This is your Weetabix. This is your Weetabix on vacation.
I am so happy that I took tomorrow off for a nice round four-day weekend. Those four days are spreading out in front of me like an open highway and me, I’m sitting in a 59 Cadillac convertible with a rocking sound system and a B-52’s cd playing, and I’ve got a vintage scarf on and red movie star lips and my high heeled foot to the floor.
In reality, the weekend is spreading out like my ass sitting on the couch watching my Buffy DVDs. Either way sounds delightful. Because I need some time off. I have literally no patience any longer.
I had a meeting today with one of those presenters who reads every single thing on a PowerPoint presentation; even though the slide is lit up on the wall and the audience does, in fact, know how to read English. She once blew twenty minutes in a meeting, reading three pages of comments on a survey that each of us had a copy of right there in our very hands. This time, she sent around a printout of a spreadsheet that resided on our network. She had thoughtfully put the file path for that spreadsheet on the spreadsheet itself, so if you found yourself inside the spreadsheet and weren’t certain how exactly you got there, you could look down and say ‘Wow, I am here.’
No. That didn’t irk me. She felt the need to read to us the exact elongated network path we would need to find the spreadsheet we were holding in our hands. Regardless that we had all received an email on the presence of the spreadsheet. Regardless that many of us had already updated the damn thing. Regardless of the fact that it was placed in the ONLY place we ever store interdepartmental stuff. Regardless of the fact that it was written right there on the very paper we were all looking at.
There is simply not an adjective to describe how completely stupid that was.
Of course, it shouldn’t bother me that much. Not everyone feels as comfortable with public speaking as I do and she probably grasps onto anything that allows her to speak with confidence, even if she does waste our time. Or maybe she just relished having that moment of control that she rolled with it. At most, reading the network path took an extra twenty seconds, right? But it made me want to scream ‘You know, most of us have already read it to ourselves. Maybe you couldn’t tell because we didn’t have to move our lips to do it.’
Gah.
So I’m thinking some time off is probably a good thing.
We had originally planned to go to Chicago to see the sharks at the Shedd Aquarium, but Esteban is uberworking this weekend, trying to finish up some big computer dork article or something. I don’t know. When he starts telling me about it, my brain goes mentally shopping for lipsticks. We’ll probably do the Chicago thing next weekend or perhaps for my birthday. Because I love me some sharks. It’s probably not natural, the way I love sharks. I mean, they have that whole chomping thing and the evisceration thing but I still think they are one of the most beautiful creatures out there. Sharks. They’re a good thing.
Booyah! The live trap just caught the Haley Joel Osment mouse! I’m certain of it. It was fucking adorable, that’s how I’m sure. And huge. It was the size of a mofo gerbil. It actually made and held eye contact with me from inside the trap. I’m certain this mouse has an agent.
Instead of letting it go at the forest four blocks away, I drove it all the way to the Wildlife Sanctuary about a mile away. I wanted to be completely certain that this was our final farewell and I really didn’t want the little bugger to hitch a ride back or build a little motorcycle or something. To make it to my house from the Sanctuary, he must go through a trailer park, past two fast food restaurants, a Chinese restaurant, a mini-ghetto, two busy streets, the forest, another busy street, and a million houses. I’m hoping this bit of subterfuge will confuse him, although with my luck, he wrote down my license number. When I opened the trap at the Sanctuary, he scurried back across the street and then couldn’t get up the curb. I lost him in the dusk, but I think he used a bunch of leaves to get up. Strange thing, watching the mouse run off. It was like he had places to go, things to do, headshots to distribute, busy busy busy.
I am so ready for the mouse thing to be done. You have no idea.
Weetabix: Um’ where are my Oreos?
Esteban: Oh. I took them to the lab.
Weetabix: You took my Oreos?
Esteban: Yeah?
Weetabix: Just took them?
Esteban: Uh’ you said that you weren’t going to eat them, so I figured, hey’ Oreos.
Weetabix: No’ no’ no’ no no no no no no’ that’s not what I said at all.
Esteban: That’s not? You said you didn’t like them. They are reduced fat and you said they tasted like Ass Of Oreo.
Weetabix: Yes, I did say that, but I bought them BECAUSE they tasted like Oreo Ass. This isn’t so hard to understand.
Esteban: So’ you don’t like them.
Weetabix: Right.
Esteban: But you want them.
Weetabix: Right.
Esteban: Even though they taste like ass.
Weetabix: Exactly.
Esteban: See’ I LIKE them. I don’t mind the Ass Oreos. Thus, hey, Oreos at the lab. You won’t eat them anyway.
Weetabix: That’s not what I said! I swear, you only listen to every other word!!!
Esteban: GAH! What is the problem?
Weetabix: You stole my OREOS! This is what I’ve been saying! Without even asking me first. Just took them!
Esteban: You said you didn’t like them.
Weetabix: We’ve been over this.
Esteban: You said you wouldn’t eat them.
Weetabix: WRONG! I said I didn’t like them’ but I’ll still eat them. Because, hey, they’re Oreos. Assy Oreos but Oreos nonetheless. But I might only eat one Ass Oreo, whereas with wonderful full fat Oreos, I will eat infinity Oreos. It’s very logical.
Esteban: Hooookay. (under breath) Crazy. Now what are you going to do?
Weetabix: Make brownies.
Esteban: Brownies that taste like ass?
Weetabix: (incredulous) No’. regular brownies. Why would I make them consciously taste like ass?
Esteban: Because I’I’I’ just when I think I have you figured out’ curveball. Oreo curveball.
Weetabix: Boys’so dumb sometimes!
