Ding Dong the Witch is Dead!

What part of "NO" is unclear to you?!

She was screaming at me! What is her problem? All I did was ask her if
she wanted to get some lunch. Is that a crime? Then I asked, Are you
sure? Well, everybody, duck and cover RIGHT now because that is the one
illegal question disallowed in the presence of her highness. Today
started out so well, too. It has always amazed me how quickly a day can
go from good to bad. In a heartbeat, or the time it takes to ask a
question. When this little tirade ended, an observer was sure to see
the black, wooly cloud hanging over our cubicles. The mood must have
been tangible.

Not a moment later, a door slams down the hall followed by the sharp
"clickety, click" of the boss's three-inch heels. Oh, crap! Here she
comes. And around the corner she sails straight into the cubicle of her
highness. "Get your ass into my office, right now." You know it's more
sinister when words like that are spoken in a near-whisper. "Clickety,
click" off she goes, and "clumpety, clump" her highness trails sullenly
behind her.

Their meeting lasted more than forty minutes and in that time the entire
office was deathly quiet. Upon her return, her highness began packing
personal belongings. Although I stared at her through the entire
process, and she must have felt my eyes bore into the side of her head,
not a word was exchanged between us. She finished packing and stood up
straight to proudly address no one in particular. "This is not over.
Just because I'm leaving here today does not mean my career with this
company is over. You people will be hearing from me again soon." From
across the office I heard "Shut up, Bitch! You just got canned!"

And as quickly as it turned from good to bad, the day just as suddenly
looked a lot brighter.

Well, what if...?

What is the realistic lifespan of a brand new rechargeable battery? Like the kind you might find on my new cell phone? Would the lifespan of a rechargeable battery be reduced if it were introduced to an electric current larger than normal? What if it were to be "shocked" by a full 220 volt household current? Would the battery become unusable? If this were to happen to the battery in my phone, would I be able to return the phone? Would the manufacturer know the battery was subjected to conditions other than as directed by the owner's manual thereby voiding the warranty? If they couldn't diagnose the cause of failure of the rechargeable battery of my phone, would they give me a new phone? Would they allow me to "upgrade" to the other phone I didn't get but can now afford? Would they let me "trade-up" by only charging me the difference in price?

Bird or Bugger

One afternoon as I was leaving work I caught the sweet, tweet sounds of a finch. Above my car, perched high on a power line, it looked a lot like the bird my brother brought home from the pet store dozens of years ago. It was grey all over with a bright orange beak and bits of red and yellow on its wing edges. Definitely a finch. And they do make the sweetest song. As I was about to open my car door, he cocked his head my direction and let go a melody that made me sure he was a happy, happy bird. The tableau was a spectacular example of nature's creation: the bluest azure sky speckled with cotton-ball clouds in the background, and this tiny, majestically-colored creature in the foreground. It was the simplest thing, but held me transfixed for several moments in a state of wonder. Then the rotten bugger pooped on my car. What a rude snap back to reality.

Go Away

My cat...,

...was brought into my life by coincidence. I did not seek her out, she sort of found me through a woman at work who was in a pinch.

...is much needier for attention than most dogs. How un-cat-like!

...irritates me when she shadows me so closely I trip over or step on her.

...is the hairiest beast I've ever had the displeasure to know. I wonder if anyone would buy these furballs to make wigs or spin into yarn?

...has never learned how to cover her poo in the box so when I come home the house stinks.

...tracks litter all over the house, including the bed. Gross.

...becomes downright violent when she's "playing" so that my hands and arms are usually healing from some scratch or puncture. Good thing she's had shots.

...hurls herself wildly around the house so that my downstairs neighbors think a herd of cattle are stampeding in there.

...gets into one of her "moods" and leaves me poo presents in the corners of the rooms.

What is loveable about this animal? Clearly, very little. Would anyone like a cat?

The Way It's Supposed To Be

Sometimes I can imagine a world I create for myself in which there are no large masses of belongings. I go get groceries for dinner every day. Any book I need or want is at the library. There's no stockpiling of clothes, I only wear what I buy on the one shopping day per clothes season - no more, no less. I'm thin, strong, straight, adored, confident, drive a kick-ass car, work where? house has at least one vase of fresh flowers on display at all times. People come to my house to visit. I have places for them to sit! I never bitch or nag or complain - my voice is soft and even, my skin is smooth, my hair is always neat and straight. And I smoke like a crazy person!

Quandry

"Hey! What's wrong with you? Open the door for me!"

This is something startling to hear from anyone. Actually, this is downright rude. But the speaker got my attention, as I'm sure was his intention.

I stopped mid-stride on my way over the threshold of the doorway and started to turn around to address my accuser. My brain flooded with a list of ugly comebacks. Then I caught sight of the speaker -- in a wheelchair! A young man, easily under the age of 30, sat glaring at me as if I had just spit in his face. Such hostility! What to do? Without thinking twice about it, I held open the door for him and stood gingerly out of his way as he wheeled himself neatly by me without another word. Just then something popped into my head and before I could run it by the internal censors, I blurted out "Asshole!" Wow! Did that just come out of my mouth?

Shame in Glee

What kind of horrible person must I be to find glee in another's misery? My first, knee-jerk response is "the human kind". But that's not entirely realistic. There are plenty of human kinds out there with enough compassion in their heart and love in their lives to reject this kind of behavior. UNFORTUNATELY I'm not one of them.

I'm active on a fan message board for one of my favorite bands. The other members sometimes participate in band-bashing for groups they don't like. And special thanks to the world wide web for fabulous stories of bad band members behaving badly. There is a man who was, until recently, the lead singer of a pseudo-Christian rock band. This man found himself in an awkward situation where some others were taking advantage of his fall from grace and lonely place in life. And it was HILARIOUS! One half of me was saying, oh this poor guy, I feel so sorry for him. The other half of me was saying, he's so sorry and this is so funny. How to reconcile these two opposites?

Suck it up and have a beer!

We were having a drink after work. My sister's friend mentioned something about being out of the office during the first week of August for jury duty. I said something about how unlucky she was to be picked. My comment was made out of sympathy for the girl and I expected some in-kind response like "Yeah, it sure does suck" or "Yeah, I'll just suffer through". What I got instead was a stone-cold, eat-shit look from hell. If I had said something horrendous about sleeping with her mother, I doubt her look would have been uglier. This completely threw me off balance. In the few moments it took me to recover from her icy silence, she turned to my sister and started going off on "those idiot liberals" who have no civic pride and feel no responsibility to contribute to the community at-large. What the...?? At this point I was completely flummoxed! Before I could explain myself, my feelings about making decisions affecting another person's life, my position regarding "civic pride", blah, blah, blah... She whipped around on her bar stool as if to leave in a huff. But instead of making a dramatic exit here's what she accomplished:

1. Knocking over her martini glass and my sister's beer glass shattering both all over the bar and wetting the bartender and my sister with liquor.

2. Flinging her purse off the back of her barstool across the pool table
knocking several balls out of play.

3. Catching the heel of her slingbacks on the rung of the barstool and
landing one foot on the floor in an ungraceful, unintentional splits.

4. Falling face forward into a push-up position because, really, the human
body is not designed to do the splits.

5. Broad, giggly smile on my face.

Sometimes I daydream about a world where it's OK to be bad. Not wrong, just bad.

After work yesterday I met my friend C for dinner and thrift shopping -- our usual bi-weekly event to catch up with each other. We had just finished dinner and were moving toward the front of the restaurant to leave. C stopped, turned abruptly around and looked me in the eye with a bit of panic in hers. She mouthed "turn around" and proceeded to push me back to our table.

Seated again at our table, she leans over to me to whisper that her ex-boyfriend of seven months just walked into the restaurant with the woman he was cheating with. Tears begin to spring to her eyes as she recalls to me the events of their breakup. Without going into gritty details, let's say it was ugly. I can't figure why she didn't mention it sooner, except that it may still be difficult for her to discuss.

Anyway, our waiter is walking toward our table with a very puzzled look on his face. He begins to ask why we're back when C pulls him into an empty chair and tries to explain. The waiter agrees to let us "hide out" until the cheater and his new woman are seated elsewhere in the restaurant. C and I get lost in discussion regarding the cheater. Not more than a minute or two later, we hear a woman scream from the front of the restaurant immediately followed by a short burst of cursing. Then we hear a man's voice round out the cursing with another blast at "the idiot who spilled the drinks".

I stand up from the table in time to see the cheater and his new woman tear out the door in a blur as our waiter saunters our direction with an empty tray and a wink!

I was late for work this morning. As I was veering left to get onto the highway, this asshole in an Xterra cut me off from the middle lane on my right. I had to brake to avoid his bumper. Man this guy pissed me off! Traffic is bad enough in the morning without having to deal with intentionally bad drivers. (Thankfully, traffic on the highway was a little lighter than normal -- of course it WAS 9a by this time.)

Xterra or not, I wasn't going to let this guy get the better of me. From the merge lane I whipped into the middle then quickly into the cruise lane watching this guy the whole way. He jets up the merge lane and whips into the cruise lane two cars ahead of me. Maybe I was in a bad mood before I left the apartment, but DAMNIT I just didn't want this guy to beat me.

Without realizing how fast we were going already, I punch it up and move back to the middle lane into a juicy spot between an RSX and a Contour. The RSX is making good time and I'm gaining on the Xterra. Just as I'm about to clear the Xterra to pass the RSX on the left, the Xterra jumps up and cuts in front of the RSX. MAN THIS GUY IS PISSING ME OFF.

I move into the hole left by the Xterra, follow him as he speeds away from the RSX, move into the far right lane in front of a cement truck (dodged a bullet there) and hit pedal to medal as I tried to pass the Xterra on his right. Just as I'm about to clear him the second time, I'm coming up fast on the back end of a shit truck -- that's right, the port-a-pottie poopy sucker. I JUST CAN'T WIN.

At this point, the last thing on my mind is making it to work in one piece, all I can think about is somehow cutting off this Xterra, when I notice I'm going 95mph. Let me spell this out for you -- NINETY-FIVE MILES PER HOUR -- on 183 during morning rush hour traffic.

I cut back over to the middle lane and the Xterra is probably four or five car lengths ahead of me. I try to catch up to him again, but realizing how fast I was going, I maintain a conservative 75mph. Here's where it gets good (for me, not him).

Xterra is still gaining ground when I see the first sign for my exit. By the time the second sign rolls by, Xterra is gone around a curve in the highway. As I approach the merge lane for my exit, I notice a puff of smoke coming from the flyover. In the exit merge lane, where it rises up to the level of the flyover, I see the most beautiful sight. Traffic is backing up and there's a billowing cloud of smoke eminating from a vehicle about half way up, and... LO! IT IS THE XTERRA! "Just desserts", "He'll get his" and all those other platitudes don't do it justice -- it just feels DAMN good, sooo good -- and yet sooo wrong.