and he can't stop grinning and peppering me with little factoids about the car's performance ability "our car can climb a 60 degree incline. Not that we would ever have a need to or anything, but if we ever had to...." Or, "we can now tow up to 3500 lbs. if we had to" Yeah, we made the right choice. Now I am going shoe shopping. I have to buy some flats so I can climb in the new car with some semblance of grace and dignity.
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Friday, July 30, 2010
Looking out my window
I work in an office. Which I like a lot. I also have co workers that I love, with one or two flighty exceptions.
One of the small things about my job that I especially enjoy is the view from the front window. Our office is located on the main street in town and I get a unparalleled view of what my friend Coleen and I refer to as "The Freak Parade". Up and down the street these crazy individuals walk(most of them are homeless but to be fair to homeless people, some are just nutty nuts) never for a moment realizing the constant amusement they provide me and my co-workers.
The current grand marshal of the Freak Parade is a older gentleman we have nicknamed "Daisy Duke" due to his penchant for wearing ...well Daisy Dukes . I'm sorry people, but even on a 15 year old girl the length of these shorts would be scandalous so when I see a 65 year old MAN wearing them...well it's disturbing. It is my belief that he is not homeless. He is simply too clean to be an inhabitant of the streets. He also talks constantly, to whom I am unsure.
I would love to post a picture here of Daisy but, alas, I have been unable to get a photo. However, now I have motivation to do so. My friend and I have made a bet that the first person who gets a picture (a GOOD picture, up close, not some blurry snap taken from 20 feet away) of him gets ten bucks. Which is beginning to be something of a challenge. The easiest way would be to simply ask the man "Do you mind if I take your photo?" There is no way I would make such a rookie mistake. In doing this, you would most likely have to make eye contact or, worse still, get involved in a conversation with him about the time Captain Crunch came down to abduct him in his yellow submarine and how none of us should leave the house without our foil helmets. At least that is how I envision the conversation in my mind. But I will take the Pepsi Challenge, I will get my photo of Daisy Duke. The pressure is on now. I am freakishly competitive about some things.
Update:
Sadly, since writing the above a few weeks back the unthinkable happened: Daisy Duke cast his shorty-shorts aside in favor of a pair of high water jeans. And he wears them with a pair of knock-off Converse sneakers. It can't be because of it being too cold out, on the contrary, we have had some very warm days here and I can't fathom why he has abandoned them. Maybe he split his shorts (Coleen's theory) or someone took pity on him and told him that the D.D.'s is a look he shouldn't be rocking. However, the universe or whomever controls these things is always fair: the shorts have gone away but he now sports a bra that he stuffs. Balance once again is restored in a crazy, unpredictable world.
Next time:
The homeless guy who sits outside our office.
One of the small things about my job that I especially enjoy is the view from the front window. Our office is located on the main street in town and I get a unparalleled view of what my friend Coleen and I refer to as "The Freak Parade". Up and down the street these crazy individuals walk(most of them are homeless but to be fair to homeless people, some are just nutty nuts) never for a moment realizing the constant amusement they provide me and my co-workers.
The current grand marshal of the Freak Parade is a older gentleman we have nicknamed "Daisy Duke" due to his penchant for wearing ...well Daisy Dukes . I'm sorry people, but even on a 15 year old girl the length of these shorts would be scandalous so when I see a 65 year old MAN wearing them...well it's disturbing. It is my belief that he is not homeless. He is simply too clean to be an inhabitant of the streets. He also talks constantly, to whom I am unsure.
I would love to post a picture here of Daisy but, alas, I have been unable to get a photo. However, now I have motivation to do so. My friend and I have made a bet that the first person who gets a picture (a GOOD picture, up close, not some blurry snap taken from 20 feet away) of him gets ten bucks. Which is beginning to be something of a challenge. The easiest way would be to simply ask the man "Do you mind if I take your photo?" There is no way I would make such a rookie mistake. In doing this, you would most likely have to make eye contact or, worse still, get involved in a conversation with him about the time Captain Crunch came down to abduct him in his yellow submarine and how none of us should leave the house without our foil helmets. At least that is how I envision the conversation in my mind. But I will take the Pepsi Challenge, I will get my photo of Daisy Duke. The pressure is on now. I am freakishly competitive about some things.
Update:
Sadly, since writing the above a few weeks back the unthinkable happened: Daisy Duke cast his shorty-shorts aside in favor of a pair of high water jeans. And he wears them with a pair of knock-off Converse sneakers. It can't be because of it being too cold out, on the contrary, we have had some very warm days here and I can't fathom why he has abandoned them. Maybe he split his shorts (Coleen's theory) or someone took pity on him and told him that the D.D.'s is a look he shouldn't be rocking. However, the universe or whomever controls these things is always fair: the shorts have gone away but he now sports a bra that he stuffs. Balance once again is restored in a crazy, unpredictable world.
Next time:
The homeless guy who sits outside our office.
Friday, July 9, 2010
Snarky or stupid?
So I was at work and one of my duties is answering our phone, which typically is not a chore as the phone rings maybe twice every hour. Easy peasy.
Occasionally I get the irate phone call and those calls in particular always leave me feeling unsettled and wishing I could have done more to help them. But hey, when someone calls and is mad sometimes there is nothing you can do but listen to them vent. They don't want you to fix whatever it is they perceive is broken, they just want to rant. And that's OK.
However, sometimes you get the weird and the kooky and just plain funny. Right up my alley, baby. These are the calls that amuse me to no end. Take a conversation I had the other day, for example:
Me: "No, I'm sorry Billy is not in the office right now. May I get your name & phone number and have him call you?"
Guy on the phone: " Yeah, my name is Steve (muffled) -ealy."
Me: " I'm sorry was that 'Ealey' with an 'E' like 'everybody'? "
Guy on the phone: "No, it's 'B'......like 'butt hole'."
Me: " Uh, okaaaay........"
Guy on the phone: " I am so sorry. I have no idea why I said that. It just popped into my head. Why did I choose that word?"
Me: "No worries. I thought you were trying to be snarky because I was having such a hard time understanding you. Can I get your phone number?" See how I was trying to maintain a professional demeanor and not clown him? Really people, it took effort. But I am, if anything, a professional.
Guy on the phone: "No. Actually, what I want to do is hang up the phone and die from embarrassment."
Me: "Oh, that's not necessary..." Although I did refrain from mentioning the last time I heard the word 'butt hole' was probably when I was in elementary school. I mean seriously? Hearing a grown up using that word...well.... I can't remember when I last heard that. All of my friends just say 'asshole'.
Guy on the phone:" Anyway, if you could have Billy get back to me I would appreciate it. And if you could have some kind of 'Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind' moment to erase this moment of embarrassment, that would be good too."
Me: "No problem. It's already forgotten." (thinking to myself) Wait until I tell Amanda...we will laugh our asses off....I mean butts.
Occasionally I get the irate phone call and those calls in particular always leave me feeling unsettled and wishing I could have done more to help them. But hey, when someone calls and is mad sometimes there is nothing you can do but listen to them vent. They don't want you to fix whatever it is they perceive is broken, they just want to rant. And that's OK.
However, sometimes you get the weird and the kooky and just plain funny. Right up my alley, baby. These are the calls that amuse me to no end. Take a conversation I had the other day, for example:
Me: "No, I'm sorry Billy is not in the office right now. May I get your name & phone number and have him call you?"
Guy on the phone: " Yeah, my name is Steve (muffled) -ealy."
Me: " I'm sorry was that 'Ealey' with an 'E' like 'everybody'? "
Guy on the phone: "No, it's 'B'......like 'butt hole'."
Me:
Guy on the phone: " I am so sorry. I have no idea why I said that. It just popped into my head. Why did I choose that word?"
Me:
Guy on the phone: "No. Actually, what I want to do is hang up the phone and die from embarrassment."
Me: "Oh, that's not necessary..." Although I did refrain from mentioning the last time I heard the word 'butt hole' was probably when I was in elementary school. I mean seriously? Hearing a grown up using that word...well.... I can't remember when I last heard that. All of my friends just say 'asshole'.
Guy on the phone:" Anyway, if you could have Billy get back to me I would appreciate it. And if you could have some kind of 'Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind' moment to erase this moment of embarrassment, that would be good too."
Me: "No problem. It's already forgotten." (thinking to myself) Wait until I tell Amanda...we will laugh our asses off....I mean butts.
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