This week, we had a mid-week holiday...the 4th of July...Independence Day....ID4. As you all know, it fell on a Wednesday. Needless to say, for those that didn't take extra time off around the 4th, it made for an awkward week.
I came to work on Monday and Tuesday, as usual. Before any major holiday, our company use to let us out between 2-3 pm the day before so we could get an early jump on holiday festivities. Things being as crazy as they are at work, I got out a whopping 39 minutes before quittin' time on Tuesday...woo hoo.
The actual holiday day was good overall, despite the slight hiccup of events at the baseball game (see: previous post), but I got so screwed up thinking Wednesday was actually Sunday and that Thursday was Monday. I don't think I was the only one that felt this way. All the other suckers, I spoke to, that decided to work on Thursday also had the same problem.
So I grudgingly came back to work on Thursday and now it's Friday. I should be excited that it's Friday...ecstatic that I get to hang out with friends for the next two days. But alas, I'm just watching the clock slowly tick by and waiting for 5:00 to roll around. (It's only 3:33pm) I'm killing time by surfing the net, reading gossip (who cares about Eva Langoria already?!), and just checking out what else is happening where I'm not present.
I think the mid-week holiday has left me unmotivated to do my regular job role.
But I promise (myself) to come back refreshed and renewed for Monday...cross my heart....pinky swear....with a cherry on top.
Friday, July 6, 2007
Thursday, July 5, 2007
The Girl That Wouldn't Stop Talking
An imperfect poem about a girl sitting behind me at the Cubs/Nats game on the 4th of July.
There once was a girl in DC,
That went to watch the Nats play the Cubbies.
She knew nothing at all
Like a strike versus a ball
It would've been better if she just watched on TV.
She kept talking to her friend, three seats away.
Was waiting for her to take a breather after each play.
But she just kept right on chatting.
While the players were batting.
Much to my dismay.
The mouth did not stop during "the stretch."
I felt like I was going to wretch.
They played a patriotic tune.
She sang along like a loon.
My bat, I was ready to fetch.
Now I was really on the brink.
I had to stop and surely think.
If I smacked the girl,
Would a fight unfurl,
Or should I just go back to the car and drink.
I decided to go back to the car.
Glad to be very far.
From that girl way back there,
Who seemed so unaware.
And proceeded to grab a drink from the tailgate bar.
There once was a girl in DC,
That went to watch the Nats play the Cubbies.
She knew nothing at all
Like a strike versus a ball
It would've been better if she just watched on TV.
She kept talking to her friend, three seats away.
Was waiting for her to take a breather after each play.
But she just kept right on chatting.
While the players were batting.
Much to my dismay.
The mouth did not stop during "the stretch."
I felt like I was going to wretch.
They played a patriotic tune.
She sang along like a loon.
My bat, I was ready to fetch.
Now I was really on the brink.
I had to stop and surely think.
If I smacked the girl,
Would a fight unfurl,
Or should I just go back to the car and drink.
I decided to go back to the car.
Glad to be very far.
From that girl way back there,
Who seemed so unaware.
And proceeded to grab a drink from the tailgate bar.
Tuesday, July 3, 2007
Who Needs A Crosswalk?
Pop quiz time: What's the name of that place at the corner of the street? Where there is a stoplight and also one of those light-up signs that will show either a green man walking or a red hand . . . Anyone???
A surprising number of people in downtown D.C. do not seem to know the answer to this very basic question. Rather than head to the end of the block in rush hour, these people prefer to saunter from one side of the street to the other, through moving cars, as if playing Frogger on Benadryl. That’s right, folks, these people are jaywalkers.
It’s not that I am such a goody two shoes. And it’s really not even so much that these people cross before they get to the official crosswalk. It’s the fact that these people are in no particular hurry and choose to trust that I will stop for them. And to them, I say, "Since you're obviously not in that big of a hurry, how about a nice leisurely stroll to the crosswalk?" They apparently don’t know my reputation in elevators, where I deliberately move to the inside corner of the compartment so I can hit the close door button when people are scurrying towards the door without them seeing me. And if I get caught, I just play dumb that I didn’t see them coming. It’s not that D.C. is such a hardening kind of city. It’s not like I’m really in the trenches here. It’s just that I’m really not all that nice. So jaywalkers – beware.
A surprising number of people in downtown D.C. do not seem to know the answer to this very basic question. Rather than head to the end of the block in rush hour, these people prefer to saunter from one side of the street to the other, through moving cars, as if playing Frogger on Benadryl. That’s right, folks, these people are jaywalkers.
It’s not that I am such a goody two shoes. And it’s really not even so much that these people cross before they get to the official crosswalk. It’s the fact that these people are in no particular hurry and choose to trust that I will stop for them. And to them, I say, "Since you're obviously not in that big of a hurry, how about a nice leisurely stroll to the crosswalk?" They apparently don’t know my reputation in elevators, where I deliberately move to the inside corner of the compartment so I can hit the close door button when people are scurrying towards the door without them seeing me. And if I get caught, I just play dumb that I didn’t see them coming. It’s not that D.C. is such a hardening kind of city. It’s not like I’m really in the trenches here. It’s just that I’m really not all that nice. So jaywalkers – beware.
Monday, July 2, 2007
The Baby (Grand)Daddy
Over the weekend, I was at a BBQ in Jersey and we got on the topic of older men with infant/young children with their (much) younger wives.
Fred Thompson's name came up and the first thing out of my mouth was, 'He's got a toddler.' In case you don't know, Fred Thompson was a Tennessee Senator that also appeared on 'Law and Order.' He is 66 years old. His second, and most recent wife is 35 and their daughter is four, which means he became a Dad at the age of 62. Ick.
This discussion then spawned into a web of older men married to younger women who had children with them.
Larry King is 74. His seventh wife is 48. They have two children, ages seven and eight.
Tony Randall, died at the age of 84 (in 2004) and his second wife was 50 years younger than him. They had two children. IMDB only has the birthdate of one of his kids - he was a father at the age of 78.
I don't know what it is but the idea of a gramps-aged man with a woman closer to my age just gives me the heebies.
And wouldn't you know it - I opened up the latest Us Weekly (with Britney and Lynne on the cover) and they have a whole section of the older man and his much younger wife.
Of course no discussion like this would be complete without mentioning 'the Hef' with his three 20-something year old girlfriends. But he's not married to any of them and he's not having babies with them....but I believe if she could make it happen, Holly (main girlfriend #1) would have him at the altar.
Fred Thompson's name came up and the first thing out of my mouth was, 'He's got a toddler.' In case you don't know, Fred Thompson was a Tennessee Senator that also appeared on 'Law and Order.' He is 66 years old. His second, and most recent wife is 35 and their daughter is four, which means he became a Dad at the age of 62. Ick.
This discussion then spawned into a web of older men married to younger women who had children with them.
Larry King is 74. His seventh wife is 48. They have two children, ages seven and eight.
Tony Randall, died at the age of 84 (in 2004) and his second wife was 50 years younger than him. They had two children. IMDB only has the birthdate of one of his kids - he was a father at the age of 78.
I don't know what it is but the idea of a gramps-aged man with a woman closer to my age just gives me the heebies.
And wouldn't you know it - I opened up the latest Us Weekly (with Britney and Lynne on the cover) and they have a whole section of the older man and his much younger wife.
Of course no discussion like this would be complete without mentioning 'the Hef' with his three 20-something year old girlfriends. But he's not married to any of them and he's not having babies with them....but I believe if she could make it happen, Holly (main girlfriend #1) would have him at the altar.
What Goes Around Comes Around
In case any of you were on the edge of your seats, I thought I'd report that no, I have not heard boo from my old 1st grade bus riding buddy Darcy Bufalini since sending him that ridiculous "linkedin" network request last week. However, as what appears to be payback from the karma gods, I found the following message in my work voicemail box this morning:
"Hi, I'm not sure if I have the right Amanda. My name is Gwen. We were childhood friends in Nevada (which she pronounced Nevad-o) and I am looking for your sister, been thinking about you a bunch, heard the news about your father through my parents and I don't know how to get ahold of you. I found this number on-line. I'm in San Diego."
Then, she closes with this gem, "It would be lovely to hear from you even though we picked on you a lot when you were a kid."
Um-yeah. That's the way to get this other Amanda to call you back, lady. "Hey, we treated you like crap! You're a loser, but let's be friends! We can go halfsies on your therapy bills from the last 20 years!" Makes me wonder if the other Amanda is sitting in her living room with a shotgun and a "People to Kill" list ala Steve Buscemi in Billy Madison - getting ready to smear her face with lipstick . . .
"Hi, I'm not sure if I have the right Amanda. My name is Gwen. We were childhood friends in Nevada (which she pronounced Nevad-o) and I am looking for your sister, been thinking about you a bunch, heard the news about your father through my parents and I don't know how to get ahold of you. I found this number on-line. I'm in San Diego."
Then, she closes with this gem, "It would be lovely to hear from you even though we picked on you a lot when you were a kid."
Um-yeah. That's the way to get this other Amanda to call you back, lady. "Hey, we treated you like crap! You're a loser, but let's be friends! We can go halfsies on your therapy bills from the last 20 years!" Makes me wonder if the other Amanda is sitting in her living room with a shotgun and a "People to Kill" list ala Steve Buscemi in Billy Madison - getting ready to smear her face with lipstick . . .
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
