Archive for the ‘Evacuations’ Category
Woo Hoo! You are in the presence of GREATNESS! Or, maybe I was just lucky enough to have put some words together in a sort of order to have promoted a laugh or two.
Behold the rich tokens of grandeur that arrived on this fine day:
1. The ability to convincingly fake the recognition of a friend across the room to help him escape boring conversation, even if the room is empty.
This is great! I can always use more… “ability to convincingly fake the recognition of a friend across the room to help escape boring conversation, even if the room is empty” power points. This unique skill does come in handy quite often, so I do appreciate the added surplus and will use them wisely.
2. The talent to convince neighbors that an unkempt junk-filled yard was all part of a yearlong Halloween decoration strategy.
It just so happens we did have a yard sale this Sat. so the “unkempt junk-filled yard” worked as a great subterfuge once we completed our sale and left the various remains of “unique and extremely collectible” items… ahem… right where they lay. I can report the rusted out car on blocks did sell to a local artist (junk dealer) looking to house a wayward family of possums.
3. The ability to whip up a crackin’ cheese omelet when the police question you about a string of Halloween eggings and notice a carton of eggs hidden behind your back.
With my trusty cheese holster at the ready, a cheddary egg surprise is just the ticket to appease the local fuzz; serving and presenting the fluffy goodness atop a box of Krispy Kreme donuts doesn’t hurt either.
Thanks to all of Paul’s readers who voted for my caption and a special thanks to the 157 phone operators at the male enhancement supplement and crocheted Statue of Liberty pot holders call center that I might have directed to the caption contest link. Let’s just say, there’ll be plenty of “cooking” in our household in the coming weeks.
I made my foray back into the wonderful wide world of competitive tennis last week with an entry into the Nellie Gail Ranch Tennis Club Tournament in Laguna Hills, CA.
Now, we are solid 4.0 singles players but my friend decided he wanted to play at the higher 4.5 level. You would think the difference wouldn’t be much – the mastery of strokes is pretty similar but the aggressive nature of the battle is slightly higher.
As we lunched at the club prior to our match I warned him in my best Oscar Goldman impression, “We’re going to come across bionic tennis men. Their names will be Steve Austin I & II. They will be younger, stronger, faster…” My eyes glazed over as I dozed off and wondered… “Did I leave my car keys in the trunk?”
My attempt to inform my companion of the elevated level of play we would more than likely come across was to no avail. All my confused partner could muster was, “Hey… hey! Snap out of it… who the hell is the Six Million Dollar Man? Uhh… you have some mustard on your chin.”
I downed the last of my Chicago Dog and gulped what remained of my 2nd mug of Miller Lite. I know, I know… beer you ask? Well, I did have the strategic wherewithal to pass on the Guinness for the airier, nimbler light beer. I. Was. (ahem) Ready.
The main reason for this post was to supply the following pictures of the beautiful tennis club:
The skies were clear and the temperature was in the high 80’s. The courts were surrounded by majestic full-size trees and not only ranch “style” but actual true to form ranch houses. The club’s homey country nuance was made complete with multitudes of horses neighing and galloping about while we played. Or should I say – had our collective asses handed to ourselves!
Yes, we proceeded to lose 6-2, 6-2 in the round of 16 to a… wait for it… younger, stronger, faster team of recently transplanted Aussies. Oi Oi Oi!!!
Hmmm… if only someone would have known… that we were going to be in over our heads… hmmm. Ok, I’m done.
After a heated could’ve, would’ve, should’ve session over cocktails (yes, more alcohol – we’re old farts, not Olympians) my buddy Ian and I parted ways and planned to enter more tournaments in the coming summer months. I actually played 4 times this week for the first time in a long time in my attempt to get back into tennis shape.
Here’s hoping for some winning fuzzy balls in all of our futures! Yellow or not…
- My tennis racquet has a mind of its own (ayearintraffic.wordpress.com)
- The joy of tennis (sallyreltonshakespeare.wordpress.com)
- Getting Started With TENNIS – or Getting Back Into Tennis (zenergo.com)
My co-worker is a queer little man. Very strange, annoying, and predictable all rolled up into a tight little ball. You can say he’s very set in his ways. He’ll subconsciously say or do the same things over and over again. He’ll recite the same joke time and time again. He’s pretty much a walking cliché.
I’m very good at ignoring and or forgetting a number of his “Juan-isms” but here are a few that stand out:
He’ll say, “Oh, are you OK? I heard you sigh and thought there might be something wrong?” He’ll do this each and every time someone sighs knowingly or unknowingly. You could be bored, stressed out, or just breathing with a purpose and it will trigger this quirky rant. He’ll be so happy with himself about this.
If he says, “Hello, how are you?” to someone and they pay no attention to him or maybe they didn’t hear him… it will mean the end of the world and he will treat it as such: “They did not say anything to me, they ignored me… I will never say hello to them ever again!” This has occurred more than once and has crushed the very being that is my little friend.
Once, he jokingly commented to a nearby co-worker who came to work sick, “Why are you here? You should really be at home with that cough because, you know, you might get me sick, too.” And, he continued to hint and remark directly to that person until finally his target went back home to tend to their sickness. But, the thing is, he did it unconsciously; knowing it was logical but unknowing that his persistent, maddening approach would finally make the individual so annoyed with him; they finally had no choice but to leave. (This one’s actually a good thing. If you’re sick, then yes you need to be home tending to your *black plague* and not a walking communal Petri dish for all to unwittingly snack from.)
OK, back to my point of naming him after one of Pavlov’s dogs… of course that’s where you thought I was going with this, right? I have him trained to when I eat snacks or lunch at my desk, the sounds of wrappers ripping, containers opening, or bags bursting makes his animated head pop up like a toy from the Island of Misfit Toys…
…accompanied by a Scooby-Doo like “Huh?” echoing from his mouth.
He will instantly have to raid the vending machine or go to lunch. But not before he offers up this tired discourse, “You know… when you open that bag of chips or I hear those wrappers, I get so hungry and I feel like I need to have some, too. I don’t know what it is?”
After this last time he needed to tell me about his ravenous ways… I immediately Google’d for the name of Pavlov’s dog.
Question: What was Pavlov’s dog’s name?
Answer: There were four dogs… their names were: Druzhok, Sultan, Zhuchko and Tsygan.
So Druzhok (meaning “little friend”)… please try to refrain from eating paint chips, and… please stop pooping on your neighbor’s lawn… and, for the love of Christ, please stop annoying people so much, will you?
(Side note: My “little friend” is from Spain, speaks English with a thick accent, and is most of the time very hard to understand. So, it’s possible we could all be losing something in the translation. Or, weird behaviors are universal and transcend continents, large bodies of water, and small office spaces.)
- Motorist fined for Scooby Doo logo (autonetinsurance.co.uk)
Excerpt: Ricky Gervais wants to host the Oscars with Charlie Sheen… and it appears the troubled TV star would be open to it.
On Tuesday, Gervais blogged that he wanted to pair up with Sheen, whom he mocked while hosting the Golden Globes.
“I will host The Golden Globes again,” he wrote. “AND the Emmys, AND the Oscars if I can do it with Charlie Sheen. I mean it.”
“After each acceptance speech I’d just chat to Charlie, who would just be sitting in an arm chair smoking,” wrote Gervais. “He’d just say what’s on his incredible mind… It would be f—ing amazing.”
Me: That *would* be FUCKING amazing and incredibly entertaining, too. The first person I thought of to host next year was Ricky Gervais. The Academy would not allow it of course… why entertain and make fun of yourself? Just continue to cheese it up and bore the hell out of everyone, why don’t you!
Don’t you hate it when you go to a party and then you find out someone there is sick?
Why are they there and why do they think they’re the special ones that are allowed to expose others to an emergency-ward bubble of contagious microbes?
Unfortunately, we were at such a party earlier this week and are now paying the price. Our youngin’ was a geyser of epic proportions last night and just as faithful as the one in Yellowstone.
Email sent to my team this AM due to the 2 hours of sleep had this morning:
From: REscarcega, Sent: Wednesday, December 29, 2010 6:05 AM, To: IDX Operations
Subject: I’m out sick today…
… I’ll be working from home for 2 hours this AM and taking 6 hours sick. My little one has the stomach flu (the wife and I have been up all night tending to him).
Holiday Party Tips: Please DO NOT go to holiday parties where there are SICK people present. Or, better yet, if YOU are sick… and, YOU know you’re sick… please keep your infectious germs to yourself and stay home. You do not owe it to anyone to be there. Nana can get her much-anticipated oven mitt another day and Uncle Sven will be fine with one less pair of socks this Xmas. So, do us ALL a favor and quarantine yourself immediately. (Partiers down and out from this one party alone: 5 people… driving the porcelain bus).
I can be reached at 714.123.4567
Thanks – REscarcega, ACME Medical Systems, Sr. EDI Analyst | 714.123.4567
The area in which I work consists of various sized cubicles with supervisor offices surrounding the perimeter floor. Window views of the trees, clouds, and sky are nonexistent. Only when going to the restroom am I afforded a huge second story window with sights of tree lined streets complete with cars and people strewn about.
This morning (Monday – my least favorite day of the week) while looking longingly and disgruntled out the window, it hit me… I imagined looking across the bay waters to the sparkling San Francisco skyline from a prison cell on Alcatraz Island. I paused and listened for the noise of the neighboring city life, the cable cars, the swaying boats in the marina; signs of a normal free existence. The caw from the seagulls, the crashing waves against the salt damaged breakers, and the aroma of the sea filled my head. I equated this exact trapped moment with what a prisoner would have encountered. I guess I subconsciously was looking for an escape. Something within was telling me I’d had enough. I was looking for and wanted an out.
My reprieve now over, I shuffled back to my desk to ponder my afternoon escape. But then, again (as is the case everyday), a hideous smell from a nearby cubicle fumes and invisibly plumes towards my personal space. The stench can only be described as and compared to the hot hairy ass crack of a cave dwelling Afghanistan terrorist. My daily ritual of singed nostril hairs commences; with this, I’m brought back to reality.
The waste produced by hundreds of inmates and guards and their families of the no longer operable penal colony couldn’t compare to the disgusting and incomparable reek I face each and every day from a co-worker who sits close by. My earlier contemplative thoughts of escape were no doubt brought on by my beaten senses today.
So, I finally told my Manager I needed to move to a BO free zone. I decided my repeatedly raped nostrils could no longer take the abuse. As I walked zombie-like to her office, I actually wished the rancid stench of a dead fish carcass could replace what my abused nose had endured today.
In a few short days, I will be paroled and will no longer have to endure this injustice. You win smell… I give up.
What is the deal with a convicted felon having the right to sue the family of a boy he killed?
“Prisoner rights” is the epitome of an oxymoron. If you are a convicted felon, guess what? You don’t get to have rights anymore. If you ask, the answer is NO!
Whose bright idea was it to give prisoners rights? What mentally disturbed person actually thought if a person is convicted of a felony that said person should *still* have constitutional rights? Was this mentally disturbed person on drugs? Was this mentally disturbed person on drugs the brother-in-law of a Judge or someone else in power? Was this the first incarnation of the term extreme liberal? Unbelievable.
Listen, plain and simple… If you commit a crime, your rights are removed. You don’t get to play anymore. You are removed from the game. This isn’t difficult, people. You decided to do something wrong. You took it upon yourself to break the law and you got caught. Party is over, you lose. Deal with it. Son of a bitch! What kind of world are we living in where this is the norm?
And, don’t get me started on this BS I read today…
Same thing…convicted felon? YOU SHOULD HAVE ZERO RIGHTS!!!