Older and Wiser?

Some of you may remember the fandamntastic time I had tutoring my Sis with calculus last summer...and you will recall that I am now enrolled in my final semester of graduate school, which requires a calculus-based economics course. Oh the never-ending bliss.

So as to be true to my usually snarky M.O., I decided to call Sis to ask if she would like to be my math tutor. Her hubby is yelling over the phone the following:

Me: Hey-a, sis! You wanna be my calc tutor?
Sis: Are you sane?
Hubby: Tell her that I'll help her with her calculus! I'll be over in 30 minutes!
Sis (to Hubby): Shut-up...you don't know math!
Hubby: 30 minutes!
Me: Fsck you.
Hubby: 20 minutes!

Hell, who says I need to attend an economics class?!? I think that was a pretty clear-cut supply and demand problem right there, friends and neighbors.

I'm in love.*

So those that know me know that I am a shoe-a-holic. In a bad way. In my current place, they have their own closet. I've found my new objets d'affection. And they're in my price range. Find these shoes coming to feet near you...








*It's such a pity that this statement only refers to material items...or is it?

Sometimg new and unexpcted

Today is my dad's birthday. I decided to give him some slack since I've not talked to him since last March (as in 2006), so I emailed him birthday wishes. It only took him 2.5 hours to get back to me, and even signed the note "Love, Dad."

Will wonders never cease.

Of all the bonehead things...

WHOA. Nutcase Knight just took the cake for the dumbest thing I've ever heard. Before I write this story, please be aware that this woman is BRILLIANT. As in seriously one of the brightest people I (sort of) know.

After the Great Mold Debacle of 20 Aught 7, NK has decided to move. She has changed her mind 17 times on the location of her new residence, but alas, she has finally decided upon one (for now). She called Sir Knight earlier to ensure that he would be available on her chosen moving date to schlep her computer from its current house to the new place. He inquired as to why she couldn't give it to the movers with the rest of her stuff, to which she replied, "I'm not sure how to move it."

Sir Knight's response to that statement was somewhere in the vicinity of "Whiskey. Tango. Foxtrot.?!?"
NK: "Well, I really don't know if I should unplug it."
SK: "You shouldn't. You're just going to have to leave it plugged in here and go downtown and buy a REALLY long extension cord."

LMAO. ...until this exchange about 2 minutes before I started writing this post:

*Ring, ring*
Me: "Slugfest, this is Clarinazi, can I help you?"
NK: "Is Sir Knight in?"

(Does this look familiar?)

Me: "Let me check."
Me (on intercom with SK): "If you want to sneak out, I won't turn around for thirty seconds then I can claim ignorance."
SK: "Is it NK or the Lion King?"
Me: "NK."
SK: *sigh*

...apparently she was calling to let him know that his services are no longer necessary. She had called the computer store, and the guy there had assured her that it was OK to leave her computer unplugged for more than five minutes.

Actually, she was amazed that he didn't seem concerned about when she decided to plug her computer back in at all.

DAMN. I bet that phone call made that techie's day. ;-)

Most decidedly something of interest...

The LawDog Files: Oh, hello!


I was (somehow) unaware of Amazon.com doing this...I know you can find pretty much anything online, but this is horrid. The publishing of this is bad enough, but selling it by choice?

I don't choose. Do you?

Engrish, anyone?

I know all of you have had teachers/professors/coworkers who you really didn't understand. I don't mean "understand" as from a philosophical standpoint, but "understand" as in you can't tell what they're bloody saying as they're talking to you--usually imparting very important knowledge. Like the knowledge that your HUGE assignment that was supposed to be due at the end of the semester is now due at the beginning.

I have one of these this semester (profs, not projects). ARGH! Drives me nuts! (Hah! Drives me nuts!) Anyway, he also teaches at the pace of the Galapagos tortoise. Seriously. In three hours we covered roughly ONE TOPIC. No joke. One. Over and over and over and...

Maybe I should ride the class out on his shell. By the end of the semester, I'd have made it from my desk to, oh, halfway across the room.

Clarinazi, 1; Swampdonkey, 0

Thank the Gods and little fishies!!!!!! This is a day for the history books. This morning, Swampdonkey's boss called Sir Knight and set up a meeting for this afternoon between the four of us. I know SD's boss from another program that I do for Queen Bee, and through that program, she learned of my accounting and financial background...

So today Sir Knight schlep all our stuff up to the meeting (topic unknown), and sit down to chat with Swampdonkey et al. From this battle meeting, Clarinazi and Sir Knight emerge victorious---

SWAMPDONKEY WILL NO LONGER BE THE CLAIMS PROCESSOR FOR MY SECTION!!!! As of August 1, 2007, I will be doing all the claims work since (in SD's boss’s words) “you have a strong background in financial accounting.”

SCORE!

Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you game, set, and match.

This is so stuck in my head

So I'm going to share.
I think it's one of the top 5 songs EVER. It'll cost you just a nickel. Riiiight.

It's only 11:13???

This morning has been interesting. My hands are battered and bloody from stuffing 1100 poster and letters into mailing tubes. I had help--two inmates from the nearby women's prison work here, and the guy they work for graciously asked if I'd like them to help me. It's nice to know that there are nice people around. We knocked out what was looking like a two day job in about 2.5 hours. I'm tired. My brain hurts from my calc-econ class. I'm going to hide under my desk and take a nap.

Swampdonkey Rides Again

Look out world, Swampdonkey's on the loose!

We all know her antics, but ye gods and little fishies! Here in the office, we place overs and unders on (1) the percentage of claims that will be needlessly returned, and (2) the timeframe in which they will be returned.

Well, the day of the last Swampdonkey post saw another 14 claims sent to be paid. Yesterday, ALL 14 came back to me for wrong budgets. I'm sorry, but I have an MBA in accounting that should say to her, "HEY, ASSHAT! CLARINAZI KNOWS HOW TO BUDGET!" but obviously doesn't.

She laid the claims in my outstretched hand, and promptly walked out the door before I could close my mouth. 100 pages of claims, returned for no reason. The red faded from my vision, and I went, claims in paw, to Sir Knight. He looked up and asked what it was, and I told him (and this really is a quote), "That cow sent all these back and the budgets were attached!"

So Sir Knight, having little clue as to what was going on, decides to have a meeting in Swampdonkey's office. He tells me to bring all the paperwork I have, so reams of paper in hand, we trot into her office. We sit, and by this time, she is visibly shaking. Geez. I tell her that there were budgets attached to each of the claims in question and showed her a new claim with said budget attached...and she said, I know. AND PICKS UP A PILE OF BUDGETS FROM HER DESK! Is this woman for real?!?

The whole time she's been reading the budgets wrong. Imagine that. "Incorrect budget" is slug for "it's sitting on my desk, but I can't understand English and Arabic numerals enough to transfer them into an identical computer screen."

Freaking save me from the morons. Incompetence, ineptitude, and idocy are the three "I"s of my life. GRR. Defenestration, anyone???

My kind of exercise plan

I got this from a friend, and I think that this is my exercise plan of choice. It's a three-day-a-week plan...looks good to me!!!

Begin by standing on a comfortable surface, where you have plenty of room at each side. With a 5-lb potato sack in each hand, extend your arms straight out from your sides and hold them there as long as you can. Try to reach a full minute, then relax. Each day, you'll find that you can hold this position for just a bit longer.

After a couple of weeks, move up to 10-lb potato sacks. Then 50-lb potato sacks, and then eventually try to get to where you can lift a 100-lb potato sack in each hand and hold your arms straight for more than a full minute.

After you feel confident at that level, put a potato in each of the sacks.

WOOT!

Your government at work

So I was on my way to the good ole' State Capitol yesterday, and I saw the funniest series of classic slug work going on EVER. I had my camera but it was lunchtime, so there was nowhere to stop and avoid getting turned into roadkill...pity! So instead, I'll try to paint (a rather inadequate) picture for you.

On the north side of the State Capitol, there is a grassy median about two miles long that is built up so it looks like a mini-hill in the middle of the road. On the far north end of the hill-median, 7 workers were busy digging a hole. Well, truthfully, 1 was digging the hole and 6 consultants were standing by in a half-circle surrounding him. They all wore Day-Glo clothing and safety vests. The consultants didn't even have tools!!! I almost wrecked the car laughing.

Then I came over the hill. And almost wrecked the car again laughing.

Remember when you were in kindergarten or day care and every time you were going somewhere outside the complex, the teacher had a rope that you held/tied to your wrist so that no child was left behind? (HA! Pun totally intended...)

The second mile of grassy median is downhill toward the Capitol building. From the top of the hill, workers were lined up single file pulling a large flat tube (looked like a ribbon). Just like kindergarten children, there were long spaces of no people, then clumps of 5-10 in a 20 foot section. This was stretched along three turning medians (about a half-mile), so there were about 30 cars waiting for the line of workers to get to where they were going. LOL!!!!!! I almost wet myself.

Aww...

I feel like family. How amazing is it that two of my fave bloggers have found each other--and love each other. Brought tears to my eyes.

AD + Babs = 4ever

Aww!

WTF?!?

So I'm back at work after a harrowing weekend, and some asshat has turned on the HEATER in my office. Yes, the whole building. The thermometer next door showed 98 degrees at 8:00 am. They blamed it on the weather.

Oh, the electricity went off this weekend...and when it came back on, the HEATER WAS ON! Oh my!

Kill me now. Please.

Did you say HURRICANE?

...so now I can list myself among those who have survived a hurricane.


In Oklahoma.


Yes. I said "hurricane" not "tornado" ... my hometown is practically devastated, and I skipped out on the church gig this morning due to the fact that there was not a whole road between my house and the church. Then I tried to go with mom to get Nanna from the farm...and there wasn't a whole road there either. Took from 9:30 am until roughly 4:00 pm to get to a town that was one hour away from the house.

I have tons of pictures. Here are just a few:

This used to be the Watonga airport.

This was the Sonic.

This is looking north from Hwy. 33 and Noble

The grocery

By the cemetery


Hwy. 33 and Burford

South of town
(Yes, that IS a fence with a 4 ft. sign saying Keep Out...obviously Mother Nature took offense.)

The farm

One of our rent houses...you can't see the 4 x 4 pickup under the tree...

I have tons of others. If you're interested, let me know, and I'll get them to you.

The Red Cross was in town to help out. There is no power in the town at all, and everyone is at a loss for what to do. If you're inclined that way, the road is now open, so you can head out to help, and prayers don't require mileage.

Ever feel like you're in an alternate universe?

Today started out like any other day. I woke up, talked to a friend, and decided I was going to practice bells for a while. Went out to do some errands with mom, and that was where the "normal" ended. After we got home, I asked her if she'd go check out an apartment with me just to poke around and see what was available. We ended up looking at this place that was identical to another complex I lived in sometime in my past, but on the other side of town, and really liking it. ...and there was one vacancy coming up in the floor plan that I liked ... and it was on the back of the complex facing a creek and related flora. I decided that it was God smiling (through the rain) and signed a lease. I'll be moving there September 14-15. ZOMG! So now I'm freaking out like a bad trip and wondering if I did the right thing.

Pros: Almost all my friends live around there; it's 25 miles closer to church and 40 miles closer to school; a 7-month lease will only put me 2 months past what I'd be doing if I were to leave here after school anyway; it's a mile shorter to the Slug Haven...but the time will be about 10 minutes longer (con)

Cons: It's expensive, and lonely.

Am I really ready to live alone again? Eeep!

You only thought I was kidding

When I say that I work with a bunch of nutcases, please don't think that I am speaking metaphorically. Everything I describe here, or in person with you, REALLY happens (as hard as it is sometimes to believe).

And now let's add another ... deity to the pantheon. I'm not sure whether to call it a god or a goddess, but here it is...



Yes, ladies and gentlemen, this is a photo of a man that I work with. He often goes to that big city down south to moonlight as "Angelique" but usually is restrained to the occasional eyeliner or mascara during working hours. Most people here don't know, but apparently now the word is out! (I knew long ago, but knowing and KNOWING are two different things...) He is on leave, but he came to work dressed like this today for his photo op. The picture doesn't do justice to the four-inch stilettos that would make me cringe and the mini-skirt that left little to the imagination.

A few weeks ago, he drags into my office needing some eyeliner. I offered to sell him some, as I do that sort of thing often, but he declined...he wanted it to be APPLIED not purchased...so I did.

Presenting the best and brightest this great state has to offer.

So Dave and I went to the Earth, Wind, and Fire concert last night. On a "Shit to Chicago" scale, we gave them about a 7.5.

...but the PEOPLE who attended? They got a freakin' 10 on the "Holy shit, Batman" scale. Case in point:

Might we present: Elton John as a black woman (with fake hair)?

---

Me: What do you think happened to her hair?
Dave: A weedwhacker? What do you think?
Me: Maybe mange.

---

Before the show, the following screens were showing the upcoming events and concerts for the venue. (Note that these screens were being shown to the WHOLE venue--not just in the theater where we were.)

Tickets to see Al Green: $65





Going to see Loretta Lynn (including drinks): $50








Using spell checker before 5,000 people know you are, in fact, a moron: Priceless

An open letter to the general gathering of Bugscuffle First United Bretheren Gossips Church

For all you burgeoning Adamses out there, our church is NOT the time or place. Our music--the choice of hymns, as well as their placement within the service--has a PURPOSE. Do you really believe that somebody sat down with a hymnal, a calendar, and a blindfold and went to town? There is a PURPOSE to music in worship. That purpose is to enhance the scripture and textual message of the day. In this vein, we work very hard to ensure that the texts and hymns are appropriate for the service.

Before you go off on random staff members about choosing too many different (read: new) hymns for your minimalist taste, maybe you should take a moment of profound introspection. Ask yourself "why did we sing that?" or if you insist upon playing the part of the music critic, please think of a new angle. The "how does Herr Preacher think we'll sing boisterously if we don't know the hymn" one has already been used. Ad nauseum.

If you are too lazy to think up a new argument, please at least consider this scenario:

You, a devout attendee of this blessed church since your Grandma was sainted (God rest her soul), know the "Top Ten" out of our hymnal, and have since you were a child. Do you ever wonder why our hymnal is longer than ten pages? If so, I'll tell you. It is because although The Old Rugged Cross and Victory in Jesus are your all-time favorites, the person sitting next to you in your cushy pew is particularly averse to Victory in Jesus. As a matter of fact, her favorite hymn is one that you, as a long-time church member, have likely NEVER HEARD BEFORE, let alone sung under Grandma's tutelage.

As the ringleader of the committee that chooses the service music (and the rest of service, for that matter), it is my duty to serve all the congregants, not just YOU, my narrow-minded musical bigot. I have at least one degree that states why I am on staff at the church. That degree also implies that I do not know how to run your committee. I don't intrude upon your ice cream socials and potluck dinners and tell you how to run your meetings. Please have a care and return the favor.

Introducing.....Swampdonkey

Today we inaugurate a new goddess into the pantheon: Swampdonkey. In the big picture, those such as her play a small but vital role. Swampdonkeys are the women people love to hate. They are rude. They are ugly. They breed in the southern Everglades.

Swampdonkey is the claims processor for my division. She has little intelligence and less common sense. We have had an ongoing feud for as long as I've been making claims for this section. This week has brought to light a speeded-up version of the goings-on in her peabrain.

In order to process a claim, the budgeted amount must meet or exceed the claimed amount in whatever 16-digit long category you're working with. In order to expedite this process, I usually make the claim, compare it to the budget, note the discrepancies, amend the budget, forge the appropriate signatures, then attach the shiny new budget perpendicular to the claim (so that both are obvious)...

Last Thursday, I did the aforementioned process upon ten different claims. Of them, half came back to me due to true errors on the parts of the claimmakers (at the districts--I can't fix this one)...and the other half came back due to INCORRECT BUDGETS.

OK, Swampdonkey. How do you NOT SEE the front page of each of those claims...yes, that one. The page that says "BUDGET" at the top, followed by a matrix of numbers that MATCH THE CLAIM.

---

After I got over my mottled rage at the returned claims, I took a peek at the reasoning behind the return of the other claims...and found this note on one of them (note that my program, though housed in a state department, is a federal program):

"I will need a law regarding this claim. The items claimed on this report are against the State Constitution. Although your project is Federal, the State Constitution comes over the Federal regulations, and therefore, this claim will not be paid."

WHAT?!?

Cow. Send this woman back to high school civics.

---

Swampdonkey reporting for duty.

There aren't words

...except maybe "the women say 5 words over and over...does that REALLY require choir folders?!?"

Check out Sweet Home Alabama on YouTube for another good chuckle.

---


On other topics that preclude words: I finally heard from LIW today. She's coming back part time on Monday. That'll be FUN.

Oh My Freaking God

This is so hysterical!!!

Someone actually wrote fake English lyrics to the Indian version of Thriller. Double damn.

To all classical music connoiseurs...

For all of you to whom this looks familiar: Those of us on the stage hate you. No, really. Do NOT clap between movements. Do not clap during movements. As a matter of fact, do not MOVE during movements. The title is misleading. To move is to be castrated with a plastic spork.

Apparently the public just isn't ready.

Activision Reports Sluggish Sales For Sousaphone Hero

SANTA MONICA, CA— "I played in career mode for hours and kept feeling like I was playing the same annoying circus tune over and over," complained a disappointed gamer.

It must be a slow news day...

Here are some random news articles to tickle your interest today...happy reading!

The funniest part of this article is the fact that the previous record holder was Chinese!!! HAHAHAHAH!


Ouch!


There are not words...maybe holy shit comes close.

Whiskey. Tango. Foxtrot. Over?

Does this guy REALLY believe that because it was before sunrise, no one would see him?!?

Would it be horrid of me to wish to see him defrocked? (groan) I have to admit, I do have a deep desire to see a priest get defrocked for being defrocked...

My favorite part: "If convicted of indecent exposure, a misdemeanor, he would have to register as a sex offender, prosecutors said." Haha! Imagine that! A priest registered as a sex offender...and no altar boy in sight!

It's new and "improved"

No, you aren't going crazy. Yes, the look of ye ole' venting page has changed. Comment and let me know what you think of the new look!

First there was the iPod...

then the iPod shuffle...then the iPod flea.

Now we have the iPhone, and the newest in the iFamily, the iPhone Shuffle!

Mom, I want this and the iPod flea for Christmas.

...and for those who are more business-minded,

we find this. Yes, it's been around a while, but it's so true!!! (and a big GRR to Google--it wouldn't link the video!)

Merger video

Calling all musicians

So I know that those of you who spend multitudes of your time talking/texting/being otherwise entertained by yours truly have already seen this. Even then, it's been on my mind and therefore worthy of another mention.

I've been saying this for years, and it's truly amazing to me that there is another out there who agrees!

My cross-eyed bear*

I know that I have several crosses to bear, but the one that drives me the most nuts is not QB (surprise), it is Organgrinder. QB gets the most time of my life, and therefore the most interest, but Organgrinder packs the punches in the small time she is allotted. I've never written of her exploits, but they are pervasive in my life and strewn throughout the last several years. Here is the history and most recent Organgrinder story to perk up your Monday. (Perk = it didn't happen to you.)

Organgrinder is a newly-turned 86-year-old church musician who has been playing in my particular church since around the time Christ was born (she doesn't need to sing the Christmas cantata--she was evicted from the barn so that the manger could be taken through the first-ever recorded case of eminent domain).

Throughout her time on this earth, she has taken a cumulative total of approximately 1.743 years of music lessons. As in on any instrument--not organgrinder lessons. Which means that in her whole life, she has had lessons for approximately 90 days. (Assuming the normal one lesson per week teaching method)...which means that for one day for each year of her life, she has spent a little time learning about how to be a better musician. I hate to be a snob, but Christ on a crutch! That's a pretty low bar to clear.

I know that she knows she's inept, just unable to vocalize the sentiment. Every time that Herr Preacher publicly thanks the musicians during service, Capellmeister and I nod thoughtfully and park ourselves back on the pew/piano bench. Organgrinder, however, springs from her bench (as much as a fake hip allows), makes her way to the microphone to give her thanks and acceptance speech. The speech never fails to please. It always begins with, "Well, I know I'm not as good a musician as Clarinazi, but..." and it always encompasses her ~2 years of music lessons (as if that's an accomplishment?!?) and her gratitude for being allowed to be the half-cent organgrinder for the blessed congregants.

Organgrinder's instrument is (forcibly) made to sound like something that would *grace* a funeral parlor. Sometimes it is even more audible, and those times are practically cringe-worthy since the music is (still) unidentifiable due to the music lesson crisis noted above. After services, several congregants have approached me, and asked in a stage whisper, "Clarinazi, do you know what the offertory was?" Uh, yeah? It was the sound of two blue whales humping?

Organgrinder finds our praise band rather contentious. Anything the praise band does, whether good or bad, earns the next-to-highest shrieking on record. Of particular shriekyness is my mere existence. It seems that the bulk of her wrath is aimed toward yours truly, and when I play with the praise band, watch out world. Last weekend she didn't even wait for the congregation to absent itself before throwing her purse at the youth minister (the singer du jour) and shrieking like a banshee about how the guitars were too loud, punctuating her outburst with staccato heel clicks as she limped ass in retreat. Um, excuse me, but it was a ROCK tune...and all that implies. I'm not a normal fan of loud obnoxious music, and I liked this since it was well-blended, etc. Even if you don't like it, which is your right, you do NOT have a right to castigate other staff publicly (or anyone else, for that matter).

So, needless to say, Organgrinder and I are not bosom buddies. She's generally nice to me as long as we are not in the sanctuary, but even this nicety takes me aback. This said, let us talk about yesterday.

Cappellmeister and I (along with the rest of the worship committee--that includes Organgrinder, though she NEVER attends) decided to once again attempt to get the congregants to sing during Communion. Not a lot to ask, and we figured if we did only the first verses to songs they know, we'd get a good response. To fill the rest of the time, I'd do an improv/half-scored bit on whatever the song of the moment happened to be. Herr Preacher had nicely put a copy of the first hymn changes and the lead sheet (sans chords) for the Communion music on the organ, with a note that if Organgrinder wished to have the score for the Communion music, it was on the piano with her name on it. She did not take the bait, and after services concluded yesterday, went apeshit on Cappellmeister for the oversight. (Um, excuse me, but what does the Cap have to do with you being inept?!?) Capellmeister told her that if she had a problem with the instrumental stuff to talk to me since that was my domain (go Cap!), but by the time I had finished jamming on the sending forth song, Organgrinder was nowhere to be found. Excellent.

Is it just me or if you look at the bulletin on Saturday (when she practices) and notice that things are not as expected, wouldn't you CALL SOMEONE TO ASK ABOUT IT?!? But alas, she just chastises us in public and pays a visit upon Herr Preacher come Monday. Next time that crazy broad says anything to me in a raised voice with anyone else around, shit will fly. I warned Herr Preacher the last time something like this happened (a couple months ago, she hit me in the chest with a book she chunked at me since I didn't tell her that the bells were playing for the pre-offertory or some such...I drew a line in the sand with Herr Preacher followed by "her or me.")

Damn. Now I'm all riled up and don't have anywhere to go to punch someone. I'm fairly certain that if I'd take myself belowstairs, QB wouldn't appreciate it.




*a veiled reference to Alanis Morisette...'and the "cross-eyed bear" you gave to me'...

Facebook is addictive

So I joined facebook around 6:30 or so tonight, and I'm still hangin' out there...damn, it's like the meth of the internet!

How do these people find me?

In everyone's life there are a few people who seem a few fries short of a Happy Meal. While these people are the spice of life, most people's cronies are "normal" by general population standards. It seems that in this measure, I am abnormal as well.

I am abnormal because I'm not. Most everyone else around me is certifiable. There are a handful of less-crazy people (I wouldn't say that anyone that spends time with me is COMPLETELY average due to their buddy choices), but today, there are an esteemed few who take the cake (WHERE?!?*). The one that comes immediately to mind is Nutcase Knight.

Nutcase Knight is Sir Knight's ex-spouse. As the name implies, she is almost beyond certifiable. I can't even remember all the shit she's stirred up since my Slugdom began, but the circumstances are always a bit illogical (ok, a whole-freakin-lot illogical) and mostly contrived. Let us begin the story with the Knight family roll call, as I'm sure it will come in handy later:

Sir Knight (SK). The boss we all know and presumably love.

Nutcase Knight (NK). The boss's ex-harridan who still makes his life hell 25 years after the divorce decree was written, and the offspring were removed from her custody.

Baby Boy Knight (BBK). The son. The elder child, lives in Asia. Incredibly wealthy. Deals with NK by telling SK to get her a one-way ticket to see him...and he'd send her on vacation. Permanently.

Baby Girl Knight (BGK). The daughter. The younger child, lives in that awful state to the south. Incredibly smart. Married a man who is beyond incredibly wealthy. Just had a sprog (Cutie Knight (CK)) a few months ago that is whoa-fully spoiled (all her onesies are Ralph Lauren cashmere).

Those are the players. ...and there's the bell.

So to start off this edition of the fandamntastic story, about ten years or so ago Nutcase Knight thought that she was being stalked (why would anyone bother?!?) by someone who was sending her postal mail (In the words of Dave: what were they going to do--mail her a bullet?) and hence decided to move from our esteemed city to the state to the south to be closer to BGK since BBK told her not to bother. After residing in the state from hell for a while, she began getting phone calls. As in 300 a day (by her count)...that the person on the other end of the line would call, breathe for a bit, and hang up. Freaked, she decided to move back to our esteemed city. So she "lives" in an apartment on the north side...never leaves since she can't drive, she's afraid to fly, and is generally dependent on anyone who will feel sorry for her. Her phone only makes outgoing calls, so if the world ends and she needs to know, you must email her. (She's never even seen the grandkid...because she can't afford a cab to Houston.)

She sits all day looking out the window and looking at her arms (she thinks there's something wrong with them). No shit. Seriously. All day. Looking at her arms. When she's feeling neglected, she calls Sir Knight at the office. This is where I come in.

NK: Is Sir Knight in? (She always uses both names. Always. That's how I know it's her.)
Me: I'm not sure. I think he stepped out for a bit. Can I take a message?
NK: Do you know when he'll be back?
Me: (thinking "Well for you, the Tuesday after never. Or maybe April 31. Whichever is later.") No. I'm not really sure...can I take a message?
NK: No. I'll just call his cell phone.
Me: He must not have gone far since he left his cell on his desk. (hint, hint)
NK: "Click."

SK's cell: Ring! Ring! .... Ring! Ring!

...a moment of silence...

Office phone: Ring! Ring!
Me: Slugdom, this is Clarinazi, can i help you?
NK: Is Sir Knight in?
Me: No. He's stepped out of his office for a moment...


So Tuesday, she calls and wants Sir Knight to let her move into his house until the newly-discovered mold in her house is killed. He agrees to let her stay during the day on Wednesday since she had called SK's sister (whose husband has thrown her out of their house after a "short" two-week stay--another post entirely) and SK will be away anyway. She leaves seven voice mails on SK's cell on Tuesday to remind him to turn on the television so that she won't be bored and lonely while he is at work and she doesn't know how to work the remote, so he also needs to turn the volume down so that she can nap.

This morning, she's still there. She calls around 11:00 to let SK know that they're not done with the mold removal (and now it's in the a/c and the carpet), so she would be staying a "little" longer. He told her that he had a date coming for dinner, so she needed to be gone by 6:00. She told him that she didn't know if she could manage that, so he went to get her a hotel room...I haven't seen him since.

God have mercy on his soul. He deserves it. No wonder why he won't marry the girlfriend.



*OK, you know the reference. I KNOW you do. You wouldn't let me down by not knowing Carlin would you?
Carlin, from the "phrases that piss me off" skit: "He takes the cake. WHERE? Down to the deli to see the other cakes?"

Ramdom Slug(gish) Thoughts of the Morning

Since I took a day off from the Workplace de Slug, I feel like today is a little disjointed. On one hand, yesterday felt like the weekend since I was kickin' it at a party for mom's business' 25th anniversary at the ole' homeplace, which means that today feels like Monday. (Freakin' grr for that.) On the other hand, yesterday felt strange since I wasn't attending work, so today feels like it should be Friday (yes, I KNOW it's Friday.) albeit a very strange Friday. This being said, my brain can't decide if it should shut down (Monday) or celebrate (Friday)...I think that I'll withhold judgment until after a semi-liquid lunch. That should improve my outlook. Besides, when it's just Sir Knight and I, we both drink at lunch. Another plus to this job!

I think that congrats need to be extended to this lady. She just finished her Master's Degree at age 94 after dropping out of school at age 12 to take care of her siblings. I'm struggling to finish mine at age 25 after being in school for my entire life. Hats (and mortarboards) off to you, Ms. Turner...that's a serious accomplishment.

...and in the "Holy Shit, Batman!" sector, we find this piece of news. It's the family's 17th child. No adoptions, no second marriages. All are the kids of Jim Bob and Michelle. And all the names start with a "J," making the family photo album sound like a dictonary roll call. Michelle has been pregnant for 128 months, or 10.5 years (25%) of her life. DAY-UM. Christ on a crutch, I think I'd shoot someone who tried to play hide the salami with me after the first few, and there would be no chance for 17. ... Ever.

---

I'm sure I'll have more thoughts through the day--at some point, I'll post about why I applied for a promotion...it's all a big effort to rid myself of QB (imagine that). After her last stunt, I've had my fill of schizoid management styles.

Just for Matt.

I'm happy somebody out there doesn't mind that I've not blogged in a while.

Uh huh, and did you explain to him [Matt] that you have been a) preparing for and going to various professional and business conferences, b) conducting research and writing your findings into somewhat coherent research papers, c) continuing your education in an effort to obtain a MASTER's degree, which means every idiot professor demands you write at least 3 pages per week on something or another, d) holding down two jobs, and ***gasp*** e) trying to maintain some semblance of a personal life. Make him read your papers if he wants to be appreciative your "muse"!!!

DAMN! Matt! LOL

Only 3 pages per week? I want to go to her school!!!


hmm...personal life. Maybe that is what's missing. ;-)

People are depraved.

de·praved /dɪˈpreɪvd/ Pronunciation Key - Show Spelled Pronunciation[di-preyvd] -- adjective corrupt, wicked, or perverted.

I know this statement is nothing new, but ever so often I get blindsided by the utter stupidity of the general populace and the complete lack of respect for anyone (or anything) that pervade our "great" society. ... Some crazy nutcase has been HIRED by parents to "touch up" photos of their children (hello, DNA...your kids look like they do (whether good or bad) because of how you and your mate look). As in make them look like 80s Glamour Shots of 3-month-old Brides of Chucky. (To see some of the "improvements" by crazy nutcase lady and others click here.) Geesh. These kids are cute to start with. ... and they look like actual children. (Removing dark circles from under the eyes of a 3-month-old?!? Are you freakin' kidding me?!?)

Let us project ourselves into the future and take a look at the conversations that happen when the kids are flipping through ye ole photo album and happen to run across the original photos, then the touched up versions...

"Mom, why wasn't I ever good enough for you?"
(from the kitchen) "Why, lambkin, you are perfect just the way you are!"
"Obviously not." (Slips into depression, get committed for drug abuse, and
commits suicide. All in one day.)

To top it all off, read the series of e-mails between the nutcase and the webmaster of the site writing the story (case in point). I almost wet myself. Talk about pervasive idocy. DAMN!!!! Ladies' Man and SM II were looking at me gasping for air and trying to talk but not quite managing, wondering if I were the next victim of the Joker.