Behind My Desk

So, there's a freight elevator behind my desk. I'm sure I've mentioned it before. Last week it came under heavy use again, and a lot of junk was offloaded in the loading area behind my cubical.

I wandered back there and ... well ...



Yes, my desk is right on the other side of that cube wall. They bumped me a couple of times while offloading all that... uh... is that a typewriter?



OK, that's actually kinda cool. I do work for a newspaper, after all. I figure there's more than one of these old things lurking around, and ... is that a bench seat from an old car?!?



It's halfway tempting to take that baby around to my cubical. I could set it up behind my chair. When folks come over to "HeyJeff" at me, I can point and say, "Have a seat."

"Are we there yet?"
"Don't make me turn this desk around!"

The last thing I noticed was this old set of galoshes.



These boots are made for walkin'!

And they're emerald, too. I could slip them on and start chanting... "There's no place like home... there's no place like home..."

Scarecrow, I'll miss you most of all.

Paintball

My oldest nephew turned 12 recently. He said he wanted to have a Paintball party.

He's a big University of Oklahoma fan. I usually don't make a big deal out of it, but I do generally try to wear something orange when I know he's going to be around. For his paintball party, I wore a bright orange Oklahoma State University shirt.

When we showed up, my brother-in-law pointed over at a table by the front door. "You need to sign a waiver," he said. "What? I'm not playing." "You are now!"

Before I knew it, I was being fitted for a mask. Puny little me, on a paintball field... in a bright orange shirt.

I'll pause here to give those who know me personally some time to complete their hysterical laughter.

[pause]

So. It went badly. (surprise!) Three seconds into the first game I got nailed in the shoulder, hard.



Yes, there is a small bruise under that spot. No, I won't show you.

Turns out that when a paintball explodes on you, it quickly dries into this substance that's kind of a cross between cake frosting and candle wax. Before long, I looked like I'd had an accident while glazing donuts.



My left leg in particular was coated. If a couple of those shots had been about 6 inches higher I'd be singing soprano, if you know what I'm sayin'.

I've already told my sister that I won't be able to make Nephew's next paintball party. I'll be doing my hair that day.

Out To Get Me

My office phone hates me. I've known this for a while, actually. I'm pretty sure I can hear it giggling before it rings. It's knocked over my coffee mug more than once. It even posts hurtful things about me on Twitter.

But this... wow. This is a new low.



See that CallerID screen? Here's a close-up.



"Not Possible".

I'm hurt. I was only trying to achieve my dreams.

Back In The Day

The was a rambling office conversation going on. And somehow the comment was made, "I don't want to go back to what I was doing before the internet."

Big Dawg agreed. "I worked at a Taco Bell."

LadyPatsFan was equally adamant. "I was a customer service rep for a medical insurance company."

We all shuddered. Then, I joined in. "I moved 50-pound bags of fertilizer from a warehouse into 18-wheelers."

LadyPatsFan thought about that a second. "I bet I moved more BS than you."

"I think you're probably right," I agreed. "Oh! And one of the guys at the warehouse nearly ran me over once with his forklift."

"I am not even a little surprised," said Big Dawg.

OoRah chuckled and shrugged. "I used to fly around in helicopters and shoot machine guns. I'd go back to that."

Wow. I tell ya, that incident with Dippy and his forklift would have ended differently if I'd had a machine gun. That's a missed opportunity and no mistake.

Brain Break

One afternoon at work, things hit a lull in our office. Most of us had wandered away from our desks, bleary-eyed, just kind of staring at each other.

Big Dawg verbalized it for all of us. "I just needed to get away from that computer screen for a minute," he said. "I know it's taboo to take naps at work, but I really need to give my brain a break."

There was a chorus of agreement. "Too bad we can't have naptime at work."

"Maybe we could, if we just call it something other than 'naptime'," SpanFan suggested. "The boss says, 'What are you doing on the couch?', and we say, 'It's not a nap, it's a Brain Break.'"

"What is that noise?" Big Dawg was doing his generic "Boss" impersonation. "Is that snoring?"

"No," I replied. "That's the sound my brain makes without input."

Maybe I'll take a Brain Break today. Where's that pillow and blanket?...

They're REAL

From the email archive...

Kicking Horse

I saw this in the store recently. Check out the names...



"Kicking Horse Coffee". Oh man.

I nearly bought some, but I still have Christmas Coffee that I haven't gone through yet. More than one bag. Unopened. Seriously. It's kinda sad.

I hope they still have this stuff in June, when I'm likely to finally need some refills.

Girl Scout Cookie Time

This past Saturday was "Girl Scout Cookie Day". All the Girl Scout parents I know already had living rooms packed with cases of cookies, but Saturday was the big day that they were allowed to start selling.

And some of them started early.

Tuesday, OoRah lit the first fuse on the powder keg. "Hey LadyPatsFan," he asked. "My wife said somebody brought Girl Scout cookies to work. When are you going to start selling here?"

LadyPatsFan started to shake.

"WHAT?!?"

We were told, at volume, that the date to start selling was Saturday. "They aren't supposed to be selling yet!", she raved. "If you see any Scout cookies before Saturday, they are black market! Don't buy them!"

The rest of the week, LadyPatsFan would occasionally get asked "Is it Girl Scout cookie time yet?" She would generally suppress an enraged shudder before sweetly replying, "For those of us who follow the rules, not quite yet."

Friday was awesome.

The Pres came down to our office. He had two boxes of Girl Scout cookies. "Share these around the office," he instructed. He was greeted with a chorus of "Thanks!" and such. Programmers + Free Cookies... it's the stuff of dreams come true.

LadyPatsFan looked down and kept her face impassive. "Thanks," she managed. When The Pres left the office, she began to shake. "....eeeeeyyyYYYYEEEEEAAAAAAARRGGHHHH!"

A couple of our coworkers had mercy on her. "I won't eat any of the illicit cookies," Big Dawg sincerely promised. "I will," I said. I was equally sincere.

I'll make it up to her by buying a box or two of the street-legal stuff this week. But I have to admit, the illicit cookies were a little extra sweet. :)

Dress Sweatpants

This is real, and I think I kinda need some.

Dress-Pant Sweatpants have arrived!
Dress Pant Sweatpants Officially The Greatest Thing

They are a little pricey at 90 bucks each, but I think I'd only ever need one pair.

That led to the following conversation:

===================

P-Ziddy: freaky weird

Jeff: I kinda want a pair. But I'm afraid that if I get one, I might never take it off.

P-Ziddy: Oh

P-Ziddy: They could be the new Danger Pants

Jeff: Danger Pants: Relaxed Fit.

P-Ziddy: Something tells me you have to wear sandals with socks when you have them on

Jeff: BONUS

Jeff: Whoo-Hoo!

P-Ziddy: The Big Bang Theory has a guy that is always at the comic shop they call Captain Sweatpants. I bet he has those to wear to weddings

P-Ziddy: And church

Jeff: I'm beginning to see that one pair simply won't be enough.

P-Ziddy: Oh no

P-Ziddy: You have to have enough that you can coordinate properly

Jeff: "Honey, do these sandals go with the khaki dress sweats?"

P-Ziddy: Hrm. I wonder. Should I wear the pleated sweats or the flat front ones.

Jeff: Nothing says "Casual Friday" like pleated dress sweat / danger pants.

Jeff: I think I need a pair in fire engine red.

P-Ziddy: Of course

Jeff: You're making the blog with this conversation, by the way.

Jeff: Let the dirty shameful inspiration FLOW

P-Ziddy: It's a talent

P-Ziddy: Or a superpower, depending on which phone booth you look in.

Jeff: I think I'd leave "P-Ziddy in a phone booth" alone, and just wait quietly for you to emerge.

P-Ziddy: ROFL

===================

Trust me, you do NOT want to know what he's doing in that phone booth.

What Year Is It?

I took this pic last week. So, technically, February of THIS YEAR.



This is the desk of an individual who sits near me but never gets mentioned in the blog.

That "2011" sign has been there since late February of last year. Wanna guess what the sign said around this time last year? :)

ER

How was your Super Bowl weekend? I kicked mine off in style. I got a nasty stomach virus which made me so nauseous that I couldn't even finish the drive home. I pulled over, lost my lunch, and then an ambulance took care of the rest.

Friday evening in the ER. Now it's a party!

The guys loaded me into the ambulance. One of them tried three times to get an I.V. in my arm. "Your skin is like leather!", he said. I'm not exactly known for working long hours in the blistering sun. "Maybe you just suck at this," I suggested. "Hey driver," he said. "Hit some big potholes on the way over." Then he cut a hole in the bottom of my nausea bag.

There wasn't much fun n' games once we arrived at the hospital, of course. Poked, prodded, I.V.'d (successfully on the first try), scanned. Nausea meds, fluids, and so on. They took my blood pressure several times. The last time, they wrapped the thing around my arm and it started to squeeze. Then over on the other arm, the nurse pulled out the I.V.

"OW!"

"Hey," the nurse commented. "Your heart rate just went up."

"Ya THINK?!?"

They told me to rest, lots of water and so on. I'm still pretty funky today. Maybe I'll be all better by Tuesday.

Stupid weekend. Who needs it, right?

Owned

Have you seen Google's new privacy policy?

They dress it up in pretty language, but it's basically "We own you. We control your content. Get used to it, Jeff."

I thought it was kinda creepy how they called me out by name. Then I saw the new "Doodle" on their homepage.



Should I be worried?