Saturday night! Important things to talk about, people. IMPORTANT THINGS.
Ladies and gentlemen, I bring you: SNOWPOCALYPSE.
OK, maybe not really snowpocalypse. Maybe it’s just snowing some and then it will be done snowing and is it a pain in the ass? YES it is a pain in the ass. Because it isn’t even HALLOWEEN yet. And that’s nice. Isn’t that nice? That our fall was totally cut short by some sort of nor’easter?
Also, we COULD call it Snowmageddon but let’s not shoot our wad yet, people. It’s only October. Save something for February. HAVE YOU LEARNED NOTHING.
Also, until I moved here, I didn’t know that anyone said nor’easter unless they were in a Stephen King novel? So I like to say it a lot. NOR’EASTER!!!!
So, if you’re not from New York or the east coast, right now, AT THIS VERY MOMENT, it is SNOWING. In OCTOBER. Sometimes? That happens. This is not without precedent. It has happened before. And! Guess what? It will totally happen again. SNOW SOMETIMES HAPPENS WHEN YOU LIVE HERE.
Also, whenever I think of bad weather, I think of Chris Farley’s El Nino sketch. “I am El Nino! That is Spanish for…THE NINO!”
Here are some totally helpful things you can and should do when it snows:
- Make sure your heat works
- Make sure you are prepared (shovel, winter clothing, ice scraper, a normal amount of food)
- Bundle up nice and cozy, preferably with someone you want touching you, and watch something awesome (I recommend, since it is a Halloween snowpocalyse, horror movies) and then maybe take a hot shower, with or without the loved one, your choice
Here are some things I would please ask that you STOP DOING when it snows, please, for the love of Pete:
- Driving like the roads are a sheet of ice when they’re not; taking up two lanes for no reason I can ascertain; driving 10 miles an hour on the highway when there’s really no reason for that; not cleaning all the snow off your car and then driving really, really fast past people so they get all of your snow in their face because that’s totally not an asshole move
- Calling every single office of every single doctor, lawyer, heating and cooling place, etc. that I answer for at the answering service and SCREAMING at the operator, “I NEED HELP RIGHT NOW BECAUSE IT’S ABOUT TO SNOWWWWWW” as if you’ve never, ever, in your entire life, seen a single flake, or maybe snow is actually acid or hot lava
- This is related to number 2, but also, if a business closes early because of an impending SNOWPOCALYPSE? Don’t act like a jerkoff to the answering service about it. “They closed EARLY? Must be NICE,” you sneer. Well. Where are YOU right now, Chumley? At home, you say? Oh, well, then, I guess you have no room to talk, now do you, because YOU are not risking YOUR neck driving home on roads that have been marked as state of emergency just to be there for asshats like you that want to talk to someone for non-emergent reasons like “In three weeks I have an appointment and I’m wondering if you could tell me if there will be plenty of open parking in the lot that day? YES, I have to know today. IT IS TOTALLY AN EMERGENCY.”
- Going to the grocery store and stocking up on 47 carts of staples as if you are never, ever going to get to the store again (sidebar: one year, I saw a woman with two carts full of bread. TWO CARTS. A couple of hours before another SNOWPOCALYPSE. I can’t even imagine. HOW COULD YOU EVER USE THAT MUCH BREAD. Was she going to lay it out on her driveway to shield it from the snow? Was she going to make a little fort out of it? Was she going to cover herself in it in lieu of winter clothing? IT BOGGLED THE MIND.) You don’t need ALL the bread, milk, and peanut butter. Do you need maybe one of each? Sure. Sure you do. But you know what? I bet the day after SNOWPOCALYPSE you will be able to get back to the store for more supplies. It is a safe bet you will.
Nothing gets me hotter than motivational posters and a speakerphone
All Over Albany pointed me toward this news story this week. In case you are TOO LAZY TO CLICK (and if you are, seriously, you really need to take some iron supplements, or something, what is wrong with you) here are some highlights:
A former NYS Department of Environmental Conservation employee was arraigned in court recently for racking up over $20,000 in phone-sex-line fees that he charged to his office, over 500 work hours, in four different work conference rooms in the office in the hopes that the calls wouldn’t be tracked back to him. He called a plethora of juicily-named phone sex lines (and it’s worth clicking on that first link just to see how that totally official NYS PDF is all listing phone sex lines like “VIP Sensual Chat” and “Secret Encounters.”) I especially like this quote from the second article: “The latter five charges say that Reilly knowingly filed false time sheets saying he was working when he was spending hours talking dirty on the phone.” Heh. “Talking dirty.” Awesome. WE ARE FIVE YEARS OLD.
OK, I know, I’m totally naive, here, but here are some questions I have.
- How the hell big is the NYS DEC office that it has at least 4 conference rooms? My office has, TOTAL, four conference rooms. And I can tell you, if I was “talking dirty” in one of them, my co-workers would know. Those walls are paper-thin. I think the NYC DEC office is like a gigantic cavern. Which is awesome, but also kind of makes me jealous.
- Who thinks talking dirty at work is a good idea? I mean, does your office have a conference room? THEY ARE NOT SEXY. They’re all bland, bland, bland. Bland wall treatments, a bland picture of something bland, and in my office, at least, most of them are stuffed with outdated tax manuals. WHAT WOULD GET YOUR MOTOR RUNNING ABOUT THIS.
- $20,000? Really? That is INSANE. 500 hours? $20,000? So, let’s do some math, even though we know math = totally the hardest, right, Barbie? 500 hours, $20,000. That means the phone sex lines cost $40 an hour? OK, I know that seems awesome? But think about this with your thinker. I get my eyebrows done, because otherwise I totally am a yeti? And that takes her 10 minutes. For this service, I pay her $10, with a $5 tip. (She DESERVES it. She is KILLER with my brows. I mean it. YETI, you guys. Not even kidding.) So she makes $15 for 10 minutes. Which means my awesome, kickass stylist makes $90 an hour. And listen, I love her to PIECES (I have followed her to three salons, so deep is my love) but phone sex seems TOTALLY THE HARDEST. How would you not LAUGH? You deserve extra money for not laughing. I mean, the minute some sad sack asked me, “So what are you wearing?” in a pervy voice I’d be in utter and complete cliche-driven giggles. $90 > $40, in case you’re keeping track. PHONE SEX OPERATORS YOU’RE DOING IT WRONG.
- I feel SO BAD for his coworkers I can’t even. You KNOW they knew what was going on. He’d probably get all excited, and all, “Have to make a call,” and walking all stiff, and they’d roll their eyes and be all “Oh, for the love of…Eddie’s going back to his wank-a-thon again, better tell the cleaning crew to bring extra Lysol tonight,” and they’d do whatever possible, including TALKING REALLY LOUD ABOUT NONSENSE, to drown out good old pervy Eddie’s jack-o-rama in Conference Room B.
“Judy! JUDY. DID YOU GET THAT EMAIL I SENT YOU?”
“…uh…yeah…that’s it…talk about that…what are you doing right now…”
“YES! I DID, JIM! THAT WAS ONE FUNNY LOLCAT!”
“…you’re a dirty girl, aren’t you, Shana…yeah, that’s it, baby…”
“I LIKE WHEN THE LOLCATS COME OUT OF THE CEILING THE BEST!”
“uh…you know I like that, baby…oh, yes…oh, YES…”
“CEILING CAT HA HA HA JIM! JIM! WILL THIS EVER END?”
“oh…Shana…you’re the best, baby…almost there now…yeah…”
“WHAT’S THAT, JUDY?”
“THIS COMPLETE AND UTTER TORMENT FROM CONFERENCE ROOM B, JIM? I FEEL LIKE I SHOULD SHOOT AMMONIA INTO MY EAR CANALS.”
“YES! SHANA! YES YES YES! I mean…um…thank you, Mr. Thompson. That’s all the information I’ll need for my investor’s report today. Ahem.”
“YES, JUDY, LUCKILY, EDDIE IS NEARING RETIREMENT AGE. ALSO I REPLACED HIS VIAGRA WITH TIC TACS.”
Shh…We’re Hunting Wabbits
Today, I got a text from a friend.
“You have a blog! Busted.”
Which is kind of funny? Because strangers read this daily, but the fact that REAL LIFE PEOPLE THAT I KNOW IN REAL LIFE WHO ARE REALLLLL might read it kind of both scares the shit out of and exhilarates the pants off me in equal measure.
I don’t tell people I know in real life about this. I mean, I don’t hide it, either. It’s on my Facebook page and my Google+ page, both of which are pretty easy for people who know me to find if they feel like Sherlocking it up, I suppose. I just don’t post links to what I write on there. I don’t think most people I know in real life would care that much what I ramble on about and what a complete and total dork I am.
That goddamned Facebook ticker bullshit thing outed me. What the hell, Facebook ticker? I thought I set that thing so nothing I posted ended up on there? I mean, I disabled that bullshit the minute it came out because I have Google Chrome and there’s an app you can add on that makes it DIS-A-FRIGGIN’-PEAR, but apparently things I say ARE ENDING UP ON STALKER TICKER. Total flying below the radar fail. Thanks a lot, Zuckerberg.
I’m totally a shy violet. Don’t tell a soul. Or I’ll chop you up with a chainsaw and feed you to my pet piranha, Fluffy McWigglepants.
Anyway, say hello to N., who may or may not be reading this and be A REAL PERSON I KNOW. N. has the distinction of being one of my favorite actors AND a real-life person that I stalked one time because I saw him in a play and liked his performance SO MUCH that I was BOUND AND DETERMINED to get him to audition for my theater and that didn’t work out at all because my entire plan involved me seeing him one time on the street and was going to talk to him until I realized that made me a cray-cray so I was too scared to and then I thought I would do some investigative work and find out what mutual friends we had and make THEM introduce us, wasn’t that totally underhanded, then I got distracted by something that I’ve forgotten because that was totally like five whole YEARS ago, what do I LOOK like, an ELEPHANT, come ON, people, until he auditioned even without my meddling schemes. Also, he has good hair. How can that be wrong? WELCOME TO N.! CALLOOH CALLAY.
So now we’re up to FOUR WHOLE PEOPLE THAT I KNOW IN REAL LIFE that know I have a blog. I know, right? TOTALLY THE BIG TIME. I’d break out the champagne flutes if I hadn’t broken them all pretty much immediately after getting them. THOSE THINGS ARE TOTALLY FRA-GEE-LAY.