Time for another edition of RANDOM CRAP FRIDAY! I know, you’re all totally the most excited. Try to calm down, that’s not good for your blood pressure, seriously. Deep, cleansing breaths. Breathe in blue, breathe out red. There you go. Doesn’t that feel better? Thought so.
Baby, you can drive my car. No, seriously. You can. I’ll let you. Please do. It’ll probably break down, though.
So you know how the car was all “I AM A BUCKING BRONCO OF BROKENNESS” on Monday? Dad fixed it (spark plugs. No, seriously. SPARK PLUGS. Something was wrong with the spark plugs. I know nothing about cars, as I have mentioned – I know they go, sometimes, when you press the gas pedal – but was not aware that something as miniscule as a spark plug could almost kill you. How bizarre) and yesterday met me at work to switch cars with me and take his car home. I was super-excited, let me tell you. Because yes, it was very nice of him to let me use his car? But his car has some things I do not love. Like, the seatbelt sticks and I kept smashing my fingers trying to escape and I felt like I was going to strangle to death and die, and the trunk only opened if you popped it with a popper-thingy in the glove compartment, but the glove compartment didn’t always open so you felt like weeping because the trunk was holding your laundry hostage, and the rear defrost kind of took a year to do anything.
I love my car. It’s kind of no-frills, but it’s reliable and it gets good mileage and it doesn’t often die on the side of the road. My last car had all the bells and whistles (CD player! A thingamabobby that told you the weather outside and the wind direction and was SO TOTALLY FANCY!) but also broke down ALL THE TIME. So this one’s good.
This morning, I was not timely for work. At all. I kind of got sucked into Twitter? This happens, sometimes. I can’t help it. Twitter’s like this black hole of time suck. I mean, I love it so much, but it sucks me in and I look up and I’m all HOT DAMN BUT IT’S SO EFFING LATE. So I ran out to the car and got in and shut the door and whoa, what’s this? Door didn’t shut. Must not have slammed it hard enough. Which is unlike me – I’m a total bam-bam of slamming doors, and, well, everything, really, I told someone this weekend, and meant it, “I don’t think I own too many things that aren’t broken in some fashion” – but I slammed it again. Didn’t shut. Swung right back open like a haunted house door. Well, without the creaking. Or the ghosts.
So what’s a person to do? You can’t drive it to the garage like that. And AAA is for battery jumps and tows, not mysterious doors that won’t close. Also, today, I’m the only person in my office who can answer the phones. All the other trained receptionists took the day off. So it’s just me, and if I didn’t get in? My boss was going to be all red-faced indignant. Also, it was snowing. And the car door wouldn’t close. So all snow was getting in my car. THIS WAS VERY DISCONCERTING.
So I called work and left a very meek “I’m a silly GIRL! I don’t know about CAR DOORS!” message that made my ovaries shrivel up and die but sometimes you have to play the game so you don’t get fired, and called AAA (mindful the whole time of the last time I dealt with them and almost peed my pants and also died on the side of the road waiting for them to arrive) and explained the situation, and they were skeptical they could help, but said they’d send someone over. I got a very panicked call from the head of marketing who was assigned phone duty until I could get to work (“HOW DO I ANSWER A PHONE?” Yeah, try to talk someone through a multi-line phone system over the phone sometime, it’s a hoot, it’s like explaining the inner workings of the internet to an aborigine, it’s not something I’d recommend) and then AAA called. “I’m outside,” he said. Well, this was promising. It was only 18 minutes into the 20 minute ETA! Apparently, local AAA = better than the AAA in the boonies where I broke down last time!
So I went downstairs and the driver was at my car and THE DOOR WAS CLOSED. I seriously almost started weeping in the parking lot.
“You fixed it? Already?” I asked. He looked at me like I was insane. I’m thinking probably I had crazy eyes on display. It’s been a long week, seriously, what with the grippe, and the car breakdown, and the cat, and the holidays, and various and sundry other concerns.
“Yep. Here, let me show you how to fix it yourself, if this happens again.” I kind of wanted to make out with him for that, if he hadn’t been, you know, some stranger. And also if I hadn’t been late for work, and all. So now I can fix my door ALL BY MYSELF if it happens again. If I wasn’t going to renew my AAA membership because of the complete and total FUBAR situation earlier in the week, this guy made sure I would, let me tell you right now. WINNER, guy who fixed my door and then showed me how to fix it myself in the future.
So now I am at work, and I’m only in a LITTLE trouble, because I acted very “silly girl hee hee hee I’m so SORRY! And so UPSET! And so SMALL!” (this only made me die INSIDE, so I suppose that’s fine, no one can see that part) when I got here, and all is well, chickadees.
Elementary, my dear Watson
So on Sunday, the second season of BBC’s Sherlock premieres. You know what that means, right?
BENEDICT CUMBERBATCH BABY.
That’s really all I have to say about that, other than, you totally need to watch, if you’re not watching. It’s amazing and brilliant and wonderful, and this is coming from someone who’s not even that big of a Sherlock Holmes or mystery fan. Also, BENEDICT CUMBERBATCH. I’m seriously naming my next pet Benedict Cumberbatch. I hope my next pet is an iguana. That would be a great name for an iguana, right? Even though I don’t really want an iguana, because once when I worked at a pet store we had an iguana and that sucker was mean as shit.
Being a celebrity is a lot less fun and a lot more looking over one’s shoulder than anticipated
So I’ll go into more detail next month, but you know how I can see what search terms bring people to my blog? Um. OK. Either someone REALLY wants to be highlighted in next month’s post about search terms, or I totally have a stalker who wants me to make out with them, bendily. Or maybe wear my skin as a cape.
Dear stalker who is putting search terms into search engines like “Is Amy from Lucy’s Football willing to kiss or bend with any yahoo” and “Is Amy from Lucy’s Football single and willing to kiss strangers” and “Is Amy from Lucy’s Football dating Ding Dong Joe”: Um. OK. Well, if you’re trying to be funny and get in the stats post, you win, I’ll mention you at the end of January. If you’re actually ASKING these questions? WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU.
@lgalaviz says this is the price I have to pay for being a celebrity now. Well! That’s exciting. I’ve always wanted to be a celebrity. I have my Academy Award acceptance speech all practiced out in front of a mirror and EVERYTHING. It is AWESOME.
For the record: yes, I am single. No, I am not willing to kiss or bend with strangers. Or even people I know, for the most part. Personal space issues. Also, I don’t know anyone named Ding Dong Joe, but I’m waiting for him to arrive, because I’m pretty sure that, because he can’t keep his pants on, it’ll be a hot time in the old town tonight once he arrives.
Oh, and here’s a story. It’s mildly perverted. One time? In grad school? I made out with this guy who was kind of a stranger. Well, he was a friend of a friend of a friend. I don’t remember his name. I think I’d been drinking a little. I think it started with C. Chris? Christian? Clark? Whatever. And we were making out, but like, barely making out? I mean, kissing, but not even any groping. It was totally PG-13 making out. Plus, he was kind of a bro, and a little greasy. I don’t really dig bros, and proper hygiene is really a must. I think I was bored. I used to make out with people when I was bored, sometimes, when I didn’t have a book to read. And then it was time for me to leave, because my ride was leaving. So I was all, “See you later, Clark or Chris or whatever.” And he was all, “let me show you something in the laundry room.” And I thought, “this is odd, are we going to do a load of whites or something? It’s like 1am, this is not really a good time for laundry” but I went in the laundry room. And he then DROPPED HIS PANTS and was all, “YOU CAN’T LEAVE UNTIL YOU TAKE CARE OF THIS LOOK WHAT YOU DID TO ME.”
My response? I laughed until I choked, told him that’s what God gave him a left hand for, and walked out. Seriously, it was PG-13 making out. I don’t even think he went for second BASE, you guys. What the hell?
This is why making out with strangers is a bad idea. They drop their pants in the laundry room when you are all unawares.
Oh, and whenever I saw Clark or Chris or whatever in the future after that he totally gave me a death glare. Sorry, Clark or Chris or whatever. Best of all things to you and your pants-droppy assumption-makin’ self.
That kind of went off topic. Stalker! If you’re trying to be funny, well, it’s not, really. If you’re trying to be a stalker – nice job, well done, you can stop now, thanks. I totally have pepper spray and a really, really shitty attitude.
One Ringy-Dingy, Two Ringy-Dingy
So as mentioned earlier, I’m playing receptionist this week. That’s fine, whatever, I hate it but it’s only a couple times a year I have to take over the reception desk. This week, however, is the WORST.
It’s the end of the year, and I work in an accountant’s office. So everyone calling is all “ZOMGGGGG, I have to get my AFFAIRS in ORDER the YEAR she is ENDING.” And that’s fine, whatever, I think you might have done this a little earlier? But that’s just me, I’m a planner. Here’s the thing, though. NO ONE IS HERE. There are like 7 employees in the office this week. Most of us are lower-level employees who are not able to answer questions that are as detailed as these people are asking.
AND THESE PEOPLE ARE PISSED, YO.
And who are they pissed at? The answer is, the receptionist. Because, obviously, it is MY fault that these people are on vacation. Or, maybe I’m lying. I might, in fact, have them under my desk, and be all “shh, Jane Doe is on the phone for you, Jimmy Joe Johnson, don’t say anything, I’ll say you’re on VACATION! Hee hee hee!”
Listen, here’s a tip, from me to you. The receptionist isn’t lying. The receptionist, odds are good, hates her job, hates being there, hates talking to you, and wants to get you off the phone, but probably is telling you the truth. It’s the week between Christmas and New Year. It’s a dead week. No one is ever around that week. So stop yelling at her. She has the grippe, seriously, what kind of asshole yells at someone with the grippe?
OK, there. RANDOM CRAP FRIDAY. One more day and this year is KICKED, you guys. Can you even imagine? 2012. That is all KINDS of exciting. I like even years. They are invariably nicer than odd ones. Although I have to say, 2011 was a good one, overall. So maybe my data is flawed.
‘til tomorrow, my little wild Irish roses!