Words of Wisdom

I got this quote in an e-mail and thought it was most definitely worthy of a post.

"Life is all about ass. Either you're covering it, kicking it, kissing it, or trying to get it." Author Unknown.


Phoning Home

I work for a huge pain in the ass that happens to live in another city. In fact, she is such a pain in the ass, that I have named her file on Outlook "PAIN IN THE ASS." She typically sends me e-mails that are very curt & lack the sort of pretense most people commonly use, such as words like please and thank you.

She is often so abrupt that she never types her name, only her initials. This shortcut wouldn't really be a problem except for the fact that her initials are ET. And each time I read something she has signed with "ET," my brain immediately associates that with the ugly, little brown terd from the movie. About five seconds later, I realize what it stands for. My brain goes through this each time she sends an email, and no, I'm not kidding. It's a vicious brain battle.

I sent my friend an email telling her that such person should really start typing her name out rather than just her unfortunate initials because everyone is associating her with that wrinkled blob creature thing-y that likes Reese's Pieces candy. My friend wrote back:

"I just busted out laughing like a crazy buffoon. Don't do that to me-I sound like a mental patient."


A Giving Heart

For the record, I wanna be loved like this.


Yeah, Why Don't You Move Back?

There is something to be said about non sequitur humor. I do it a lot, intentionally, but I think I do it for myself, which isn't then necessarily funny to others. The irony there is that I am constantly telling my best friend she is funny for the wrong reasons. She says things that I know are completely for her benefit. I tell her she's not funny, but she just snickers. Then I have to give my argument about how humor is supposed to work. We are like an old married couple, and oddly, are usually the entertainment in group settings.


The New Smart Car

I just returned from my lunch break and had to literally race my little car to catch up with this new car. It is so cute--in the same way that a Mac computer tech boy can be cute. The owner of car saw me with my mouth wide open and a gaze on my face. He put down his window and started telling me about the car. I could hardly form coherent sentences because I was just staring at this tiny car. It's like half the size of BMW's Mini Cooper.

He bought the car from Europe and has it licensed here as well. If you read the link above, you see this really cool feature about the car: "The smart shows the chameleon charm of its Swatch watch influence with brightly colored thermoplastic body panels that can be changed out at smart centers in Europe and Japan in about an hour." Oh, and it gets about SIXTY MILES PER GALLON.

Yeah, that's so cool.


Shame's New Face

How much of a jerk do you have to be to seek "spousal support" and reimbursement for attorney's fees after admitting you're a sex addict and have been for the entirety of your marriage.


Unfamiliar Sadness

Today is my first day back at work since Thursday. I left for what was only supposed to be a four-day trip to Atlanta. Within probably two hours of being there, my mother's mobile phone was ringing. My grandfather had died. All I could think was that I did not want to leave Atlanta.

I was never, ever close to my father's side of the family. In fact, in recent years, I've seen less and less of them. I don't even remember the last time I saw my cousins, aunt, or uncle. It's been that long. I last saw my grandparents maybe two years ago. My family left some time in March to go visit them again, but I stayed home. I probably would have gone, but I couldn't afford the time off.

My sister's story is different. My grandfather practically raised her. She spent the first years of her life with him constantly by her side. And as a result, he's remained one of her favorite people. She once told me that she thought he loved her like she wanted others to love her. He loved both my sister and his wife in the same manner. There was nothing he wouldn't do for them. That's a trite expression. People throw that line out about others or themselves a lot. "I'm a good friend. There's nothing I wouldn't do for one of my friends." It sounds nice. I'm the first to admit that; I just think few people realize the depth of saying something like that. My grandfather embodied such a statement. I always wrestled with it being a weakness or a strength. It straddles the line so perfectly.

My grandfather wasn't very masculine. He had a small-ish frame. And in his later years, he shuffled his feet when he walked. He would smile with his eyes. He read more books than Barnes & Noble could publish. He loved history. He was an usually loud breather, especially when he ate. He would use a shoe horn to put on his shoes. He could always finish the leftovers. (I think that's a Reno trait my sister inherited.) And he really would do anything for someone that he loved. Really.