The Colors of Life

I guess no one is out there to talk to me anymore, but life goes on and I promised an expose on color for today.  What brought this on was the idea of blue jean day in our office.

Apparently not all blue jeans are created equal, because there are many colors of blue jeans.  So if your blue jeans are black, or red, or green, does that mean they are no longer blue jeans?  Levi Strauss would roll over in his grave if he saw all these blue jeans that aren’t blue.

Now, let’s take the color khaki.  When the dress code began to relax around here a few years ago, khaki slacks were politically correct.  But like one of my coworkers said, “How many colors of khaki can you have.”  There are light khaki, dark khaki, green khaki, army green khaki, blue khaki, and some I never heard of.

Why do khaki colored pants then become khakis?  Khaki is an adjective not a noun.  Or at least I thought that was the way it was.  Maybe that was back in the dark ages when I was a toddler playing with dinosaurs.

Now, on the other hand if a woman has blond hair, she is considered a blonde.  The same woman with brown hair would be called a brunette.  But if she were to have red hair, she would be known as a redhead.  So if she had black hair, is she a blackhead?  No wait, a blackhead is a zit.

Even more perplexing, if a redhead bleaches her hair blond, is she then an instant blonde or still a redhead?  Does a brunette suddenly become a blackhead with a bottle of Revlon, Miss Clairol or L’Oreal hair color?

I was born a blonde, but now I’m getting a little (only a little) grey fringe over my ears.  Does that make me an old fart with grey hair?  Or perhaps a greyhead?  I prefer greybird.  Somehow that just sounds more dignified.  No that’s not greybeard.

This weekend I’m going to hit the bottle, so what I will be Monday when I come in, is anyone’s guess.

P.S.  Have you every wondered why Bluebeard the pirate was called Bluebeard?  No?  Well never have I until now.

OOPS

OOPS!

Before any of you knowledgeable people get all excited, yesterday’s word of the day was UDDER, not utter.  I realized my error this morning during my drive to work.  I knew that, but my excuse was brain freeze, or melt down, or I went postal.  It’s not that I can’t spell, my fingers are blind.  Just for the record, turkeys have a WATTLE not a waddle.

I had just gotten out of a meeting with three auditors from an insurance company.  The project manager, RM, in charge of repairing our stores damaged when Katrina and Rita roared through the south asked me to give these guys a crash course on what I do.  

Once I finished laughing, I did the best I could to teach them everything I know in 15 minutes.  I told RM I was gonna get even one of these days and retire.  He had to pick himself up from the floor he was laughing so hard.  He had the temerity to remind me that hurricane season for 2006 is quickly approaching.  He also made it very clear that I was his only choice to work with him on any new disasters.

If that’s my fifteen minutes of fame, I’m complaining.  I’d rather be remembered as some stupid woman who wrote, “A cow’s utter” instead of “A cow’s udder.”  At least I hope my many (2 or 3) readers got a chuckle out of it.

By the way, my nemesis, the stupid cow (no she doesn’t have an udder) has slipped on the boss’s list of top ten.  She overstepped her bounds while he went to see his new granddaughter for the first time.  She sent an e-mail to his boss stating that maybe the new “special projects” manager might be able to delve into our estimating problems.

Guess what?  Not a smart thing to do.  I knew it was just a matter of time, but oh how satisfying!  I’m getting the marshmallows ready to toast.

Tomorrow, an exposé about colors

Mysteries of Life

I’m on a kick about strange thoughts.  I don’t get to visit with hardly anyone anymore.  By the time I get home from work, the last thing I want to do is sit at the computer.   Eight to ten hours a day are enough.

That wasn’t what I started out to talk about.  This morning as I walked to my desk my mind straddled a wild tangent.  The question was, “Does a milk cow’s utter sag when she reaches an AARP age like a woman’s breast does.  After all it just hangs there flapping in the breeze for all to observe.  No bra or nothin’.

A few years ago when I still lived in the Chicago area, there was an article in the paper about some idiot woman in Iowa who drove by a dairy farm everyday.  First she reported the farmer to the Humane Society because she thought the cows were being tortured.  When they laughed, she mounted a campaign to have the farmer put skirts on the cows. It seems she was offended by the sight of their distended utters full of milk.  The same milk she fed her kids to make them grow strong and tall.

Back to where I was, why does a woman’s ass start sagging as she gets older?  I know gravity has won in my case.  My delectably firm, round ass has slipped at least two inches in the last 32 years that I’ve been a desk jockey.  It’s just not fair.

Now to take this a little further, does a man’s cock (is that a PCP word?) sag in the golden autumn of his life?  If it’s sagging, does that mean that it is enlarging in juxtaposition to the pendulous belly hanging over his belt?  How else can he find it at crucial moments?

Wouldn’t that be logical as gravity asserts its unkind force upon the human body?  If my ass and breast can increase in size, certainly a man’s johnson should be able to enjoy new tumescence.  Look at the new obstacles he must overcome.

Ah, the mysteries of life.  Ya’ll come back tomorrow and we can have chittlens, gravy and cornbread and discuss some other utter-ly devastating topic…just like family.

LOL

Strange Memories

Strange Things I Remember.

Or perhaps I should say odd things that I remember.  For whatever reason, my mind is like a steel trap.  Unfortunately important things that go in are lost in the labyrinth of my thought process forever, while totally meaningless trivia is at the tip of my fingers (so to speak).

Such as: Astor Ave, Aura Ave, Burbank Blvd, Van Owen St, Victory Blvd,  Glade St. E. Phyllis St, Sawtell Blvd, Bull Run Rd, Bowes Bend Dr and Quail ridge Dr.  What are these you ask?  Well maybe not, but I’ll tell you anyway.  These are all streets that I have lived on since birth.  There are a few missing, but not many.

Mrs. Gale was my kindergarten teacher and I was teacher’s pet.  I sat in her lap every chance I got.  I also told her it was my father’s birthday and when she asked which one, I said, “I don’t know but it’s the one after 44.”

When I was about 15, I told one of my mother’s co-workers that his wiener got loose, meaning his yappy little daschund, but of course, he looks down at his zipper.  I was mortified.

Talk about being mortified.  My cousin Walter Neal, AKA Duke, went camping with us when we were in high school.  That night he climbed into his sleeping bag and after a few minutes, he bolted out of the bag screaming, “I’m being mortified, I’m being mortified.”  We finally figured out he meant “molested”.  That was a bug in his sleeping bag.

And then…there was the time I was a reporter on the school newspaper in middle school and my assignment was to find out why two of the teachers were leaving at the end of the year.  The teacher goes on to say, “Mrs. Brown is pregnant, that’s pretty obvious.”  So what?  Back in the very early sixties, a woman was expecting, not pregnant.  I thought the teacher had said a bad word.

Oh how innocent I was.

Short Post

I had a whole post ready to upload and Word closed it. My language at a time like this reverts to a less ladylike error of my life. I refuse to sit here and type it all again. So this is verrrrry short.

TTFN

It's Late, It's Late

I'm totally brain dead. I finally got Jimbob to pack for his Russian mission trip last night after 10:00 PM. Of course he had to be at church by 7:00 AM today to ride with the rest of the group. It wouldn't have been so bad if we didn't live 20 miles from church and traffic is atrocious in the mornings. I should know, I drive it everyday.

My darling hubby likes to wait until the last possible moment to leave to see how far he can push the time frame and not be late. Then he gets mad if he doesn't make it. It's a mind game with him and half the time he isn't even aware of what he's doing.

I was up at 5:00 and ready to go by a quarter to 6:00 while he hadn't even gotten in the shower yet. I'm an absolute fanatic when it comes to getting somewhere on time. I'll even arrive early and sit in the car and read.

Anyway, now that that stress is over, I plan to do NOTHING this evening. Well...at least for the first five minutes after I get home.

Happy St Patricks Day

Happy St. Patrick’s Day to everyone. I had a really productive morning, but since lunch, everything I try to do somehow goes wrong. So I decided to quit. I’d rather blow a couple of hours when I can’t do anything right than a million dollars because of a stupid mistake.

I’ve been considering applying for a new position within the department, but when I stop to think about it, I’m really not sure. First issue being, I’d like to retire in a couple of years. Second is, do I want to subject myself to the added stress and ass kissing it would involve? And third, most of the time I’m left to do my job when I want (deadlines allowing) how I want and without too much scrutiny.

As it is, nobody understands what we do and they don’t want to find out. Not that it’s hard, but most people don’t have the patience or tenacity to get it done. The estimators are at the bottom of the funnel and as everyone knows, the shit flows down hill.

About the only time I hear from my boss is if I screw something up. Needless to say I do my best to avoid that situation. This other position would be very high profile. I don’t know what the money would be, but I really doubt that it would compensate for the PCP (politically correct police) breathing down my neck all the time.

On a lighter note, Jimbob is leaving on a mission trip to Russia this coming Monday. I don’t think the reality of it has set in yet. The team has been planning on it for the last six months and it’s finally here. Six of them fly from here to Atlanta and then to Moscow. They will be staying at a Presbyterian Ministry in Moscow that was founded by a Korean minister.

Language could be a bit of a sticky wicket. They will be using a Korean interpreter to translate from Russian to Korean; someone else to translate from Korean to English. Can you imagine a torrid love scene with all the extras?

And here’s a note for our friends Doug and Jill. He called me on Thanksgiving Day last year to say that Maggie had died. She was about 11 or 12 years old and in failing health. About two weeks ago, Doug called Jimbob to say he wouldn’t be at choir practice because Georgia May was dieing. She had become suddenly ill on Sunday night and by Wednesday, she was dead.

You have to understand that these dogs were their “children”. Last Monday at Bible study at our house, Doug came in carrying a box with a towel draped over it. Inside was a new baby. He’d brought Miss Ellie Pearle Rosanna to meet everyone. Who could resist a seven week old ball of fluff?

The new baby will never replace Maggie or Georgia May, but she’ll take her own special place in their hearts. By the way, I forgot to say we’re talking about German Shepherds.

Love to Doug and Jill.

Lunar Yearnings

I was watching the moon on the way to work. If it’s not full, it’s a good imitation of it. It’s hard to realize that the moon was a piece of the Earth several billion years ago. According to numerous articles I’ve read the moon originally appeared 100’s of times larger in the night sky. The moon is slowing the Earth’s rotation just as Earth slows the moon’s. In the end, we will loose the moon.

There is such serenity about that beautiful silver globe caressing us with magical fairy-light that evokes a deep longing in my heart. I ache to reach out and touch its icy façade; search for the “Man in the Moon”; plant my footprints next to those of Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin.

It pulls at me like the tide of our oceans. Perhaps that is why I have such a longing to be near the ocean. Sometimes I simply want to walk into the surf and never come back; not to die, but to be reborn.

And then again…perhaps it’s just a bit of Luna-cy. Does the moon truly drive people mad; to become Luna-tics?

The Week in Retrospect

There are days when you shouldn’t bother getting out of bed…and then there are weeks when it’s safer to pull the covers over your head and go back to sleep.  Last week was like that.  As I get older, there seems to be more of these weeks.

I’m so inundated at work I don’t even know where to start.  If I work on one project all twenty something others get behind.  As a consequence, I don’t feel like working on any of them.  I’m getting too old for this kind of stress.

Then the asshole insurance company is pretending that they don’t understand why I had crowns put on three of my front teeth.  Just because my poor teeth were worn nearly transparent, and causing me pain was no reason to have the work done (so they say).  They claim it was cosmetic.  It’s a frigging game with these insurance companies.  The longer they delay the more interest they get on the money they don’t have to pay out.  I know it’s all in hopes that I’ll give up and pay the 2,700.00 myself.  If I had that kind of money lying around, I wouldn’t need insurance.  What the hell am I paying for anyway?

Wednesday, I called to cancel our home security system service and let them know I would send a letter to that effect.  According to the woman I spoke to, our contract had been automatically renewed on February 1st for another year, because we were supposed to give them 60 days notice.  We had called two years ago and been informed that the technician who installed the system had misled us and that we couldn’t cancel after a year.  At that time we were told all we needed to do was give them thirty days notice.  I kind of went postal and told this woman that I was going to throw the hardware in the trash and stop payment on their automatic withdrawal.  Oh, she was soooo sympathetic.  Yeah right!  Her reply was that they’d turn our account over to a collection agency.  The letter I wrote after speaking to her was not very nice.  And I also mailed a copy to their CEO.  Friday, some man called and said they would cancel our contract.  I asked for that in writing.

On the way home from choir Wednesday night some jerk in front of me made a left turn on the green arrow, so I followed.  No big deal, but then said driver of the car in front of me stopped.  Apparently he/she/it saw the red light for the street we were turning onto…and stopped.  I nearly bought the rear end of a Nissan.  I’m not one to overly use my horn (in fact, most times I can’t find it), but I must have scared the shit out of this idiot.  He/she/it finally completed their left turn so I could get out of the intersection.  Closer to home, I looked into my rearview mirror just in time to see three idiots coming up on me like I was standing still.  I thought for sure one of them was going to clip my butt.  It was three dumb-shits in Corvettes racing.

I know this is getting wordy, but I’m almost done.  Thursday I was chewing bubble gum and my temporary crowns came unglued.  I hoped the permanent crowns would come back from the lab today, so I haven’t bothered to call the dentist.  I don’t want to take anymore time off work either.  So now, I have to be very careful that I don’t accidentally swallow these blasted fake teeth.

And let us not forget Tuesday when I was trying to dig a hole for my Japanese maple.  There were a lot of roots from a Yaupon holly that I’d had dug out earlier, so I was cleaning them out as I dug.   I’d already cut and snipped some pretty big roots when I came to an even bigger one.  Unfortunately, it wasn’t a root, but in its half-buried state, I didn’t recognize that it was a PVC pipe.  Don’t laugh too hard.  It could be you.  My only saving grace being, it was to the sprinkler system not the house and our buddy Doug is going to fix it.

Access Denied

March is my month to be the moderator for our Writer’s Group here at the office.  My assignment for today was to write a quick blurb using the words “access denied”.  Time allowed was 10 minutes and it could be about anything as long as you used “access denied”.

Here’s my offering.  And no, I didn’t write this ahead of time since I was the moderator.  I’ve been too busy for that, so we all started on equal footing.

Access Denied?  NO!  That can’t be.  I was just using that site this morning.  Maybe it was a mistake.  I’ll check again.  Of course not.

What’s wrong with those idiots?   IT my ass.  There’s no information in that decision.  Now we have the politically correct police monitoring all the websites we visit.

It’s not like I’m surfing the web for pictures of guys with big Johnsons named, “Long Dong Silver”.

Okay, I’ll try one more time.  As they say, third times a charm.

Rats!  Access Denied.  I’m gonna yank Mr. Access Denied’s grungy, pimple faced, greasy haired body right out of his chair and toss him down the nearest elevator shaft.

I’ll bet his favorite sites don’t pop up ACCESS DENIED.