Six Word Saturday

learned an expensive lesson this week
or
always get the agreement in writing

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Want to play along? All that's necessary to participate is to describe your life (or something) in a phrase using just six words. For more information, try clicking here. Feel free to explain or not explain. Add an image, a video, a song, nothing. I love seeing what everyone does with their entries.

Each week (probably on Sunday or Monday), I use random.org to select a bunch of entries to visit.  Or I visit everyone. Or even numbered entries. Or odd numbered entries. Or multiples of three. Depends on what's going on that week.  In addition, please visit the person ahead of you on the list (or visit everyone if you like!). That way everyone receives at least one visit!

If you play along in your blog, please add a link to the Mr. Linky. I appreciate a link back (shiny code below if you like!). Otherwise, you're welcome to leave your six words in this post as a comment.

Please be sure to link either to your main page or (preferably) directly to the 6WS post. Links to blogs that do not contain a 6WS entry will be removed (sorry, just the button in the sidebar doesn't count as participating).

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Someone like me

Know how small electrical appliances have bizarre warnings on them and you always think - who in the world would do something so stupid? because you know SOMEONE must've done it. And probably sued and won a bazillion dollars and now they have to put the warnings on there.

I'm talking about the hairdryer that specifies "Do not use in bath." Or, the label on peanut butter that says "WARNING: May contain nuts." Or the coffee that says "Contents may be hot."

So, coming soon to a store near you, a sports bra that says "WARNING: failure to wear correctly may result in chafing across the chest that looks like a horizontal surgical cut and no amount of aloe or antibiotic ointment or anything else you think of to put on it will make the burning stop."

And when you see that and you think what IDIOT managed to pinch the skin in their sports bra in such a way that this happened?, you can think of me. Because if it wasn't me personally, it was someone like me.

Also?

Ouch.

I Stole a Shirt

This weekend, we made a trip to our warehouse store of choice. We only go when we're desperately out of things, which makes the sting all that worse when we head to the cash register. But this time, I helped lower our total by stealing a shirt. Yep, a little five-finger discount in aisle seven.

Eh, am I fooling anyone? I like to think I'm a total bad-ass, but probably notsomuch. The truth is just so much less interesting and I'm trying to build up some street-cred so people will fear me once I put my plan for world domination in action.

Anyways, I was looking at their clothes and decided to buy two items (there's the bad-ass part - yeah, I buy clothes at a warehouse store from time to time!). The shirt was on a hanger. The sweater was not. In order to keep the two together and free of meat debris once we hit the food aisles, I placed the sweater on the hanger with the shirt. See, smart! And when I did this, I thought to myself that I should make sure to separate them once we hit the checkout so I didn't accidentally steal a shirt.

Fast-forward four hours later and we're finally done shopping and heading to the registers. I left Joe in line with the cart and made a quick dash to the loo so I wouldn't pee myself on the way home in his car. I'm so considerate!

I didn't think about the shirt again until I was helping load the car and saw them hanging there, still nicely intertwined. Uh oh. I checked the receipt and sure enough, I had stolen a shirt. Dammit!

Back to the store I went. I thought about trying to pretend I was from the corporate office, conducting field inspections to see how thoroughly employees were working to prevent shoplifting, but it was really my mistake and I didn't want to get the cashier in trouble. Plus, you know, it wasn't exactly truthful. Customer service thanked me for my honesty, charged me for the second shirt, and sent me on my way.

Exciting, really, living a life of crime. Now I can add "petty theft" to the list of skills on my resume. Any of you want to hire me?

First Fursday: Remember Me?

Hello there, humans! It's been a very long time since my long-haired human let me anywhere near the computer to write a post. Probably because she left her job. I'm not sure what that means except that she doesn't go away nearly as often and thinks she should pet me all day.

Anyways, for those of you who are too fried from catnip haven't had the pleasure of making my acquaintance yet, I am Tonya. Fluffy diva-cat extraordinaire. Sweetness in feline form. Let me straighten my halo while you do your job and provide me with some tuna. I live with this lady you call Cate and the short-haired human. And also with the stripy evil one called Rusty. It is Rusty whom I wish to speak about today.

As I grow older, wiser, and beautifuller, Rusty grows more jealous of my awesomeness. He hates it when my humans show me attention and retaliates by waiting until they watch that bright picture box-thing before he attacks me. It's violent and my lovely hair flies every which direction as I try to defend myself. I certainly don't wave my tail in his face to antagonize him!

One evening, the long-haired human lost her patience and decided to punish Rusty with jail time. She put him in his box, which is the same box that they use to transport us to the lady with the poky things once a year. Don't tell anyone but I'm actually a little envious of Rusty's box because his has a fancy sunroof and mine doesn't. Of course, he's too stupid to understand how good he has it.

After Rusty had served his sentence, short-haired human opened the top of his cage to let him out. Rusty immediately poked up his head through the roof. And then sat there. He even went so far as to smash his stupid empty head into the front door of the cage, waiting for the humans to open it. See what I mean about being too stupid? He sat in his cage for five whole minutes (which is like three days in cat-time) before he finally realized he was free. What a moron!

Anyways, maybe Rusty will post next month. Assuming he's not "stuck" in his box again.

Hisses, face eatings and all the cat hair you can eat,

You haven't lived...

...until you've eaten tater tots with chopsticks.

Every so often, Joe and I run away from the cats spend a night in a city a few hours away just for a change of scenery. We find the time in the car is great for conversations (and BOY do we ever have a lot to be conversating about lately) and it's nice to be away from home. The hotel is dirt cheap, especially this time of year, and it has all of the necessary amenities, like free wi-fi and a party elevator. As an added bonus, there is a Wegmans nearby so we can stock up on our beloved Upstate New York noms.

Part of our routine includes spending an evening people-watching at the hotel bar. Or sometimes, we end up being the people who are watched. Usually me more than Joe. We've been there just enough that the bartender now greets us by name, which is a sign of a really good bartender. Especially since we're only in there once every few months.

This past Saturday, we settled in with our beverages of choice and decided to order a snack of some sort. Oooh, tater tots! It's not every day that you see tater tots on the menu so we decided to go for it.

When they arrived, they came with chopsticks. Chopsticks for tater tots? I had always thought of them as finger food but I've been trying to master chopsticks so it seemed the universe was presenting me with an opportunity to practice.

Or at least I thought so, until our friendly bartender told us later that he just likes to serve the tater tots with chopsticks because it amuses him to watch the inebriated struggle with them.

Someday, maybe I'll learn the difference between messages from the universe and entertainment for bored bartenders. Until then, I'll be right here serving as a sideshow for the rest of you.

Room for Improvement

Alternate title: How Protecting My Cats From A Mouse Has Made My Week Lame

Remember when we were young(er) and the teacher would kindly say there was "room for improvement" in certain areas?

And remember way back at the start of this year on Monday when I declared my desire to be better?

Since writing that post, 2011 has been mocking me seen fit to set the bar a bit low so "better" seems very attainable. Nothing major has happened. In fact, nothing has really happened at all. But the past few days have felt kind of rough, meaning there's lots of room to achieve better without much effort.

It all started Sunday night, I suppose, when Rusty started acting weird in the kitchen. I lowered myself to the floor, pressing my head against the ground to see what he was looking for - a toy perhaps? MOUSE!!! Running at my face!!! I had no idea I could go from flat on the floor to the top of the counter so swiftly while emitting very high decibel shrieks.

Tuesday, the pest control people came and put out a bunch of traps. We had discussed options at length because of the cats but the guy insisted the poison bait traps were the best bet and safe around kitties. Later that evening, we heard the mouse chomping on the poison. I felt sad about choosing a rather inhumane option.

Cue complete meltdown. Because as I thought about the chemical effects on the mouse, I started to think about the chemical effects on the cats. And what if the cat ate the mouse? And OMG my cats are going to die now because I chose the poison traps and payback is totally a bitch and I so totally deserve for my cats to die!

Obviously, the only reasonable option was for me to stay awake all night to make sure the cats did not eat the mouse. Because our kitties are not the kind who approve of being locked in their kitty crates overnight. I made it to 3am before dozing off just a bit, only to be awakened by the mouse gnawing very angrily on the poison block again. Zombie killer mouse, back from the dead to eat my face! I threw the kitties in their cages and crawled into bed.

This meant zombie sleepy Cate with a killer headache all day yesterday. This is already too long but last night involved locking the cats in our bedroom, which lasted less than 2 hours before we had to put them in their cages again because they were being evil. No idea what the status of the mouse is this morning.

I slept better last night and feel better today. I plan to workout for awhile, write for awhile, do housework for awhile. Better in every way. Room for improvement, indeed.

Easily Amused

Day two of "NaBloPoMo of Gratitude". I'm wondering how many days in before typing "NaBloPoMo" comes a bit more naturally...

I am thankful for... my ability to be easily amused.

Now, before you think to yourself, "Self, it's only the second day and already she's not taking this seriously!", I need to clarify that I am 100% for realz about being grateful for this ability. Even if some people may see it less as a skill and more as a hindrance.

For example, I have this amazing ability to misread things in ways that make them far more interesting. A few days ago, I read a headline about "Weather Hamsters Search for Plane". Whoa, weather hamsters! I was excited to read this article because my husband is a total weather geek and yet he's never mentioned weather hamsters. Propelled by a need to one up my husband help make Joe's weather knowledge more complete, I clicked the article only to be let down. "Weather HAMPERS search for plane." Pfft. How boring!

I do that kind of thing all the time. And rather than be disappointed about the non-existence of weather hamsters, I choose to laugh. I find the funny where I can. And some days, I really need it.

So yes, I am thankful for my ability to be easily amused.

Advertising Stupidity

Lately I've been struggling a bit with my Intro to Advertising course. It's self-paced and I'll probably be done this week. Except for the final exam which is FREAKING ME OUT.

A few times, I've had no idea what the professor was looking for and turned in work that I was very unsure of - but she loved it. "You've displayed a clear grasp of the concepts in this chapter."

Then this past week, I turned in an essay worth a big chunk of my final grade. I was very sure of my work. In fact, I might go as far as to say I was proud of the analysis I had written, including the clarity with which I supported my assessment. Result? B-. "While you make some good points, I feel you have completely misidentified the approach used for this commercial."

Say WHAT?!?!?

Now my confidence is shaken. I debated writing back to her saying I disagreed with her critique. I'm finding myself afraid to turn in some of my other work. And the final exam which was FREAKING ME OUT? It's now FREAKING ME OUT ZOMG WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE!!!!!

Uh huh.

In my usual fashion, I respond to criticism by taking it to heart, learning from it, making adjustments and moving forward criticizing back. No, not the professor. But I've found our textbook to be so poorly edited that it makes me want to scream. Besides the constant issues with "of" where it should say "or" or singular when the word should be plural, I've recently come upon these two glaring examples of stupidity:

"broadcast media: media, such as radium television, and interactive media, which transmit sounds or images electronically"

"Senior executives could care less about which shipping method is used..."

Radium television? Oh, and do NOT get me started about "could care less". And if you don't understand why "could care less" is wrong, please go read this post and save yourself a punch in the face.

Anyways, since the book is poorly edited, I'm sure that must mean it is not credible. And since the instructor chose the textbook, that also means she is not in a position to criticize me. So I win.

But I still have to pass that stupid exam.

Smart

Last night, I picked up my spiffy new glasses. I think I'm in love. So after dinner, I asked Joe what he thought of them.

Joe: I like them.
me: Do you think they make me look smarter?
Joe: Totally!
me: HUSBAND FAIL!!!

Yeah, so what if it was a trap with no safe answer? We've been married for a million almost a dozen years, he should know better.

P.S. But I guess he doesn't really fail because he got out of bed early yesterday morning and put gas in my car for me so I wouldn't be late to work. So I have to give credit where credit is due.

P.P.S. Credit is totally NOT due regarding my "smart" glasses.

The Spaghetti Thief

I recently posted a cue on Seven Days Seven Answers called The Spaghetti Incident. The cue was this:

Someone has stolen your lunch (leftover spaghetti) out of the work refrigerator. They didn't even bother to leave the bowl behind. Leave a note on the fridge to the spaghetti thief.

And some of the responses were awesome.

Since this was based on a true story, I figured I'd tell the tale of over here.

Long, long ago, back in 2004 maybe, I worked with this very quiet and passive guy. We'll call him Roy (because that was his name). Roy was meek in a very creepy kind of way. The kind of way that terrifies you because some day the wrong button will be pushed and he is going to SPLODE!!!

Roy was also, as luck would have it, a total mama's boy. At 35, he was still living at home, mama paid his bills, mama cooked his meals, and mama financed the ring he bought his mama-approved fiancee. And one day, Roy brought a huge bowl of mama's spaghetti into work and placed it in the communal refrigerator. From there, it disappeared, bowl and all.

This left Roy outraged. He left a note on the refrigerator door scrawled in the kind of angry handwriting you see on one of those true crime stories. Underlines, exclamation points, and general homicidal mania.

It went something like this:

Dear SPAGHETTI THIEF!!!!

The spaghetti you took from the refrigerator was not yours, it was MINE!! And not only was that my LUNCH but it was also going to be dinner for me and my FIANCEE before PRAYER meeting tonight! Also, that was my mother's bowl, which was HER mother's bowl. I will be praying tonight that GOD convinces you of the HORRIBLE thing you have done so that you will return my mother's bowl AND my spaghetti. Because it was NOT YOURS. And now we will have no dinner!!!

Over the next few days, multiple notes were placed on the refrigerator in response.

The spaghetti was good but could've used more garlic. Thanks!
Signed,
Spaghetti Thief

God has convinced me that this spaghetti would've been great with some breadsticks!!!
Yours,
Spaghetti Thief

And finally, a note left inside the (clean) bowl, placed back inside the refrigerator.

Sorry for the delay returning the bowl. It was too much spaghetti for me so I gave the rest to my dog. I wanted to run the bowl through the dishwasher a few times to remove all of his tongue germs. By the way, my dog was very sick the next day so there was probably something wrong with that spaghetti. The way I see it, I did you a favor. You're welcome.
Signed,
Spaghetti Thief

Roy has since moved on to another employer and even now, nobody will own up to being the Spaghetti Thief. But we all get a kick out of telling the story!

P.S. No, it wasn't me.

A Day at Work

Friday morning, I sent the following email to my committee at work:

All -
If you are receiving this email, it is because you have not yet scheduled a meeting time for next week. The following times are NO LONGER AVAILABLE. Please let me know by the end of today when you would like to meet.
Mon: 1-2
Tues: 9-10. 1-2, 2-3
Wed: 10-11
Thurs: 10-11, 1-2

I receive the following response:

I'll be there at 9 on Tuesday.

I respond anew:

The times on that list are already taken. Please choose a time that is NOT on the list.

Her new response?

Okay, how about 2pm Tuesday?

And you all want to know why I go home most nights with a headache?