The party... wow... what can one say about the party? Well, it was pretty damn epic. And when I say epic I'm not talking about the sort of party that wins awards or is talked about on fashionable websites and blogs. I'm talking about:
ep·ic
–adjectiveAlso, ep·i·cal.
1. noting or pertaining to a long poetic composition, usually centered upon a hero, in which a series of great achievements or events is narrated in elevated style: Homer's Iliad is an epic poem.
2. resembling or suggesting such poetry: an epic novel on the founding of the country.
3. heroic; majestic; impressively great: the epic events of the war.
4. of unusually great size or extent: a crime wave of epic proportions.
5. a style of debauchery that has only been witnessed a) at a frat/sorority house during hell week b) at a ritual sacrifice c) before the fall of Rome d) any other place that is most certainly NOT in Cedar Park (...until now)
Yeah, it was crazy... but crazy fun. I think Poptart put it best:
Poptart: "I may be a little embarrassed, but I am not ashamed. I will hold my head high!"
After a recovery bowl of Pho for lunch on monday (and let me tell you we were all still a little uneasy/maybe hungover from the 4 -- let me say that again F-O-U-R liters of liquor consumed) where we could still look each other in the eyes, we realized that the party really just brought us all closer together.... in more ways that one. Tequila is the devil's drink and my house may just be built over an indian burial ground.
So, yeah, that's all I'm going to say about that party.
.
..
...
....
Okay, I lied, one more thing. Pandora (the online music player) has been insisting on playing a song by Hotspur called Chandalier over and over and over and over again, regardless of station (I shit you not, it was on my tejano station -- I can't make this stuff up!). So, I made it a joke to poke people in aim every time it came on because, let's be honest, did these guys really not have anything better to say about their signficant others?
You've made it crystal clear
You are the chandelier
I am the floor beneath you
So low i cannot reach you
See? ARGH - it makes me want to scream, you god damn emo kids. When I was in high school we had goths, now get off my fucking lawn as I do not understand your Lady Gaga!!
ahem.
So, Q turned into my comfy couch, Raul is that table by the entry way that I sometimes throw my mail on (but in a nice way!), Elevant became the fancy table that I only eat on for big parties and maybe thanksgiving time, and Poptart is the pot rack that I should buy and hang over the island in my kitchen, but I still haven't yet. Turns out I'm Elevant's coffeemaker, so well played me!
Well, I can now safely say, after this weekend's debauchery that each of you bitches... you are all the limes I picked up off the floor... and out of my couch.... and out from under the table... and in the bathroom (THE BATHROOM!!) ... and on the stairs and in the hole I punched in the wall.
each... and every... one of you.
Now - now, I am done. My house, it's a little like Vegas. What happens there, stays there. Everyone knows that, except Q as she never gets drunk at my house, and more's the pity. My amoral compass is just going to have to put a lampshade on her head next time and earn her title. ("Oh noes, was that gin and not sprite? The bottles look so similar... silly me).
NOW, ONTO THE TOPIC AT HAND which is really just another drunken story.
We girls like to go out dancing a lot. I often joke that 28 is the new 21 because I have done more shaking this year than I think ever before. The last time we went dancing was just as epic as it usually is mainly because Renee drove us all in my little clown car so we could all get toe up... and toe up we were! The night had all of the usual fun: There were pictures of very proportional people (for those of you know what I'm talking about... aawww yeah. For those that don't, well, sucks to be you!), there was a little groping, there were pretty boys in very skimpy clothes teaching us a thing or two, and, of course, there was a devil hat. Again, business as usual. :)
On the way home, Renee is driving my piece of crap car. The inspection is out. The back right blinker is out. It's just generally a mess. So, of course, just as she's 5 miles from the house, this happens --
Renee: Shit.
Me: What?
Renee: I think the cop just caught me speeding.
Raul: Shit!
Renee: Yep, there he goes.
Me: Um, you have to go over the right. My blinker is out!
Renee: I got this. Do you have your insurance card, 'cause I don't.
Me: fuck, no! No no no I don't.
Raul: Shit!
Renee: *pulls over* just shush, I got this.
Me: *freaking out*
Raul: *freaking out*
Renee: I - GOT - THIS. Shut up.
Officer: Hi there ma'am, do you know how fast you were going?
At this point, he starts to move his flashlight towards the out of date inspection sticker. I start to freak out a little. Renee squeezes my leg to get me to shut the hell up.
Renee: I thought I was going 40, this isn't my car, so I'm not used to it.
And, like Obi Wan saying "these are not the droids you were looking for", he moves away and points at the speedometer in my car.
Renee: This is her car, and I'm driving them home from downtown.
Officer: I see ma'am. Can you step out of the car for a moment? There is a strong smell of alcohol in there.
Renee: Sure.
At which point she turns and glares at me for a moment then goes. Now, I may have been inebriated, but I was also proud. So I roll my head behind me and stare at Raul.
Me: Raul - I thinksh he just said we stink!
Raul: Bastard! He must pay.
And then the giggles broke out. After what felt like an hour, Renee gets back into the car (with not even a warning) and we're off again. To which there was really only one thing to say:
Me: "Man, Raul. We stink, Renee is a fucking Jedi, and I could really go for some Taco Bell."
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Friday, April 16, 2010
Episode 4 in which someone's in a molestation mood
Sat night I'm having a party. It's not just any party either, oh no. It's a murder mystery party. This means for one night, it's okay to larp. Well, not larp so much as role play because there will be no swords, or boots of swiftness or wizards involved. And no furres.... definitely no furres.
*shiver*
Anyways!
So, yeah, party at Redgy's. We did this one time before, and not only did I have to act like 3 characters, but I was both the murderer AND the victim. Despite the fact that I apparently killed myself (and was a little bit of a slut... IN CHARACTER. In character people) it was a really good time, and I'm excited to do it again. I just hope I'm not the victim because if so -- I suspect you'll find a drunken Redgy over in the corner hunkering down with the tres leches cake singing CULO while everyone else plays! Yeah, it could be that kind of party. I've sort of been on a roll.
I'll talk about the party once it happens. This story.... this story is about molestation. And the L Word. Well... sort of.
Our story today, children, starts with our dear Renee Hatch
*puts on sunglasses*
porn star!
*hair flip*
Renee and I do far too much together. This is partly because she pretty much lives across the street and partly because everything's better with a buddy.... and I am a very persuasive buddy.
Me: "Costco/Fiesta run, wanna come?"
Renee: "Sure!"
Me: "Post Office run, wanna come?"
Renee: "Sure!"
Me: "Hiding in an ice machine at HEB for awhile, wanna come?" (true story)
Renee: "Sure!"
Me: "Gym time, wanna come?"
Renee: "uh... no"
Me: "You are dead to me."
So maybe not persuasive as much as persistent. Either way, there isn't really an errand I do without her and Zhan is very VERY happy about that fact.
To get back to the story, one day, while talking about various errands revolving around the party (“Hey, I need a Hawaiian shirt. Want to go to a thrift store? SURE!”), Renee asked if she could invite a relative to the party who happens to be a minor. Now, wait a minute, you may be saying to yourself. Molestation is in this title… and now minors… I thought this was a family blog? First of all, if you think this is a family blog, I’m flattered, but fuck no. Secondly, fret naught, as I said, hell to the no. If momma's going to be drunk, she doesn't want to be worrying about contributing to the delinquency of a minor... or of going off about stuff that makes it painfully clear that she's almost 30. Yeah, I'll be honest, it's mostly that I don't want to start a conversation that ends in "get off my lawn". None-the-less, Renee was great about it, so when she asked me to come with her to drop off said cousin and head to Wally World, I didn't think twice. Why would that be awkward?
Now, I should have known better than to bring up anything regarding the party with him around, but that would be classy and make sense... and that's just not me. So I tell a story (as I do) about poptart. I summarized it in the car, but I saved this little nugget from aim just for you guys:
Redgy: what do you think?
Redgy: Izzie Islander—Island native. Raised on the island, Izzie is a natural beauty and has a way of capturing everyone’s heart. Female.
Redgy: you're hot momma
Poptart: my only concern is not having the clothes to dress up for it is all
Poptart: but I’m game :D
Redgy: just wrap a towel around your waist
Redgy: wear a tank top and I'll lay you
Redgy: .... hello double entendre!
Poptart: bwahahaha
We laughed. Now, that should be that. I told a story it was funny. The end. Oh no... not for Renee.
Renee: "Are 17 people still coming to the party?"
Me: "Yeppers!"
Renee: "What about the other 5?"
Me: *puzzled look* "um, what... other... 5?"
Renee: "I don't know where I got that other 5 from.. you know, the other 5."
Now, at this point, I should have known something was up. I should have gone oh, I don't know what's up with the other 5 or changed the subject. It was as if Renee was trying to help me dock my plane at a terminal, and was waving these huge air traffic control flares directing me to go to the left (THE LEFT DAMMIT) and yet I, squeezed into the back seat of her truck (and to call it a back seat is being crazy generous... it was a fucking stool) aching like mad from my run, started to run her over, oblivious to everything. I opened my mouth:
Me: "nope, there aren't another 5. We bought a game for 15 - 20, then 17 said they were coming and so we have 3 le...hey heyheywhatareyoudoingwhyareyoudoingthat!!!!???!!!"
At this point, Renee decided that in order to get her point across, she was going to reach back behind her seat and touch me to send a hint my way without her relative knowing. This is where our views on the subject differ because she claims that she touched me. I claim that she groped me. Which is when I plowed head first into the terminal with my 747 killing hundreds... unless, of course, her relative is a moron.
Okay, let's be honest. Unless he needs to stop playing football for anyone other than the Special Olympics.
It was bad.
Halfway through my third "hey" that I realized Renee was not commenting on how much better my ass is looking these days. Nor did she want to break a piece of that off. Rather, she wanted me to shut...the hell... up. So we drop off her relative and try to bring up some new topics, but, try as we may, nothing could shake the awkwardness of what had just happened. So he gets out, I climb up into the front seat, shut the door, and, once he's out of ear shot, I get an ear full.
Renee: "Okay, what the hell?!? It is NOT an episode of the L Word up in here."
Me: "I know that now. I didn't know it when you were grabbing my ass."
Renee: "It's called trying to get you to change the subject!"
Me: "You are doing it wrong. A slap" *I slap her* "is change the subject. A poke" *I poke her* is change the subject. A fondling..... that is not change the subject. That's get over here, NOW!"
Renee: "It's dark and hard to reach! I did the best I could. You try doing it sometime and see what you do."
Me: "I sure as hell wouldn't fondle you!"
Renee: "You couldn't handle me!"
Me: Well don't try to handle me then!"
Renee: "TWO SHEETS!!!"
*giggles all around*
So now, anytime I am in Renee's truck, I'm going to think of the L Word. Maybe one day I will open the truck door to find Jennifer Beals naked trying to jump me. Until then, I will just laugh.
You may now be saying to yourself, sure Redgy, that was funny, but what the hell is two sheets? Well, this is something I just learned myself. Apparently Zhan and Renee were friends with perverts growing up, so they informed me that there is a practice at sleepovers to prevent... accidental molestation? Again, I'm convinced they are either delusional or just friends with crazy people, but the general idea is that when you need to share a bed with someone, one person is under the sheet and the other person is above the sheet. This way, you each have your own space and will not suddenly turn gay or something. (Quick! Someone tell the southern Baptist convention... we have a cure! Who knew?!?)
What made it worse is that when these two were saying this, they were looking at me like *I* was the crazy one for not knowing the rule. Which really only means one thing: I guess... out of the three of them... I am the perverted friend.
Good times.
You have all been warned!
*shiver*
Anyways!
So, yeah, party at Redgy's. We did this one time before, and not only did I have to act like 3 characters, but I was both the murderer AND the victim. Despite the fact that I apparently killed myself (and was a little bit of a slut... IN CHARACTER. In character people) it was a really good time, and I'm excited to do it again. I just hope I'm not the victim because if so -- I suspect you'll find a drunken Redgy over in the corner hunkering down with the tres leches cake singing CULO while everyone else plays! Yeah, it could be that kind of party. I've sort of been on a roll.
I'll talk about the party once it happens. This story.... this story is about molestation. And the L Word. Well... sort of.
Our story today, children, starts with our dear Renee Hatch
*puts on sunglasses*
porn star!
*hair flip*
Renee and I do far too much together. This is partly because she pretty much lives across the street and partly because everything's better with a buddy.... and I am a very persuasive buddy.
Me: "Costco/Fiesta run, wanna come?"
Renee: "Sure!"
Me: "Post Office run, wanna come?"
Renee: "Sure!"
Me: "Hiding in an ice machine at HEB for awhile, wanna come?" (true story)
Renee: "Sure!"
Me: "Gym time, wanna come?"
Renee: "uh... no"
Me: "You are dead to me."
So maybe not persuasive as much as persistent. Either way, there isn't really an errand I do without her and Zhan is very VERY happy about that fact.
To get back to the story, one day, while talking about various errands revolving around the party (“Hey, I need a Hawaiian shirt. Want to go to a thrift store? SURE!”), Renee asked if she could invite a relative to the party who happens to be a minor. Now, wait a minute, you may be saying to yourself. Molestation is in this title… and now minors… I thought this was a family blog? First of all, if you think this is a family blog, I’m flattered, but fuck no. Secondly, fret naught, as I said, hell to the no. If momma's going to be drunk, she doesn't want to be worrying about contributing to the delinquency of a minor... or of going off about stuff that makes it painfully clear that she's almost 30. Yeah, I'll be honest, it's mostly that I don't want to start a conversation that ends in "get off my lawn". None-the-less, Renee was great about it, so when she asked me to come with her to drop off said cousin and head to Wally World, I didn't think twice. Why would that be awkward?
Now, I should have known better than to bring up anything regarding the party with him around, but that would be classy and make sense... and that's just not me. So I tell a story (as I do) about poptart. I summarized it in the car, but I saved this little nugget from aim just for you guys:
Redgy: what do you think?
Redgy: Izzie Islander—Island native. Raised on the island, Izzie is a natural beauty and has a way of capturing everyone’s heart. Female.
Redgy: you're hot momma
Poptart: my only concern is not having the clothes to dress up for it is all
Poptart: but I’m game :D
Redgy: just wrap a towel around your waist
Redgy: wear a tank top and I'll lay you
Redgy: .... hello double entendre!
Poptart: bwahahaha
We laughed. Now, that should be that. I told a story it was funny. The end. Oh no... not for Renee.
Renee: "Are 17 people still coming to the party?"
Me: "Yeppers!"
Renee: "What about the other 5?"
Me: *puzzled look* "um, what... other... 5?"
Renee: "I don't know where I got that other 5 from.. you know, the other 5."
Now, at this point, I should have known something was up. I should have gone oh, I don't know what's up with the other 5 or changed the subject. It was as if Renee was trying to help me dock my plane at a terminal, and was waving these huge air traffic control flares directing me to go to the left (THE LEFT DAMMIT) and yet I, squeezed into the back seat of her truck (and to call it a back seat is being crazy generous... it was a fucking stool) aching like mad from my run, started to run her over, oblivious to everything. I opened my mouth:
Me: "nope, there aren't another 5. We bought a game for 15 - 20, then 17 said they were coming and so we have 3 le...hey heyheywhatareyoudoingwhyareyoudoingthat!!!!???!!!"
At this point, Renee decided that in order to get her point across, she was going to reach back behind her seat and touch me to send a hint my way without her relative knowing. This is where our views on the subject differ because she claims that she touched me. I claim that she groped me. Which is when I plowed head first into the terminal with my 747 killing hundreds... unless, of course, her relative is a moron.
Okay, let's be honest. Unless he needs to stop playing football for anyone other than the Special Olympics.
It was bad.
Halfway through my third "hey" that I realized Renee was not commenting on how much better my ass is looking these days. Nor did she want to break a piece of that off. Rather, she wanted me to shut...the hell... up. So we drop off her relative and try to bring up some new topics, but, try as we may, nothing could shake the awkwardness of what had just happened. So he gets out, I climb up into the front seat, shut the door, and, once he's out of ear shot, I get an ear full.
Renee: "Okay, what the hell?!? It is NOT an episode of the L Word up in here."
Me: "I know that now. I didn't know it when you were grabbing my ass."
Renee: "It's called trying to get you to change the subject!"
Me: "You are doing it wrong. A slap" *I slap her* "is change the subject. A poke" *I poke her* is change the subject. A fondling..... that is not change the subject. That's get over here, NOW!"
Renee: "It's dark and hard to reach! I did the best I could. You try doing it sometime and see what you do."
Me: "I sure as hell wouldn't fondle you!"
Renee: "You couldn't handle me!"
Me: Well don't try to handle me then!"
Renee: "TWO SHEETS!!!"
*giggles all around*
So now, anytime I am in Renee's truck, I'm going to think of the L Word. Maybe one day I will open the truck door to find Jennifer Beals naked trying to jump me. Until then, I will just laugh.
You may now be saying to yourself, sure Redgy, that was funny, but what the hell is two sheets? Well, this is something I just learned myself. Apparently Zhan and Renee were friends with perverts growing up, so they informed me that there is a practice at sleepovers to prevent... accidental molestation? Again, I'm convinced they are either delusional or just friends with crazy people, but the general idea is that when you need to share a bed with someone, one person is under the sheet and the other person is above the sheet. This way, you each have your own space and will not suddenly turn gay or something. (Quick! Someone tell the southern Baptist convention... we have a cure! Who knew?!?)
What made it worse is that when these two were saying this, they were looking at me like *I* was the crazy one for not knowing the rule. Which really only means one thing: I guess... out of the three of them... I am the perverted friend.
Good times.
You have all been warned!
Monday, March 22, 2010
Episode 3 in which Redgy almost commits a hate crime!
Doesn't this title sound like a very special episode of blossom? I love it because it kind of is. There's sort of a moral to this story.... maybe... kinda... not really. So, given that I'm still at work and it's almost 1 am as I wait for my client files to build, maybe I should just get to it. Storytime - hooooo!
So about 6 months ago I learned something that would change my life forever. Do you guys know that the currency of the great people of Vietnam is? (well of course you do, because I know who is reading this, but play along anyways)
.... wait for it....
.... keeping waiting ....
.... it's worth it ....
the dong.
You read that right (although I'm sure you pronounced it incorrectly); Vietnamese currency is called dong. You just can't make something like that up and, being that I have the mind of an 8 year old boy, it makes me giggle. Even now I have a smile on my face. (tee hee - I just typed dong – my mother raised a winner in me).
So, it should come as no surprise that when Q came back from a trip to Vietnam, and found it in her heart to give me 100,000 dong, that I just went to town. At the time I was sharing an office with Poptart and, oh that poor girl, it's a wonder she didn't slap me.
"Wow! That's more dong than I've seen in a long time."
"You know, I would expect a dong to be bigger and heavier."
"Would you like to see my dong?"
"Oh, no, girl -- I have 100,000 dong. 1 just isn't worth anything."
"That's it; I'm slapping my dong on the table right now. You guys are all crazy."
... and so on.
I just couldn't stop, and there's really nothing you can say that isn't made better by incorporating dong into it. Go ahead, try it out. I'll wait.
See! Gigglefest.
Anyhoos. So this went on for several weeks and, I'll be honest, we are still making dong jokes today. However, when I left the office of Poptart and Q to join another company, one thing was left behind...a little piece of me for them to giggle at. It read, simply:
I <3 Dong
Well, it didn't just say that. It started out as I <3 Dong and turned into I <3 (insert person's name here) dong, but the important part was that someone, who shall remain nameless loves dong. Maybe it was me; maybe it was some other programmer guy that didn't even notice that I inserted his name in there while his back was turned. Either way, when I packed up my bag and moved to a new company that doesn't appreciate my dong the way Q and Poptart do, it was a sad day for me as I knew I’d have to tuck my dong away from my coworkers.
*snicker* See! Still funny.
So, fast forward a few months. I have settled in at my new company and Raul has recently joined me over here. Being new folks, something we learned is that everyone here loves playing ping pong, and, man, do they play it competitively. New folks have to add their name to a white board and challenge up into the ranks. Unfortunately, I suck at ping pong. I'm not joking, I’m seriously horrible. So even though I've been here for several months, I am still at the bottom of the leader board. As such, it wasn’t hard to notice when the pool boy added his name to the list, and then further note when someone added a little harmless <3 next to his name.
It was a sign. I knew what needed to be done. Truthfully, there was only one thing to do.
I set down my soda, grabbed a marker, and then started to write the words that I had longed to say for 4 months but dare not speak aloud.
Raul <3 was transformed into:
Raul <3's Dong
I giggled and started to skip out of the break room to share my wit with Raul when, suddenly, it struck me. The people here did not understand the dong. They did not approve nor appreciate the beauty of the dong joke in all of its glory! I had just committed my first hate crime by outing Raul's love of dong on the company white board for all to see.
Although I couldn't see her, I felt the HR lady's head tilt like a dog that has just heard a bizarre sound and I knew -- oh she who has committed “sexual harassment” at the workplace before knew what would be in store if HR saw what I wrote next to Raul's name. A whole scenario played out in my head which started with the HR lady berating me and ended up with me in a woman's prison screaming "dong is Vietnamese currency!!!!! I DON'T WANT TO BE LINDA'S BITCH!! AAHHHHH!! IT WAS A JOKE PEOPLE!"
So, I sheepishly erased it, picked up my soda, then walked over to Raul's desk to tell him that I was a hair’s breadth away from committing a hate crime against him. His response? "Hate crime? Pssh. There’s nothing wrong with loving dong!"
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why I love Raul. :)
So about 6 months ago I learned something that would change my life forever. Do you guys know that the currency of the great people of Vietnam is? (well of course you do, because I know who is reading this, but play along anyways)
.... wait for it....
.... keeping waiting ....
.... it's worth it ....
the dong.
You read that right (although I'm sure you pronounced it incorrectly); Vietnamese currency is called dong. You just can't make something like that up and, being that I have the mind of an 8 year old boy, it makes me giggle. Even now I have a smile on my face. (tee hee - I just typed dong – my mother raised a winner in me).
So, it should come as no surprise that when Q came back from a trip to Vietnam, and found it in her heart to give me 100,000 dong, that I just went to town. At the time I was sharing an office with Poptart and, oh that poor girl, it's a wonder she didn't slap me.
"Wow! That's more dong than I've seen in a long time."
"You know, I would expect a dong to be bigger and heavier."
"Would you like to see my dong?"
"Oh, no, girl -- I have 100,000 dong. 1 just isn't worth anything."
"That's it; I'm slapping my dong on the table right now. You guys are all crazy."
... and so on.
I just couldn't stop, and there's really nothing you can say that isn't made better by incorporating dong into it. Go ahead, try it out. I'll wait.
See! Gigglefest.
Anyhoos. So this went on for several weeks and, I'll be honest, we are still making dong jokes today. However, when I left the office of Poptart and Q to join another company, one thing was left behind...a little piece of me for them to giggle at. It read, simply:
I <3 Dong
Well, it didn't just say that. It started out as I <3 Dong and turned into I <3 (insert person's name here) dong, but the important part was that someone, who shall remain nameless loves dong. Maybe it was me; maybe it was some other programmer guy that didn't even notice that I inserted his name in there while his back was turned. Either way, when I packed up my bag and moved to a new company that doesn't appreciate my dong the way Q and Poptart do, it was a sad day for me as I knew I’d have to tuck my dong away from my coworkers.
*snicker* See! Still funny.
So, fast forward a few months. I have settled in at my new company and Raul has recently joined me over here. Being new folks, something we learned is that everyone here loves playing ping pong, and, man, do they play it competitively. New folks have to add their name to a white board and challenge up into the ranks. Unfortunately, I suck at ping pong. I'm not joking, I’m seriously horrible. So even though I've been here for several months, I am still at the bottom of the leader board. As such, it wasn’t hard to notice when the pool boy added his name to the list, and then further note when someone added a little harmless <3 next to his name.
It was a sign. I knew what needed to be done. Truthfully, there was only one thing to do.
I set down my soda, grabbed a marker, and then started to write the words that I had longed to say for 4 months but dare not speak aloud.
Raul <3 was transformed into:
Raul <3's Dong
I giggled and started to skip out of the break room to share my wit with Raul when, suddenly, it struck me. The people here did not understand the dong. They did not approve nor appreciate the beauty of the dong joke in all of its glory! I had just committed my first hate crime by outing Raul's love of dong on the company white board for all to see.
Although I couldn't see her, I felt the HR lady's head tilt like a dog that has just heard a bizarre sound and I knew -- oh she who has committed “sexual harassment” at the workplace before knew what would be in store if HR saw what I wrote next to Raul's name. A whole scenario played out in my head which started with the HR lady berating me and ended up with me in a woman's prison screaming "dong is Vietnamese currency!!!!! I DON'T WANT TO BE LINDA'S BITCH!! AAHHHHH!! IT WAS A JOKE PEOPLE!"
So, I sheepishly erased it, picked up my soda, then walked over to Raul's desk to tell him that I was a hair’s breadth away from committing a hate crime against him. His response? "Hate crime? Pssh. There’s nothing wrong with loving dong!"
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why I love Raul. :)
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Redgy almost kills Q.... again.
It's finally time to start story time, as I almost killed Q this morning. However, before I get started, let me let you guys in on a few things.
First of all, how did Redgy and Elevant come about? Well, that's easy. Anyone who knows me knows that I have a condition called verbal diarrhea. That is to say, I open my mouth and you never know what is going to come out. Sometimes it's poetry. Sometimes it's stupid. But it's almost always funny... or awkward... but mostly funny. So, one night, the usual group of us are out getting drinks (and is it wrong that I'm giggling about every one's code name... it's so James Bond, but without the guns, or gadgets, or Moneypenny): There's me, Elevant (you'll hear more from her later), Q, Raul the pool boy, Poptart, and Zhan (the EVIL ASIAN!!!). I had been thinking about doing something a little bit different with my hair, so, being that I do not have a fashionable bone in my body, I decide to ask Elevant for her thoughts because her hair is always edgy and relevant. In fact, her hair is a little famous - so there's really no denying that it's relevant. Now, we've had a few drinks, so it should come as no surprise that when I open my mouth to ask her what she thinks, that I tell her I want my hair to be redgy and elevant... just like her. Then I pause. Then bust out laughing. At which point, we all decide on a hairstyle or two that would, in fact, make me very redgy which leaves her as the elevant one.
"And, you know what? Wouldn't that be an awesome blog name? Redgy and Elevant?"
"It would be awesome!"
(time passes - more drinks are ordered)
"Hey, you know what would also be awesome? Karaoke."
"Holy crap, I'm in."
"Me too."
"I'd be down."
"I'm easy."
"I know, you keep telling us. We all know you are at this point."
"Oh shut up."
"Aw, but it's BYOB and the liquor stores are closed."
"I've got bottles at home, and I'm 2 blocks away."
"That's it, we're going. We'll meet you at Q's!"
"HOORAY!"
... And that, folks, is how history is made.
So back to this morning.
Q and I carpool in the morning, partly because I live in BFE (so everything is on the way when you live out in the middle of nowhere), partly because her company doesn't pay for downtown parking and mine does, partly because I just plain like her company, and partly because Q likes to put her life in the hands of a crazy woman every morning. If I had a dollar for every time I said "OMG I swear I don't drive like an idiot!" or "I don't do this when I'm alone, I promise!!" or "I'm sorry, I didn't, I ... I... (blush)" I would be a very rich woman indeed. Despite this, Q still rides with me in the morning and is very nice about the whole thing.
For the past month, however, I've been working really late hours which, of course, makes things worse. On top of that, I have punked out on the carpool multiple times lately. Either I hit the snooze button or I turn off the alarm and then dream that I got ready, just to find out that I didn't and that Q has found her own way into work (thank you very much). This morning, was no exception. Apparently, I had agreed to pick Q up at the mechanic at the usual time. So, at 7:50am I get a text.
Q: "Are you still asleep?"
Me: "yeah, I didn't get home until 2am. It would be great if you could find your own way in today. I'm tired"
Q: "Um, okay. I think the dealer has a shuttle that can take me home.
Me: "OMG OMG OMG! I'll be there in 15 minutes!!"
and with that, I awoke with such an adrenaline rush that I knocked over my alarm, stepped on the dog and left Zhan going "what the hell is going on... mumble mumble...back to sleep".
I got there in 20 minutes instead of 15, but I was pretty pleased with myself, all things considered. Q thought that coffee was in order, and I agreed that it was an awesome idea. I let her know that she should just direct me as I wasn't too familiar with this area and I'm dead...freaking...tired. So, Q did, and as we talked I piloted splendidly under her direction....until we arrived at this point where the road forked. The sun partially blinded me even with my sunglasses on, so when I started to go to the left I started noticing Q tensing up.
"To the left. To the left...to the left... more to the left... pole... POLE.... POLE!!!!!!!"
I didn't hit the pole, but I DID manage to get crazy embarrassed. I started up with the "omg, I'm so sorry. I just... I mean.... I was blinded by the light *pause* wrapped up like a deuce *smile* .... never mind, not the time for that. I'm really sorry I almost killed you!!"
I'm just happy that Q was probably so afraid for her life that she didn't think to pummel me because - well, let's be honest. I have problems driving when I'm firing on all cylinders much less when I'm getting beat by a woman who has just seen her life flash before her eyes.
Needless to say, coffee... and a breakfast croissant... was on me. :)
First of all, how did Redgy and Elevant come about? Well, that's easy. Anyone who knows me knows that I have a condition called verbal diarrhea. That is to say, I open my mouth and you never know what is going to come out. Sometimes it's poetry. Sometimes it's stupid. But it's almost always funny... or awkward... but mostly funny. So, one night, the usual group of us are out getting drinks (and is it wrong that I'm giggling about every one's code name... it's so James Bond, but without the guns, or gadgets, or Moneypenny): There's me, Elevant (you'll hear more from her later), Q, Raul the pool boy, Poptart, and Zhan (the EVIL ASIAN!!!). I had been thinking about doing something a little bit different with my hair, so, being that I do not have a fashionable bone in my body, I decide to ask Elevant for her thoughts because her hair is always edgy and relevant. In fact, her hair is a little famous - so there's really no denying that it's relevant. Now, we've had a few drinks, so it should come as no surprise that when I open my mouth to ask her what she thinks, that I tell her I want my hair to be redgy and elevant... just like her. Then I pause. Then bust out laughing. At which point, we all decide on a hairstyle or two that would, in fact, make me very redgy which leaves her as the elevant one.
"And, you know what? Wouldn't that be an awesome blog name? Redgy and Elevant?"
"It would be awesome!"
(time passes - more drinks are ordered)
"Hey, you know what would also be awesome? Karaoke."
"Holy crap, I'm in."
"Me too."
"I'd be down."
"I'm easy."
"I know, you keep telling us. We all know you are at this point."
"Oh shut up."
"Aw, but it's BYOB and the liquor stores are closed."
"I've got bottles at home, and I'm 2 blocks away."
"That's it, we're going. We'll meet you at Q's!"
"HOORAY!"
... And that, folks, is how history is made.
So back to this morning.
Q and I carpool in the morning, partly because I live in BFE (so everything is on the way when you live out in the middle of nowhere), partly because her company doesn't pay for downtown parking and mine does, partly because I just plain like her company, and partly because Q likes to put her life in the hands of a crazy woman every morning. If I had a dollar for every time I said "OMG I swear I don't drive like an idiot!" or "I don't do this when I'm alone, I promise!!" or "I'm sorry, I didn't, I ... I... (blush)" I would be a very rich woman indeed. Despite this, Q still rides with me in the morning and is very nice about the whole thing.
For the past month, however, I've been working really late hours which, of course, makes things worse. On top of that, I have punked out on the carpool multiple times lately. Either I hit the snooze button or I turn off the alarm and then dream that I got ready, just to find out that I didn't and that Q has found her own way into work (thank you very much). This morning, was no exception. Apparently, I had agreed to pick Q up at the mechanic at the usual time. So, at 7:50am I get a text.
Q: "Are you still asleep?"
Me: "yeah, I didn't get home until 2am. It would be great if you could find your own way in today. I'm tired"
Q: "Um, okay. I think the dealer has a shuttle that can take me home.
Me: "OMG OMG OMG! I'll be there in 15 minutes!!"
and with that, I awoke with such an adrenaline rush that I knocked over my alarm, stepped on the dog and left Zhan going "what the hell is going on... mumble mumble...back to sleep".
I got there in 20 minutes instead of 15, but I was pretty pleased with myself, all things considered. Q thought that coffee was in order, and I agreed that it was an awesome idea. I let her know that she should just direct me as I wasn't too familiar with this area and I'm dead...freaking...tired. So, Q did, and as we talked I piloted splendidly under her direction....until we arrived at this point where the road forked. The sun partially blinded me even with my sunglasses on, so when I started to go to the left I started noticing Q tensing up.
"To the left. To the left...to the left... more to the left... pole... POLE.... POLE!!!!!!!"
I didn't hit the pole, but I DID manage to get crazy embarrassed. I started up with the "omg, I'm so sorry. I just... I mean.... I was blinded by the light *pause* wrapped up like a deuce *smile* .... never mind, not the time for that. I'm really sorry I almost killed you!!"
I'm just happy that Q was probably so afraid for her life that she didn't think to pummel me because - well, let's be honest. I have problems driving when I'm firing on all cylinders much less when I'm getting beat by a woman who has just seen her life flash before her eyes.
Needless to say, coffee... and a breakfast croissant... was on me. :)
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Hello World!
Yes, I am that kind of nerd. It's how I roll. So hi, I'm Redgy, nice to meet you. :) The reality is I just need to get something up here because my cdo (yes, that's in the correct order, just like I like it!) refuses to let me keep this page blank. At the same time, I can't think of anything too witty or interesting to say as I'm trying to hide the fact that I'm posting on my new blog from my boss whom sits behind me instead of... well, you know, working.
So, anyways, hello world! I have a ton of silly stories to tell (that are both redgy and elevant -- more on that later), so we'll see if this blogging experiment is more successful than those I've tried in the past. Isn't that how everyone usually starts their blog? "Sorry it's been so long", "I promise to write more often", "I know it's been awhile, but I'll write more" as if they're talking (read: lying) to their dentist about flossing or talking their Aunt Lucy at a Christmas party. "Hi, how are the kids. Yeah, I promise I'll call more often. Thanks for the socks." The downside with the blogging, as opposed to talking to Aunt Lucy, is that there is far less egg nog available.
But I digress. Bottom line, if you're reading this blog, one of 3 things must be true:
1) You're one of the people who are mentioned (with really cool code names, zomg!!) in the stories I'm going to tell.
2) You like people who write the way they speak... and who can't spell... and who use '...', '--'. ':)' and various other '*(gesture)*' things more than they should while writing. (People who love grammar rules, know that I murder grammar on a regular basis, and am thankful that there is not a literary death penalty for doing it. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!).
3) You were trying to visit your regular fashion blog and got stuck with me. Along those lines, you may want to try googling edgy and relevant. I was quite surprised to be linked to pierced clothing for christians. Yeah, you just read that correctly: pierced.... clothing... for christians. Sadly, it is not pierced in the way I was expecting, but it is apparently very edgy and relevant.... at the same time. I am just happy that no one has hurt themselves in the process of creating it, because that's what I was expecting.
So, yeah. That's me, this is my start, and we'll see how this goes. Next up, I'll start telling stories. Just remember to do wild hand gestures when you read them. :)
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