Meant for Each Other

Having about 4,000 better things to do last night (dishes, laundry, clean the cat box, take B to PetSmart for a nail clipping, vaccuuming, etc.) I decided to scan a crapload of old pictures onto my PC and start yet another project I won’t finish.
Steve’s getting the house ready for having  his bowling team over and (I think) he’s kind of expecting me to have seat cushions done by then.  That’s another issue all together.

Sorry about that.

Anyway, he comes upstairs to check on progress.
Him: How goes it?
me: It goes.
Him, looking around: Uh, what are you doing?
me: Going through old pictures.  Look, here I am before my junior prom.
Him, frightened: Ah-ha.
me: I wore a bowling shirt all day until I had to put a dress on*.
Him: I knew we were destined for each other.

* In high school (gag) I had a real identity problem… I didn’t really have a set fashion sense and often dressed in oversized/men’s clothing.  I guess I could get away with it because I was so cute (wink).  I think the only other time I dressed “girlie” was when I would wear a plaid skirt with honeycomb leggings, combat boots, my “Sin” nin shirt and a dog collar necklace.  Yeah, so Stephanie who may look very together nowawdays was not always so.  This is a long footnote.

Um, Yeah, 1992 Called…

I am in sixth grade at a new school. The Thing to do in winter is go to The Charity Ball.
This Is a Big Deal.
And being like 11, if I don’t go, well, I believe that I will die an embarrassing death, never being accepted by the smart kids.
We weren’t in any position to purchase a ball gown (and I’m not exaggerating, this was A Ball, not a dance.) so I convinced my best friends sister to let me borrow her prom dress.

And I convinced my equally-as-socially-hopeless best friend to come along.
She wasn’t up on the cool tunes and during the slow part of “November Rain”, she comes back from dancing and sits with me at Table 9*.
I didn’t get a dance the whole night. I wanted nothing more then to go home.
Thus began my sour grapes towards dances.
Perhaps the dress had something to do with it.

*I don’t know if we really were at table 9, but it’s a Wedding Singer reference.

Bad Taste?

It is in bad taste to post a huge sign by the coffee maker:

If it is before 10am, please make another pot of coffee.

I just got out of a headache inducing meeting (though I do feel WICKED smart) and I just want a FREAKING CUP OF COFFEE and there’s none.

WHO DOES THAT?!!?!

(sorry about the coffee related rants, but come on people, it’s called consideration)

I did place a sticky note next to the outlet as the offending party often unplugs the pot.  Screw that.

Coffee Pot = Copier?

Please note:
When you are finished with the copier, press the “clear” button.

I’d be willing to bet that you’re the same person who takes the last of the coffee.

Really?

It’s one thing to not care about problems related to your account, it’s quite another to root around other peoples mailboxes.
Especially the bosses.

Just so you know.

Just Some Thoughts About Gas Prices

1) Does anyone else think that by the news outlets saying that gas is going to be “X” dollars by “date”, it’s almost giving the industry free-reign to raise prices to “X”?  I passed a station this morning and it was $3.75.

2) Hello, um, like, where is the reserve?  Didn’t we release some oil from the reserve when there was much less of a crunch?

3) Is anyone else slightly concerned about the US’ economy?  I’m not typically one to dwell (well anymore) on things I can’t directly influence, but yeah, starting to get a bit concerned.

Journey to the Center of The Merge Lane

I take a very popular north/south route in the morning.
When one travels northbound, there is an “exit only” lane which if you don’t realize it, you have a chance to merge into the continuing-northbound-lane.  The exit only lane feeds into a sometimes questionable part of town and unless you know the area, it’s not really anyplace you want to end up lost.
Well, I take great pleasure in having people think that they’ve screwed up my day by “making” me take the exit only ramp.
See, drivers around here are notoriously “you ARE NOT coming into my lane”.  Especially when it’s an exit only merge.  They figure that you should already be out of the merge lane.  If you don’t agree, try driving someplace on the other side of town and merging.
So there’s this Escort next to me on the road, playing Flying Eagles* and they sped up when I veered over to the left to use the ramp.

I just love watching peoples habits change as they realize that I don’t need to merge.

You do not win today.  So sorry.

* Flying eagles is a term I use which means that one, or more, vehicles drives at exactly the same speed as you so you cannot pass them.

Drunken Blogging = Regret on Monday Morning

(many Sam Summer and some Molsons later)

Some people make booty calls when they’re drunk.
I sing “Kenya”

and I dance to Kenya.

Complete with wobble.

I am the most bestest bartender eva.

Thought about Childboring

Someone in the office got news that they’re going to be a grandpa.
While I can imagine the elation that he must feel, how are you not creeped out by the thought of your daughter getting it on?

And I the only who thinks about how babies are actually made?

The Potential of Sheer Delight

As faithful readers know, I’m amist my neurotic cleaning phase.
Steve and I have had the same round about discussion about the metric ton of weights in his basement.

Let’s set the way-back machine for 2003.
Steve and I have moved pretty much all the stuff we wanted from my house and almost all of the stuff that his parents basically threw in the back of his truck.
Nary a visit to the [eventual at this point] in-laws passes without mention of the weights in the basement, which are Steve’s, and which need to find their way to our house.  Like, yesterday.
Eventually the weights find their way into our vehicles and rather then setting them in say, the garage (which is so much closer to the curb then the decided upon location), he decides that the basement would be a much more fitting location.
And not just the basement, but the complete opposite side of the basement.
“I’ll set them up and use them!”  he proclaims.

Flash forward to 2006 (or was it 2007?)
I have decided to take a dance class which requires me to fit the basement with a certain apparatus, shall we say,  and the only place to put this item is in the back room of the basement; where the weights are.
I now move the metric ton of weights across the basement floor and tell Steve that the weights need to go.
“You used them!” he defends.
“Pushing them across the basement hardly counts as usage.”

Flash forward to March 2008
“Can I get a Bowflex?” he asks.
“No.”
(round robin conversation about the practicality of a Bowflex, including, but not limited to: useage, fitting it in the basement, time required to use and where it is going to go.)

We I have been trying to get these things out of the basement for as long as they’ve been in the basement.  We’ve had two takers on them, but the pile of metal remains.
One of our friends was over last night and asks about them.
“If you get them out, you can have them”, I sputter before Steve can object.
“Bu-“, he tries to interject.

Fingers crossed, perhaps they will be gone by this time tomorrow.
If the two other people would like to, everyone may wrestle, shirtless, to see who gets the weights.
I’ll even judge.