shutterboo

This afternoon, I went to a business luncheon to hear some stuff about advertising.

The guests were these guys – they just happened to win Dorito’s 2009 Superbowl commercial.  And they were very entertaining.  Really great guest speakers.  The best part – other than the fact they invented a board game that is wicked awesome – is that they’re from Small Town, Indiana and are completely normal guys.  I love how normal people conquer the world with ideas.

And I need that board game; especially after playing Trivial Pursuit twice over the holiday and people complaining about the questions.  Because Triviathon is for smart and stupid people.  Says so right on the box.  I do not lie, Internet.

But look at this.

Can you believe this?  I can’t believe this.

The Olmstead (where the luncheon took place) always has your dessert [waiting to be eaten] right in front of you.  From the start of the meal.  NO! – from the minute you sit down.  We could classify this as cruel and unusual punishment.

It took every ounce of my being not push aside the rabbit food (aka salad) and put my face in this.  I had to tell myself things like “it could be totally hard and gross” and “those could be imitation strawberries that resemble styrofoam” just to keep my hand from sliding in front of me to manhandle the little plate.

So I ate my salad.  And I ate my beef.  And then I daintily made my way through this sliver of pound cake.  I could have easily downed it in three bites but I was sitting strangers and I was representing my company… goes to show that etiquette class paid off.  And it was good.  But that blackberry… let’s just say that I have a love affair with blackberries.  And with that whipped cream?  NOM!

That’s it.  That’s really all I had to say.  Happy Friday, Internet.

And I put my face in it.

I know.  I’m predictable.

I usually don’t rant on the blog.  There’s no reason to really, it’s my happy place.  But friends, today is different.

Let me start by saying if I have one more sales rep call or e-mail to tell me I need to double or add a zero on the back on my rates, I might just throw up.  Seriously.  I think we can classify this as extortion.

Why can’t Dodge and AT&T go pick on another market?  Why Houston?  I’ll tell you why.  Because they are effing retailers that now have all the money in the world to spend on marketing and are hellbent on making things hard for everyone else.

Oh, and because trucks are probably really popular in Texas and that’s what Dodge manufactures.  It’s really the only vehicle that let’s a cowboy hat sit nicely – you’ve got all that head room.

I don’t know what alibi AT&T has.  I think they need to send out those door-to-door sales people that knock on my door every week and GET OFF THE TELEVISION!  Bane of my existence.  And THAT is why I won’t change to your cable.

OK.  I’ll deal with this tomorrow.  There is no point in fretting over it my last 20 minutes at work, right?  And besides, I’m hellbent on making these stations sweat to see whether or not I bite.  Because guess what?  I might not.  Mu-wah-hahahaha!

I wanted to share that the Bacon Raiders had their first W this week.  That’s right, Andre Johnson is a beast in the fantasy football world.  The Kragcooper’s can suck it!

Bacon Raiders 160
Kragcoopers 121

Now watch me lose next week.

All you need to know is that I survived.  I felt like weak sauce once I stepped off the bike, but I survived.  I don’t ever remember my arms hurting after riding a bike.  Still trying to figure that one out.

Big Brother, I definitely beat your seven minute mile.  By like one minute.  Eat my dust.

But I have a question: Is my hiney ever going to stop hurting?  Because this seat was not comfortable, not at all.  My rear-end felt like it had been duct taped to a hard wood chair for 15 hours.  But it hadn’t.  I just rode my new set of wheels for 15 minutes.

I’m not letting this stop me.  I plan to jump back up on that horse tomorrow.  Weather permitting.  But my butt and this seat need to sort out their differences stat.

PS – WordPress ruined this post twice.  The first post was quite humorous and witty but when I hit “SAVE” it disappeared.  The second wasn’t as humorous and/or witty as the first but that didn’t matter because when I hit “SAVE”, it too disappeared.  Third times a charm tonight.  Good night, internet.

I went to see a man about a bike.  And now I’m hells on wheels, baby.

Don’t knock the Huffy.  I’ve been bicycle shopping for a while, trying to find a deal because let’s face it, I will not be riding this balance-act everyday.  I love the idea of “going for a stroll” at a faster pace, feeling the wind in my hair.  And for when I feel especially adventurous, riding over to Mrs. Rev’s house.  (Yes, adventurous.  That road can get very busy.)

When I was a kid, I rode my bike everywhere and all day long.  That’s probably why I was skinny.  I’m not so skinny any more.  Boo.

A friend was able to set me up with this little Huffy number and she’s a cutie (the bike that is, not that you’re not cute Shadow).  She’s a “touring bike” which means the handlebars are upright, the seat has a little spring cushion, fenders to keep the dirt off and there’s even a place to put a basket if I feel the need to do so.  She needs a name.  And a bell.  So I can be all like “RING RING, bitches!”

I only took her for a quick spin last night.  It has been about 10 years since I’ve ridden a bike.  And you could tell.  My coordination is way a bit off and I started out a little shaky, but the more you practice the better you get.  This evening I’ll be breaking her in for our first neighborhood tour.  Hopefully my neighbors will forgive me if I end up face planting in their front yards.

Thank you, Shadow, for hooking a sista up!  “RING RING!“

I’m not a fan of showers.  The party kind.  Not the bathing or raining kind.  I like those.  Sometimes.

I don’t know exactly what it is… actually, yes I do.  It’s the silly games and watching one person open gifts while women ooh and ahh.  Which, unfortunately, is the meat and potatoes of showers.  They make me uncomfortable.  Bridal or baby, doesn’t matter.  But if I had to choose I’d pick a bridal shower over a baby shower because I’m at least familiar with that subject (being married and all).  Comfort levels aside, I still go to the them.  I want to be supportive of the guest of honor.  I want to be with my family and friends.  And I want to eat.  I’m not gonna lie, the food gets me there.  Just ask Mel.  Or Mrs. Rev.  They know they can rope me in through my stomach.  I’m a sucker for artichoke dip and cake.

Why am I talking about showers?  Because I went to a baby shower this past Sunday with my in-laws.  The hubs’s cousin is going to be a daddy so the families came together to shower the mom-to-be.  A family baby shower.  Even so, I could count the people I knew on one hand and let’s just say I’m not known for my networking skills.  I felt a bit awkward, but this is where the camera is handy.  I took pictures instead of dealing with small talk.  It’s selfish but believe me, this makes me more tolerable in the long run.

It never fails, I end up saying stupid stuff to people I don’t know.*  Why?  Because I always learn new things at baby showers and think these people I don’t know will find my comments witty.  They don’t.  I wish I didn’t learn new things at these events; I’d be much happier never knowing these things existed.  And since I have no plans to be a mommy, there’s really no reason for me to know about gas drops, breast feeding or things that happen before/during/after labor.  None.  Actually, the more I know the less I like munchkins.  This is a great deterrent.  Kind of like how I don’t hurt people because I don’t want to go to jail.

Mommy-stuff aside, I need to get over this baby shower thing.  I have girlfriends that are chomping at the bit to start families and a few that are ahead of the stretch .  And I’m very excited for them because I can will be the one to teach their kids how to pick their nose and say naughty things.  Of course I’ll go to their baby showers, hell, I’ll even host it if I don’t have to come up with the games.  And I’m happy to be their “photographer” for the afternoon.  But there better be food.  Good food.  And cake – don’t forget the cake.  Otherwise, I’ll give ya kiss, toss my gift on the table and be on my way.  You can find me at the Homemade Pie & Icecream shop.  Because I know they got cake there.

*Point of clarification: I do say stupid stuff to the people I know.  They just don’t hold it against me because they know me.  Or if I see a sick look of disgust growing on their face, I quickly apologize, walk to another room, pray they forget and then go on with my merry life.  Amen.

Last night we had a company outing at the Bats (Minor League) game.  And though it was raining, I think we were all prepared to have good time and try to do everything BUT talk about work.  It was Thirsty Thursday so the brews were cheap and I had a great time talking with the people I never get to work on project with.  It started out good.  Really good, in fact.

But then it went bad.  For me at least.  I was obviously aware of the rain and I understand that when things get wet they have the tendency to get slick.  And I was also aware that the concrete floors at the stadium change when you walk under a roofed area (they’re a smoother, finished concrete floor).  I was even aware of the bright yellow CAUTION: WET FLOOR signs.  But I did not anticipate lying flat on my back, tears welling up in my eyes while people’s faces started popping into my line of vision.  Yep.  I slipped.  Just like a cartoon character on a banana peel. 

A kind lady stepped right over and said “You hit your head, EMS will come to you.”  And then proceeded to yell over her shoulder that the stadium should really make this safer because 30 seconds before a lady holding a child had slipped.  A LADY HOLDING A CHILD!?!?  And these people are helping me!?!?  Go help that lady with the kid!!  My HR ended seeing it (me) all go down and EMS was very nice.  When I couldn’t find their badges on their shirts I asked “Are you with Metro or Yellow?”  Habit [I guess] from having a best friend who’s a paramedic.  They were Yellow, not that you care. 

So after I realized that I banged my noggin, I wept (it hurt, dude!), I apologized for whatever reason there was to apologize for, kept on apologizing for being a pussy (hope that doesn’t land me in sensitivity training since I said it to HR) and got an icepack to keep the swelling down.  Hitting your head SUCKS; I’ve wiped on my tookus several times but never have I fallen like that before.  Boo to wet concrete.  Boo to the knot on my head.  Boo to the new contusion I discovered on my back this morning.  Boo to my stiff neck from sleeping in the most awkward position to keep the icepack on my head.  Boo to me acting retarded and asking the hubs if I was going to die (true story).  Boo to the Bats for losing after the fact. 

So I feel the need to apologize for making a ruckus and whimpering and being a buzz-kill.  I’m truly sorry that I’m a pussy.  (But hey, I’m girl, I’m allowed to cry when I have the knot the size of Minnesota on my head.)  Thank you EMT Lloyd for letting me hold on to your shirt while I caught my balance.  Thank you EMS lady who wasn’t wearing a name tag that gave me an icepack.  And thank you Captain in the EMS station for making me laugh and telling me to hang out with you instead of my friends. 

And if you haven’t figured it out yet, I don’t think I’ll ever go to a Bats game when it’s raining ever again.  Me and wet concrete are NOT friends.