NEW RELEASES
Here’s what we’ve been thinking . . . the phrase – Move your feet, loss your seat! – doesn’t really apply in Canada.
The cure is a large dose of San Diego
I’m exhausted. I’ve been working like a maniac at work, which is very unlike me. Just because I’ve been concentrating, don’t let that fool you into thinking that I’m being dedicated or anything. Still hate Bank of No Forks as much as ever, but the deal is my wee family is going on vacation all next week so I’m trying to get a ton done.
You know what really drives me crazy? People who leave voice mail messages excruciatingly slowly, droning on for five minutes, then give their phone number at Mach 2 and garble the number so badly there are only six intelligible numbers.
Things have not been going well so I come home from work very frustrated. 
My frustration level has remained fairly high, which then translates into irritation, sometimes causing me to fixate on something to an irrational degree.
Take for instance, marshmallow flavored vodka. What the hell is that? Who drinks this crap? Why even invent it? And the commercial is hideous. What about blue lipstick screams marshmallow vodka? Who the hell thought blue lipstick was a good idea?
Why can’t I just change the channel when it comes on? Even when I’m watching something on the DVR I stop and watch that damn commercial and get all riled up over it.
Clearly, there is something wrong with me. My old therapist would definitely have something to say about it.
Is there something that you find yourself irrationally irritated over? A commercial? Someone or something from work? I’ll bet that irritates the hell out of me, too.
A free pass
I love Steve Carell. I think I first found him on The Daily Show and then became a huge fan of The Office and later The 40 Year Old Virgin. You can imagine that I’m really looking forward to Seeking a Friend for the End of the World.
The premise of the movie is that a huge asteroid is coming and it will destroy Earth. If you know that everyone is going to die, and nothing will matter in the end anyway, what would you do with your last three weeks on this planet? Not counting the serious loving and cuddling of your family, because of course, duh, you’d do that. But what else?
I would eat all the cupcakes.
My Honey says he would go find a couple of people who’ve needed an ass whooping for a long time.
I’d go drive both a Lamborghini and a 1967 Mustang Shelby Cobra GT500 very, very fast.
I’d make them let me pet a panda.
Go to Rome.
I’d manage to track down Bruce Springsteen and ask him as nicely as possible to do a live version of Thunder Road for me.
The prospects are limitless. What would you do with your last three weeks? Would it be illegal, because honestly, what difference would it make?
If you need a reference, I’m your gal
It seems everyone but Ava and I are getting new jobs that they are very excited about. I would love a new job that I could learn to loathe, though, honestly, I don’t think I could loathe any job anywhere near as much as I loathe Bank of No Forks. I would have to work for actual Satan in actual Hell before I could hate it as much as BofNF.
A very good friend listed me as a reference on his application. Mercifully he told me this ahead of time or I would have been clueless when they called me today. Of course, I gave him a glowing review. So much so, that I actually thought I was a bit unbelievable and tried to temper my responses.
Of course, the instant I hung up with them, I called him to say they called.
Bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha!
“Hey, that job just called me for a reference,” I told him all excited.
“They did? What did you say?”
I told them you stole my car and impregnated my cat.”
“Oh, that’s great. Thanks.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, and then they wanted me to assign a number between one and ten to describe how
dependable and honest you are.”
“Really?” I could hear the fear in his voice.
“Yeah. Don’t worry, I gave you a good solid six.”
“Uh, thanks.” He must know I’m kidding about the car and my cat, but I suspect he’s a little concerned about that six business.
“That’s just the kind of friend I am,” I assure him.
Later today, I heard that they offered him the job. I called to congratulate him.
I know it was because of those sixes.
Ever given an excellent employment referral? Ever gotten one? Who’s the one person you’d never have talk to your prospective employer?
It’s good to have a plan
At the Bank of No Forks we have a security guard. We have often thought that it is ridiculous, the amount of security we have. You have to have a special swipey badge to get into the building and again to the private side of the building where we all have our offices. Customers are never allowed into the private side – ahem, Ava – so that’s why Jojo the Tiny Kitty can come to work with me everyday. Customers never even know he’s back here.
I guess we really shouldn’t be complaining about the level of security. At least BofNF wants us to be safe, right? Probably what they want is not to get sued. **eye roll**
We do get some “special” people here, but usually we’re mentally prepared for them because we work by appointment only, and we’ve already talked to them on the phone so we have a pretty good idea that they’re nuts. Sometimes customers are just really angry – usually at BofNF not us personally – and we’re quite good at talking them down off the ledge. I have an excellent track record of making my customers laugh by the end of our appointment.
We still joke around about snipers in the parking lot though. It’s the same sort of dark humor police officers have. And those guys at the morgue. It keeps us sane.
Today our receptionist was relating a story where a customer took his anger out on her, calling her a really awful name. Really awful. A totally uncalled for expletive. She expressed concern that he’d show up in the parking lot someday. We pointed out that we have a security guard. Nothing against our security guards – our current one is really great and we really like him. So does Jojo. However, the guards are not armed with anything more powerful than their cell phones. We wonder how things would go down if there ever was an incident.
But then it occurred to me. If the sniper shows up and starts taking us out, I’m going to scream out, “Go for my legs!” I’m certain I’d never have to work again after that law suit.
The way I look at it, I don’t need my legs. I hardly use them anyway. Then I could wear all the cute shoes in the world and never have to worry about them pinching my toes.
Not a service panda, but holy crap, look at how cute!
I would immediately try to convince My Honey that I need a Service Panda. Don’t you think a panda bear would look really cute with one of those little, green vests? **A quick little aside. I Googled Service Panda and nothing came up. What do you think that means? It means I’m a trailblazer, people. Visionary.**
Even better, I can get pushed right to the front of the line at Disneyland.
Service Pony! You know they make little shoes for those ponies so they don’t slip in the mall. What kind of service animal do you want? The sky’s the limit. Service Platypus? Pygmy Hippopotamus?
Hello Roomba!
my adorable pink vacuum
Ava, Kelli and I have been looking for someone to blame that we’re not as svelte as we’d like. You go ahead and read any synonym in there that you like – within reason.
The British scientists say it’s because modern women don’t do heavy housework anymore. They report that we can directly associate our growing waist lines to the fact that we no longer push around twenty-five pound vacuum cleaners.
I have an adorable pink Dyson. It’s very light BUT it’s pink and profits from that
my g’ma’s T-Rex vacuum
model went to breast cancer research. I may be fat but I’m stylish and philanthropic.
My great-grandmother had a Kirby vacuum that could suck the paint off the walls, but was like pushing around a Volkswagen. She was also teeny tiny. Correlation?
Whatever.
We think we might sue Hoover.
Don’t tell us you believe in this whole exercise nonsense? What should we do to these scientists that keep insulting us in this manner? Stringing them up is too much work, frankly.
In honor of Father’s Day…
This is my favorite commerical right now. My favorite part is, “Cause that’s the shape of my head.”
Happy Father’s Day to My Honey, Ed, and Bean’s dad. And of course our fathers and their fathers and, well you get it.
In Our Humble Opinion . . . if it’s not done by 4:49PM on Friday, the universe is telling you it was never meant to be.
June 15
We’re feeling very summery these days. It’s bloody hot out there and, while we’re happy to complain about it, two out of three Sisters would rather be hot than cold any day. We’ve come up with five things this week that just scream summer. Shhhhhhh – listen. You hear it? It’s probably being drowned out by #4.
Wanna know how you can tell this isn’t us? We wouldn’t be jogging in our birkinis.
1. Pool parties. Actually, the sisters don’t participate in the actual pool parties because we don’t swim in public. Kelli has been known to wear a swim birka at the beach. Ava is worried about sharks. Amylynn simply refuses, don’t ask questions. She will claim it’s due to the sunburn she’s positively going to get, but really the reason is the same for all of us. No one needs to see any of us in a swim suit. HOWEVER, the idea of a pool party is delightful and we will eat chips and dip and watch the other swimmers. We love the idea of reading in the shade of an umbrella on a chaise longue. We’ll even agree to be responsible for the children in the pool. Hopefully none of them shows distress because we’re not jumping in to save them,
Watermelon margarita
but we will yell helpfully from the cool decking. You’re welcome.
2. Margaritas. We will drink these all day long. We’re not purists, so we’ll try all the flavors. On The Border makes a rocking watermelon version. We also saw a pomegranate one on another menu that was very intriguing. Besides, if we’re charged with watching all those kids in the pool, we’re gonna need a margarita.
3. Umbrella hats. Once again, the Sisters would not actually wear one of these either. But we all agree that they are very cute. Like beanies only funnier, if that’s possible. If you can wear one without a trace of irony then, you my friend, are a zen master.
4. June bugs. Call them whatever you want. Kelli could probably tell you their official Latin name. All we know is that once they start singing, summer is here. Amylynn, having grown up in this desert, absolutely loves that noise because it brings back all kinds of memories of wiling away a summer vacation 
outside in homemade forts, riding our bikes all over the city, finding the exoskeletons all over trees and fences, and the glories of Number 5.
5. Otter Pops. We don’t care how much sugar is in them or how they are rife with artificial colors and flavors. You can’t get more happiness for a quarter. And the names are so funny: Strawberry Short Kook, Alexander the Grape, Sir Isaac Lime, Poncho Punch, Little Orphan Orange, and Louie-Bloo Raspberry. The best part was, you didn’t have to wait for the ice cream man to get one like you did a rocket pop. Mom stocked those in the freezer so you could eat nineteen of them a day if you wanted to.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why I carry a big purse
It just so happens I have handcuff keys in my wallet.
It’s a damn good thing, too, because otherwise we would have had to call the police to that little kid’s party at the pizza place and that would have made for interesting explanations.
Shall I explain?
I had the joy of going to a kid’s birthday party at that particular pizza place that I loathe, not as much as that ONE place, but I still think loathe is the proper descripter. Nevertheless, it was my turn. My Honey had just been there on Saturday with our other kid. He at least had the luxury of knowing the other parents. I really despise going to birthday parties where I know absolutely no other parents. I hate making friends – primarily because I don’t like other people. The other thing is, if I’m nervous, I turn into a stand up comedienne and it’s agony to be inside my head when I can’t shut up like that.
After all the tokens had been spent and the tickets counted, the kids turned in their thousands of tickets that cost $75 in Mom-money for like $1.25 worth of plastic crap made in China. Incredibly, one of the kids got some handcuffs, actual metal handcuffs.
Of course, this child immediately put them on and promptly lost the key.
Panic ensued. Where, oh where, was the key? Tears flowed. Mom’s yelled. Other children laughed and pointed. One father thought he’d save the day and yank them apart ala The Hulk. No dice, of course. I sincerely doubt that particular father has had any gamma ray enhancements.
I was amused, I admit it. I mean really, who didn’t see this coming?
“Hey,” I interjected into the group of flustered parents and whining children – none of whom, I’d like to remind you, I knew AT ALL. “Let’s see if these will work.”
VOILA – the keys worked and the cuffs promptly relinquished its hold on the teary-eyed child.
Do you think I got a thank you? Of course I did, but now I just know they’re going to refer to me as That Joke Cracking Mom Who May or May Not Be A Criminal/Policeperson/Escape Artist/Kinky Sex Fiend.
So now I know you’re wondering, dear Internet, why do I have handcuff keys in my wallet.
One of these days, Ava, Kelli and I are going to get in some serious trouble and I’d really like to be prepared.
Do you believe me? Well, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
What’s the weirdest thing you carry around with you? Or what have you used to get out of handcuffs in the past? What do you keep around “just in case”?