Impromptu singalongs are not uncommon at work. Or at the Youth Group I help run. Or at home for that matter.
But this post is regarding work singalongs. Normally my singalongs are with Malo because I don't know the word's to AJ's pop songs (however, I have started learning "the AJ dance" so that I can be his backup dancer). Our coworker Cathy's desk is around the corner from mine so she evidently had never heard me sing. This topic came up for discussion in Starbucks yesterday morning while Cathy was getting her "Cathy Special" (she goes to Starbucks enough for them to know her order), I was using the newspaper stand as a library, and AJ was humming pop songs; all in all a normal Starbucks run. Then, while talking about AJ being a celebrity, Cathy said that she had never heard me sing before.
There was only one response available to me: bust out into Sweet Caroline right then and there in the store. Everyone in the store stopped what they were doing and watched me sing the first verse and the chorus. It was hilarious!
Last night we went to McCloud's for Melissa's going away from work party. McCloud's is as much of a "Cowboy Bar" as is possible in East Bremerton. There is line dancing, a mechanical bull, and a goodly number of people not pronouncin' the "G's" at the end of their words. I always participate in at least a couple line dances, because even I think it's terribly funny when I get lost doing a dance that the song tells you exactly what to do. My downfall (besides my naturally atrocious rhythm) is that I always sneak in at the back, so I do alright until I have to make a turn that faces me away from everyone and I have no one to follow (that, and everyone is now facing me as I spaz about trying to look behind me to know what to do next). There are many kindhearted people there who will try to teach those newbies who do not know the steps, but even these people avoid me because they know a lost cause when they see one.
Story Time: The "I Sneezed Chocolate on Your Smart Letter" Story
One quarter in college I took three 400 level economics classes and really just busted my ass to do well in all of them. I succeeded too, and I made the Dean's list.
My family received a letter announcing my academic exploits. A few minutes after they received this letter I got a phone call from my little sister.
"Justin, I'm tho thorry! I thneezed chocolate on your thmart letter!"
"What?" My sister does not have a speech impediment so I wondered what the heck was going on.
"I thneezed chocolate on your thmart letter! I'm tho thorry!"
"Is Dad there? Put him on."
My father then proceeds to tell me (in between gales of laughter) that my sister was eating a chocolate bar as she opened the mail for him. While reading my Dean's List letter she was in the middle of a bite when her face exploded in a massive sneeze, spewing chocolate snot and spittle all over my letter.
Hence, whenever I have done something extremely stupid and embarrassing, I apologize by saying: "I'm sorry I sneezed chocolate on your smart letter."
Saturday, July 30, 2011
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Whos and their 'tussin
My roommate collects ridiculous quotes from me. She has now started posting them on Tumblr. One of them is regarding the cold medicine preferences of Whos (the Dr. Suess story inhabitants) and goes a little something like this:
"Whos use that sissy-pansy non-narcotic Robitussin bullshit! [long pause followed by holding up two fingers less than an inch apart] 'Cuz they're so tiny!"
Some of you who have seen me suffering from a cold will have guessed that this little gem was uttered whilst on the 'Quil.
Hobby Hoedown: More Sim City 3000 nonsense. I started a town whose sole purpose was to earn money from selling electricity, water, and garbage incineration to neighboring cities. I charge my citizens no taxes and for the longest time gave them only the most basic of services. Then I reached the point where I had almost $200,000 (a lot in this game) and decided to give them two of everything. I still have an obscene surplus each year and no idea what to do with it.
I played tennis tonight! It was fun, but man am I rusty. Luckily my dad is equally rusty and 30 years older than me.
Last night I felt like writing some plot twists into my choose-your-own-adventure story; so I did. In about 1000 words someone turned out to be in disguise, someone was murdered, and there was an ambush/kidnapping. The story only seems to get more ridiculous as it goes along, which suits me perfectly.
Story Time: The Underwear Money Story
While working as a teller in Seattle I met a lovely woman named Mary. Mary carried all her most important items in a fanny pack concealed underneath her shirt to prevent theft. I am telling you right now that no one steals from someone who looks like Mary. She was old, mean, and looked like a bag lady despite not being homeless. She appeared to have nothing to steal other than her impressive collection of brightly colored fingerless gloves and vomit colored button down shirts.
Mary came into the branch and walked up to my window, reluctantly because I was a new face; however, her favorite teller was at lunch so I eventually convinced her that I could help her. She flipped her shirt up, partially exposing her impressively nauseating pale jiggly belly (and grey granny panties), and moved her fanny pack to the outside of her shirt. I put on my best forced grin and asked her how I could help her.
She ignored me. Instead of speaking to me she pulled out three stacks of small bills and placed them on my counter. Once her deposit slip was filled out and I saw that all the money was going into one account despite being in separate piles, I scooped up all the bills and began to count them.
Mary uttered a shout of dismay and scolded me severely for ruining her "system." I politely apologized, wondering what I had gotten myself into. The teller next to me was not doing a very good job hiding how pleased he was that he had been taking the deposit from Starbucks when Mary walked in.
Once the money was counted Mary shouted at me, "Make it darker!"
"Excuse me?" I asked, having absolutely no idea what she was talking about.
"Make it darker!" Louder this time, because surely that will help what she is trying to tell me get through.
"I'm sorry, ma'am, I don't understand. What would you like me to do?" As I ask this I prepare to drop the receipt into the antiquated thermal printer that bank used to use.
This seems to agitate Mary greatly. "Nonono! Make it darker!!"
Now I finally understand. I smile at her. "Ah, yes. You would like a duplicate receipt." The duplicate receipts printed significantly darker because they did not have the deposit slip in front of them.
Mary scowled at me, took her receipt, and shuffled on her way. After she was gone the other teller asked me how I had managed not to have her shout at me more and make a huge scene. Evidently she had gone on a ten minute tirade the first time she had come to his teller window.
He then proceeded to tell me (and his story was later corroborated by the rest of the staff) of an incident a couple months prior to this. It seems that Mary had left the house without her fanny pack. Thus, when it came time for the traditional flipping up of her shirt there was no fanny pack to pull out, only her grey granny panties. She reached inside her underwear and pulled out her three stacks of money!
The teller didn't even count it, he simply swept it into an envelope using the eraser of a pencil and marked it "MUTILATED" which means it is no longer fit for circulation. He then threw the pencil away.
"Whos use that sissy-pansy non-narcotic Robitussin bullshit! [long pause followed by holding up two fingers less than an inch apart] 'Cuz they're so tiny!"
Some of you who have seen me suffering from a cold will have guessed that this little gem was uttered whilst on the 'Quil.
Hobby Hoedown: More Sim City 3000 nonsense. I started a town whose sole purpose was to earn money from selling electricity, water, and garbage incineration to neighboring cities. I charge my citizens no taxes and for the longest time gave them only the most basic of services. Then I reached the point where I had almost $200,000 (a lot in this game) and decided to give them two of everything. I still have an obscene surplus each year and no idea what to do with it.
I played tennis tonight! It was fun, but man am I rusty. Luckily my dad is equally rusty and 30 years older than me.
Last night I felt like writing some plot twists into my choose-your-own-adventure story; so I did. In about 1000 words someone turned out to be in disguise, someone was murdered, and there was an ambush/kidnapping. The story only seems to get more ridiculous as it goes along, which suits me perfectly.
Story Time: The Underwear Money Story
While working as a teller in Seattle I met a lovely woman named Mary. Mary carried all her most important items in a fanny pack concealed underneath her shirt to prevent theft. I am telling you right now that no one steals from someone who looks like Mary. She was old, mean, and looked like a bag lady despite not being homeless. She appeared to have nothing to steal other than her impressive collection of brightly colored fingerless gloves and vomit colored button down shirts.
Mary came into the branch and walked up to my window, reluctantly because I was a new face; however, her favorite teller was at lunch so I eventually convinced her that I could help her. She flipped her shirt up, partially exposing her impressively nauseating pale jiggly belly (and grey granny panties), and moved her fanny pack to the outside of her shirt. I put on my best forced grin and asked her how I could help her.
She ignored me. Instead of speaking to me she pulled out three stacks of small bills and placed them on my counter. Once her deposit slip was filled out and I saw that all the money was going into one account despite being in separate piles, I scooped up all the bills and began to count them.
Mary uttered a shout of dismay and scolded me severely for ruining her "system." I politely apologized, wondering what I had gotten myself into. The teller next to me was not doing a very good job hiding how pleased he was that he had been taking the deposit from Starbucks when Mary walked in.
Once the money was counted Mary shouted at me, "Make it darker!"
"Excuse me?" I asked, having absolutely no idea what she was talking about.
"Make it darker!" Louder this time, because surely that will help what she is trying to tell me get through.
"I'm sorry, ma'am, I don't understand. What would you like me to do?" As I ask this I prepare to drop the receipt into the antiquated thermal printer that bank used to use.
This seems to agitate Mary greatly. "Nonono! Make it darker!!"
Now I finally understand. I smile at her. "Ah, yes. You would like a duplicate receipt." The duplicate receipts printed significantly darker because they did not have the deposit slip in front of them.
Mary scowled at me, took her receipt, and shuffled on her way. After she was gone the other teller asked me how I had managed not to have her shout at me more and make a huge scene. Evidently she had gone on a ten minute tirade the first time she had come to his teller window.
He then proceeded to tell me (and his story was later corroborated by the rest of the staff) of an incident a couple months prior to this. It seems that Mary had left the house without her fanny pack. Thus, when it came time for the traditional flipping up of her shirt there was no fanny pack to pull out, only her grey granny panties. She reached inside her underwear and pulled out her three stacks of money!
The teller didn't even count it, he simply swept it into an envelope using the eraser of a pencil and marked it "MUTILATED" which means it is no longer fit for circulation. He then threw the pencil away.
Monday, July 25, 2011
The Justinian Calendar
First, and arguably most importantly, yesterday while driving through Belfair I saw two guys on horseback using the Starbucks drivethru. It was absolutely astonishing.
While reading through on-hold messages from tumultuous 2008 until the perilous present I realized how inefficient it is that our months are not in alphabetical order. To make them list appropriately you must save your files as 1January, 2February, etc or simply allow them to run amuck in a most unsavory fashion.
To thwart this terrible travesty I have devised a new calendar. BEHOLD:
Anuary
Bebruary
Carch
Dapril
Emay
Fune
Guly
Haughust
Iptember
Joctober
Kovember
Lecember
A masterpiece! Now there is no need to add number and your files will still appear in chronological order. You're welcome.
Also, today I wore a shirt nearly identical to Mark, who is also a tall, thin, white guy with glasses. We looked like twins. Someone mentioned that they did not get the memo that we were all supposed to dress alike. The retort that was offered went something like: "That's because it only got sent out to white guys with glasses." Bryan and Malo (our graphic designers) wanted to take a picture, but Mark did not trust them not to photoshop it something fierce so he declined.
And thus I was forced to wait until Mark was comparing two versions of a banner. I posed in a mirror image while Malo took a picture with his phone.
Hobby Hoedown: I finished reading Dance With Dragons by George RR Martin (GRRM) on Saturday. 1100 pages of awesome and I still hate GRRM with a fiery burning passion for leaving damn near EVERY character with a cliffhanger. I only hope I don't have to wait another 6 years for Winds of Winter to come out. Winter better be coming soon, dammit! Now that I'm done with that I'm finally going to finish reading Fight Club, which I bought over a year ago. So far it does not disappoint; it is SUPER weird.
Over on my LiveJournal I am working on a choose your own adventure story about family members vying for power after their king/father/grandfather dies. I have a good time killing off characters since they'll still be alive if I go back and work on a different path in the choose your own adventure.
Tonight I'm going lap swimming because the weather sucks and I don't want to break my ankle trying to play tennis on a wet court. My hope is that there will be no old men in flesh colored Speedos. *fingers crossed*
This weekend I started a game of Sim City 3000 for funzies. I take all the opportunities that give you money but cause pollution and crime. I have a toxic waste factory, casino, maximum security prison, and something called a "gigamall." My sims bitch and moan constantly, but they have the world's best education, police, and health care available!
Story Time: The "Watch Out For Bees!" Story.
In my final year of college I decided to check out a projector from the library and set it up in my dorm room so I could play giant Super Nintendo on my wall. While playing Zelda: A Link to the Past (one of the best games of all time), I was using the dash boots to run into trees and collect the money that sometimes falls out. For those of you who do not know, when you do this there is a chance that bees will emerge instead of Rupees. Every time this happened I would shout "'ey boy! Watch out for BEES!" I considered this to be highly hilarious and said it often.
That same week my drinking buddies and I were frequenting our usual haunt, Earl's on the Ave in the UDistrict. We were there for a good long while and I got well and truly toasted (which will not surprise anyone who has actually been to Earl's). As we made our way home we decided that it would be a marvelous idea to invite every single person we knew over to my room to bust out the Everclear that we had purchased in Oregon the month before. Such was our drunken brilliance. Kids, I don't recommend trying this at home.
Approximately 90% of Hansee Hall was in my room at one point or another that night and later that year I "met" several people who I had no recollection of who had been in my room drinking Everclear with us. When it came time to call it a night my drinking buddies prepared to leave, but all these new people were worried that I needed a babysitter. One of my drinking buddies tells them, "No, don't worry about it. He's the world's most compliant drunk! Watch this, hey Justin, yell at those guys."
There were two guys stumbling back from a frat party walking past my window. I stood up on my bed and shouted down at them as loud as I could, "'ey boy! Watch out for bees!"
The would-be frat boys look around, completely confused. They then shout back, "Dude, brah, dere's no bees!"
I then went to sleep and woke up exceptionally hung over. This little adventure has made any and all jokes about bees to be unduly funny to me, observe: Scenes From a Multiverse
While reading through on-hold messages from tumultuous 2008 until the perilous present I realized how inefficient it is that our months are not in alphabetical order. To make them list appropriately you must save your files as 1January, 2February, etc or simply allow them to run amuck in a most unsavory fashion.
To thwart this terrible travesty I have devised a new calendar. BEHOLD:
Anuary
Bebruary
Carch
Dapril
Emay
Fune
Guly
Haughust
Iptember
Joctober
Kovember
Lecember
A masterpiece! Now there is no need to add number and your files will still appear in chronological order. You're welcome.
Also, today I wore a shirt nearly identical to Mark, who is also a tall, thin, white guy with glasses. We looked like twins. Someone mentioned that they did not get the memo that we were all supposed to dress alike. The retort that was offered went something like: "That's because it only got sent out to white guys with glasses." Bryan and Malo (our graphic designers) wanted to take a picture, but Mark did not trust them not to photoshop it something fierce so he declined.
And thus I was forced to wait until Mark was comparing two versions of a banner. I posed in a mirror image while Malo took a picture with his phone.
Hobby Hoedown: I finished reading Dance With Dragons by George RR Martin (GRRM) on Saturday. 1100 pages of awesome and I still hate GRRM with a fiery burning passion for leaving damn near EVERY character with a cliffhanger. I only hope I don't have to wait another 6 years for Winds of Winter to come out. Winter better be coming soon, dammit! Now that I'm done with that I'm finally going to finish reading Fight Club, which I bought over a year ago. So far it does not disappoint; it is SUPER weird.
Over on my LiveJournal I am working on a choose your own adventure story about family members vying for power after their king/father/grandfather dies. I have a good time killing off characters since they'll still be alive if I go back and work on a different path in the choose your own adventure.
Tonight I'm going lap swimming because the weather sucks and I don't want to break my ankle trying to play tennis on a wet court. My hope is that there will be no old men in flesh colored Speedos. *fingers crossed*
This weekend I started a game of Sim City 3000 for funzies. I take all the opportunities that give you money but cause pollution and crime. I have a toxic waste factory, casino, maximum security prison, and something called a "gigamall." My sims bitch and moan constantly, but they have the world's best education, police, and health care available!
Story Time: The "Watch Out For Bees!" Story.
In my final year of college I decided to check out a projector from the library and set it up in my dorm room so I could play giant Super Nintendo on my wall. While playing Zelda: A Link to the Past (one of the best games of all time), I was using the dash boots to run into trees and collect the money that sometimes falls out. For those of you who do not know, when you do this there is a chance that bees will emerge instead of Rupees. Every time this happened I would shout "'ey boy! Watch out for BEES!" I considered this to be highly hilarious and said it often.
That same week my drinking buddies and I were frequenting our usual haunt, Earl's on the Ave in the UDistrict. We were there for a good long while and I got well and truly toasted (which will not surprise anyone who has actually been to Earl's). As we made our way home we decided that it would be a marvelous idea to invite every single person we knew over to my room to bust out the Everclear that we had purchased in Oregon the month before. Such was our drunken brilliance. Kids, I don't recommend trying this at home.
Approximately 90% of Hansee Hall was in my room at one point or another that night and later that year I "met" several people who I had no recollection of who had been in my room drinking Everclear with us. When it came time to call it a night my drinking buddies prepared to leave, but all these new people were worried that I needed a babysitter. One of my drinking buddies tells them, "No, don't worry about it. He's the world's most compliant drunk! Watch this, hey Justin, yell at those guys."
There were two guys stumbling back from a frat party walking past my window. I stood up on my bed and shouted down at them as loud as I could, "'ey boy! Watch out for bees!"
The would-be frat boys look around, completely confused. They then shout back, "Dude, brah, dere's no bees!"
I then went to sleep and woke up exceptionally hung over. This little adventure has made any and all jokes about bees to be unduly funny to me, observe: Scenes From a Multiverse
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