Adventures with Hodgkin's

Work Humor

In addition to my scintillating wit, this is the stuff that cracks people up in my workplace.

Labels: Hardly Working

Look How Clever I Was!

I was a budding ironist from the get-go. You'll have to take my word for it--I took some of my dad's old office stationery and my mom's manual typewriter and penned this memo regarding the addition to our household of a new cat. And I do believe I made both cats sit in the room with me while I typed this up.

Can I attest that the mis-spelling of "ingenious" was intentional? Isn't the overuse of exclamation points merely a precursor to the same overuse in emails?

What else from my youth will my mother dig out and digitize for me? A certain series of love letters where the sender used "lick" instead of "like"? Oh, MySpace users ten years in the future, I feel your pain.

Labels: Kidding Around

It's Wrong! Just Wrong!

This is even worse than ordering "ice tea". But grammar aside, I like iced tea, but only if it's real iced tea, the stuff that's brewed. I will ask, before ordering in a restaurant, if their iced tea is brewed. Most places it isn't, it's that hideous reconstituted piped in stuff. But at this restaurant I didn't have to ask--I could see the iced tea dispenser, the enormous metal cylinder that they pour the freshly-brewed iced tea into. (Okay, I worked in restaurant, so it's also the left-over tea from the walk-in cooler.)

But this is an abomination--it's a fake. It merely dispenses the reconstituted crap! Who do they think they're fooling? Not me--not after the first time, anyway.

My love of real iced tea came from the many, many, not-so-hot restaurants in Texas that managed to make their own iced tea. Which reminds me of one of my favorite Top Chef moments--guest judge Rick Bayless chastised contestant for the brick-like consistency of their Velveeta macaroni and cheese. "Obviously, you've never worked with Velveeta before."

I may not know a merlot from a zinfandel if I can't see the label, but I know when my tea is brewed.

Labels: So San Francisco

Anal-Retentive IS Hyphenated

This is a bad sign. This is something that's going to make me crazy. See, I'm the kind of mom who thinks that a toy needs ALL of its pieces in order to be a toy, and a toy that sits on a shelf with all of its pieces is a better toy than one that's been played with and has been spread hither and yon. The missing die from the Boggle game will haunt me and keep me awake. Where could it be?

When Conor was a toddler, one of his favorite games was trash man. He'd take his toys, dump them into the wastebasket, and dump the wastebasket onto the sofa. And I'd dutifully SEPARATE THE TOYS BACK INTO THEIR RESPECTIVE BINS before he did it again. He didn't care--in fact, all my sorting slowed his game down. (The game did not include scooping the toys back into the wastebasket; one of us had to put the toys back into their bins for him to dump into the wastebasket and subsequently dump onto the sofa. Why, oh why, did I spend the time making sure the wooden blocks went into their bin, the Duplos went into their bin, the balls went into their bin?

Because I know anal-retentive has a hyphen and I know how to use it.

Labels: Kidding Around

Another Sign of the Apocalypse

Seriously, do you really need to BUY bags? I know that us crazy San Franciscans can't get plastic bags at the grocery store anymore, but you can get them everywhere else--corner store, drug store, book store, etc. There doesn't seem to be any shortage of bags, and who is so damn lazy that can't reuse a bag?

Of course, I may be biased. I've become one of those people that brings their own bags. To the grocery store, to the drug store, to the books store, even to Target. I carry spare bags with me. Have I become insufferable? Target is the only place where they look at you weird--everywhere else in San Francisco they've gotten in the habit of asking about your bags--do you have bags? Do you want a bag? And at the crunchiest of places, "Do you want a bag" is loaded with meaning--bags are for Land-Rover-Driving, baby-seal-bludgeoning red-state-idiots. Do. You. Want. A. Bag?

Labels: So San Francisco

It's not what it looks like....

I've been trying to bring fruit into work so I'm not constantly pumping quarters into the vending machines. I like bananas, but transporting them is a bit tricky. Especially if you forget you put a banana in your purse, oh, say for a day or two, and then dig deep in your purse for your keys.

Blech.

So I was sure someone else had this problem, so I turned to the Internet. This is the banana bunker. There is no way you could carry one of these in your purse and not look like a sexual deviant.

Labels: Hardly Working

A Kinder, Gentler Me

This was sent to me by a former colleague. Apparently I was a bit sharp when I was younger. I'd be offended, if I wasn't so proud of what a smartass I was.

Labels: Hardly Working

Higher office

Just when I thought that my past indiscretions (paying babysitters under the table, that thing with the hobo) prevented me from achieving elected officialdom, I have been voted in as the Secretary of the PTA.

Was it the fake background check? The unmarked bills in plain envelopes? Or the fact that no one else ran against me? Who can tell. But call me Madam Secretary!

Mother Teresa, I am

Conor's school has a new mural, and today on the way into school Conor asked why Yoda was in the mural. Oh, how I laughed! Foolish child, I said, that's Mother Teresa. Oh, he says. Who's the guy on the end? Uh, Chewbacca. Now aren't you late? Get to class!

Update: According to the school newsletter, it is "The Visionaries Mural" and has renditions of Michelangelo, Mother Teresa, Martin Luther King, Jr., Ghandi, and Homer. D'oh!

Labels: Kidding Around, So San Francisco

Don't Come Around Here No More

 

 

 

Anyone else remember videos from 1985? I was embarassed at how many I knew.

Labels: Kidding Around

An arty looking photo of a mundane event. Isn't that what blogs are all about?

This is Lucy enjoying her first bouncy house.

Labels: Kidding Around

Too Funny

We were having one of those idle chit-chats in cube-land about a colleague's upcoming camping trip, and we began reminiscing about the troubles associated with roughing it and getting clean. Mention of pay showers requiring quarters led one person to ask, probably rhetorically, where you were to keep your quarters while showering to ensure you weren't left lathered up when the water ran out. Where are you supposed to keep the quarters? I couldn't resist answering, "In your fanny pack!"

It broke everyone up--one guy was laughing so hard he had to walk away. Now, it's probably funnier given the quiet constraints of an office, but I was quite proud of myself. And when I picked up Conor from his after-school program and the director told me that Conor was quite the wit, I puffed up with pride and said, "I know where he gets it!"

From my fanny pack!

Still cracks me up.

Labels: Hardly Working

Car Conversation

We're all in the car and the radio is tuned to my favorite station, 92.7 Energy. Dance music. Kevin is still wondering how I've snagged a button for this station, and asks what I like about this driving beat and repetitive lyrics. Uh, the repetitive driving beat? And repetitive lyrics? Don't cast the first stone, Mr. Bob-Seger-Lover.

It takes a mighty big iPod to hold our combined CD collections. There's not much overlap. We may be four years apart, but it's a light year in terms of musical taste. At a bar one very late night one very drunken night, he played even *more* Harry Chapin than the Harry-Chapin-loving bartender could stand. I couldn't even tell you who Harry Chapin is, except that hearing his music makes me want to vomit.

Labels: Home Front

Lesson Learned

Conor's school had a Math, Science, and Health night with hands-on educational activities. One was about how much sugar is in a soft drink--the kids measured out the 41 grams (or nine thousand teaspoons or whatever it is) of sugar, which was then placed in a ziptop bag THAT WAS GIVEN TO THEM. TO TAKE HOME. Needless to say, Conor was one of the kids caught off in a corner trying to eat the sugar.

What is wrong with these people? What did they *think* seven year olds would do with a bag of sugar? I don't care that he was off in the corner eating it, really, because I think it's funny. It's not like kids see sugar as deadly--it's too tasty!

I hope they're not doing similar programs at the high school level--see, kids, all it takes is this six pack to be too drunk to drive!

Labels: Kidding Around