megolomaniac

It all started a couple weeks ago, when I got an email from my stepdad.  He works for a company that employs mostly men and their work involves fairly physical (and skilled) labor.  Apparently every year employees can do peer fitness tests and try to beat their personal bests from years past.  This year, when the guy in charge of the peer fitness program sent out the email announcement saying it was coming up in January, he included a link to a motivational video from a few years back of the peer fitness trainers showing the rest of the crew “how it’s done.”  The guy who wrote the email noted he was sorry he hadn’t been in attendance when the video was recorded, but listed the names of the three employees who had been videotaped.

Motivational Fitness Video.

I thought the whole email prank was so funny that I lay in wait for the perfect time to pull the same stunt with my friends and/or coworkers.

Much to my delight, within a week or so, our HR person sent out an email to the entire company saying she wanted to decorate the first floor bulletin board with photos of “how the employees of The Foundation spent the 80’s.”  She said there would be a contest for the best photo.  Her email went to the entire company.

I almost immediately responded and chose three of the (very few) men I work with to call out.

I know how Matt, Sean and Dave spent the 80’s, I said, because there’s video of it. Then I included a link to the video and all its spandex and aerobic glory.

It was about 4:30 on a Friday when I sent the email, and Matt and Dave were both already gone for the weekend.  (Sean responded almost immediately, asking if Dave had told me about the Reunion Tour ‘09 plans that were in the works.)  After sending it, I got a little nervous that the guys might not think it was as funny as I did… so I sent a separate email to them saying that I chose to pick on them because I knew they could take a joke, and I hoped they weren’t offended.

Which brings me to today’s story.  I felt that since I threw Matt, Sean and Dave under the bus for a good laugh, it was only fair that I embarrass myself in front of our coworkers to make the playing field even.  Being an 80’s baby, I have access to very few of the photos of me from that decade.  However, I do have the electronic copy of this gem:

That’s right.  This is a photo of me wearing panda earmuffs that match my brother’s slippers, with a fake plastic stethescope in my belt loop (funny, considering how many real ones I had available to me), strangling my brother with a look on my face that says, “Nothing to see here…”  I mean, when he was strutting around with cheeks like that baring so much diaper-midriff, how was I supposed to compete for attention?

Today’s guest blogger is my friend Anne (names have been changed to protect the innocent).  She sent me an absolutely hilarious email the other day with a story from work, so I asked her to tell it to the world, as it were.  If you have ever worked for someone you GREATLY dislike (like we have), then you will probably understand why she and I laughed so hard at this.

Ladies and Gentleman, I give you… Anne.

I work for a small engineering company employing around 40 people. Our CEO is a tall, swarthy European man with a thick accent. He is aggressive and short tempered. My co-workers euphemistically refer to him as “direct” and frequently talk about how “refreshing” it is to be dealt with in such a straightforward manner. I suspect these coworkers have daddy complexes, because I do not find it refreshing to witness my colleagues being berated.

Recently, our CEO was giving a presentation at our all staff meeting when someone asked him a question which prompted him to go looking in “my recent documents.” His computer screen was being projected, and so I could not help but notice that his list of recent documents included several unmistakably pornographic document titles. One was a jpeg file called “cum tits.”

The meeting went on for almost two hours after this and I appeared to be the only person who noticed.  I am pretty sure I turned bright red.  I was struggling to hold it together.

After the meeting, I googled “cum tits” and “aerospace” to see if it is some kind of industry lingo and got no hits. Then again, that would not have explained “pussy party.”

So, I’m sitting here on my purple couch with my dad, talking about blogs.  I told him about some of the blogs I follow and showed him how Google Reader works.  Then he told me about a couple that he likes.  I am looking for more cool blogs to follow, specifically ones that aren’t mommy blogs, since I may be at capacity for those considering I am not a mom.  (It seems worth noting here that with one exception, I know all of the moms whose blogs I follow – I’m not THAT creepy).  Anyway, since I am looking for advice and suggestions from YOU, Internet, I will prompt you by giving you some good ones I’ve got.

Lifehacker

My dad and I found out yesterday that we both follow this one.  Sometimes, it’s too techy and nerdy for me, and other times it’s totally awesome.

Stair Porn

My dad just showed this to me.  We stared incredulously at this beautiful staircase for a surprisingly long time.  He explained to me what cantilevers are.  I am impressed.

The Daily Dish

I don’t check this one nearly as much as I should, but it wins awards every year and deserves them.

The other ones I check religiously I have either mentioned before (dooce, Blythe, Emily) or I know the author(s) personally (friends, cousins) and I’m not sure they want me talking about them or drawing strangers to their blogs.  If I am, in fact, wrong, please let me know.

As Blythe would say, I’ve shown you mine, now you show me yours.

Hippo Hardware: Check.

Blazers Game: Check.

Bad family photo: Double check.

This has gone well.

This is a fun test.

First, find a friend who likes to be right.  Preferably one who also likes making fun of you.

Take that person with you in a public place and find someone there who you think has the exact same color hair as you do.  (Comparing your hair to theirs physically and up close will ruin this test.)

Then tell your friend that you think that person is your hair color twin.

Odds are very good your friend will be thrilled at the opportunity to tell you you’re wrong and make fun of you.

I never realized how different my concept of my own hair color was until today, when I went to get it done and my stylist, Daniel, put darker colors in it than he normally does.  He said that when he normally does my highlights/coloring, he does two foils of the lighter color for every one of the darker color.  This time he did the opposite.  And when my hair was dry it was the exact color I always thought it was, except it was obviously darker than it has always been.

I spend a fair amount of time looking at my hair in mirrors, windows, cell phone screens, and any other reflective surface I can find.  So how do I have such a messed up sense of what COLOR it is?

My high school Calculus teacher, Mrs. Burrell, once said to me, “When I watch Emeril and he’s cooking something, he’ll just throw in the last ingredient and say ‘BAM!’ and all of a sudden it’s delicious. When I try to emulate it, my food is disgusting. And then he says something like ‘It’s not rocket science!’ And then I usually say out loud, ‘Oh yeah, Emeril? My food may be inedible, but I can do rocket science. BAM!’”

This woman was the reason I decided to major in math in college.

Why do I bring up Mrs. Burrell, you ask? Because I know a lot of things (the phonetic alphabet, how to get just about any stain out of clothes, how to pronounce the word “ophthalmologist” in French, what milk looks like after it’s been left out in a glass for a few days, Calculus) but I don’t know anything about cooking.

For instance, I didn’t know until tonight that “simmer” means “on low.”  I also don’t know what to do when you accidentally over-simmer couscous and burn off all the water and butter… What do you add?  And when the couscous comes out tasting about as good as chewing on a blade of wheat, what do you add to make it taste better?  What if your only options are salt, pepper and paprika?  And when you realize that you haven’t actually filled up your salt and pepper shakers, how do you know which one should be salt and which should be pepper?  And after you’re done eating, what do you do with the couscous that sticks to the pot because, for the first time in your life, you don’t have a garbage disposal?

Good thing my dad will be here tomorrow to tell me what to do with all this couscous all over my kitchen.

“There are two kinds of truths. It’s true that electrons have a negative charge. It’s also true that Harry Potter’s middle name is James.”

- My friend Zach

Have you ever seen the movie Serendipity? Jeremy Piven’s character writes obituaries for the New York Times. Towards the end of the movie, he writes a letter to his friend the only way he knows how – as an obituary.

It’s hard for me to separate the sad parts of obits from the content, usually, but the movie did a great job of making it sweet instead of sad. There’s a similar theme in one of my favorite books, The History of Love, by Nicole Krauss. The protagonist is sort of constantly thinking about what his obituary will say. But Nicole Krauss manages to make it beautiful instead of heart-wrenching (although there are parts that are that, too).

But never before today have I smiled and almost laughed when I read an obituary for a person that I didn’t even know.

Behold, the best obit EVER.

I was going to pick out my favorite parts, but I’d rather let you do that for yourself. (And thanks to Emily for sharing!)

Tom is coming!

That’s right – my dad is coming to visit this weekend. And I am no small amount of stoked.

Top Five Things I Want to do with my Dad this Weekend:

1. Go to Hippo Hardware. It is the Tom in me that appreciates that place.
2. Go to the Japanese Gardens. I’ve never been there except one time when my dad came to visit me in college and we tried to get in 15 minutes before closing time. When they said no, we tried to climb up on a park bench to see over the walls. I think this time we might buy tickets.
3. Go to a brew pub… Can’t decide… Hopworks? Rogue? Ack!
4. Go to the ReBuilding Center. He may find something he didn’t even know he needed (highly likely).
5. Catch up, have fun and laugh. You know… the usual.

Any other suggestions? These probably all won’t happen, but they seem like good ideas!

Instead of a funny story or anecdote, I am going to tell you what happened to me today between the hours of 2 and 7 PM.

I was driving back from Umatilla when one of my front tires popped like a balloon. Of course, I’ve been meaning to learn how to change a flat ever since I was 15, but haven’t quite gotten around to it. Plus, I was off the side of Highway 84, which isn’t a great place to learn, especially if you’re teaching yourself.

So I called AAA, and I’m amazed they didn’t greet me by name, considering how often I’ve been calling them recently. They asked me where I was so they could figure out where to send the tow truck. I had no idea. I told them I was definitely somewhere between Boardman and Arlington. They informed me this was a distance of 25 miles, which is not particularly helpful. They said the tow truck would be there in 30 to 40 minutes.

Then an incredibly young and incredibly sweet state trooper stopped by to make sure I was okay. I told him a tow truck was on the way, but I didn’t know where I was. Rather than look at me funny, he told me exactly which exits I was between. I resisted the urge to kiss him and instead called AAA back.

I sat in the car on the shoulder and waited. I watched in the rearview mirror as trucks came around the corner behind me and tried to give my car some space when they passed. I almost freaked out when an “oversize load” (A HOUSE ON A FLATBED TRUCK) came around the corner. Luckily, there wasn’t anyone in the left lane, so the house truck could move over. At this point, I got out of the car, stepped over the rail and walked around on the hillside for a while. I called Galen and asked him to tell me about the Seahawks game so I had something else to think about.

The tow truck came and the driver had most of his teeth. He also brought his wife along, which I found rather amusing, (because I was a little delirious and) because I was feeling a little vulnerable as a lady all by myself and wishing I had a buddy… and then he brought his wife. He asked where my spare was and then got really pissed off that there was stuff in my trunk on top of the spare. (The rather funny part is that I had already moved most of the big stuff into the back seat so it wouldn’t be too bad). I mean, really, who puts shit in their trunk?

He got the spare out and informed me it was flat.

He tried to inflate the spare, but the little valve thing (technical term) was broken. He had to tow me to the nearest town (ten miles) to get a part to fix the little valve thing. On the way, he explained to me that I can call a junkyard and buy a spare tire that isn’t flat for $25. His wife started smoking a cigarette in the truck and he asked her if it was “one of the ones she found.”

We got to town. He got the part, fixed the spare, put it on the back tire and put the good back tire on the front. (While he’s doing this, his wife very sweetly offers to get me something from the gas station across the street. I didn’t know if they sold liquor, so I said no thanks). The guy told me the old tire was shot, then threw it in my trunk. I asked him if I could drive all the way back to Portland on the spare and he said it would be totally fine – I shouldn’t think about it. Which, of course, made me think about it the entire 140 miles back to Portland, while I drove ten miles UNDER the speed limit.