some people are soooo professional
epic fail
I’ve lost my mind
This is what I did this evening. Stand around in the hopes that a hummingbird would come and eat out of my hand. I’ll save you the comments: I’m a loser.
what a day! it’s been a while since I have a wild rant.
My day started rather early — before 7, took a quick shower, grabbed a bite, and then settled into the lousy routine of figuring out what to wear.
No, I am not some coy clothes horse. I have lost a little weight. Okay, I’ve lost a lot of weight. Something like a whole little kindergarten person. That’s a good thing. However, it has presented a bit of a wardrobe problem. It’s not like I can go shopping every day, and so I’ve kind of shopped as I’ve lost. That means stuff I wore last month is useless.
Cue this morning’s dilema. I had to dress for graduation (you want to know why I was going to commencement in the middle of July? I ask myself that question every July, too) which means I have to find a black or dark dress to wear under the regalia. Yes, that’s an awful lot of black for July in Georgia. Thank God for air-conditioning: the eighth wonder of the modern world.
Anyway, the night before I dusted off the robe feeling all Hogwarts and stuff, and untangled the little tassle-thingie, inspected the hood which is looking a little ratty, and hung up a navy dress next to the robe. It looked good hanging in the bathroom.
And then this morning, I put on the dress. Let’s say it wasn’t a good fit and let it go, okay? I mean, I really could smuggle my kindergarten-age nephew in the dress, and maybe squeeze my godson in for good measure. It wasn’t a good look for me.
At that hour, without waking up John or agitating the dog who was already looking at me funny, I had to find an alternate. Luckily, there was a black dress that looked like it would fit, only it was sleeveless, and let me tell you that I’m not wearing anything sleeveless until I start going to the gym, but heck, I was going to have the robes, so no one was going to see my arms. It fit better than the other one and has a tie in the back so it actually looked fairly good on me. The only thing missing was pantyhose, and I have a secret stash of that for these kinds of emergencies.
By the way, we are required to wear the hose if you can beleive it (I guess the men are wearing ties). Perfect! I looked grand. Or at least, like faculty should, so I proceeded on my merry way, stopping by the office on a small errand.
If ever the fates have smiled upon me it was today to have me go by the office. As I walked the 50 feet into the building I could feel that the queen-size pantyhose were coming loose. By the time I got to my office, they were by my knees and falling quickly. Can you imagine if that had happened in the processional? LOL, gives a new name to pomp and circumstance.
I’d like to stop here to thank my parents for teaching me to be adaptable and resourceful.
I locked my door, grabbed a rubberband, hiked the dress up, tied a knot in the hose, and went on my merry way.
By the way, graduation was lovely, as always.
TV’s digital switch
Making history…bla bla bla. I am underwhelmed although that’s probaby because I have cable. I’ve read in my twitter/facebook friends that those using the converter box have had wiggy reception. I hope it’s going to come in clear for them.
Still, I wonder why there is government intervention by way of using community resources to check house by house. Really? Vouchers and such? Is anybody gonna help me pay my cable bill?
Yeeeaaaaah. I thought so.
Bego’s Examination Axiom
Given a classroom of 28 students, 2 hours, and an essay exam, one person will finish in under 30 minutes, over 90% will finish within 90 minutes, and 2 will drag out their misery and mine, right up until I call for the papers, whereupon one will sigh and turn it in, and the other will disregard me and keep writing. I like that one. I pick up my things and leave. Without the exam.
ah, the end of the term: bring on the whiners, whingers, and victims…
Courtesy of the rounds on Facebook:
Today we mourn the passing of a beloved old friend, Common Sense , who has been with us for many years. No one knows for sure how old he was, since his birth records were long ago lost in bureaucratic red tape. He will be remembered as having cultivated such valuable lessons as:
– Knowing when to come in out of the rain;
– Why the early bird gets the worm;
– Life isn’t always fair;
– and maybe it was my fault.
Common Sense lived by simple, sound financial policies (don’t spend more than you can earn) and reliable strategies (adults, not children, are in charge). His health began to deteriorate rapidly when well-intentioned but overbearing
regulations were set in place. Reports of a 6-year-old boy charged with sexual harassment for kissing a classmate; teens suspended from school for using mouthwash after lunch; and a teacher fired for reprimanding an unruly student, only worsened his condition.
Common Sense lost ground when parents attacked teachers for doing the job that they themselves had failed to do in disciplining their unruly children.
It declined even further when schools were required to get parental consent to administer sun lotion or an aspirin to a student; but could not inform parents when a student became pregnant and wanted to have an abortion.
Common Sense lost the will to live as the churches became businesses; and criminals received better treatment than their victims.
Common Sense took a beating when you couldn’t defend yourself from a burglar in your own home and the burglar could sue you for assault.
Common Sense finally gave up the will to live, after a woman failed to realize that a steaming cup of coffee was hot. She spilled a little in her lap, and was promptly awarded a huge settlement.
Common Sense was preceded in death, by his parents, Truth and Trust, by his wife, Discretion, by his daughter, Responsibility, and by his son, Reason.
He is survived by his 4 stepbrothers;
I Know My Rights
I Want It Now
Someone Else Is To Blame
I’m A Victim
Not many attended his funeral because so few realized he was gone.
My very own meme created and designed by me!
I call it:
One Thing About Me
1. I hate memes.
[I failed “gets along well with others and plays nice.” Essentially, I am grossly opinionated and scoff at things that I don’t like, and embrace whole-heartedly things that I do like. For people who know me, there’s no figuring out what my reaction will be. I like to be mysterious in that way. ;-)]
I got…nuthin’
Terrorists in Small Town Hospital
or How Crazy Rumors Get Started When People In Charge Are Not Forthright About What Is Happening
In an epic display of confusion and contained hysteria, we took off for the local ER shortly after dinner when we got a call that Christy’s best friend was in a terrible wreck. She was being transported by ambulance down the street from us, alone, while her father was removed with the jaws of life and taken into the city to the big trauma hospital. Her mom, of course, went with him, and so we rallied at the local ER to both calm and help the friend.
Hilarity ensued while entertaining poor Rachel and clandestinely getting updates about her dad, who at this writing is in stable condition with plenty of broken bones, awaiting surgery to alleviate something in his cervicals. That doesn’t sound very good but if pain is an indication that there’s no paralysis, then the poor guy is in bad shape, but feeling every bit of his injuries. It would be very cool of you to say a prayer for Philip. I’ll pause the story. While you’re at it his wife Nancy Jo could use some, too.
Rachel, on the other hand, didn’t sustain more than some bruising and banging about, so in her happy pill induced state will receive the brunt of my mockery. She’s sleeping peacefully now, and all I can say is it’s a good thing Christy doesn’t sound like Darth Vader anymore though I suspect Rachel could sleep through a hurricane right about now.
Anyway, we beat her to the ER, so we witnessed her arrival. For starters, there will be some letters of inquiry and complaint coming as a result of that arrival, which was ridiculous, but let me get on with the story of Her Royal Highness, emerging from the back of the ambulance with a gigantic gauze on her wrist, and an amazingly docile and complacent look on her face. Clearly it was shock, but funny nevertheless. She acknowledged the throng of admirers with a little sweep of her good hand, and acquiesced ever so genteelly as she was led into the ER. Imagine Gloria Swanson on the red carpet. We were all speechless at the grand entrance, but then again, anyone that knows Rachel could not possibly be surprised. She held court supporting the gauze precariously placed upon her bloody wrist. By the way, the cleaning up in the triage revealed the tiniest of little cuts. Grand drama for the queen of drama. In the end we are relieved that she will be fine.
Nevertheless, seven hours in the ER was no joyful activity. It’s a good thing she had plenty of company, and as her pastor pointed out, the real spirit of community. The old folks came by to check on her before going to support Nancy, so we were left with the Frick and Frack travelling show of her friends. [as an aside, the claim that the Magnet school she attended and her brother now attends with Jonathan is a family rang very true last night. Those are some classy folks, even if they do need a GPS to get to the trauma unit they pass every time they go to a function at Ga Tech downtown. I’m just sayin’. LOL]
At some point the fire alarm went off and the minimum-wage-earning security guards pretended to be all about security, only, the chick was a little more like “Sahcurretee” and brilliantly stood in the middle of the ER where every ailing person could see and hear her, swept back her enormous weave and clicked on the radio clipped to her shoulder with her ginormous nails and announced, loudly, “There is a problem with terrorists.”
I swear that’s what she said. That’s what everyone around us heard, too.
Terrorists.
Only, I think she was trying to say “terrace.”
Well, anyway, it was more fun to hear terrorists. For the win, the firefighters that responded and evidently couldn’t turn off the alarm because they found no terrorists nor fires in the terrace, were very attractive. Hot, I believe, is what the girls said. I have to concur.
Unfortunately, they were in no hurry to turn off the piercing alarm, and we were subjected to that interminable peal for quite a while. It was punctuated by vomiting man in the corner, and tuberculosis man in front of us. The highlight of the evening, however, was when I went to the restroom and walked in on an enormous man trying to produce a urine sample.
I am scarred for life.
it’s been a long day
So I was diagnosed in the sacristy at church with shingles. A nurse friend of mine pulled me in a corner and lifted the corner of my blouse and said, “Yep, that looks like shingles to me.”
Besides the whole creepy aspect of the scenario, it was the bad news I was expecting. A trip to Dr. Mike’s this morning confirmed it, and I am on a delightful cocktail of steroids, anti-virals, and the drug of choice in the Johnson household: Vicadin.
And it still hurts like a bitch. I’m so sorry for the people who don’t figure it out for a while. I am hopeful that this will be done sooner than later.
Feel free to send chocolate. I hear it has medicinal values.
another cup of coffee 