Tuesday, October 18, 2005

Oy, melon!

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I have really noisy neighbors at work. They often talk loudly and pointlessly directly outside my cubicle. It has gotten to the point where I placed a sign on the outside of my cubicle asking them to take their conversation elsewhere, with a nice clip-art graphic of business people talking with a big red "X" over the top of it. It worked for a while, but not so much anymore.

Today my "neighbors" were talking loudly in the cubicle right next to mine. What you must understand is that I have brought headphones to work to drown out their banter, but I can STILL here them over my music. Unbelievable. I decided to ditch the headphones today and give their conversation a listen. Yeah, I'm nosy--what's it to you?

Anyway, their topic of discussion was pets. They were discussing the woes of caring for a dog, the sorrows of living in an apartment with pets. One woman was saying that her landlord was complaining about her cats being too noisy. "My neighbor is deaf, so I know that he wasn't the one complaining!" she angrily exclaimed. Another conversational participant asked her, "Well, they're cats. How loud can they be?" The cat-owner quickly responded, "You know how cats get, they get in those moods sometimes where they just chase each other around. They sound like a herd of cantaloupe running up and down the stairs!"

A herd of cantaloupe. Seriously.

My day suddenly seems worthwhile.

Wednesday, October 12, 2005

The dream.

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This is the sort of thing you should be posting, the husband says. If you don't post it I'm going to have to, he says. Without further ado, here is the dream I had last weekend:

My old band Mediocre at Best was playing a reunion show of sorts. From the looks of it, we were playing in that Youth Center we played at a few times in Plymouth, WI, only the layout was the opposite of the way it is in reality and the stage was on the other side of the room.

The boys were on stage twiddling with the instruments and getting them in tune. Luckily, one of the nice chaps had taken my bass up on stage for me and set it up, as I was in the back of the room desperately trying to find which wig I wanted to wear! First I tried on a big, yellow, foam wig...that was a no go. Then I put on a long, black Elvira wig...that just wasn't working either. Then I realized that the problem was I needed to take off my aviator glasses! Once I did that, I looked just fine.

It was at that point that I noticed the boys were taking their places on stage and were obviously getting ready to play! I ran through the "crowd" and jumped up on the stage. I was just in time to join the others in playing a new song that Aaron wrote and was also singing. It sounded really really good from what I remember; then again, the last time I thought a song sounded great in a dream it was a song by the Ataris, so apparently my slumbering mind does not hold itself to high standards.

So the first song is done, and the crowd likes it. Then Ben decides we're going to play Dead As Disco. (As some of you know, that was the last song we ever wrote together. We has played it at our last show and it was a disaster--we had to stop halfway through the song!) I tried to convince Ben that we didn't know that song and it would be awful if we tried to play it. He reluctantly agrees and then busts into Eight Ball by the Impossibles. Seeing as how we hadn't practiced any cover songs, I did not know the bass part! All the others knew how to play it and were rocking out, so I decided to just play along. Unfortunately, this meant me plucking a few random notes and looking like an idiot onstage. I would have got away with it, but there was a bass solo and I more or less made a total ass of myself by attempting to improvise a solo.

The song was done (phew!) and everyone claps...except one kid. He proceeds to yell out to me, "You're as bad as this guy I saw on TV last night!" Not knowing what he was talking about, I questioned, "Who???" He replied, "Peter Cetera!"

Being that Peter Cetera wrote some of the worst songs in musical history, I went OFF! I proceeded to punch the kid in the face relentlessly. This would have been okay under normal circumstances, but these were not NORMAL CIRCUMSTANCES--the kid was in a wheelchair! The others tried to yank me back as I punched the kid in the face and screamed, "What the hell do you know, you fat cripple?" and various other insults that I would never, ever say to anyone under any circumstance, ever!

The dream ended with them still trying to hold back my flailing arms from beating the living crap out of the kid in the wheelchair.

If dreams are just tools for helping the mind make sense of a problem or events during the day (as I believe they are), what the heck was my brain trying to figure out that it came up with THAT?

Friday, October 07, 2005

Update, brother!

I apologize to no one in particular. I am officially the worst blogger in the history of bloggers. Oh well!

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Here's the scoop, kiddos. Apparently, retribution (or karma as some little lovelies like to call it) is a very real thing. This guy of which I speak in Section 3 is now dead. Apparently, this particular client died of a sudden heart attack at the age of 43.

I was talking to the daughter of my co-worker about this client and his seemingly premature death. Here is how the conversation went:

Me: "That's kind of scary to think of dropping over dead from a heart attack at 45--I mean, that's pretty young when you think about it."

Her: "Well, I guess that's a good example of why you shouldn't eat fatty foods."

Me: "No, that's an example of why you shouldn't smoke crack."

Her: "Oh yeah, that too."

He was in to pick up his homeless mail the day before he died. As it seems, he just dropped over dead without any possibility of revival. His wife and very pregnant 16-year-old daughter came in the next day to fill out for a county funded burial. They didn't seem very upset, but why would they? The county will pay for him to have a $250 cremation done at a nearby funeral home.

I wonder if he wanted better for himself?