"Someone's got to make sure this dock stays off limits to civilians"

So there was no post yesterday. I'm sorry; I know you're disappointed.

Or not. Whatever.

Work yesterday was better than usual-- there was some stuff for me to do. Nothing important or challenging, mind you, but still--something.

The place where I work has very tight security. Someone has to be at the front desk at all times to sign in and monitor our visitors.

Yesterday, when everyone else went to lunch, I stayed behind to man the desk. It made me feel like those two guards in the first Pirates of the Caribbean movie. You know the ones-- they get left out of Commodore Norrington's promotion ceremony.

"Some one's got to make sure this dock stays off limits to civilians."

*Sigh*

I tried to put pictures here. I really did. I guess Josh will just have to teach me how to do that.

Toothbrush

The story of the kiddie toothbrush, just like I promised.

I wrote in an earlier post that dental hygienists annoy me because of their patronizing attitude. And so they do. But this has got to be the most ridiculous thing ever.

Tuesday morning, I went to the dentist for my usual 6 month cleaning. The appointment went as it normally does: the hygienist got that little mirror on a stick thing in my mouth and then started questioning me like she was planning to write my biography (which probably wouldn't take too long, really--I don't do much).

I dealt with it well enough. She still had both hands when she was done; I was cavity-free and ready to go grab my lunch and head back to work. I grabbed my bag of dentist goodies--you know, the container of floss, the bottle of mouthwash and the toothbrush-- and headed out the door.

When I got in my car, I noticed something odd about the toothbrush. It was small and pink (there's nothing wrong with pink, of course, but that's not the point).

The toothbrush was the same kind that my particular dentist gives little kids.

*Faceplam*

Let me say that I don't look young for my age. I was the kid in high school (and in college,too, as a matter of fact) who was cast as the old ladies in plays.

But there it was-- a kiddie toothbrush.

Don't they have a file or something that tells them my age?

So my new toothbrush went in the garbage can, along with the floss and the mouthwash (both of which had to go just on principle).

*Facepalm*

The Menagerie

(Don't worry, Josh and Heath-- there will be a post about the kiddie toothbrush.)

As I mentioned in an earlier post, I live next to a farm. Sort of. The house actually belongs to a local vet. In his spare time (there's spare time with that job?), he raises cattle and a few other farm animals.

If you live near someone who takes care of larger animals, you know that life near these people and their pets is a little different than life with most suburban neighbors.

When I was in middle school, I used to wait on the front steps for the people who drove me to school to come pick me up. One morning, as I peeked out the window to make sure that my ride hadn't arrived early, I saw something odd in the middle of the cul-de-sac.

"Mom, there's a big bird out in the street."

"What kind of bird?"

"... I'm pretty sure it's a peacock."

And so it was. And a peahen,too, now that I think about it.

Mom sighed and shook her head. "I'll go call the Whitworths."

As we later found out, these peacocks (peafowl?) had escaped from their pens by jumping over a few fences (who knew that there was a fence-hopping variety of peacock?). Though it was the first time I had seen the birds, the birds escaping was apparently not an uncommon occurrance.

In fact, I saw the birds three more times that week. I think the doctor took a cue from this and put a roof over the birds' heads.

Or sold them or something. Either way, I haven't seen them strutting through the cul-de-sac lately.

In addition to the birds, Dr Whitworth also seems to have a fondness for handicapped animals. Most of these I can handle.

But the three-legged cat gives me the creeps. Maybe that comes from the issue I have with odd numbers.... Whatever, the cat freaks me out. And I think it knows it.

Why else would it make a habit of hanging around my car?

Unless it lost its leg in because of a car, and it's looking for revenge.

But I digress.

The most recent animal experience has been with a cow--some of the same cows that keep me awake at night when I'm at home (there's a bit of animosity; can you feel it?).

Anyway, my dad and I were going out to get dinner and, as we're driving along, we see a cow on the side of the road. As the cow pasture is by the road, cows near by isn't strange.

But the cow was chilling out in the grass across the street from the pasture.

We stopped the car.

The cow ate some grass.

My mom slept through an episode of Law & Order.

"So, should we do something?"

We went to the Whitworth House. No one was there.

The cow was still eating the grass on the other side of the fence (was it greener?) when we got back to the car; by now, the other cows had noticed that one of their own had left them. All of the cows were lined up next to the fence watching the one free cow. It looked like a bovine firing squad.

Don't worry, animal lovers, the cow made it safely back to the pasture, I've never run over the three-legged cat and the peafowl are (as far as I know) safe and sound in their peafowl homes.

But who's to say what new creature will be roaming my neighborhood tomorrow?

I Love British Transvestite Comedians

Or, at least, I love this one.

In a little less than a month, my best friend (my roommate) and I are going to have the pleasure of seeing Eddie Izzard live.

I've been rather disappointed to find that there are a great deal of people who have not been introduced to this comedic mastermind. So, I mean to remedy that problem. Here are three great doses of Eddie-ness.

"Woman Loses Home Over $68 Dental Bill"

I'm not making this up.

http://www.abcnews.go.com/Business/PersonalFinance/story?id=4896048&page=1

And the moral of all this is:
Brush your teeth and avoid cavities or you'll be trapped in a legal battle over whether or not you own the house that was sold to pay your dental bills.

My "Eff off" Reflex

I like to think of my self as being a polite and patient person.

In most situations, I'm fooling myself.

There's just something about things not going exactly the way I want them to that really pisses me off and makes me unpleasant all around (Josh and Heath-- no jokes, please? Kthanx).

But really, I've noticed this trend of rudeness and impatience in myself and my peers. I call it (or, rather, Lynne Truss called it and I'm just stealing her phrase) the "Eff off" reflex.

Consider these two examples.

Every dental hygienist that has ever cleaned my teeth has tried my patience in some way or another. Lately, it's been more due to the fact that they seem so patronizing-- I'm not twelve-years-old anymore, thank you very much; you can keep the friggin sticker and lollipop. But the most annoying thing--the thing that triggers my "Eff off" reflex-- is they way that they try to carry on a conversation with you while they're cleaning.

"So, how has school been, sweetheart?" (The sweetheart thing is also a pet peeve. But I digress.)
"Hngh..."
"That's great. Do you know what you want to do for summer vacation?"
"..Hngh!"
"Sounds fun. What are you doing for Memorial Day?"
"Oh just eff off, will you!"

No, I've never ACTUALLY shouted that to a hygienist, but I've certainly felt the desire to. It's just so ridiculous. Surely they know when they ask you "How are you doing?" that you want nothing more than to scream, "I have your fist in my mouth, how do you THINK I'm doing?"


I have a friend who works at a local bookstore. Last year she was one of the lucky people picked to work the night that the final book of the Harry Potter series came out. As you can imagine, the crowd was horrible. I'm all for this series-- I think it's great that these books help youngsters become more enthusiastic about reading, and I know my friend, while not a fan of the books herself, feels the same way. But five hours of party games and sugar-doused treats shoved into the hands of kids never makes for an easy night, especially not when you factor in the excitement of the last novel in a series that has played babysitter to some of those kids. As midnight drew nearer, more and more kids were pestering the bookstore staff.

"Can we have the book yet?"
"It's not released until midnight."
"I want my book."
"I'm sorry, you'll have to wait."
"... I want my book."
"Eff off!"

I consider it a miracle that there were no homicides in the store that night--God knows, I'd probably have killed a kid.

There are plenty more places where the "Eff off" reflex shows itself-- in traffic, at the movies (particularly when you're in a middle school student sandwich), at work. It's something that effects everybody, I'm sure, but most of the time, I feel like it's just me, telling the everyone and everything to just leave me alone.

Another Dumb Sign

Mother's Day is over, but most businesses haven't had the chance to remove all of the special "Buy Mom Stuff" signs from their windows and doors yet.

Which is fine-- redecorating takes time.

But yesterday I saw a sign that made no sense.

There was a Mother's Day sign outside of a gun store (that in and of itself was strange to me) that said:

"Make Her Day: Buy Her a Tazer and Get Store Credit."

...
...
...?

I think I stood on the walkway and stared at that sign for ten minutes. Now, maybe I'm just weird-- I can't deny that possibility-- but a tazer really doesn't seem like Mother's Day gift material to me. Let's think for a minute.

Jewelry
Decorative stuff
Homemade Crafts
Tazers

...One of these things doesn't belong.

And People Think Punctuation's Not a Big Deal!

I get a lot of grief from my friends for being so picky when it comes to punctuation. They tell me that it's ridiculous to expect anyone to remember so many little rules that have so many exceptions.

Ok, I can sort of see where they're coming from.

But consider this...

While driving around with a friend Saturday, I saw a sign outside a barbecue restaurant that read, "CAN'T COOK MOM? COME PICK UP SOME BBQ FOR MOTHERS DAY!"

The part I want to consider is the "CAN'T COOK MOM?" bit.

Can't cook Mom? This is asking if you can cook your mother-- if you can prepare her to be eaten.

Can't cook Mom?

No, I'm afraid I can't cook my mother; she wouldn't be to happy if I tried.

You know what would fix this? A comma. A single comma.

"CAN'T COOK, MOM?"

Much better.

So, now you see. A little thing like a comma can mean the difference between Mom picking up some barbecue and Mom BEING some barbecue.

Another Blog Post. Um...huzzah?

So I've made it to 19 post (about 14 more than I usually make it to on a blog).

Unfortunately, I have no interesting subject for this post. At all.

My summer is going smoothly enough-- I sold it in exchange for money and a place to live (yes, I have a job now; make your joke and move on). Life at my parents' house is excruciatingly boring, but I knew it would be. I've been home for a week today, and I'm already planning my first trip back to my other home.

I've seen Casablanca now. So that makes, what, five movies in my whole life?

Pretty exciting stuff, on the whole.

Or not.

Whatever.

And that's my 19th blog post.

Slow curtain, the end.