Feb

15

Karma and weekend travel

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Lately, JB has been fucking with his coworkers using the ingenious Annoy-a-tron. I think he’s gone through four at this point, stealthily sneaking into his friends’ offices and planting the device, then sitting back and chortling evilly as they go crazy tearing apart their stuff trying to figure out what in the hell that noise is.

On Wednesday, he received word that one of his coworkers had freaked out a little over the mysterious noise and called security. The next thing JB knew, he had an appointment with HR to “discuss the matter”.

He talked with his boss, incredulous that anyone would take a joke so seriously. His boss sighed, looked him in the eye, and said, “Well, would you have put one of these on an airplane?” While JB spluttered, she shook her head and told him that security at such a large corporation was a very serious matter indeed.

JB stewed all day long over this impending HR appointment, which he tried to reschedule (since it conflicted with another meeting), and got this in response: “Sorry. It’s very important that we keep this meeting, so we can discuss next steps.”

Next steps?

He finally showed up for the 3 PM meeting, only to find a note on her door: “I’m running late. Please wait.” A manager with an office nearby walked by to tell JB that she really needed him to wait, because it was very important that she talk with him. “I GET IT,” said JB, who I can only imagine was ready to gnaw through sheet rock at this point.

Then, a few minutes later . . . a bunch of his Annoy-a-tron’d coworkers came running up to slap their knees, bray with hysterical laughter, and tell him it was all a setup. “Dude, your face!” they howled, and JB sat there, dumbstruck by the power of What Goes Around Comes Around.

Karma’s a bitch, ain’t she?

:::

In other news, we are going to be doing some mad packing tonight in order to leave town tomorrow for Bend, where we’re staying for the weekend. It’s kind of a birthday-related getaway, since yours truly will be a whopping 33 on Monday (side note: JB was going to wrap some presents for me last night, and came to me to ask where the gift wrap was. “‘The’ gift wrap?” I said. “Um, at the store? In the gift wrap aisle?” We eventually found some old Christmas wrapping, but COME ON), although let’s be real, since we’re bring the boy it’s not so much of a “getaway” as it is “traveling with a very active toddler”. We’ll all be slugging the Children’s Benadryl by hour five, I’m sure.

And what about you? What do you have planned for the weekend ahead?

Feb

14

Sweet wove

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February 14, 2007

Well, looky here, my man done got me some flars:

vdayflrs.jpg

Do any of you find that you treat Valentine’s Day as a big game of chicken? Like if you would both just agree to completely disregard the day (not the fake kind of disregard where you say you don’t care but secretly you do and when the day ends with nary a chocolate to be seen you passively-aggresively pick a fight about the position of the toilet lid, or some shit), that would be one thing, but since you can’t, it’s all about figuring out your spouse’s plan of attack so you don’t 1) overshoot (”Um, honey? Can we really afford all these strippers?”) or 2) fall woefully short (”Gee. A Cadbury cream egg. It’s not fucking Easter, you know.”)? Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for love in its many secreting forms, but this enforced business of finding exactly the right Hallmark-branded product to express a complicated emotion (why is there no card for, “I love you with all my heart, except when you make that gulping noise when you’re drinking”?) is annoying.

Although I got flowers out of the deal, so fuck everything I just said. In fact, let’s have more guilt-producing holidays in which I receive floral arrangements, by god.

I made JB a card, because I am practically Martha Goddamn Stewart over here, except for the part where I almost glued it shut (”My love is . . . uh, sealed by your . . . man-glue”). I helped Riley pick out a card, too, and I had this sappy notion of having Riley toddle it over to JB this morning all charming-like, but unfortunately the boy was in a spectacularly rotten mood and choose to lie around bellowing like a wounded wildebeest instead (”Dear Daddy, Roses are red | Birds sing a song | I’m a crabby jackass | Who screams all day long”).

I stopped at the grocery store earlier to pick up some things for dinner, and it was a madhouse in there—all kinds of people buying flowers, cards, and the makings for some complicated meals. It was a rich and sultry atmosphere, which I immediately sullied with my purchases, which included the following:

• Asparagus (Hot! Penis-shaped!)
• Steak (Hot! Red meat! Manly!)
• Whipped cream (Ooh, somebody bring me my salts!)
• Strawberries (Is somebody playing Barry White? Yes yes yes!)
• Mucinex (Ooh—uh, wait. Mucinex? Um.)
• Giant container of diaper wipes (Oh, man. Buzzkill. Totally ruining the mood.)
• Box of “Gentle Glide” tampons, absorbency grade: SUPER (Officially most unsexy bag of groceries in the world. Might as well throw some Preparation H in there and call it a day.)

Well, happy Valentine’s Day. May your groceries be Mucinex-free, your children purged of evil, and your absorbency requirements few.

PS. I almost forgot, in case you haven’t seen this already on That Other Blog I Write, please enjoy the funniest video you will see all day, or possibly all year.

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