People Say the Darndest Things, Part Deux

Back in March I posted some examples of the stupid stuff people do and say...because...well, I can.

Without further ado, here's part...Deux (yes, typing that made me feel like Austin Powers allowing himself to introduce...himself).

DUMPSTER DIVING CULT
This is new to me, but apparently there is a new lifestyle called, Freeganism. Freeganism is a combination of the words "Free," "Vegan," and "ism." Freegan practitioners are basically a rejuvenation of flower children from the 60s. Their goal is to reveal human overconsumption and waste. Ash Falkingham, a self proclaimed Freegan had this to say:

"Everything I eat comes from dumpsters."

Ash sounds like a wise, wise man. Click here if you, too, want to eat from dumpsters.

THE NEW SCOURGE IN SCHOOLS
A middle school student in Pennsylvania was suspended for three days after sharing chewing gum containing caffeine with a fellow student. The school superintendent was outraged with this girl's behavior and concerned about her students' health:

"What if the gum had been given to a student with a heart condition?"

And what if that student then stuck that gum under the desk of another student that took that gum, combined it with several household products and made a bomb out of it? Ok, so that's only realistic if the kid was named MacGuyver, but still...

CAT NAP OR QUEST FOR POLITICAL ASYLUM
Apparently, cat naps can take you far. Well, at least for this cat it did. Chairman Miaow (yes, that's the cat's name) fell asleep in a crate in China...and ended up in Britain. According to the staff members that found her:

"She loves to be petted and fussed over. I'm not surprised after all that time alone in the box."

You don't think she likes to be petted and fussed over because, oh, I dunno...she's a cat?

BE A MAN
Dan McBride, the assistant athletic director at Eastern Kentucky University, screams like a girl. Or at least I suspect that's what observers noted when McBride discovered that the snake in his passenger seat wasn't a fake. McBride's colleague, who is not a Nobel Prize winner, commented on the incident:

"You can't act tough when you are sitting a foot and a half away from a snake."

True dat. True dat.


AND THE WINNER IS....


I SMELL SEX AND...CIGARETTES?

Australian brothel owners are teaming up to seek an exemption to anti-smoking laws. Why? Well, according to William Albon, who is a member of the Australian Adult Entertainment Industry:

"People smoke when they drink, and people smoke when they fornicate..."

Well said William. Well said. If he ever decides to leave the adult entertainment industry, William has a definite future as the new spokesman for Phillip Morris.

Eulogy for a Beloved

I didn't write this, so I can't take credit for it. But it's perfect for a Friday.....

Please join me in remembering a great icon of the entertainment community. The Pillsbury Doughboy died yesterday of a yeast infection and trauma complications from repeated pokes in the belly. He was 71.

Doughboy was buried in a lightly greased coffin. Dozens of celebrities turned out to pay their respects, including Mrs. Butterworth, Hungry Jack, the California Raisins, Betty Crocker, the Hostess Twinkies, and Captain Crunch. The grave site was piled high with flours.

Aunt Jemima delivered the eulogy and lovingly described Doughboy as a man who never knew how much he was kneaded. Doughboy rose quickly in show business, but his later life was filled with turnovers. He was not considered a very smart cookie, wasting much of his dough on half-baked schemes. Despite being a little flaky at times, he was still a crusty old man and considered a positive roll model for millions.

Doughboy is survived by his wife Play Dough, two children, John Dough and Jane Dough, who have one grandchild in the oven. He is also survived by his elderly father, Pop Tart.

The funeral was held at 3:50 for about 20 minutes.

BFF

This is Rory. He’s my BFF. Yes, I’m a 31-year-old woman, who thinks that her dog is her best friend...forever (or 4-EVA if you’re still stuck in the 80s). If you don’t believe me, ask Amulet…who will probably groan audibly when he finds out what this post is about.

That’s Rory P. Kins to you, David.

In late April or early May 2005, I told the Antidote I was ready to have kids. We bought Rory about 2 weeks later. Despite the fact that this effectively staved my constant nagging about children, I’m not sure The Antidote was quite prepared for my obsession with my BFF.

Last night, he looked at me and said, “Do you know what dogs are? They’re little babies that never grow up.” He was prompted to say this by the sight of Rory sound asleep on my chest, leaning into the crook of my arm. I had him completely cuddled, laying on his back, looking like a furry mutant baby.

But, that’s not the extent of my BFF-ness. I sing songs to Rory. I make them up as I go along, e.g., “Breakfast for Rory dog, Breakfast for Rory.” I also fill Rory’s name into songs I hear on the radio. Take, for example, the U2 classic: “I Still Haven’t Found What Rory’s Looking For.” If I don’t know the lyrics to a song, then the song just becomes repeated instances of “Rory Rory Rory Rory Ror” to the tune.

I rush home from work every day to see Rory. No matter how I’m feeling when I put the key in the lock, when Rory greets me at the door I’m immediately brightened. He doesn’t care if I have a bad hair day, or if I spent two hours on the phone with some jerk who just won’t let an issue drop. All he cares is that I’m home, he gets to go outside, and, well…that I’m home.

It’s that unconditional love that makes Rory my BFF. Yes, he pisses me off sometimes. Like when I came home to find The Antidote’s Sudoku book strewn in 2 million pieces across the house. Or when we figured out that he was chewing the wood molding in the kitchen. But it’s that face...

...that makes me laugh every time.

Not that it makes me love him any less, but I just found out this morning that my BFF is a murderer. We’d always suspected, ever since we caught him with a dead mouse. But this morning, The Antidote bore witness to Rory’s killer instinct. The Antidote, wrapped only in a towel, glanced outside...

...to make sure Rory wasn’t getting into anything. He witnessed Rory clip a bird and then pounce on it. It was very dead by the time The Antidote could throw on some clothes and get outside. Gross.

I can’t believe my BFF is a murderer. But I'll stick by him, no matter what. Despite his eclectic taste for raw bird meat, I'll keep him by my side because:

Oh, I get by with a little help from my Rory.

Mm, I get high with a little help from my Rory.

Mm, gonna try with a little help from my Rory.

(Ok, so the Beatles didn't know Rory and I don't get "high" with help from Rory...it's just a song, ok people? I never said my altered song lyrics made sense.)

Memories

I received an e-mail from my sister recently which sent us into a neurotic flurry of "do you remember" e-mails. The subject matter of the original e-mail was so funny I thought I would share it:


IF YOU WERE A LITTLE GIRL IN THE 70'S...

1. You had that Fisher Price Doctor's Kit with a stethoscope that actually worked.

2. You owned a bicycle with a banana seat and a plastic basket with flowers on it.

3. You learned to skate with actual skates (not roller blades) that had metal wheels.

4. You thought Gopher from Love Boat was cute (admit it!)

5. You had nightmares after watching Fantasy Island.

6. You had rubber boots for rainy days and Moon boots for snowy days.

7. You owned a "Slip-n-Slide," on which you injured yourself on a sprinkler head more than once.

8. You owned "Klick-Klacks" and smacked yourself in the face more than once.

9. You had either a "bowl cut" or "pixie," not to mention the "Dorothy Hamill."

10. People sometimes thought you were a boy.

11. Your Holly Hobbie sleeping bag was your most prized possession.

12. You wore a poncho, gauchos, and/or knickers.

13. You begged Santa for the electronic game, Simon.

14. You had the Donnie and Marie dolls with those pink and purple satiny shredded outfits.

15. You spent hours in your backyard on your metal swing set with the trapeze. The swing set tipped over at least once.

16. You had homemade ribbon barrettes in every imaginable color.

17. You had a pair of Doctor Scholl's sandals (the ones with hard sole & the buckle).

18. You wanted to be Laura Ingalls Wilder really bad; you wore that Little House on the Prairie-inspired plaid, ruffle shirt with the high neck in at least one school picture; and you despised Nellie Olson!

19. You wanted your first kiss to be at a roller rink.

20. Your hairstyle was described as having "wings" or "feathers" and you kept it "pretty" with the comb you kept in your back pocket. Then, when you walked, the "wings" flapped up and down, looked like you were gonna "take off."

21. You know who Strawberry Shortcake is, as well as her friends, Blueberry Muffin and Huckleberry Pie.

22. You carried a Muppets lunch box to school and it was metal, not plastic. With the thermos inside!

23. You and your girlfriends would fight over which of the Dukes of Hazzard was your boyfriend.

24. YOU had Star Wars action figures, too!

25. It was a big event in your household each year when the "Wizard of Oz" would come on TV. Your mom would break out the popcorn and sleeping bags!

26. You often asked your Magic-8 ball the question: "Who will I marry. Shaun Cassidy, Leif Garrett, or David Cassidy..?

27. You completely wore out your Grease, Saturday Night Fever, and Fame soundtrack record album.

28. You tried to do lots of arts and crafts, like yarn and Popsicle-stick God's eyes, decoupage, or those weird potholders made on a plastic loom.

29. You made Shrinky-Dinks and put iron-on kittens on your t-shirts!

30. You used to tape record songs off the radio by holding your portable tape player up to the speaker.

31. You had subscriptions to Dynamite and Tiger Beat.

32. You learned everything you needed to know about girl issues from Judy Blume books (Are you there God, It's me, Margaret.)

33. You thought Olivia Newton John's song "Physical" was about aerobics.

34. You wore friendship pins on your tennis shoes, or shoelaces with heart or rainbow designs.

35. You wanted to be a Solid Gold dancer.

36. You drowned yourself in Love's Baby Soft - which was the first "real" perfume you ever owned...

37. You glopped your lips in Strawberry Roll-on lip gloss till it almost dripped off.

*** WARNING: Actual recollections of these times may some how damage your brain. Be careful. ***

*** Guesses as to which of these are true about me won't win anything...other than scorn for figuring me out. ***

Eatery

Taco Bell's got competition in Arizona. The buzz about the new Mexican restaurant in Scotsdale, Arizona is that it just might get a liquor license. If that happens, the Pink Taco restaurant just might smother Taco Bell.

Really, the controversy surrounds the name of the restaurant: Pink Taco. Apparently some people that live in Scotsdale are angry about the restaurant's name because it's a slang term for...erm...a female body part.

The restaurant retorted by saying that the name is base upon one of its menu items. Yup -- right next to the chode salad, you'll find the pink taco.

So, this article got me thinking. I know, I know, that's dangerous. But really, what is the big deal? So people want a little pink taco now and again. Can you blame them? Can you really? And isn't calling your restaurant pink taco a lot better than calling it "Pussy's?"

This all made me think about a t-shirt that Amulet's fiancee bought for The Antidote. It's grey with yellow lettering on it that reads, boldly: VAGITARIAN.

Anyhoo, back on topic. This article did get me thinking about other fast food battles that might make the headlines:

Pizza Hut v. Pizzie Hut

Arby's v. Arbella's

McDonald's v. McDoobies, or McFlabble's

Wendy's v. Wenda's

Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?

Say What?

Yup. That's a cool looking tattoo, isn't it?

Well, you wouldn't think it was so cool if you understood what it meant. This tattoo translates directly into "crazy diarrhea."

Yeah, I said it. Crazy Diarrhea. As in, "I ate at Taco Bell last night and it gave me Crazy Diarrhea." Only it's tattooed on this woman for eternity. Or at least until she can get it removed.

Apparently the new trend with Chinese or Japanese character tattoos is to get them removed because they mean something stupid. See a recent Fox News article on this phenomenon here.

Whether you like tattoos or not, you probably know that the first rule of tattooing is never NEVER GET SOMEONE ELSE'S NAME TATTOOED ON YOU. Tattoos are forever. Your boy/girl friend from 8th grade, is not.

The second rule of tattooing should be, DON'T GET SOMETHING ON YOUR BODY IN A LANGUAGE YOU DON'T SPEAK AND/OR READ. That means illiterate people should stick to pictures. But even literate people may think they're getting their "name" or "initials," but they're probably not. In the case of Marquis Daniels from the Dallas Mavericks, his "initials" turned out to mean "Healthy woman roof."

I'm part Taiwanese, and I've always wondered why people do this. I mean, I speak a little Chinese, and I wouldn't even THINK about putting such a tattoo on my body without my mom (the only person I'm pretty certain wouldn't lie to me about a translation) confirming the translation for me.

I do love it when people ask me to translate their tattoos. Even though I only read a little bit of Chinese (meaning almost none), I like to scare them:

Tattoo'd: Hey, you're Thai, right?

Me: No, I'm part Taiwanese.

Tattoo'd: Isn't that the same? Anyway, can you read this cool tat I got? I think it says "powerful love." I got it to represent my love for my dog.

Me: You think?

Tattoo'd: Well, that's what the Asian dude at the tattoo parlor told me.

Me: Are you sure he was Asian?

Tatto'd: Uh, I thought so, why?

Me: Because I think it says "I've got crabs."

_________________________________________________

For grins, here are some other funnies I stumbled across while trying to avoid doing work and getting a hell of a kick out of the stories and pics:

(1) "Lost in Translation, Are You SURE That Chinese Tattoo Means What You Think It Means?"

(2) 20 KANJIS: Does your kanji tatto mean what you think it does?

(3) The Hanzi Smatter blog. My favorite on this site is the correct translation of NBA player Shawn Marion's "The Matrix" tattoo on his leg. (I should note that I I came across the Crazy Diarrhea situation in one of Hanzi Smatter's posts).

Destiny

Ok. I'm one of those people who swore she wouldn't reveal anything substantive about herself via her blog. Don't ask why...I'm just weird that way.

But, I'm making an exception because I just read a spectacular article that I feel the need to share. The article is entitled "Running From Law Firms" and discusses the epidemic of young associates leaving "lucrative" jobs for other opportunities.

This hits home for me because it is the first time I have ever seen/hear/read someone so poignantly describe how I feel about my chosen career. The career I chose for myself in the 3rd grade nonetheless.

I graduated from law school in 2002 and worked for a judge for 2 years...which was the type of job I imagined I would work when, at the vaulted age of 7, I told my parents I was going to be a lawyer. I was helping people. They were calling me for advice. It was great. Then I was told that we weren't to give other people advice. Our job was to assist people procedurally...not to represent them. "That's not our job." The complaints were the same and no one seemed to be listening. Slowly, I began to become jaded.

At the end of my clerkship I took a job as a litigation associate at a small local firm. It was a "dream," get into court right away and gain experience that the associates at big firms wouldn't get for 5-10 years. I thought I was being smart -- that I would avoid the pitfalls by choosing a smaller operation. I spent my first day in court within 2 weeks of being at the firm. I was excited, exhilarated, and nervous as hell. When I came out of there with my life and career intact, I thought, "I can do this."

But then it began. The Antidote started wondering why I was never home. The worst part...I wasn't making anywhere near the big firm salary referred to in the article. I was working like a dog...for the pleasure of it?! Some partners at my firm kept stroking my ego telling me all the good things I wanted to hear about my performance. Others acted as if I had the plague. Apparently I'd been "marked" by one of the partners as "his associate." Everyone else had to "go through him" to give me work. I began to feel a little less like an employee and a little more like a gun for hire.

One day I heard our staff talking about one of the female partners. Not one to ever eschew gossip...I butted in. They told me that this woman's children had placed a note on her car telling her they "missed her" because she was never home.

My heart broke and my bubble burst. Was this to be my destiny? Is this what I signed up for?

When I was in law school, I had these lofty goals of "helping people." I didn't know what that meant, but I knew I wanted to do it.

As I plugged away at an ever increasing case load I realized that most of my clients didn't want to be helped. Several hated the fact that they needed me or hated the fact that they were engaged in a lawsuit at all (I did defense work, so most of my clients were dragged in by someone else). Even though I was "helping them," they hated me for it. One top of that, I'm spending more time away from home -- and always talking about work when I am home. Add that to the opposing counsel that thinks it's appropriate to call me "little girl" or "honey," or to denigrate me because I didn't have "all the experience" they had. I came home in tears most days.

I finally wisened up and to The Antidote's pleasure, started looking for another job. I ended up accepting to a position with the federal government. I have to admit, it's pretty great here. My benefits rock and the amount of stress has decreased about 100-fold. My hours are, pretty much, my own.

But the curse of the lawyer continues. I do work for an agency that employs mostly lawyers. So, of course, we have a "production goal" to meet. I just started in September and already one employee has been "encouraged to leave" because of her bad quality/production (at least that's what the grapevine tells me), and I've heard that others have "been warned."

So, as much as I actually enjoy what I'm doing now, I still wonder: "Is this my destiny?"

Read the article when you can. Even though it's talking about lawyers and law firms, I think the author may have captured what a lot of people in my generation are feeling about their jobs. There's no simple answer...but you have to decide if you're going to control your destiny or if it's going to control you.

You Can Pick Your Friends....

....and you can pick your nose. But you can't pick your friend's nose.

I don't know where that came from, but it's the first thing that popped into my head after reading this article.

Apparently the National Dental Survey in London found that Britons are willing to floss with odd items such as screwdrivers, scissors, and earrings. What I find odd, though, is that people ADMITTED this behavior. I mean, it's a survey.

But the surveyors weren't surprised about that, instead they were surprised to learn that 23% of people just left the food in their teeth to rot. Why is that so surprising? I mean Britons are notorious for having bad teeth....right next to Asians.

Me, personally? I think that leaving the food in your teeth is just an attempt by Britons to cover up the fact that they're wearing the cheese perfume their kids bought them for mother's day. Anything for a distraction....

Color Me Lazy

What is it about the spring that brings on laziness? I thought it was supposed to be the lazy days of summer, but not for me.

Since I'm at the height of laziness today, I have no inspiration and nothing to write about. So, in lieu of reading bad writing, I direct you here to take a quiz to determine what your color is.

No silly, not the color of your skin. I could care less about that. This is the color of your personality.

Apparently, I'm:

ORANGE You are driven and optimistic. You strive to succeed in life while lightening the mood of those around you. You do well at any job you put your mind to. Find out your color at Quiz Me!

That actually sounds a bit like me!

Anyway -- I'll be back before you know it.

A Titillating Experience

It must have been titillating to see. It was a bosom boom for suckling small fries.

This last week, 3,738 women stood chest to chest to break the world record for the most number of women to simultaneously breast feed.

The article does not mention this, but I'm sure the women were not prepared for the outpouring of support from every man in the Phillipines. With 7,476 breasts present, and at least 3,738 of those bared and some point in the day, the turnout must have been incredible. Is it any wonder that the organizer of this mammoth mammary event, Lito Atienza, the Mayor of the Phillipines, is a man?

Regardless of your thoughts about breast feeding in public, you can't deny that it is probably a much better way to bond with your child than to, oh I dunno, smoke pot with your kids.

Roaming Gnome Siting

An ex-judge in the Phillippines is fighting to get his job back after he was fired for admitting that he made his decisions with the aid of Armand, Luis, and Angel.

At first, I'm thinking: what a lucky judge. He's got three lackeys to help him do all the work while he goes golfing. But then I realize that Armand, Luis, and Angel are not law clerks.

No.

They are mystic dwarfs.

Or at least that's what Judge Floro told investigators. Apparently these three mystic dwarfs "helped him carry out healing sessions during breaks in his chambers."

And Floro wonders why the investigators found that he was "incompetent, had shown bias in a case he was trying and had criticized court procedure." He can't believe he was "dismissed for what he believed."

In response, the Mystic Dwarf Union is circulating a petition seeking some relief from the anti-gnome/dwarf sentiment in the Phillipines.

The Disciplinarian

I wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry when I read this article about a 53 year old woman that was spanked for being late to a sales meeting. Apparently her boss made her "bend over, put her hands on the wall and spanked her with a metal sign."

Now, I'm not sure this offense warrants her profiting to the tune of $1.7 million in compensatory and punitive damages. I think the jury should've let her put her boss over her knee and spank him in front of them. Now THAT would hurt.

This got me thinking about the appropriateness of punishment in the workplace. I mean, I would be a lot more likely to do some functional work than to, oh, I don't know, write in my blog, if my boss threatened me with a little spank.

Forget firing as a means of punishing an employee for not meaning goals. I bet a mean slap across the face would get people to work harder. Imagine that meeting:

Boss: Employee, your numbers are really down this month. Is there something you'd like to tell me?

Employee: No boss, I've just had a bad month. But my numbers over the last 15 years have been great, so I hope you take into consideration my past work performance and loyalty to the company when reviewing my file.

Boss: I have. As a result, I'm not going to put a note in your file and will only give you one slap across the face.

Employee: One slap across the face? I'll be red all day. Everyone will know what I've done.

Boss: Believe me, this will hurt me more than it hurts you.


Tell me...what kind of punishment do you wish you could exact on your fellow employees?