One of the best things about my job is the environment, and in particular, the funny people who I share an office space with… let’s call them Mickey and Granny.

I’m in the design room (which is actually a space twice the size of my apartment and half of it’s the conference room) because they couldn’t decide where else to put me. (And thank god, ’cause if I was with the sales people.. oh lord.) So I’m the Web person and Mickey and Granny are the print people and I swear, they are some of the funniest coworkers I have ever had.

Mickey has a very dry, caustic sense of humor and really, really loathes the sales team; Granny is at least 60-something, and just as funny… although she’s a bit nicer about the sales team.

Together, they’re a comic duo of greatness.

And I… I am the instigator. Err.

As labeled by my boss, following a round of barely stifled laughter during Mickey’s one—and only—photo shoot for an image we needed.

It wasn’t my fault though.. he was making faces (and little comments) behind the magazine. All I was doing was laughing!

The rest of the day my emails arrived addressed to the Instigator Upstairs.

😛

First of all, oh the cupcake-y goodness. (That gave me joy.)

Second, I have the bestest cousin ever… she sent me a package for my birthday. 🙂 And it contained… a tiara! Wheeee!

Which I would’ve been wearing when the Porkchop came home from the grocery store this evening, but SOMEBODY forgot his wallet.

Yep.

So instead of making dinner wearing my tiara, I found myself heading back out into the rain, sans tiara.

But the day didn’t end there, oh no.

The day ended with a toilet overflowing and tonic water exploding.

Never a dull day, people, never a dull day.

I’m desperately trying to understand why this is a problem… Man trapped waist-deep in chocolate.

They say it was 110 degrees… maybe they should’ve given him some ice cold milk?

😀 hehe

Right now I’m what you would call… unemployed. And let me tell you, it is SO boring. (I don’t care what you say Andy, you’d be bored—trust me.)

I’ve been doing contract work here and there and finishing up the summer project from hell, but when it all comes down to it, not having a job to go to every day is weird… and boring. I can go to the beach when I want, sleep in as long as I want, stay out as long as I want and drink as much as I want.

The freedom is KILLING ME!

My dad has decided to help ::cough:: and I use that term very loosely.

He called the other day and left me two messages, the second more urgent, excitedly telling me that he’s found my dream job.

I called him back to see what it was, thinking, perhaps, it could be something really awesome… maybe he met someone who knew someone who had something. You know?

No.

He (and he was still VERY excited) quickly told me about a friend who’s wife just fell and broke her hip and they needed a helper IMMEDIATELY and oh, did I mention you’d have your own place above their garage and he’s a millionaire so it’d be a mansion’s garage and all you’d really have to do is dishes and help her get around. And oh look, it’s about 10 miles from their home (um, 3500 miles from where I am NOW) and even though it wasn’t perfect I could do it as an interval job while I looked for something I really wanted.

Dead silence on my end.

“Dad.”

“Yeah? Doesn’t it sound great? It’d only be an interval thing until you found something you really wanted.”

“Dad. I live on the EAST COAST. That’s the opposite side.”

“Mmhmm. You could put your stuff in storage or bring it back here with you.”

“Dad I don’t WANT to move back there. I want a job here. And if I’m going to get an interval job, wouldn’t I do that somewhere near where I am NOW.. you know, close to where I want to be, perhaps?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Oh, and Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“Seriously, you think that’s my dream job?”

“Well you’d get a lot of free time and you could probably learn to invest from such and such…”

Oh. my. GOD.

Yeah.

Good times.

It’s been bloody hot here for oh, say, the past couple of weeks. We’ve had our good days and our bad, but in general, pretty damn hot.

I didn’t realize how hot it got in my apartment until today, when I worked from home, and found myself working up a nice shine.

So I finally got around to calling my landlord and leaving a message on their machine, asking if the Husband might come up one day this week and help me put my massive (we’re talking 10000 here) in the window).

Not five minutes after I leave the message, there’s a knock on my door.

Oh. my. god.

Did I mention it was hot? Do you know what normal people do when it’s hot and they’re at home and they live alone? (OK, Moo, Grampa, every guy who reads this.. minds outta the gutter thank you—sheesh.)

We tend to wear as little as humanly possible, so as to remain marginally decent, if say, a person across the street, two stories down, through the window, might catch a glimpse of a shadow moving about up here.

And like I said, I didn’t have air conditioning and it’s been hot. ::cough::

He knocked again.

I pulled open the door and said “oh, that was quick,” while simultaneously trying to become One with the door.

He said “Hi, getting hot up here yeah?” and bustled off to the living room, thankfully (dear sweet lord I HOPE) not looking at what I was wearing.

Um… very, very short soccer shorts my sister wore in eighth grade, that have a bit of an.. erm… sizeable hole in the frontal region and a tank top. And when it’s hot and you live alone, you don’t particularly find it necessary to wear anything under what you’re already wearing… yeah… erm.

IT’S HOT PEOPLE. Don’t spurn me. You do it too. 😛

So we moved the AC from it’s place in the spare room to the living room, and while he went out to the deck to make sure it lined up right, I bounded to my bedroom and put on more acceptable pants. Ones that had material everywhere that is necessary for one to not get arrested when walking down the street.

“OK, it’s all set,” he said. “You’re going to want to adjust that temperature. Wow, look at that, it’s 85 degrees in here. It is hot.”

The rugrats plunked themselves down in front of it and haven’t left there since. I now understand the hostile stares and cold silence I was treated too when I got home every day.

The landlord left quickly, not once commenting on the fact that I’d been wearing basically nothing to compensate for the temperature. I’m counting on him not really seeing much anyway, seeing as how it was semi-dark in here (almost, no lights on.. they generate heat), I hid behind the door and he was just way to bloody hot to care.

I hope.

I’m still blushing, sheesh.

My mom and I went shopping today (and dragged my father along).

I had her try on a tanktop with a built-in bra, lol, and while it was cute, it did show a little bit too much.

Her response? “I can’t wear this! Your dad would kill me—it shows my tits.”

Whereupon I proceeded to laugh hysterically… my mom said tits. Oh man.

At dinner, I was telling my dad about it and somehow we got onto the subject of the size of the boobs in our family. (Please don’t ask, lol.)

My mom and I were laughing and said something about my sister’s being the largest (hi K! ::waves::) and I commented to my mom that at least she wouldn’t sag (like my sister will.. ::waves again::).

My mom kinda pouted and my dad said… “When it comes to boobs, you only need a mouthful.”

Hysterical. laughter. ensued.

Granted, we had both had a drink or two, but dear sweet lord… MY EYES AND EARS!

I couldn’t look either of them in the eye for the rest of the meal. My parents thought it was hilarious.

I think this is going to be one of those stories we tell for years.

::shudder::

Ever since I got here, my cats have been “guarding” the heating grate in my room. My dad was certain there was nothing under the house, but finally, one dry day in February he crawled under the house to look. Mind you, this was after he put on three layers of clothing, including old army gear, booties for his shoes from surgery, a hat from surgery on his head and a high powered flashlight.

And said he found nothing.

This morning my mom and I have been making jam and cobbler—and we ran out of sugar. So, cobbling together a grocery list, we sent my dad to the store.

On his way out, he commented on the trash bag my mom had stuck outside the front door this morning (thinking my dad would take it out on his way to get a haircut).

Apparently a cat/bird got into the bag and scattered his bacon-grease-laden paper towels across the porch.

My mother was fit to be tied, so I went out to clean it up and she stayed in the kitchen, cleaning the jam mess we’d made.

After picking up trash and sweeping, I grabbed the hose and decided to wash down the front porch. Realizing that going back inside would mean letting water get into the house (and did I mention mom was cranky?), I walked around through the backgate. On my way in, I paused to start the grill (dad was getting chicken).

I started the gas, flicked the starter a few times, groused and flipped open the lid.

And A GINORMOUS, GROSS mouse/rat scurried its way across the grill.

Whereupon I screamed bloody murder, slammed the lid and started yelling for my mom.

Who laughed until she cried.

Then commented that they probably are under the house and your father is in deep shit.

hehehe…

Dad’s still at the store… we can’t wait until he gets home.

My mom decided that while I was here, we should look into switching my car insurance from Progressive to a less-expensive company… you see, I originally was with this less expensive company, but I had a few… snafus, shall we say.

Anyway, three years has passed and so now it’s time to shop around… my mom loves doing this kind of thing. So, a pot of coffee, a couple of cookies and mum started dialing numbers (she first had to harp at my health insurance company and let me tell you, you missed out on something very, very special—she’s a firecracker).

The third number we called was the new insurance company (the one my parents use). We got a very pleasant, youngish guy who had to go over all my information with me… and while doing so, managed to share with me that he: used to live in Alaska (for 7 years), was in the military, hasn’t changed his plates from there (he lives in TX now), was divorced, went to Corpus Christi for Spring Break, has no kids and oh, by the way, is very single.

I got hit on by an insurance guy 2000 miles away this morning, while sitting at my mother’s kitchen table (while she muffled laughter), wearing pajamas, with a cat sitting on my lap.

My mom’s response after I hung up the phone… “Well, if someone starts stalking you, you’ll know who it is.. ’cause he has your home address and all.”

And then she laughed.

We just got back from the first Christmas party of the year… for me, anyway. (I try to get out of as many as possible.)

It was there, at my godparents’ house, when I realized just how old I really am.

Their youngest is 15. I changed his damn diapers and now he has a girlfriend who’s 16 (cute as hell) and he just bought her, her first diamond for Christmas.

Dear sweet lord, when did I get this old?! (Did I mention he’s 6’1″ and still growing?)

The dentist was uneventful. Nurse Ratchet attacked my gums and caused serious puncture wounds, but alas, no cavities. Really the best part about her was when we were talking about where I live and I mentioned it was kinda “artsy,” to which she replied, “Oh are there a lot of gays? I don’t like a lot of gays.”

I accidentally bit her.

I worked in coffee. In Seattle. The gay people are my people.

I think she gathered from my less-than-impressed expression that I thought she was nuts, so she quickly followed with, “I just don’t approve of the homosexual lifestyle.”

Did I mention my parents chose the dentist?

Yup.

Last night I was planning to post about a) shopping with my mom, b) taking out the trash with my dad (truly is an experience, let me tell ya—he put on foul weather gear, to include a cowboy hat… oh boy), c) seeing my cousins (who are now PEOPLE—they are old and have girlfriends and lives and it’s very freaky and that makes me feel old) and d) plucking my dad’s eyebrows with my mom (I had to hold his face still… so much joy in my family, lol.)

However, I had an awful nightmare last night, just terrible. Someone was sending me weird notes. Then they got scary, and for some unknown reason, I didn’t tell anyone. Then, to make matters worse, the person took my cousins and sent me a note saying “Come and get them… but you can’t use your car.” So the place I was at, the woman let me borrow her car and my friend and I went after my cousins. But we didn’t know where to go, we just had to wait. At this point I told my dad and he was kinda freaked out, but not as much as me (typical). Anyway, long story short, she dropped them off there when I was with my dad at a pizza parlor (dunno), and it turned out to be one of my friends from college (more scary) and I threatened to kill her if she ever came near me or mine again.

Helloooo, that was a fun night.

I have to work now, then go to the dentist (whoopee).