Show Dick some respect…

Move it JACKASS!

Ahhh…the multi-mulit-multi-mulit-level parking deck.

The modern equivalent to tying up your horse at the trough while you sit your chapped ass on a bar stool and twirl your only-Kurt-Russell-will-ever-be-Wyatt-Earp handlebar mustache.  Only the horse is a car.  And the stool is a chair.  And the mustache isn’t allowed due to office dress code.

Much like I’ve had to guide people in the ways of elevator and mass transit etiquette, I’m not afraid to point out a few things when it comes to maneuvering in and around the office parking deck.

Here are a few simple rules to remember:

• Always have your access badge out of your purse, pocket or ass and ready to swipe at the gate for entry BEFORE you pull up to the magnetic plate.  Everyone else behind you hit the snooze bar a few too many times this morning as well so do us all a favor and pull up prepared to get in and the hell out of the next “running late” guy’s way.
• Stop signs are stop signs – even inside a parking deck.  I realize it’s technically private property and therefore void of any law enforcement but that doesn’t mean you should allow yourself to become a free-wielding animal.  Blaze a doobie – swig a 40 – cut a line – but, for the safety sake of all of us around you – please obey the stop signs.
• Those thin white lines mark where your spot ends and mine begins.  If you choose to pull your vehicle in at an angle that makes it near impossible for me to gain access to my drivers seat without bumping the side panel of your F-150, so be it.  You have only yourself (and your lack of giving a shit about those around you) to blame.
• Unless you die at your desk or in a supply closet and cannot retrieve your car from where it was parked that morning – do not leave it unmoved for days on end.  This is especially important to remember when the spot you chose to commandeer is in what’s considered “prime location”.  Examples of these locations include (but are not limited to): in the front row near a main door or elevator – along a solid wall or immovable object where door dingage is impossible to acquire from others – directly behind a space where the normal pattern is for people to pull through the space you are occupying in order to pull straight into the space in front of it*  This allows the normal flow of traffic to smoothly exit the garage at night by pulling straight out as opposed to having to back up in front of others.
• Going anything over 10 MPH is too fast.  And, for the love of all that is good and holy – turn that God awful shit-for-music down.

*This example has plagued me personally all week with the presence of the car shown above.  Not only has it not moved since last Friday, I’m fairly certain there’s a bag of Colombian bang-bang taped under the chassis.

Be a man Russ…

I know, I know…it’s been a few days.  What can I say?  I’ve been busy.  Busy photo-documenting all the bazaar-O shit that I see in day-to-day life with my trusty cell phone camera.  [Yes it's sad that I call myself "a creative person" and don't carry around and actual camera.  I'm sighing out loud in disbelief right along with you.]

Since I read Astrology Zone on a fairly some-what-basis, I know about cosmic events that can cause cosmic issues in life more than the average geek.    I can tell you that last month was a once-in-most-of-our-lifetimes event with how some of the various planets were aligned and the tension they were causing us.  Being one who always tries to find the funny in life – I decided to document the oddities this energy created.

Let us begin with this:

Stop rubbing your eyes.  You are seeing what I’m seeing.  It’s an elusive species to say the least.  Something once only believed to be that of folklore and FRIENDS episodes — it’s a “man bag”.  I took this picture while walking into my building and was kinda pissed about it being a bit blurry.  I really, really wanted you all to see the man bag in all it’s splendid almost-too-feminine glory.

Lucky for me (and all of you) we ended up riding the same elevator:

Look at that ginormous claw-clip!  It takes a very secure man to tote around such an outstanding piece of not-even-I-would-carry-that-thing bag.  Dude gets extra points for having a second “carry on” bag in toe.  This guy is going places and he’s packed for the trip!

Let’s move along to these:

I have very little explanation as to what the f*ck these actually are and who in their not-right mind would plunk down good coin in order to attempt wrestling a pair onto their feet.  All that I could think of while staring in wonderment at these little ‘beauts was Elf.  If I had to wear these, I’d be a very angry Elf.

But wait – there’s more:

Apparently, this is what happens when a tomato is left alone on the counter for too long.  Must have gotten bored and found “the stash”.  I know being shit-faced drunk is the only time I would even consider pulling my pants down for the world to see my golf ball-dimpled ass cheeks.  I’ve gotta give it to the wonderfruit though – very smooth cheeks.  It must to pilates.

One odd scene leads to another:

It’s pretty sad when you have to remind your neighbors to please not leave piles of dog-squeeze in front of your walkway due to the fact that we don’t want to step in it and really would prefer our young children don’t go all Stiffler* on us and snack on what they believe to be a chocolate truffle.  I know what the hubs was trying to say when he put the stickers together but for me, it just reads funny. [as in ha-ha]  Nothing like a big old pile of dog bags to really get the kids squealing with delight!  After all…plastic and children under the age of 4 go so well together.

And finally:

I know things aren’t going as smoothly as most folks would like them to be with the “Change” that we all so desperately wanted – but is that any reason to touch someone’s “O Crap!” bumper sticker?  Hell no it’s not.  Of all the things I witnessed in the past week, this was by far the most disturbing.  As the radio talking heads like to say (quoting the disaster that was “W” in 2004): elections have consequences.  Is it my fault that this catchy little slogan was the perfect cover-up for my less than stellar backing-up-in-a-mid-town-parking-garage abilities?  No.  So I would ask everyone to keep your filthy fingers off my filthy car.

*As a public service announcement: I would warn against searching YouTube for the term “eating shit”.  Trust me — no one needs to see that.

I’ll show you my flair…

The non-stop rain we’ve been living in down here in the south gives me the perfect excuse to be a little moody (I know, I know…like a need an excuse) so I’m taking the opportunity to remind everyone what is courteous and what is not.

Let’s start with what is.

Leaving the parking spaces closest to the building open for people who just might have small children in toe is.  I can honestly say that when I’m flying solo – I park in the back of a lot.  It’s not like my chunky-fanny couldn’t use a little extra toning anyway.  Walking through the parking lot is a pretty easy way to burn a couple extra calories.  It’s also considered courteous to not block entrances and walkways that are clearly marked “No Parking” or “Drop Off Only”.  Others around you enjoy having the ability to get into and out of places (whether solo or not) without having to pull a Bo Duke in order to gain entry to a building.

Let me show you what is not.

Apparently this ass-clown (yep, it was a guy) believes that it’s not only his right to park as close to the building as he feels is necessary – but he also pays no attention to walkways.  I just so happened to be walking through the opening you notice now completely blocked by his coupe-de-graw when he was pulling into the alcove.  I stopped, and waited for him to pass through.  Waited.for.him.to.pass.through.  Uummmm…ok then.  Guess I’ll just squeeze my cheeks around your hood then.  No worries.  It’s all good.  I’m just walking here.  In the walkway.  WALKWAY.

*I will tell you that while I do not park in these spaces – I have no issues with people who chose to take “Expectant Mother” parking even when it’s obvious they are hardly expecting.  Unless you count expecting-to-have-a-heart-attack-from-excessive-alcohol-and-fried-food-consumption as “expecting”.  In that case, those posted signs take on a whole new meaning.

Mercury is in retrograde…

I’m going to open this entry with a caution: I’m kinda drunk.  A little, anyway.  You see – I was given this movie to watch tonight by a friend (I guess I can call him ‘friend’) and I was worried I just wouldn’t enjoy it as much if I was stone sober.  I dunno…there’s just so much pressure when someone recommends a movie for you to see.  There’s all this assumption that you will find it humorous and tell them all about how great it was in the morning.

Wow.  Flashback to my college days.

Anyway, the movie was fine.  Of course I found it amusing – wine or not.  And I thank my [friend] for being generous enough to let me borrow it for the night.  It will be returned in the morning with only slightly more scratches than it had 24 hours ago.  (Hey, I’m drunk.  What the hell do you want from me??)

All kidding aside…

Remember “The Grill to Nowhere” from a few months back?  It was inspired by my sisters almost-always-drunk neighbor who found it most-logical to drag is grill out into the middle of the side yard one day and leave it there permanently as a form of suburban yard art.  I really haven’t spent much time over there this summer so when the hubs and I had to stop by to get something out of the storage shed, you could imagine how delighted I was to find this:

Ahhh Danielson - It's like a smoking Buddha.

*It is nice to see that they have made a conscience effort to mow UNDER the grill this summer instead of allowing the grass to grow up around the legs like ivy.  Not that I don’t appreciate fine art – I just don’t appreciate the depletion of property value by the thousands…that’s all.  I can only imagine that the carefully placed folding lawn chair sees many hours of sweaty ass while all-beef franks meet there untimely char at the hands of “I like mine dirty” martini man.  Grill on zen master.  Grill on.

Little pink bunnies piss me off…

Here’s how to start each day with a positive outlook:  I’ll use Timothy Geithner as example

1. Open a new file on your computer.

2. Name it “Timothy Geithner”

3. Send it to the Recycle Bin.

4. Click “Empty the Recycle Bin.”

5. Your PC will ask you: “Do you really want to get rid of ‘Timothy Geithner’?”

6. Firmly click “Yes”

*Thank you to the hubs for letting our son pee out in the front yard and allowing me to lift this without his permission from his Facebook notes.

Ground beef smiley…

The hubs is getting pretty good at finding funny things.  Just last week we were at Walmart (the fateful trip that produced Barry’s Miata) and he noticed something on the clearance shelf.  I have to be honest, it actually took me a few seconds to *gasp* “find the funny” when he first proudly held it up as if it were his very first jock strap that he was big enough to finally fill out.  Once you look at the most awesome packaging it won’t take you long to see why I snapped the picture to share.  This midevil-torture-device-of-a mudmask is nothing short of horrifying.  There is no wonder it’s been tossed out to the clearance shelf like Miley Cyrus after sleeping with one of the Jonas Brothers.  Isn’t that impressive?  I actually am still somewhat hip enough to drop some oh-so-cool tween names into a pretty darn well structured sentence.  Never mind that the thoughts were splattered — if there’s anything I’ve learned from work, it’s all about the name dropping.

While the cover shot alone tells a thousand words:

“Molten pore cleansing action”
“Bilingual title confusion”
“Turning eyeballs inside out while simultaneously tossing a well balanced salad in your eye sockets”
“5 ounces of interrogation techniques torture”

I’ve decided to go the extra step and include the fine print that you can’t see.  I’m just good like that.

“Do not apply directly to the skin”
“May cause burning, swelling, peeling, cracking and redness”
“Wash skin immediately if exposed to glazing gel”
“Will cause blindness”
“Do not use if you suffer from any of the following symptoms: frequent nosebleeds, headaches, dizziness, dry and/or irritated eyes, skin rash, moderate to severe acne, constipation”
“Call poison control if swallowed” — something tells me that won’t be an issue.

Junk in the front…

Now THIS is the kind of stuff I live for:

*Thank you to the dumb-asses who mistook a paper doll for a peeping tom, and, to our funny friends over at failblog for allowing me to swipe this image for my (as well as your) own amusement.  I will refrain from going into any further detail as to the second level of pure-funny-bliss this little snippet provides.  Those of you who knew what “FU” stood for will no doubt have an idea already.  Those of you who don’t – didn’t I tell you to go macrame or something?

In other news…

It’s perverts like me that are ruining it for the rest of you.  What kind of sick world do we live in when a woman can’t legally proclaim her love of bean curd on the back of her gas guzzling SUV?  I pretty shitty one I would say.  Apparently the letters “FU” can be misinterpreted by some people who have less-than-pure thoughts throughout their day and there is no way that a state government is going to allow anyone the right to have their own thoughts.  No, no.  They will be overseeing all of that for you my friends.

What the f*ck are you lookin' at?

For those of you who are looking at this plate and wondering “what’s wrong with it?  I don’t get it?” – clearly my blog is not for you.  Move along and go find something more in line with macrame arts or scrap booking tips as continued viewing of my posts will most likely lead to laughter, enjoyment out of life and increased sexual abilities.

Bazooka Joe…

A simple blast of air would have been just fine...

If you guys aren’t checking out failblog on a daily basis, you really should be.  There is some seriously funny shit over there.  People like my friend Chris have been keen to this shiny nugget of goodness for a while now but for those of us who are just getting acquainted, it’s a lot of fun to tab back through the older posts and catch up on what we’ve been missing.  I think it was around page 164 when I came across a post that really made me laugh.  I mean really laugh.  Not that I’m one to take pleasure in others misery but some things are just too good not to laugh at.  The mysterious practice of shoving various household and food items up one’s ass falls into this category.  The sheer amount of *boggle* is what makes this so funny to me.  That and the fact that when things go wrong, someone ends up having to go to the hospital to have a potato gently removed from their rectum.  Imagine how that check-in conversation must go!

Nurse: “What is the nature of your illness or injury?”
Vicar: “I feel backwards onto a potato…”
Nurse: [Looking at Vicar with a hint of "aaaand...." in her eyes]
Vicar: “It’s stuck in my butt hole.”

I’m telling you — it almost makes me a little jealous.  I would never have that kind of conversation in my line of work.  I knew I should have gone to medical school.

*Don’t believe me that this is a true story?  Of course you don’t but that’s ok.  I’ll leave you the link anyway.

>> Enjoy! <<

Gullible’s travels…

In today’s economy retailers are having to go above and beyond to get customers through their doors.  I get that.  Hell, I work in web retail so I know all the tricks — and no, I’m not going to share them with you…yet.

I’m all about a tasty meal.  I don’t let the *fat girl* in me eat as much or as often as she could so I’m always indulging in sign slurping.  Taco Bell has their 7-layer nachos, McDonald’s is offering coffee house inspired frozen, fatty delights and  KFC has a new kickin-your-arteries-ASS buffet.  Seems they are going up against the likes of Golden Coral and Ryan’s Steakhouse which is a bit of a stretch to me.  Sure KFC has buttery biscuits and makes-you-wanna-bathe-in-it brown gravy…but I don’t see them pulling in tour bus fulls of elderly Church retreat goers any time soon.  Apparently they don’t either judging by the sign I came across today.  Their claim of “almost free” is equal to me saying “almost a size 2″.  Not even close and only someone who was incredibly stupid or hard of seeing would run the risk of believing it.

*Thank you to my sister, Natalie, who almost non-complainingly drove a whole mile and a half further than she would have today in order for me to snap this picture.