Category Archives: Humor
Colds, Hoes & Rabbits
Summer colds in the desert suck.
They suck more when they suddenly appear out of nowhere on a Monday morning.
Because don’t we all want to start the week out hot, sniffly, fuzzy headed AND with a stomach demanding time away from a Monday desk?
Still, I put my big girl panties on, popped some ibuprofen and headed out into our really weird morning weather and drove to work.
A dust storm was brewing on the ground – rain clouds threatening above.
I arrived at my office, opted for no music (headache vetoed that) and dug into my inbox.
I was productive and quiet.
It is very unusual for me to be quiet anywhere. And when at work – it is noticed by everyone.
And I’m not one of those ‘sniff sniff … sigh – shuffle around the office looking miserable’ sick people.
I shut the hell up when I don’t feel well. Not a fisher. And would prefer to be left alone.
Anyway, the owners arrived and the “What’s wrong with you?” inquiries began as soon as they noticed I was not being loud and hyper, especially considering it’s Star Wars day!
“Little cold – upset tummy.”
They steer clear after that.
No busy agent has time to catch a germ.
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Had to run to Wal-Mart for something on my break.
I always enter through the garden department, avoiding the part of the parking lot where people drive like they’re in bumper cars and arrows do not exist in their world.
Within the store, whilst just reaching the side of a man I was trying to pass (who was going v-e-r-y slowly) I heard him say: “I need a hoe.”
My eyes widened. I really hoped he meant for the garden. I really hoped he thought he was saying it to someone he came with and believed was behind or beside him.
He turned to see me – awkwardness on his face turning to an embarrassed half grin before quickly averting his eyes. I kept up my pace and passed him as a small smile found my mouth, leaving him to do that push-pause-and-peer aisle thing, looking for his shopping partner.
(YOU know the aisle thing I’m talking about … you’ve done it. We’ve all misplaced someone in a store.)
The humor of the whole thing gave me the burst of energy I needed to grab my two items and head back to work.
Oh! Speaking of humor, and having used the rabbit above – something cracked me up this morning too.
I was outside with my honey – about to leave for work when upon gazing at the desert cottontails all about, he asked: “Where do all the rabbits get their water from?” I contemplated that for a minute, not recalling ever having come across a rabbit in a puddle, or at a hose bib. “I think they get it from the plants.” I concluded. He gave it a beat before responding: “The plants sell them bottled water?”
*sigh*
I am surrounded by comedy.
I’m also totally OCD when it comes to having something unanswered – so you know I googled it. And guess what? I was partially right.
“Moisture from cacti and other plants fills most of their water needs, but they readily drink water if it is available.”
Now we know.
Think I’ll put Gatorade on some of the plants tonight though … you know … for the ones with Summer colds.
Musings from the Laudromat: Meditation, Math & the answer is Yellow Edition
This is truly a beautiful sight …
No, not the man in the hat, although, I’m sure he’s a lovely person.
It’s just such a relief to have had the pick of the washing machine litter.
No sign of glaucoma man – so I am sitting in peace and quiet, enjoying the hum of the machines and gentle whoosh of the air conditioning – while gazing about at the few patrons.
It’s funny how this place has become something I look forward to when I once dreaded the trip.
The sounds are calming – the scent of detergent and softeners are soothing. It’s like a little vacation. Laundry meditation if you will.
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Just stepped outside for a moment and was captured into a fitted sheet conversation with an older man.
“Let me ask you something.”
I turned my gaze from the quiet highway to his weathered face.
“I just bought a queen sized mattress for my 5th wheel – it’s 6 foot 2 inches long and about five feet across …”
At this point, I’m wondering if he’s winding up for a word math problem, and I’m starting to panic, because I never did know how long it would take a train to get from one place to another if Johnny had 10 apples and Martha needed change after sharing a hotel room with three of her friends after tipping the damn bell hop.
You know, THOSE word problems.
So, I hold my gaze and pray I know the answer.
“It’s about this thick (gestures with hands) Do I have to get special fitted sheets?” (Phew!)
“No, not if it’s that thick.”
Continued my very helpful answer with a few store suggestions after he mentioned going to one of the pricier places in town.
“See you inside!” I said – a little chirpier than necessary. I think I was still glowing from getting the answer right.
He’s folding his quilt now, and it’s a chaotic lump of a decent attempt.
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Meditation time is over … just had a small child in a yellow top put his yellow dump truck in my yellow laundry cart and start to make off with it – along with my purse.
“I’m SO sorry!” Said small childs mom.
“That’s ok – he’s having fun.”
Good thing he can’t talk – because I don’t have any more answers today. He might have needed to know how long it would take his dump truck to reach another cart if he added a juice box into the mix.
Le Drape & Butters
I’ve had neither the discipline nor the inspiration to write of late. Not even a sea of new faces at the Laundromat last Sunday could tempt me.
Needless to say, there have been a LOT of life/routine changes.
New dynamics in the house: Two new roomies.
Getting used to living with someone you didn’t give birth to is weird!
Although, living with someone you DID give birth to has its moments too …
Adjusting has been surprisingly easy actually. It certainly helps being über comfortable with that person to begin with.
Helps that they spoon and tell you ‘I love you’ first thing in the morning even before you brush your teeth.
AND … Butters is enjoying her new friend the cat. That alone, was a HUGE relief for me!!
It was the only variable I was terrified could go horribly wrong!
I was certain, worrier that I am, that I would be getting a phone call advising that either: A) Butters eyeball was now located on cat’s claw. Or, B) Butters had just ended all 9 of the cats’ lives.
But those things did not happen. It’s a freaking miracle as far as I’m concerned. Okay, maybe not, probably the prep work, patience and work we put into their introductions had a lot to do with that one – and the fact that both fur kids are inherently sweet-natured.
Cat has a name. Draper. Poor Draper – reducing him to ‘The Cat.’
Le Drape.
He’s so mellow – except when he gets a little bonkers in the morning … then there is that whole run at top speed from one room to the next feline ‘thing’ that happens.
He’s also learned to sit on the rug in front of the fridge alongside Butters when I am making my lunch sandwich in the morning.
Clever. Clever boy.
So they each got a bit of cheese and lunch meat, because they were being freaking adorable – which, started a bad habit.
I own it! My fault! Totally my fault. But they were working together and getting along so WELL during begging!
So anyway, here they are staring at ‘dad’ wanting some of HIS food. You’re welcome honey.
They are the alpha’s in the house, no doubt. They have us VERY well-trained.
I even managed to have one of those moments I only read about on the internet. My fiancée explaining that he came to bed only to find me, snoozing diagonally across the king sized bed – Draper curled in between my legs and Butters smashed up against my side – leaving him with the conundrum of ‘where the hell am I sleeping??’
SO now you’re caught up, turns out I will not be the cat lady – just a one cat gal – and a happy ever after after all.
Musings from the Laundromat: Mens razors vs womens razors
I have always held the belief that the razor industry has been screwing us gals.
We shave more skin footage than men (is ‘skin footage’ a thing? It is now) we also have curvier ‘bits’ than men (ie: ankle bone) … and don’t play the ‘but the face is more sensitive’ card with me either – we all know we women shave areas FAR more sensitive than a face. And yeah, as we age, on occasion, we shave OUR faces too.
I remember a time women would get 2 blades versus men’s 3. Then the razor companies stepped up their game and when men got 4, count ’em FOUR blades, we eventually got 3 – and so on.
The problem with the ‘ladies’ razors is – THEY DON’T BLOODY WORK! Well, they DO bloody us.
And when we’re nicked, and that first spray of water hits our tiny wound, shower water suddenly transforms into lemon water. This, I am certain, is a scientific fact.
So you try the ‘safety blades’. You know the ones – they have those little vertical wires across the already ridiculously ineffective horizontal blades.
Look how happy this woman is shaving ….
She even drew a happy face into her shaving cream, you know why she was able to? Because the blades are so dull there was no danger. And GAWD! Don’t get me started on shaving cream! Too late.
I don’t WANT perfumed, expensive gels or foams on my leg. Especially when a blade and skin is involved. Who in their right mind wants fragrance involved in a skin nick?
Plain old $1 Barbasol works for me – never mind paying triple for gel that is going to leave my shaved parts itchy.
‘Designed for the way a woman shaves’. What does that mean?
Men apparently shave WITH the grain of their facial hair growth, but not on the neck.
Well, I’m here to tell you that there are parts we shave with the grain, and parts we don’t. So I really don’t know wha the big difference is.
I do know one difference. The price of the flipping razors.
We’re screwed there too.
I just stopped buying women’s razors all together and got better results and less financial hemorrhaging to boot.
Won’t be long before they start selling tiny little squares of toilet paper geared toward women to put on their curvy cut bits. And the crazy thing is – there are women who would buy them!
And they’d be twice as expensive as toilet paper!
Stop the maddness! And give us ladies a razor that works – for the same price as a man’s one!
Musings from the Laundromat: Cats & Dogs and Naming Glaucoma man Edition
Me: Glaucoma man is here.
Jim: What’s his name?
Me: Glaucoma man … I don’t know. I don’t name them, then I won’t feel so bad if I lose one.
Immediately upon introducing the two, Jim got his name.
Dammit!
So, now you do too.
Glaucoma man is Roger.
And he’s sporting some serious shorts today.
All this time, we shared our lives, but never our names. He still doesn’t know mine. Oh! I ran into him at the grocery store last week! It was bizarre.
I was getting groceries the morning I was to pick up Jim at the airport, and I heard a familiar voice in the cereal aisle.
It’s like seeing a teacher out of school … or a co-worker in an unexpected place.
He showed me his new haircut and asked why I wasn’t at work. When we parted, he said “Don’t work too hard.”
I found that odd. Well, the whole interaction outside of the laundromat was odd.
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It’s been a great weekend. I would say it’s been weird adjusting to having a roommate, but it hasn’t been. At all.
What we ARE still adjusting to, is the integration of my dog and his cat. It’s going well. But Butters (as Jim so appropriately described her) is like a bowling ball with legs.
Her eagerness might end up causing Draper an injury. So we’re very watchful when they’re together.
And yes, they’ve reached the point, after a few nights of pining and sniffing and exploring – of being in the same room.
We followed the SPCA’s advise and rewarded Butters for calm behavior walking past the baby gate divide. Draper was on one side, leashed and Butters leashed on the other. Each with their person.
We were determined not to rush it.
Needed it to be a positive experience for each of them.
We still have a lot of work to do … but making great progress.
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So many new people here today – people I’ve never seen before. Glaucoma man is leaving, I feel a little out of place now.
Then I glance over at my honey’s seat and he’s been drawing as I have been writing …
And now I don’t feel out of place anymore.
Everything is as it was meant to be.
Roger that.
Debauchery Soup 