I was driving home from work yesterday and I passed a parked car with “Want to hear a joke? Call KL5-1234” painted on the rear window. Well, it wasn’t a KL5 number, but I don’t want to blow up some stranger’s phone with internet spizam (ok, that word sounded cooler in my head than it looks typed. Oh well.). Also, I’ve wanted to use the “KL5” prefix ever since I read my first Baby Sitter’s Club book. How cool was Claudia? Check out What Claudia Wore.
I’m sitting in traffic with nothing better to do than pick my nose and pretend no one can see me (did I mention my radio was stolen from my car? for the third time? almost a year ago? and I still haven’t replaced it?), so I called. Seeing how close we are to the election, I thought it’d be something along the lines of “Want to hear a joke? Have you hear the one about how Barack Obama has secret makeout parties with anti-American terrorists and serial killers?” Either way, I figured it would be something to blog about.
Mysterious Jokester: Hello?
Me: Um, I was hoping to hear a joke.
Mysterious Jokester: What kind of pants does Super Mario wear?
Me: I have no idea.
Mysterious Jokester: denimdenimdenim
Okay, maybe you had to be there, but I just said ‘thank you’ and laughed all the way home. Or maybe it works better if you say it out loud. That joke is almost as good as my favorite joke.
Q: What kind of bees make milk?
Man, it gets me every time.
Inspired by Ben’s work-related post, here’s a peek into my office:
Mondays are a real bummer. Especially when you have a kick ass weekend that included Beer Fest (where much delicious beer was consumed), and a Sunday night dinner of hot italian sausages.
It was chilly this morning (for North Carolina, anyway; I think it was 51 degrees) so that made it harder than usual to get out of the shower. I was finding things to do so I could justify not getting out.
Hey, haven’t shaved my legs in a while, and I might as well scrub the grout while I’m in here.
I mentally rifled through my closets trying to decide what I was going to wear to work, trying to delay until the last second my departure from the warm humidity of the bathroom. Of course, the shirt I had picked out doesn’t exist and the pants I want to wear were dirty. Oh well. But then my iron wouldn’t get hot. I guess I’ll be sitting at my desk a lot today, hoping that no one notices the wrinkled mess that I’m calling pants.
A good thing about Mondays is that one of the ladies in the next department always bakes up a storm on the weekend and brings in a smorgasbord of banana bread, oatmeal cookies, and spice cake. A bad thing about this is that she puts out a donation cup, with the proceeds supposedly going to cure cancer. Don’t get me wrong, I’m all about curing cancer, but I never know how much is appropriate to leave. 50 cents a cookie? I’ve got a couple of dollars in pennies that have collected in my desk drawer; should I dump all of that in? It is money, after all, but I’m having a hard time spending it. No one wants to be that girl, counting out pennies at Food Lion for an AriZona Rx Herbal Tonic and some King’s Hawai’ian Sweet Bread. I usually end up putting a couple of dollars in the cup by the end of the week, unless I’ve been especially gluttonous and then I make myself put in a fiver.
Oh, and did I mention Beer Fest? It was the site of my very first Hula Hoop FAIL.
But I didn’t spill any beer. Win.
Either way, it happened to me last night. Hulk Hogan would be proud.
Sorry; it’s Friday and that’s all I’ve got. Enjoy the weekend!
Last night the neighbors had a 3 hour screaming match. From what I could gather as I sat on my front porch with a glass of wine a book
and pretended to read, He’s been talking to some other girl who means nothing to him, and She’s been talking to several guys who may or may not be her cousins. I’ll let you know how it ends. Hemo is on the shit list for peeing on the dogs’ leashes, but look what I found in my backyard:
A crab spider! Well, Steve calls them crab spiders but I call them pirate spiders because to me it looks like they have a skull painted on their bellies. I’ve been wanting one of my own ever since he pointed a baby one out to me on his porch.