A little over a month ago, my Sirius satellite receiver up & died on me. I called 'em up and went through the obligatory troubleshooting with the heavily accented dude. He ultimately told me to have the shop remove the offending POS from the Nissan while they sent me a replacement.
The first day without it was just wrong. How do the radio stations get away with the, the ... PULP that they pump out every morning? Add to that the flat-out terrible reception that my stereo gets with the in-the-rear-window antenna on the Nissan, keeping me from being able to listen to either of the two stations here that do actually play some music in the mornings, and the drive is more easily made with no tunes at all.
Hours went by, stretching into days. Before I knew it, a week had passed and no new receiver. I called them and they advised that their shipment was stuck in customs.
I can now imagine what some crack head goes through when his pusher says, "Sorry man, ain't got nuffin today on accounta them suits downtown needing my entire stock for their IPO party..."
Suffice it to say, that was not the answer I wanted to hear. I started having tremors when the full meaning of what I was being told sunk in.
"Wait, you're saying they're, like, STUCK? Somewhere? Uh, so could you maybe tell me where that is? ... Oh, no reason. Ju- Just curious. Seattle? Well shit, I can't drive there. I've got work tomorrow. INEEDMYDAMNFIXMAAAAAAAN!!"
Then came the call (yes, they actually called me to let me know); The shipment was expected to be delivered the end of the week... when I would be out of town. Friggin sadists, I tell you! After some more talking (trying to explain why I reallyreallyREALLY needed that delivery before I left because, uh, my neighbors would do something with it if it was just left) they finally saw reason & set my replacement to be sent overnight once they get to their distribution center. They estimate it will arrive on the day I'm getting on a plane.
-twitch-
So the next morning I get an e-mail with the FedEx tracking number (did I TELL you they were sadists?!?) and immediately go to the webbery to see where my precious is right then. Oh good, Cincinnati.
Wait, what?? It was held by customs in Seattle! What the hell, did they throw the damned thing too far?? -twitch-
It says it's scheduled for delivery by 10:30 the next morning. My flight is at three in the afternoon. Okay, that is plenty of time. I mean, right? Wouldn't you think so?
-twitch-
"Hey Sara! (she's my manager) I need to take a full day off tomorrow & not just a half, okay? There's, uh, something that came up. I think I chipped another tooth. Okay?" Isn't it amazing what excuses an addict will come up with ON THE SPOT like that? I mean, really, once I get the thing, all I'm going to do is put it in my house and then have it installed when I get home.
The next morning I'm up at the usual time, 4:00am, a time commonly (and rightly) unknown to most people. Unless they're exiting the local pub of course. I can't stand admitting this, but I really did check the front porch for any boxes laying out there before hopping in the shower. FOUR in the morning, people. On a day off. Something is wrong with me. (yay, step one complete) -twitch-
With my shower done, I eat breakfast while watching Early Today (yes, there is an "early" edition of the Today show, the show that is on for two hours longer than it needs to be by itself, in my never so humble opinion, but I digress) at a lower than normal volume in case there's a knock at the door. I play a little with Mario the Wonder Kitty, and even he is looking at me like, "What the fuck are you doing up, huh?" I hop online and look at some of the rest of the news, check the weather at my destination, go through the suitcase to make sure everything I need is there, aaaaaaaaand then I check FedEx. "Arrived at station" it tells me. I hit F5. You know, just in case.
If their web site were a tad smarter, it could have slammed me with, "What? You didn't believe me before asshole? I told you ARRIVED AT STATION. Don't make me add a weather delay in, bub!" So at 4:05 I peek out the front door again...
Okay, yeah. That's blatant exaggeration. Instead, I did go lay down again. I didn't go back to sleep, of course. Oh no. I could FEEL it, a mere ZIP code or three away from me where I lay. Likely tossed carelessly in some corner of the warehouse. Savages. I read the magazines that came in recently to try to take my mind off of that nightmare. I vacuumed. I washed dishes. All that schtuff. Ya know when my precious showed up? 10:23am. Not crushed beyond recognition. Not weeping from its abuse (being inanimate helps, I suppose). I make the drive, still Sirius-less, to the airport. That was a rough drive.
So I get back from a great time in Texas and have the car shop reinstall the box in whatever secret cubby hole in the dash they had the old one, and drive home listening to their generic always-on channel that spews out weather and the 800# to call to have my receiver activated. Yes, I did. It was amazing, and it wasn't even music. IT LIVES!
So I get home after the trip, and gather my various numbers (account number, old radio ID, new radio ID, and that 800#). I call, and they ask me for the phone number that's on my account. This is where having phone number changes over the past year is a bit of a liability. My rush of musical bliss was being delayed because I've had three phone numbers in the past year. Did I give them the land line that I never answered? The old cell number that was changed when the new cell came? Crap! I have all these other numbers, dammit! Happily, I remembered the right one and enter the hell that is Automated Phone Support. Those automated lines with the pleasant lady that recognizes your voice commands so long as you have no accent whatsoever. "Would you like to continue in English? Say yes to proceed." Those kinds. I reply, "Yes" and get the voice saying "I'm sorry, I didn't get that. Did you say 'mustard'?"
Anyway, I zero out of that and get Frank on the phone. No, his name isn't Frank. You know this. I know this. He knows this. We play his game because I just want my damned Area 33 as soon as possible, okay? -twitch-
"Frank, bud, listen carefully. The receiver is installed, the radio is on and tuned to 148, and I have the radio ID here. You ready for it? Because it's starting now," and I belt that 12-digit bastard out as clearly as I can between the tremors.
"I'm sorree, I didn't get dat. Did jou say 'moostard'?" ...so much for cutting through their scripted replies. We go through the usual. Yes, it's on. Yes I hear the broadcast (can't you? I'm in the car with the weather report being recited right now fer chrisssakes!). Yup, you've got the right ID number for the radio and we just confirmed my street address (thank God I didn't change THAT recently!) and secret handshake. "Hokaee, de tranzmishun iz beink sent now, and shood arrife widin 30 second or fife meenut." I swear, I don't know what country they sent me to this time, but it's apparently a new one. I'm guessing Brazil or Chile.
I wipe my brow as I stare at the radio and it's taunting "12:14" time display. Frank is breathing heavy in the phone while we wait. This is not helpful, but I don't dare hang up with a truncated "kthanxbye" because then the tranzmishun wouldn't arrive. The display changes to "updating channels" as a chorus of angels sings out. My eyes tear up and I tell Frank that all is well with the world, no there's nothing else I need right now, yes I'll go online if I need any account information... Frank, I'd just like to be alone with my radio for a while, ya mind?
AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH that's better.
Showing posts with label Humor?. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Humor?. Show all posts
17 November 2007
24 October 2007
My Superpower
Some people laugh at my humor. Or they laugh at me, I don't bother to make the distinction any more... Some idle chat that made a friend laugh follows here. Caution: It's booger-type humor, so click back now if you ... eh, better click back anyway, just to be safe.
...
A brief discussion comparing current ailments. Of course when you're close friends, you arent' required to reply with the word "fine" to the question, "How're you doing there?"
me: I've only got some rubbery crap in my nose at the moment. It ought to clear up in a couple weeks.
Megadeth, Foreclosure Of a Dream
...
A brief discussion comparing current ailments. Of course when you're close friends, you arent' required to reply with the word "fine" to the question, "How're you doing there?"
me: I've only got some rubbery crap in my nose at the moment. It ought to clear up in a couple weeks.
they: you have rubber in your nose?
me: the snot up there doesn't want to budge. It was concrete in the morning & loosened up a little bit now. If I blow, I feel it move, but then it rebounds right back to where it started.
they: wow. that sounds like some kind of super hero power before you learn how to harness it
they: lol
me: hehehe... Stand back! I'll whip the vile villian with my SNOT!
me: --SNERK-kaPOW!-- "Ouch! Okay I give up!"
Megadeth, Foreclosure Of a Dream
30 April 2007
A Spring Weekend
This was, I believe, is the first weekend this year to be above 80 degrees here.
Saturday morning stared at 7am for me. at about 7:30 I was the winner of maybe a dozen calls on my cell phone. They were from the girlfriend's son. At two years old, he's having a wonderful time getting into his mom's things. He knows right where the redial button is, apparently. I'd say "Hello?" and he'd go tell the dog that she was being bad. I think. He'd call her name and follow with, "No!" My guess is the dog was licking his face, but I'll probably never know for sure.
The g/f and I went to a comedy club Saturday night. I exaggerate when I say it was "night"; The show started about 5:30pm and went for a couple hours. Jack Willhite was headlining, with... Let's just call him "Fred". Jack wasn't too bad. Fred was a little better, but that's only because I didn't get a few of Jack's bits (when you start talking Country and/or Western music, I know nothing). Of course Fred isn't on the club's roster list for some reason, so I can't even point you in that direction to see the guy. Yeah, I suck for not remembering the guy's name.
Here's a nice dialog with the gal that I was trying to order a beer from. Either her hearing is about non-existant, or my voice is one of those that is just not heard.
Me: I'll have the Cherry Wheat.
Her: Some cherries, okay.
Me: No, CHERRY WHEAT.
Her: Oh, Cherry daiquiri.
Me, leaning closer to her this time and pointing to the BEER section on the menu:
No no... I want the Samuel Adams Cherry Wheat Ale.
I wonder if I need to not go there ever again if the guys there commonly order just a bowl of cherries and/or cherry daiquiris...
And then there was bowling after the late night of laughs ending at 7:25pm. You know how bowling shoes are supposed to slide as you bowl? No? Well they are. I would have done better sliding if I'd just left on my no-skid-mark-the-shit-out-of-any-floor-surface shoes. Everyone for two lanes either way could hear my shoes squeak to a halt a good two feet before the foul line.
Of course, a properly thrown ball is also supposed to curve in to the 1 & 3 pins (1 & 2 for southpaws), but oh well. I ended two games with 225 (total, not each).
Sunday was a day of car-washing and oil-changing. Since there was no rain, snow, or blizzards in the forecast, I saw that the birds decided to relieve themselves on the car's bumper between the wash and this morning.
The oil change went okay, except for that small amount of oil from the oil filter that spilled onto the exhaust pipe as I removed it. So I'll be that car that smells like burnt oil at every stop-light for God knows how long. I apologize.
I had a combination DVD/VCR deck that has been pissing me off to no end recently. Any DVD I put in would skip every minute or so, and the lens cleaner didn't do anything to help. So, thinking forward, I went out and bought an up-converting DVD player. Not a true HD or Blu-Ray thing, as I won't be jumping on that band-wagon any time soon (if ever).
Up-sides: No more damned skipping. On sale for a decent (even affordable) amount.
Down-sides: No tuner. No way to tell if the up-convert feature is worth a damn until I get an HD monitor, which isn't likely to happen any time soon.
The lack of a tuner is a pisser only because I don't have a long enough piece of coax cable to go from the antenna to the TV. That's easily resolved with a trip to Radio Shack for a coupler. The store that I picked up the player at had no coupler & wanted $20 for a 6-foot length of coax. That seems expensive to me. Actually my initial reaction was, "You've gotta be shitting me!"
That is all. No, you may not have that five minutes back. They're mine. ALL MINE!! AH-HAHAHAHAhahahahaha...
Midnight Star, Operator
Saturday morning stared at 7am for me. at about 7:30 I was the winner of maybe a dozen calls on my cell phone. They were from the girlfriend's son. At two years old, he's having a wonderful time getting into his mom's things. He knows right where the redial button is, apparently. I'd say "Hello?" and he'd go tell the dog that she was being bad. I think. He'd call her name and follow with, "No!" My guess is the dog was licking his face, but I'll probably never know for sure.
The g/f and I went to a comedy club Saturday night. I exaggerate when I say it was "night"; The show started about 5:30pm and went for a couple hours. Jack Willhite was headlining, with... Let's just call him "Fred". Jack wasn't too bad. Fred was a little better, but that's only because I didn't get a few of Jack's bits (when you start talking Country and/or Western music, I know nothing). Of course Fred isn't on the club's roster list for some reason, so I can't even point you in that direction to see the guy. Yeah, I suck for not remembering the guy's name.
Here's a nice dialog with the gal that I was trying to order a beer from. Either her hearing is about non-existant, or my voice is one of those that is just not heard.
Me: I'll have the Cherry Wheat.
Her: Some cherries, okay.
Me: No, CHERRY WHEAT.
Her: Oh, Cherry daiquiri.
Me, leaning closer to her this time and pointing to the BEER section on the menu:
No no... I want the Samuel Adams Cherry Wheat Ale.
I wonder if I need to not go there ever again if the guys there commonly order just a bowl of cherries and/or cherry daiquiris...
And then there was bowling after the late night of laughs ending at 7:25pm. You know how bowling shoes are supposed to slide as you bowl? No? Well they are. I would have done better sliding if I'd just left on my no-skid-mark-the-shit-out-of-any-floor-surface shoes. Everyone for two lanes either way could hear my shoes squeak to a halt a good two feet before the foul line.
Of course, a properly thrown ball is also supposed to curve in to the 1 & 3 pins (1 & 2 for southpaws), but oh well. I ended two games with 225 (total, not each).
Sunday was a day of car-washing and oil-changing. Since there was no rain, snow, or blizzards in the forecast, I saw that the birds decided to relieve themselves on the car's bumper between the wash and this morning.
The oil change went okay, except for that small amount of oil from the oil filter that spilled onto the exhaust pipe as I removed it. So I'll be that car that smells like burnt oil at every stop-light for God knows how long. I apologize.
I had a combination DVD/VCR deck that has been pissing me off to no end recently. Any DVD I put in would skip every minute or so, and the lens cleaner didn't do anything to help. So, thinking forward, I went out and bought an up-converting DVD player. Not a true HD or Blu-Ray thing, as I won't be jumping on that band-wagon any time soon (if ever).
Up-sides: No more damned skipping. On sale for a decent (even affordable) amount.
Down-sides: No tuner. No way to tell if the up-convert feature is worth a damn until I get an HD monitor, which isn't likely to happen any time soon.
The lack of a tuner is a pisser only because I don't have a long enough piece of coax cable to go from the antenna to the TV. That's easily resolved with a trip to Radio Shack for a coupler. The store that I picked up the player at had no coupler & wanted $20 for a 6-foot length of coax. That seems expensive to me. Actually my initial reaction was, "You've gotta be shitting me!"
That is all. No, you may not have that five minutes back. They're mine. ALL MINE!! AH-HAHAHAHAhahahahaha...
Midnight Star, Operator
15 March 2007
Diary Of A (bitchy) Nissan
Sept. ’06: Was traded in by that ungrateful family that I moved from California to Colorado. Bastages traded me in for a Murano. After that hellacious climb over the mountains, after blowing out three speakers, and after losing the ashtray, they just cast me aside for some bimbo. How the hell do they LOSE my damn ashtray, anyway? Hope they choke on their leather seats. ::huff::
Oct. ’06: I can’t believe that sales guy took such a pittance for me. I mean, helLOOOO? California babe here? C’mon people! Though trading that Buick in was probably a good call on the new guy’s part. I hope he doesn’t find out about my occasional leaking any time soon though. How embarrassing.
Damn, this guy sure made up for the lack of dollars he was willing to put out for me. I got a full-on sponge-bath and wax job. Now I feel bad about hiding my leaky issue.
Nov. ’06: Uh-oh. This one really does pay attention to me. He took me in to see what my engine light was about. Thank the highways it’s a super-secret Nissan-eyes-only code. They were thrown off-track with a knock-sensor, but it may only be a matter of time now. He just doesn’t like to see something’s wrong, but what’s a girl to do? I can’t TELL him what’s up, of course.
Oh, new speakers. That’s much better now. Not that you’d know it from this ::gag:: death metal rock stuff he listens to.
Just what the hell is this white slippery stuff on the road, anyway? Wait, I’m in MONTANA? I much prefer the sand and sun of SoCal to this stuff. Apparently someone didn’t pay the heating bill either. It’s so cold, my little leak opened up to be a bigger one. He’s not the type to miss this, I’m sure.
Dec. ’06: Holy SHIT! That white freezing stuff has been falling all damn day! My paint is going to crack, and damn if I’m gonna get a pedicure to last in THIS crap! Oh, and THEN he takes me in for fresh oil where some knuckle-dragging gorilla twists my filter too tight. Get your paws OFF of me, thankyew! I must express my displeasure by dimming the lights when the radiator fans come on… not that they will any time soon if this freezing crap keeps up.
Jan. ’07: Ouch! I picked up OWW! A nail on this goat-trail of a … OUCHOUCHOUCH highway. Now you’d think he’s GOTTA get me some new shoes, but what does he do? He has them PATCH it! Where the hell am I? Petticoat Junction?? These are LAST SEASON’S Goodyear line. I can’t go stepping out in patched tires. ::sob::
Feb. ’07: Alright, I’m about done here. No bath since September, nails on the road, hundreds of miles a week… A girl can only do so much ya know. Vengeance plotting begins now.
Mar. ’07: I think he’s reading my diary. He just gave me a bath and it feels SOOOO good to get rid of that crusty junk that was building up on my paint. I’m still going to melt down though. Even better for that, he just filled me up with high-test petrol. Guess he’s trying to suck up.
Rats, he was taking me to the dealership for the engine light, so I had to move up my timetable. I started by flashing the Air Bag light, but he didn’t notice so I had to hit him where it hurts; I shut off the stereo. HA! And it won’t turn back on, either. Double HA! So I finally get the treatment I deserve: A lift on a flat-bed to the dealership (yes, the shoppers there were looking up to me in awe, I’m sure) where I was treated pretty darned good. So what if Mr. Cheapskate owner had to dig in to savings for me. It’s about time!
So a new alternator, new thermostat, and a regular maintenance tranny flush later, I’m feeling almost pampered again (which is all I ever asked for; Is that so bad?). I gave him his stereo back, but only because it’s finally starting to warm up around here.
Disturbed, Liberate
Oct. ’06: I can’t believe that sales guy took such a pittance for me. I mean, helLOOOO? California babe here? C’mon people! Though trading that Buick in was probably a good call on the new guy’s part. I hope he doesn’t find out about my occasional leaking any time soon though. How embarrassing.
Damn, this guy sure made up for the lack of dollars he was willing to put out for me. I got a full-on sponge-bath and wax job. Now I feel bad about hiding my leaky issue.
Nov. ’06: Uh-oh. This one really does pay attention to me. He took me in to see what my engine light was about. Thank the highways it’s a super-secret Nissan-eyes-only code. They were thrown off-track with a knock-sensor, but it may only be a matter of time now. He just doesn’t like to see something’s wrong, but what’s a girl to do? I can’t TELL him what’s up, of course.
Oh, new speakers. That’s much better now. Not that you’d know it from this ::gag:: death metal rock stuff he listens to.
Just what the hell is this white slippery stuff on the road, anyway? Wait, I’m in MONTANA? I much prefer the sand and sun of SoCal to this stuff. Apparently someone didn’t pay the heating bill either. It’s so cold, my little leak opened up to be a bigger one. He’s not the type to miss this, I’m sure.
Dec. ’06: Holy SHIT! That white freezing stuff has been falling all damn day! My paint is going to crack, and damn if I’m gonna get a pedicure to last in THIS crap! Oh, and THEN he takes me in for fresh oil where some knuckle-dragging gorilla twists my filter too tight. Get your paws OFF of me, thankyew! I must express my displeasure by dimming the lights when the radiator fans come on… not that they will any time soon if this freezing crap keeps up.
Jan. ’07: Ouch! I picked up OWW! A nail on this goat-trail of a … OUCHOUCHOUCH highway. Now you’d think he’s GOTTA get me some new shoes, but what does he do? He has them PATCH it! Where the hell am I? Petticoat Junction?? These are LAST SEASON’S Goodyear line. I can’t go stepping out in patched tires. ::sob::
Feb. ’07: Alright, I’m about done here. No bath since September, nails on the road, hundreds of miles a week… A girl can only do so much ya know. Vengeance plotting begins now.
Mar. ’07: I think he’s reading my diary. He just gave me a bath and it feels SOOOO good to get rid of that crusty junk that was building up on my paint. I’m still going to melt down though. Even better for that, he just filled me up with high-test petrol. Guess he’s trying to suck up.
Rats, he was taking me to the dealership for the engine light, so I had to move up my timetable. I started by flashing the Air Bag light, but he didn’t notice so I had to hit him where it hurts; I shut off the stereo. HA! And it won’t turn back on, either. Double HA! So I finally get the treatment I deserve: A lift on a flat-bed to the dealership (yes, the shoppers there were looking up to me in awe, I’m sure) where I was treated pretty darned good. So what if Mr. Cheapskate owner had to dig in to savings for me. It’s about time!
So a new alternator, new thermostat, and a regular maintenance tranny flush later, I’m feeling almost pampered again (which is all I ever asked for; Is that so bad?). I gave him his stereo back, but only because it’s finally starting to warm up around here.
Disturbed, Liberate
31 January 2007
Just stay in bed
I wish I'd have said that to myself this morning. "Larry, just stay in bed, buddy. It's a fucked up world out there, and it's snowing shit. Just stay in bed."
Nothing catastrophic, just a bunch of surplus piss-ant things that chose today to show their greasy, puss-leaking faces. Among them?
The mystery cut at the very tip of my left index finger. Feels like a paper cut, but I usually remember those kinds of things pretty vividly. The point is, THAT'S MY TYPING FINGER DAMMIT, and so is extra annoying baceause the bandage on it is really fucking with my ten-word-a-minute typing velocity.
The new water dispensers at work here. They are built with the devil spawn "automatic sensor" that senses when the glass you want to fill is almost lined up with it's devil spawn spigot, and proceeds to dispense water down the OUTside of the glass. Once the glass is completely in place, the stream shuts off, pissing me off to no end. I'm sure somewhere in the marketing glossy that our management team was sucked in by are the words "efficient", and likely "saves water". I assure you, it does neither. Instead, it increases sales in paper towels from having to clean up the fucking mess... (insert Sam Kinison scream here) If you work in marketing, please take no offense when I say you suck big green donkey dicks, and I hate you.
I'm not even going to tell you about the adventure in parking my car today, save to say that I did fine; It was the idjit trying to reverse into the space next to me. Again, and again... and AGAIN. I couldn't open my door until she was done because I wasn't entirely sure that she wouldn't shear it off. (oops, guess I told you about it anyway).
Oh, and today is a twelve hour work day due to month-end. Hey, does that mean I can blame my demeanor on "That Time Of The Month"? ...nah, didn't think so.
:sigh: Just stay in bed Larry.
Candlebox, Cover Me
Nothing catastrophic, just a bunch of surplus piss-ant things that chose today to show their greasy, puss-leaking faces. Among them?
The mystery cut at the very tip of my left index finger. Feels like a paper cut, but I usually remember those kinds of things pretty vividly. The point is, THAT'S MY TYPING FINGER DAMMIT, and so is extra annoying baceause the bandage on it is really fucking with my ten-word-a-minute typing velocity.
The new water dispensers at work here. They are built with the devil spawn "automatic sensor" that senses when the glass you want to fill is almost lined up with it's devil spawn spigot, and proceeds to dispense water down the OUTside of the glass. Once the glass is completely in place, the stream shuts off, pissing me off to no end. I'm sure somewhere in the marketing glossy that our management team was sucked in by are the words "efficient", and likely "saves water". I assure you, it does neither. Instead, it increases sales in paper towels from having to clean up the fucking mess... (insert Sam Kinison scream here) If you work in marketing, please take no offense when I say you suck big green donkey dicks, and I hate you.
I'm not even going to tell you about the adventure in parking my car today, save to say that I did fine; It was the idjit trying to reverse into the space next to me. Again, and again... and AGAIN. I couldn't open my door until she was done because I wasn't entirely sure that she wouldn't shear it off. (oops, guess I told you about it anyway).
Oh, and today is a twelve hour work day due to month-end. Hey, does that mean I can blame my demeanor on "That Time Of The Month"? ...nah, didn't think so.
:sigh: Just stay in bed Larry.
Candlebox, Cover Me
24 January 2007
Here, kittykittykitty
One thing I never have to do is call Mario the Wonder Kitty when he's getting the occasional serving of wet food. His favorite is Iams' Beef flavor, and they come in foil packets (yeah, it's relevant). Last night I pulled one off of the shelf. The mere sound of it in my hand was enough to bring the cat running to the kitchen, when a moment before he was in deep slumber in the far room.
Aside: He's got great hearing, right up until I'm telling him to get out from under my feet... Truly amazing.
So before I traverse the three feet from shelf to counter, Mario is standing right there with his front paws up against the drawers beneath the counter, eyes wide and meowing to the world that he's not eaten in weeks, pausing for a yawn since he just woke up. Yeah, it's a ritual.
Usually the foil tears away smoothly and easily, very much like those Heintz ketchup packets you get at your favorite fast-food joint. Sometimes it is more difficult, but still opens up with a quick tug. This time, the quick tug didn't do anything.
That's not entirely true. You know how the ketchup packets sometimes blow up if you're not too careful (or being extra mischevious, if you prefer)? Well... While the tug didn't completely open the packet, the extra pressure from that tug squeezed a quantity of the broth out at high velocity. Time slows down to a crawl as the beefy broth droplet soars toward the ceiling. I pull my best Neo-from-The-Matrix impersonation, twisting to move my face from the projectile's path.
SUCCESS!
Then gravity kicked in.
The droplet fell back to earth at an unfortunate time. That moment in time when Mario wasn't looking up at the counter, and so was unaware that The Beef Brothlette Of Death Or At Least Certain Splattering™ was headed right for him.
And splatter it did. Right on the top of his head, between the ears. You know how cats generally abhor "wet"? Mario is no exception to this. Were he a possum, he'd have lost a life right then and there.
At this point, Mario knows something tapped him on the head. Milliseconds later he is aware that it is not going away as he ducks and backs away. As feline anxiety builds, it continues to cling to him as he engages Mario Overdrive... on the linoleum floor of the kitchen. He is displeased that even the sudden acceleration upon grabbing carpet still does not relieve him from the grip of this wet thing on his head.
I don't know what happened immediately after this because my eyes were closed as I doubled over in laughter. Schadenfreude? I concede the possibility. ANYway, Mario is soon positioned under the end-table in the living room. He tries to scratch away the irritation with a back paw. One swipe is all he took. I cannot explain the look of disgust and horror on his face when he realized the stuff was now in the tuft of fur between the pads of his foot IN ADDITION to having just been smeared deeper into the fur on the top of his head.
It's not unlike what you'd do if you blindly reached into the breadbox and got a handful of mold. Quick, go look in a mirror right now. THAT'S the facial expression.
So Mario shoots his daggers of displeasure at me, and starts the arduous process of "bath time" licking his soiled paw. The surprised expressions just never end in this comedy, I tell ya. He wasn't used to paw-cleaning being so apparently tasty. Of course, adding insult to "injury", I had to wash the rest off of his head for him with a damp sponge. I wonder what's going to happen on the next wet food night? I'll keep ya posted.
Rush, The Big Money
Aside: He's got great hearing, right up until I'm telling him to get out from under my feet... Truly amazing.
So before I traverse the three feet from shelf to counter, Mario is standing right there with his front paws up against the drawers beneath the counter, eyes wide and meowing to the world that he's not eaten in weeks, pausing for a yawn since he just woke up. Yeah, it's a ritual.
Usually the foil tears away smoothly and easily, very much like those Heintz ketchup packets you get at your favorite fast-food joint. Sometimes it is more difficult, but still opens up with a quick tug. This time, the quick tug didn't do anything.
That's not entirely true. You know how the ketchup packets sometimes blow up if you're not too careful (or being extra mischevious, if you prefer)? Well... While the tug didn't completely open the packet, the extra pressure from that tug squeezed a quantity of the broth out at high velocity. Time slows down to a crawl as the beefy broth droplet soars toward the ceiling. I pull my best Neo-from-The-Matrix impersonation, twisting to move my face from the projectile's path.
SUCCESS!
Then gravity kicked in.
The droplet fell back to earth at an unfortunate time. That moment in time when Mario wasn't looking up at the counter, and so was unaware that The Beef Brothlette Of Death Or At Least Certain Splattering™ was headed right for him.
And splatter it did. Right on the top of his head, between the ears. You know how cats generally abhor "wet"? Mario is no exception to this. Were he a possum, he'd have lost a life right then and there.
At this point, Mario knows something tapped him on the head. Milliseconds later he is aware that it is not going away as he ducks and backs away. As feline anxiety builds, it continues to cling to him as he engages Mario Overdrive... on the linoleum floor of the kitchen. He is displeased that even the sudden acceleration upon grabbing carpet still does not relieve him from the grip of this wet thing on his head.
I don't know what happened immediately after this because my eyes were closed as I doubled over in laughter. Schadenfreude? I concede the possibility. ANYway, Mario is soon positioned under the end-table in the living room. He tries to scratch away the irritation with a back paw. One swipe is all he took. I cannot explain the look of disgust and horror on his face when he realized the stuff was now in the tuft of fur between the pads of his foot IN ADDITION to having just been smeared deeper into the fur on the top of his head.
It's not unlike what you'd do if you blindly reached into the breadbox and got a handful of mold. Quick, go look in a mirror right now. THAT'S the facial expression.
So Mario shoots his daggers of displeasure at me, and starts the arduous process of "bath time" licking his soiled paw. The surprised expressions just never end in this comedy, I tell ya. He wasn't used to paw-cleaning being so apparently tasty. Of course, adding insult to "injury", I had to wash the rest off of his head for him with a damp sponge. I wonder what's going to happen on the next wet food night? I'll keep ya posted.
Rush, The Big Money
04 January 2007
I jinx myself, and cock-a-doodle-doo to you too
The Check Engine light is on again, dammit. Somehow I just knew it couldn't be that easy.
Among things I recommend avoiding if possible:
When playing around with a new toy, be sure you set the ringer on it for something that won't send the cat into fits when he wants to purr on your chest.
I got a phone call on it last night and hadn't realzed that the ringer I'd set it to was of ... wait for it ...
A crowing rooster.
Also of note was that the volume of the "ring" was not low, and was about 18 inches away from me. In other news, I have a collection of deep scratches on my chest now. OW! (I understand that the wimmins find scars attractive, so I guess I've got that going for me)
The Grateful Dead, Sugar Magnolia
Among things I recommend avoiding if possible:
When playing around with a new toy, be sure you set the ringer on it for something that won't send the cat into fits when he wants to purr on your chest.
I got a phone call on it last night and hadn't realzed that the ringer I'd set it to was of ... wait for it ...
A crowing rooster.
Also of note was that the volume of the "ring" was not low, and was about 18 inches away from me. In other news, I have a collection of deep scratches on my chest now. OW! (I understand that the wimmins find scars attractive, so I guess I've got that going for me)
The Grateful Dead, Sugar Magnolia
02 January 2007
--Enter meaningless title here--
So the New Year's Eve festivities were low key at the homestead here. By "low key", I mean, "in bed at 10pm". Yup, such is my level of excitement that I was examining the backs of my eyelids that early. The way I see it, I've done the 'up til midnight on December 31st' thing enough times, in various states of lucidity. I don't need to do any more.
I was, however, woken up at 11:45 by a nice lady in New Mexico who really wanted to wish me a happy new year. I think. Here's what I heard:
:ring:... "Herrlo?" That's me trying to talk, freshly returned from dreamland. Now you know what to listen for when you call me.
"HIIII!!!!" My eye's pop open from the decibel level of this broad... "I JUSHT WA-- ::urp:: WANTED TO SHAY HAPPY NEW 2007!!! I LOVE YOU!!" At this point, I am now fully awake. Yes, it was her burp that gained my full and undivided, if slightly grossed out, attention.
"Um... Is this Susan?" I know exactly one gal in New Mexico, and she is 1) gorgeous, but 2) very married, and 3) not one that normally drinks to excess.
"NO, IT'S ME!!" Well, that just clears everything right up...
"Okay, well hello you. Listen, you have a great first ride on the porcelain bus this new year, and in the morning you won't remember you've got the wrong number. Good night now, sweet cheeks."
Eh, she might actually have sweet cheeks, too. Guess I'll never know.
On the Excellent News front; Took the car in to get the Service Engine Soon light remedied. Or at least find out what I've gotta save up funds to have repaired. My mechanic took the GameBoy for Nissans to it, and the thing called the car a liar. No trouble code found. The little light wants attention, apparently.
I had the guy banish the light with his GameBoy, and there was much rejoicing. Especially since there was no charge. Bonus! He says if it does come back on, there could be a "recall" thing that says warranty will cover getting a new brain for it. I still think cars should be sold withOUT brains (Hey, it worked for the Model T!), but that's just me.
More good news, a new toy was just delivered by the good folks at UPS. I must now geek out for the next couple hours, if you'll excuse me...
Delerium, Siege of Atrocity
I was, however, woken up at 11:45 by a nice lady in New Mexico who really wanted to wish me a happy new year. I think. Here's what I heard:
:ring:... "Herrlo?" That's me trying to talk, freshly returned from dreamland. Now you know what to listen for when you call me.
"HIIII!!!!" My eye's pop open from the decibel level of this broad... "I JUSHT WA-- ::urp:: WANTED TO SHAY HAPPY NEW 2007!!! I LOVE YOU!!" At this point, I am now fully awake. Yes, it was her burp that gained my full and undivided, if slightly grossed out, attention.
"Um... Is this Susan?" I know exactly one gal in New Mexico, and she is 1) gorgeous, but 2) very married, and 3) not one that normally drinks to excess.
"NO, IT'S ME!!" Well, that just clears everything right up...
"Okay, well hello you. Listen, you have a great first ride on the porcelain bus this new year, and in the morning you won't remember you've got the wrong number. Good night now, sweet cheeks."
Eh, she might actually have sweet cheeks, too. Guess I'll never know.
On the Excellent News front; Took the car in to get the Service Engine Soon light remedied. Or at least find out what I've gotta save up funds to have repaired. My mechanic took the GameBoy for Nissans to it, and the thing called the car a liar. No trouble code found. The little light wants attention, apparently.
I had the guy banish the light with his GameBoy, and there was much rejoicing. Especially since there was no charge. Bonus! He says if it does come back on, there could be a "recall" thing that says warranty will cover getting a new brain for it. I still think cars should be sold withOUT brains (Hey, it worked for the Model T!), but that's just me.
More good news, a new toy was just delivered by the good folks at UPS. I must now geek out for the next couple hours, if you'll excuse me...
Delerium, Siege of Atrocity
22 December 2006
But it's a four-buh-four!
So we had that blizzard come through. The state governor declared a disaster emergency in six counties, urging people to stay off the roads. Evidently some nut thought they could get through it. It seems they cracked.
Yes, we salute you, Mister "I-Can-Go-Anywhere-Because-It's-A-Four-Buh-Four" guy.
01 December 2006
Blog about ... my blog. Shoot me now.
Huh. After that last post, I did some minor house-keeping here; went ahead and "converted" to the new Google-powered blogspot, whatever that means. Also took a look at a few things... like the comments that needed moderation (I am SO sorry that I took so long on those; I'm just clueless, apparently), but also my profile.
"Age: 250"
I had no idea I was in such great shape for my age. I mean, I kept telling Abe that the secret to long life was staying mostly out of the public eye (ouch), but here I am now. Statue-less, and not to be found on ANY dollar or coin denomination. A quarter-millenia old. Seems like just yesterday I was hearing ol' Ben recounting his time in the Continental Congress... Whadda wind-bag. And make no mistake, at that time the dentistry profession was less a profession than a cult. Ben really needed some Tic-Tacs, ya know?
Maybe I should do some updating, huh?
"Age: 250"
I had no idea I was in such great shape for my age. I mean, I kept telling Abe that the secret to long life was staying mostly out of the public eye (ouch), but here I am now. Statue-less, and not to be found on ANY dollar or coin denomination. A quarter-millenia old. Seems like just yesterday I was hearing ol' Ben recounting his time in the Continental Congress... Whadda wind-bag. And make no mistake, at that time the dentistry profession was less a profession than a cult. Ben really needed some Tic-Tacs, ya know?
Maybe I should do some updating, huh?
19 July 2006
Water the grass
I've been house sitting for over two weeks now on the premise that I was to keep the back yard watered. New sod had been put in a little over a month ago, and apparently it requires much watering as it all takes root. I have no problem with this, but every day save one that I've gone down there it's rained hard. Last night, half-inch-diameter hail came down. HAIL. Ah well.
Two problems there; First a light bulb burned out. Once I find where they keep the light bulbs, I'll replace that. Or the hallway can stay dark, I'm not too worried about it.
The second problem; I was in the other room when I heard a crash and then a bunch of loud buzzing at the rear sliding glass door. My first thought is the microwave oven on the counter there was posessed. When I took a look though, I saw that this wall-mounted pedistal-almost-sconce next to the rear door had come loose & fallen, hitting the power button to the vacuum cleaner right below it. So now I'm thinking up a nice explanation that sounds more plausible than, "Dude, the thing just fell man..."
So I had this party, see. About a hundred or so people showed up, and one of these people had this pet monkey... ya with me? Well, the music's thumpin and this damned monkey is dancing on the pedistal, right? And I guess the monkey was pretty in to the music, because just as Kajagoogoo hit that first "Too shy shy" line, the little guy comes down on the pedistal and takes it right off the wall. Total bummer. I mean, if I'd known that a bunch of hot gals would come running up to see if anything was broken, I would have been dancing on the damn pedistal! So anyway the monkey's owner says you owe them like a thousand dollars for medical expenses or some bullshit... Oh, the grass is looking fantastic out there by the way, bye now.
Yeah, that'll do.
Jet, Cold Hard Bitch
Two problems there; First a light bulb burned out. Once I find where they keep the light bulbs, I'll replace that. Or the hallway can stay dark, I'm not too worried about it.
The second problem; I was in the other room when I heard a crash and then a bunch of loud buzzing at the rear sliding glass door. My first thought is the microwave oven on the counter there was posessed. When I took a look though, I saw that this wall-mounted pedistal-almost-sconce next to the rear door had come loose & fallen, hitting the power button to the vacuum cleaner right below it. So now I'm thinking up a nice explanation that sounds more plausible than, "Dude, the thing just fell man..."
So I had this party, see. About a hundred or so people showed up, and one of these people had this pet monkey... ya with me? Well, the music's thumpin and this damned monkey is dancing on the pedistal, right? And I guess the monkey was pretty in to the music, because just as Kajagoogoo hit that first "Too shy shy" line, the little guy comes down on the pedistal and takes it right off the wall. Total bummer. I mean, if I'd known that a bunch of hot gals would come running up to see if anything was broken, I would have been dancing on the damn pedistal! So anyway the monkey's owner says you owe them like a thousand dollars for medical expenses or some bullshit... Oh, the grass is looking fantastic out there by the way, bye now.
Yeah, that'll do.
Jet, Cold Hard Bitch
07 July 2006
sssssssssss
Well, I took the bicycle off the hanger to add a little air to the tires and ride a bit. Once down, I saw a pebble stuck in the tread of the front tire, so naturally I plucked it out. Turns out it was a thorn, not a pebble...
as evidenced by the immediate hiss of escaping air.
SON-OF-A !!!
as evidenced by the immediate hiss of escaping air.
SON-OF-A !!!
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