Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Well, imagine something similar, only it involved a cat. And he didn't get HURLED at my nose per se, more like my brother scared his lardy ass, and he jumped up with all of the grace of a freight train, directly into my schnozz. Awesome.
Which resulted in the aforementioned, "OH! MY NOSE!"
Also, much laughter. And QueenDweeb retching into her mom's new fancy kitchen sink in pain. While DweebBrother attempted (poorly) to contain his mirth, and mom applied ice packs to said schnozz in the attempt to stop any swelling.
Mind you, all of this transpired whilst watching "Team America: World Police," no less. America, FUCK YEAH, indeed. Perhaps that is what frightened Twinkie, and not the PILLOW (god forbid it get too close, with its squishy comfort and plush insides). Yes, a PILLOW. Cat+Pillow+Face=DOOOOOOOOMMM.
So, ice pack in place, glasses held aloft (for extra classiness), the minor bleeding was staunched, the nose declared "FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, IT'S NOT BROKEN. YOUR FACE LOOKS FINE. WOULD YOU QUIT LOOKING AT YOURSELF" and DweebBrother's mirth (poorly) contained. Though he did say, about ten times, that he really wished he had captured that on video, to post on youtube. Because nothing says holiday fun like MOCKING YOUR SISTER'S AGONIZING, PAIN AND HUMILIATION.
Five days later, when the glasses still hurt, an appointment is made with the doctor. Who, of course, reminds our faithful heroine of Marcia Brady. And laughs at her plight. And declares her cartilage cracked. So, no tackle football for QueenDweeb. AND, YES, MY CAT BROKE MY FACE.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
- http://www.livelob.com/ - I can get LIVE LOBSTERS delivered to my house
- Shari's Gourmet Dining - fine dining in Auburn, MI
- Ultratainment - can get a card to use at over 500 restaurants in Arizona
- Keg Steakhouse & Bar - with many locations in Vancouver, BC
I don't think that I have to mention that we don't have offices in any of these places, either. Road trip to Vancouver anyone? I am getting no end of entertainment from this, people. Bear with me. And also? Some people may be getting Jiffy Lube gift cards next holiday season. . .
Monday, January 5, 2009
A little background: I work for a corporation. It's like any normal corporation, it's got it's good and bad points. The corporate bullshit has been ever increasing, especially in regards to anything involving compensating employees for their work. When my employer does not want to give people raises or promote them, they take to giving them one time awards. The awards used to be part of the pay, but they would get taxed at the bonus rate, so one would end up with like $15.43 and it was hardly worth anything (except for maybe an awesome run at Taco Bell - I mean, that's like 47ty thousand bean burritos or something). But they decided to update the process, and make it MUCH more cumbersome by adding a third party and gift cards.
So my boss writes me an e-mail last week that I have won an award. A "Guppy"* award. Well, color me wowed. It's an award for going above and beyond and doing great things, etc., etc. So I dub this my MAJOR AWARD and quickly imagine receiving a leg lamp in the mail. But really, the recognition is wonderful - because my job is a thankless one and most people think it involves being a pain in their ass. Which it does. So it's very nice to be recognized and to maybe get a plaque that I can put in my cube to validate myself. And $15.43 will now be MINE.
But lo, we have a new system. I have to log on to a site called "ShloboForce"* and retrieve my gift card from one of thousands of "global merchants." I quickly notify one of my cobloggers and merriment ensues about the craptitude of the aforementioned "global merchants."
So I get 4 e-mails from SchloboForce this morning. . .4 of them. Because they do it in increments, so they sent me 4 separate e-mails with a different tracking number for a portion of the monetary award. Which possibly could be handled better, but whatever. The whole point of the exercise was about making the process as cumbersome as possible. Because they could have just given us American Express Gift Cards. But that would have required ONE step rather than 60. So now I have to go online and choose a merchant for my gift cards.
The first store that came up: AJ Wright. In case you are unfamiliar with this store, here is the website with a picture: http://www.aj-wright.com/locator.asp. AJ Wright's website shows a mob assembling outside a closed AJ Wright, waiting to get inside for its gloriousness. The only locations for this store are in Oxon Hill, to which I have never been (it being in PG County and all). The mob in front of the store did not look promising. I mean, why didn't they show the inside of the store? Or is it open and the people can't figure out how to get in? I am sad for these people who cannot get into the store. I spend some time thinking about the sadness that is in the land of the Hills of the misspelled Oxen.
However, I don't know if there will be a plaque. I want a plaque. So I may have to use some of my SchloboForce gift card for a plaque in my honor. Or a lot of newspapers to make myself a papier mache guppy to put in my cube.
Some other stores on the list: Jiffy Lube & CVS
Recognition = good. AJ Wrights = sad place. Me = ingrate.
*I am disguising the name of the award, even though it's part of the awesomeness. I mean, they have a theme and as you go up, the award gets more important. So the lower one is a Guppy, then there is a shark, then a whale, only not an aquatic theme. Which made me wonder, if you suck, do you get a Mariana Trench award for sucking the life out of the seabed and causing instability and chaos in the oceans?
*I am also cleverly disguising the name of the company who is the third party handler.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
My father drove us to Montgomery Mall, with one instruction. Find him some slippers. Namely, some "Franks." Yes, like the hot dogs. Or old men. Whichever you prefer. Armed with aforementioned coupons, we strode purposefully to the men's shoes, and found the ONLY PAIR of FRANKS in dad's size. Mom set out to argue with the clerks, for apparently, they mark UP the price, only to mark it right back down, so that you cannot use the magic holiday coupons (seriously, Macy's, what gives? You, sir, are no Hecht's). We were informed that the FRANKS were a "special buy" and NO COUPONS for you Ma'am. NO. SPECIAL BUY. Uh, whatever. Just give us the damn FRANKS so we can shop.
Mind you, the entire time, my dad is endlessly circling the parking lot or something, as it is the day after xmas, and all through the land, suburban people are fighting over cheaply made clothing at Macy's, and lo, there are no parking spots to be had.
So, off to the ladies section we march, where I try on eleventy-twelve articles of clothing, of which all are too long, as usual, as I am the torsoless-wonder. Save for one shirt. Which has NO TAG. Dag, yo. We know what this means.
My mother, never one to be daunted, rises to the occasion, and tries the nearest counter, where the clerk informs her that the item cannot be sold to us. In fact, it was accidentally returned to Macy's (nevermind that it is a brand that Macy's carries), and will be DESTROYED. We try to have them allow us to make an offer, but no dice. Sneakily, we walk away with our quarry, and try another counter. In a DIFFERENT ladies department. Again, we are told that the FOUL, EVIL SHIRT MUST BE DESTROYED. Apparently, this one shirt can singlehandedly bring down the entire Macy's empire with it's flawed return policy. Who knew? Was it made of KRYPTONITE? For crissake, was it like imbued with smallpox or something? I was a little scared of the shirt by the time we finally gave up and left WITHOUT BUYING A DAMN THING ASIDE FROM THE FREAKING FRANKS.
Now here's what I don't get. Macy's had a chance to make back some of the money they lost on this item that they mistakenly took back. Someone actually wanted this bizarrely sized teeny-tiny sized 8 that really is a size 2 shirt. So why not sell it to us? Or just "destroy" it right into our bag or something. Hell if I know what Macy's is thinking. All I know is that I really miss Hecht's. Also, riddle me this: why does the junior's department at the Montgomery Mall Macy's always smell like B.O.?