Thursday, October 28, 2010

larry, the table guy

There are people in this world that can say things, do things and act ways that are inappropriate, and never seem to get their comeuppance.  

I am not one of them. 

Based on this next story, I've determined that my karma wheel is smaller than my current shoe budget, so perhaps I should focus on doing only good from now on.

Last Friday night, Hubs and I went to dinner at a little Irish pub/restaurant we discovered near our house.  We had only been there twice before, but Hubs' love for Guiness and shepherd's pie brought us back once again.

We settled into our booth and ordered drinks and sliders from the young waitress. (Well, she's younger than me, which in my book, makes her an infant.)  It was the perfect way to start a relaxing Friday night.

And then this happened...

Hubs: (stretching his arms overhead) Man, what a week.  I'm so exhausted, I can't wait for my Guiness.

Me: (nodding) I know, me too.  I've earned this glass of wine tonight. Who are you playing in your fantasy football league on Sunday? 

Hubs: (thinking) I honestly don't remember, I think I -"

(Waitress arrives with our drinks. We thank her and begin drinking. It is sooooo good.)

Me: I think I'm playing Kristen, and she beat me last year so I'm hoping I can pull it out this time, but it will depend on whether Romo shows up and throws some touchdown.

(Waitress suddenly appears again.)

Waitress: (awkwardly approaches our table, smiling at Hubs) Hey, sorry to bother you, but can I ask what your name is?

Me: (internal dialogue) His name is "I'm Married And You're Jail Bait."

Hubs: (smiling) Sure you can. It's Hubs.

Waitress: (slightly frowns and cocks her head) Oh.  So it isn't Larry?

Hubs: (eyebrows raise) Uhhhh, no?  Just Hubs.

Waitress: (straightening up) Okay, sorry to bother you.  One of the other waitresses swore she knew you and wanted me to check. (slaps table) Thanks!  Enjoy your drinks, dinner will be up soon!

Hubs: (confused) WOW, I must look really old if someone thinks I'm a Larry.  Right?  I mean, really.

Me: (staring coldly back at Hubs)

Hub:  WHAT?

Me: (arms crossed and only half-serious) So, is Larry the code name you use when you're leading your double life here at the bar?  Is this where you bring your little hot peppers and booze them up when I'm out of town for business?

Hubs: (points his finger at me) Yep, you got it.  I intentionally brought you to the one place I WOULD NEVER bring you if I was cheating.  Think about it.  If this was my cheating spot, why would I bring you?

Me: (glad Hubs has played directly into my hands)  BECAUSE, Hubs.  It's the perfect disguise!  By bringing me here and having your cover name be something as ridiculous as Larry, you can say 'I'd have to be so stupid to bring you hear if I was cheating.'  It's the PERFECT excuse.  People do these things, you know.

Hubs: (rolling eyes) Like who?

Me: (hands swinging) It happens on those weird based-on-reality Lifetime movies like, "The Lost Past" and "My Husband's Double Life". IT HAPPENS!

Waitress: (setting our plates down) Here you go.  Anything else I can get you?  Sorry about that weird question.

Hubs: (taking the plate) It's okay, although you have no idea what you've done.  My wife is a bit paranoid and now thinks I'm leaving a double life here at the restaurant.

Waitress: (uncomfortable) Uh, ok.  Enjoy your meal! (walks away to serve the table full of mullets across from us)

Hubs:  (laughing) Trust me, babe, this is the last place on earth I'd live a double life.

Me:  Whatever, Larry.


Fast forward to Tuesday afternoon.  I return home from work to find a large white box on the kitchen counter addressed to me.  This is not unusual as I receive multiple packages each week for my job.

But most aren't like this.

The return label doesn't show my company's home office.  Instead, it reads "Christopher Elbow Chocolates."  I immediately tear into the box, excited to see what's inside.

A beautiful brown box of chocolates sits in the carefully wrapped box...and it's all for me.

Excited to be receiving my first EVER box of delivered deliciousness, I hurriedly tear through the box looking for a note.

There isn't one.

I smile ear to ear and pick up my phone to text Hubs.  Here's our text conversation:

Me: Had a box of chocolates sent to me today with no card...hmm, I wonder who they're from?  You are SO sweet!!!

Hubs: I saw those earlier. Not from me, though.  Probably some Facebook boyfriend.  And I have a double life?

Me: WHAT?  Are you kidding. Sersly. Don't eff with me.

Hubs: I'm not.

Me: Maybe it's a promotional thing?

Hubs: (silence)

(Quickly I dig through the box the chocolates arrived in again, but still find no note.  Suddenly, I look back at the cute box of chocolates and notice the note is attached to the chocolates! A HA!  I pull the note out and read.  And want to kill myself.

Me:  OMG! I found the note!  They're from the design company I've been working with thanking me for all the lunches I paid for last week. HA ha ha!  The card was attached to the box and I didn't even see it!

Hubs: Right.

Me: Whatever.  If I was cheating on you, my boyfriend would have to be the biggest idiot alive.

Hubs: (silence)

Me: I'm not cheating on you!

Hubs: (silence)

Me: Don't punish me for a misunderstanding!

Hubs: (probably laughing) It's fine.  This is Larry...signing off.


Like I said, my karma wheel is small.  And my ability to dish it and take it is apparently even smaller.

Wednesday, October 27, 2010

have a glass of pinot moron

Setting: Panera Bread with "P", a good friend of mine who is also a sales rep. Names have been changed to protect the innocent.

Me: (sipping soup) So what do you have going on today?

P:  (taking a bite of sandwich) I have discontinued products that I have to go pull from shelves.

Me: (wrinkling nose) Ew.  I hate doing that.

P: (shrugging) It's okay, it'll go fast.  What about you? You busy today?

Me: (sighing) I have a huge project that's supposed to be ordering in the next few days, so I have to get it all buttoned up and ready to go. And I need to take my product binders over to XYZ Firm now that they've moved into their new office.

P: (smiling and clapping her hands) Oh fun!  I love the girls over there.

Me:  I know, me too!  They're all so sweet.  And I love that Kim Doe is over there now full time. She'll fit in so well with everyone.

P: Oh, that's right!  Her last name is Doe now.  It used to be Smith, right?

Me: (thinking hard) No, that can't be right. She got married awhile back and it changed from from Crawford to Doe, didn't it?

P: (silence)

Me: (determined) Yes, that HAS to be right.  Kim Crawford to Kim Doe.  I don't know where you're getting Smith from, honey.

P: (leaning in and whispering) Um, isn't Kim Crawford you go to....with your friend Tracy?

Me: (leaning closer to hear) Huh?  What?

P: (practically hissing, but still trying to maintain privacy, for my sake.) Isn't Kim Crawford the wine you drink when you go to Houlihan's with your friend, Tracy?

Me: (light bulb goes on) Oh. Holy. Crap. Did I really just confuse one of my client's names with a BOTTLES OF WINE???!!

P: (leaning back in her chair)  Apparently Kim Crawford is VERY good client of yours.

Me: (nodding head) True, very true. And really, she is the best client ever. She always makes me feel good, she listens, and there's always plenty of her to go around.

P:  Yeah, but you have to buy her to meet with her and get her love.

Me:  (smiling) And how is that different from any of my other clients?

Monday, October 25, 2010

ring around the rosie, a wallet full of embarrassment

Today has already been a bit of a challenge.  I'd love to blame it on Monday, but if I'm going to be honest, my problems generally stem from my continued lack of concentration at any given time.

For example...

I drove to the gas station this morning to fill up (running on fumes is SO not a good idea when you're as disaster prone as myself). I have quite a few things to accomplish today (mostly due to a complete lack of planning and a large helping of procrastination) so my mind was, shall we say, otherwise engaged.

Speaking of engaged...

As I approached the gas station, I felt an unfamiliar emptiness on my left hand. Drat.  In my hurry to fill my car with gas and my stomach with Dr. Pepper, I had forgotten my wedding ring on the bathroom sink. This posed an issue because:

a) I am incredibly superstitious. Forgetting my wedding ring immediately filled my head with thoughts of "Does this mean I subconsciously think my marriage is in trouble so I left my ring behind to wake myself up?" or "Is Hubs secretly cheating on me and my seventh sense is picking up on his infidelity?"

b) If there was ever a creature of habit, I am one.  If I don't brush my teeth with the correct hand, my whole day is thrown off.  Not having my ring on my finger is just an invitation for a mental tail spin for the remainder of the afternoon.

c) My cats love sparkly items.  They thoroughly enjoy picking them up, chewing on them for fifteen minutes, and dropping them in somewhere in our house that I would never dream of going in a million years.  Like the laundry room. 

With all this in mind, it goes without saying that I was slightly preoccupied as I pulled into the gas station.  Ring was missing, deadlines were looming...I was distracted.

I put the car in park (so at least this isn't a runaway story again) and set the silver flappy thing on the pump so the car would fill up on its own. Checking that all was well, I grabbed my credit card, ran into the gas station and bought a Dr. Pepper.

(This all took less than a minute, because nothing gets in the way of me and my caffeine.)

I returned to find my car filled and ready to go. Amazing. I shoved the pump back in its cradle, grabbed my receipt, jumped in the car and took off, noting that my masterful quick skills had given me enough time to head home and grab my wedding ring before my next appointment.

And then I heard a thump.

Flat tire?

Did I hit a small child?

Did I run over a raccoon?

A quick check of my rear view showed nothing behind me. Looking over both shoulders, I determined it must have been an invisible rock.  And I didn't have time to check if the rock was hurt.

With the gas station a mere 100 yards from my house, I quickly backtracked up the road and retrieved my bauble from the bathroom sink, where thankfully it still remained.

As I drove back down the road, I had to smile at myself.  Here I was, engrossed with a million things on my mind, and I managed to come out ahead.  No injuries, I had my ring back, and I was running four minutes ahead.

Yay for me! 

At this time I happened to be passing the gas station from whence I had just come.  And I noticed something in the near empty parking lot.  An object, near where I had filled up.

What was that?

I almost decided to pass on by, assuming it was a bag of chips or candy left behind by a rude customer.  But something called to me.  So I pulled in.

And there, a mere 50 feet adjacent to the gas pump I had just utilized...was my wallet.

Oh my God.

Clearly my quick stop at the gas station had entailed me placing my wallet on the roof of my vehicle and leaving it there as I pulled away...hence the thump noise I heard earlier.

Embarrassed, I pulled up next to the wallet and attempted to discreetly grab the wallet.

"IS THAT YOURS???!!!" A young blonde gas station employee called to me from the entrance of the gas station.

"Uh, yeah, it must have fallen out when I left earlier! I've got it now, thanks!"

The girl laughed. How rude.

"We saw it from in here," she said.  "You took off so fast, it just flew off your car!  We thought about bringing it in, but assumed you'd come back for it.  I tried to get your license number, but you were going too fast!"

Well excuse me for not driving like Morgan Freeman in "Driving Miss Daisy".  I'm a busy girl.

"Yeah, I was just in a hurry," I replied. "Thanks so much for your help! I've got it now!" I waved the wallet in the air to confirm that all was well and she could go back to her People magazine.

But the girl didn't stop there.  Jesus, she was chatty.

"Well, if you didn't come back we probably just would've mailed it to you and kept whatever cash and credit cards you had at the store for you to come back and get.  Thanks goodness you realized it and drove back!"

I didn't feel like sharing with Barney Fife-tte that I had no clue my wallet was missing and likely wouldn't have realized it until I went to purchase a client lunch...which on an embarrassment scale would have registered off the charts.

Instead, I just smiled and waved, ducked back into my car and drove away.  Slowly.  Very, very slowly.

Monday, October 18, 2010

'tis the season to be grumpy

Setting: Sitting at the breakfast table with our daughters and Hubs' Mom this weekend. Discussing Halloween.

Hubs' Mom: I haven't put up my Halloween decorations in a few years now that I think about it.

Me: (sidelong glance at Hubs) Yes, well...I'm not allowed to put up decorations at our house.

Hubs' Mom:  (eyebrows raise) Really?  Why not?

Hubs:  (scoffs)

Me: Because Hubs doesn't allow decorations.  He thinks they're tacky and ridiculous.

Hubs:  (shrugging shoulders) Well?  What do you expect me to say?  They are tacky.

Me:  Yeah, okay, I understand Halloween decor is pretty dumb. But forget Halloween.  You won't even let me buy cute CHRISTMAS decorations. And I don't even want the crazy stuff. It isn't like I want a gigantic nativity scene!

Hubs:  Yet.

Me:  (turning to Hubs' Mom) All I really want is a cool wreath to put on the door. 

Hubs: (chewing thoughtfully)  Christmas wreaths are a gateway decoration.

Me:  WHAT?

Hubs: (nodding heavily as he realizes the validity of his claim) Yeah, a gateway decoration.  It starts with a wreath, but then, next thing you know, you say, "OOH! I need to get these matching yard snowmen to go with them!" 

Me:  HA! I don't even LIKE yard snowmen.

Hubs:  Yet.

Tuesday, October 12, 2010

gimme a ring

As a young girl, there were many occasions when I would fantasize about the man I would marry.  What he would look like, how he would talk, how many presents he would buy me on an annual basis...

I also fantasized about that important event that every married couple must experience before they say "I do". The proposal. In fact,I used to run through hundreds of scenarios of how my future husband would ask for my hand in marriage.

(For the record, Hubs had an amazing proposal which I will someday show the video of.  Maybe if I get to 300 followers I'll post it. So tell your friends to follow me.)

But today, since this blog is basically an outpouring of every strange/funny/embarrassing/mortifying event that's ever happened to me, I'm going to share a story with you, my dear bloggies, that I very rarely tell. 

I've referenced Ex many times.  It annoys Hubs to pieces that I continue to tell stories about this past relationship, but the truth is?  They're comic gems.

Seriously.  Remember this one?  Or this? I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried.

So let's go back to January 29th of 2005. I'm 25 years old and living on my own in Kansas City.  Ex lives 60 miles away in my hometown of Topeka.

It's my Mom's birthday.  The entire family (Mom, Dad, sister, sister's two children, Ex, and myself) have gathered together at Texas Roadhouse for a celebratory birthday meal with Mom.

It's a lovely meal. It's delicious. Dr. Pepper flows freely, rolls are warm and buttery.  All is well.

And then...

"You know what, Kim?" Mom says between steak bites. "I just realized what I'd love for my birthday present."

"Mom," I reply, shocked. "I got you a nice watch!  Didn't you like it?" Truthfully the watch had been rather expensive and sucked up most of my paycheck from the week before.

"Yes, of course, I loved it!" She holds up her wrist and displays the watch. "But I thought of something that would make my day completely perfect."

I place my fork on the plate in front of me and look at my mother.  What in the world is she driving at? 

"What is it that you want, honey?" My Dad asks, putting his arm around his wife.

"Well," Mom looks across the table at Ex, who is checking out a waitresses ass three feet away. "I think we should all go over to the mall...."  She takes a deep breath.  "And you and Ex should look at engagement rings!"

Ex's food catches in his throat and I swear he's going to have an aneurysm right there in the restaurant.  His eyes are bulging out of his head like he's being grabbed by the nuts.

I cough. "Um, Mom?" I say. "I don't know if that's really something that you do as a family."

Ex takes a huge drink of water and looks at his lap.

"Oh stop making such a big deal out of it, honey," Mom replies, waving her hand lightly. "I'm not saying he has to BUY something today.  But you guys have been together almost 6 years!  Why wouldn't you go look at rings?"

Mom takes a bite of roll and points at Ex.  "You know what, Ex?  I think you just need to go and experience it, see what it's like. I think you're just a little intimidated, and if you saw that it isn't a huge deal, you'd feel better about it."

I sit in the booth, incredulous.  I can't decide whether to plunge a steak knife straight into my heart or run screaming from the restaurant into oncoming traffic and pray for a semi-truck convention to be coming through town.

Then I stop and think for a moment.  Mom has a point.  Ex and I have been dating over 5 years.  I have a good job and live in a great apartment all by myself.  I drive back and forth every weekend to visit my boyfriend who still lives with his father.  It's ridiculous. 

Besides, Ex and I have talked about getting married thousands of times.  Granted, I always bring it up and he usually breaks out in hives, but we've at least discussed it.

And why should it be such a big deal?  We're just looking. For fun.  Making light of it and it won't seem so heavy and scary.  Plus, if I'm honest with myself, I DO want to look at rings. 

(Okay, okay, I've been looking at them online for the last 2 years.) 

(And I might have three of them bookmarked on my work computer.)

"Well," I say slowly. "If Ex doesn't you mind, Ex?"

"Huh? What?" Ex says, coming out of whatever safe place his mind has taken him to.

"Would you be up for it?" I ask again. I pat his leg and reach for his hand, which he bats away.  He looks around the table, and,seing he is outnumbered 6:1, shrugs.

"I guess, Kim.  I guess."

The two minute drive to the mall is absolutely horrific.  Mom looks like she's going to spontaneously combust with happiness.  Dad looks completely confused.  My sister's children are screaming for ice cream, and Ex looks like he needs an oxygen mask.

Once inside, we immediately see a Helzberg Diamonds adjacent to the front entrance.

Trying to exude confidence, I grab Ex's hand firmly and start walking toward the store.  He immediately tries to pull away, but I hold fast. No way in hell am I going to walk into a jewelry store with my boyfriend and NOT be holding his hand.

"Welcome to Helzbergs!" a young brunette sales girl chirps as we cross the threshold.  Her shirt is so thin I can see her nipples, and her lower half appears to be wrapped in a black loin cloth rather than a skirt.  I am fairly certain her shoes came from Priscilla's.

"Um...hi!" I finally say after it's apparent that Ex is not going to speak. He's too busy staring at her boobs.

"How can I help you today?" Nipple Girl asks with a smile.

"We're here to look at, um, rings? Right, Ex?" I stare into my boyfriend's eyes, hoping for a glimmer of happiness.  There is nothing but embarrassment.

"Oh great!  Well, I'll be with you in just a second," Loin Cloth replies and points to the entrance. "Let me just greet these customers."

"Oh, no," I gesture toward the crowd of five people filtering in behind us. "Those are just my, uh, family,"  I stutter.  "They're here to -"  I pause to think of the right word.  "Watch."

Loin Cloth can barely contain her laughter. "Well, what a neat idea!  Keeping it all in the family! Come on back this way, and I'll show you what we have."

Hooker Shoes leads us to a large display case with a gigantic offering of diamonds and baubles. For just a moment, I get caught up in the possibility of it all.  Any one of these rings could be on my finger soon. Something that shows the world I belong to somebody.  Someone loves me enough to buy me this special piece of jewelry.

"MOMMY!" My niece Jacque screams, only a few decibles below an ambulance siren. "It's HOT in here!  I want to LEEEAAAVVVEE!"

"SHHH!" My mom hushes her quickly. "I'm so sorry about that. Please ignore us. We're just here to help if you need us!"

"Um, thanks," I mutter.  I turn back to the display case and contemplate what I'm supposed to do next.  Ex is busy examining his nail beds.  I nudge him gently with my elbow.

"So!" He snaps to attention. "Did you see what you wanted to see?  Are we done?"

I giggle uncomfortably and glance at Hooker Shoes. "Ha ha!  Come on, Ex. You aren't even looking!"  I point to a small round diamond in the display case. "That's a nice one, don't you think?"

Ex's eyes follow my finger as he shrugs indifferently.

"Would you like to try that one on?" the sales girl asks.

I turn to look at my parents who are both staring at me like it's my wedding day.  And suddenly a thought enters my head.

Is it supposed to be like this?

I had never really thought about what an engagement ring shopping experience would ential. But I did know that I never imagined that it would be so uncomfortable...or crowded.

"Yeah, I'll try it," I finally say. 

Ex immediately pays attention when the jewelry case is opened and Nipple Girl bends over to retrieve the ring. She slips it on my finger and my Mom and Dad rush over to look, their comments spilling on top of one another.

" beautiful!"

"...I like that setting, honey! It's so you!"

"...not a horrible price for that carat, you know."

"...come back here, Jacob!  Don't put stuff from the floor in your mouth! It's FILTHY!"

As the happy compliments and words of encouragement pour in, my ears pick up a quiet conversation I'm not expecting.

"...Yeah, I'm just looking at these because her parents are making us.  We're not getting engaged for a LONG time.  Do you work here for your full time job?"

I can't believe it. Ex is actually HITTING ON THE SALES GIRL while I am trying on an engagment ring.

My hand begins to shake and I'm certain everyone has heard what Ex has said. But over the loud bustle of my nephew crying and my parent's excitement, Ex's intuition to lower his voice has kept anyone else from hearing.

Slowly I remove the diamond from my hand and place it back on the counter. 

"Thanks so much," I say, fighting back tears. "But this one doesn't look quite right. Thanks for all your help."

I turn and begin to walk out of the store.  Seconds later, I feel Ex behind me as he puts a hand around my waist.

"I have to admit, that wasn't so bad, babe!" He kisses my cheek and smiles. "Wanna go to another store?" 

The excuses swirl through my head before I even realize I'm thinking of them.  Maybe I heard him wrong.  Maybe he's insecure because he doesn't have a lot of money and was just making light of an awkward situation. Maybe he's pretending to be bored because he plans to come back and buy the ring tonight and really surprise me.

So, just like I will do a million more times before we finally break up, I forgive him.  I put on a false smile and go to three other jewelry stores that afternoon.  Because I love him, and I'm pretty sure he loves me. 


Looking back, I am able to laugh at this story because it was SO ridiculous.  Five adults and two children shopping for an engagement ring...and the potential groom hits on the sales girl.  Sometimes I want to go back in time and whisper in the ear of that silly, insecure version of myself and say, "It's going to be okay.  You're going to meet the most amazing man that will WILLINGLY take you to an engagement ring store and promise to make you the happiest you've ever been."

Because I did.  And Hubs did. And I have my happy ending.

the grass isn't greener

Monday night: Hubs and I walk to our car to go pick up some dinner.

Hubs:  (digging keys out of his pocket) So what do you want for dinner, babe?

Me: (walking around to my side of the car) Um...I don't know.  I had Mexican yesterday and I don't want a burger, so maybe some - OH MY GOD!!

Hubs: What? What's wrong?

Me: (leaning over to look at the grass) Our yard is covered in POOP! 

Hubs: (waving his hands nonchalantly) Well, we share a yard with people that have a dog, babe.

Me: (beginning to hyperventilate) No!  I mean like COVERED. It's EVERYWHERE!  And they're all the same size!  I thought the neighbors took their dog out to their backyard.

Hubs: (shrugging shoulders) Nah, I've seen them bring him out here every now and again.  It can't be that bad.

Me:  (incredulous) YOU. DO. NOT. UNDERSTAND.  I have never seen so much poop in my life.  (looking around neighborhood at other lawns) And it's in other lawns!  Look! On the other side of the street.  They have it, too!

Hubs: (looks around slowly. Hint of recognition comes over his face) Um...wait.

Me: (getting angry) You know what?  It isn't our neighbor.  I know who it is. (hands waving over my head) It's that craaaazy lady down the street that always walks her dog RIGHT next to our house and she never carries a plastic bag and she knows we're not home very much so I bet she intentionally-

Hubs: BABE!  Are you talking about these? (Points to poop on his side of the car)

Me:  (sad that Hubs is so slow) Yes, Hubs.  Like I said.  Poooooooop (waving hand grandly) everywhere.

Hubs:  You mean these pieces of lawn that have been aerated throughout the entire neighborhood?  

Me: (crickets)

Hubs:  (shaking head) The maintenance people aerated our lawn over the weekend.  See all the holes in the ground?  The "poop" is the dirt from the holes.  

Me: (determined) There's no way.

Hubs:  Look at all the other lawns.  They look exactly like ours.  Trust me, it's from aerating our lawn.

Me: (thinking) So...the Home Owner's Association doesn't take the time to WATER our grass or rip out the trillions of weeds, but they take the time to aerate it?

Hubs:  Yup.

Me:  So we have an already ugly yard made uglier by aeration in an attempt to make our ugly yard breathe better?

Hubs:  Guess so.

Me:  And we pay $300 a year for this?

Hubs:  Yes.

Me:  I'm moving to an apartment.

Tuesday, October 5, 2010

You Got Nailed

Forget phone apps for Twitter and Facebook. I'm also not interested in purchasing pizzas through my phone or downloading an app to find the local weather in Tokyo.  No. Away with you all.

Instead I am begging somebody, anybody, to invent a new app guaranteed to save the lives and careers of many a fast typer in this world.

This app needn't be fancy. Or pretty.  It simply needs to interact with Blackberry, iPhone, iPad and htc phones.  I don't know all the fancy legal jargon for what it should do, but it basically boils down to this...


Let me assure you, 99.99% of the time, I check my phone email responses with the careful eye of a New York times editor.  I edit content, delete superfluous language and double double check spellings. But sometimes, I clearly don't edit carefully enough.  And, naturally THOSE are the times I end up looking like a total and complete jack hole.

Like yesterday- this string of emails happened...

To: Kim Antisdel

October 4, 2010 11:12 am

Hi Kim,

I'm looking for a chair that would meet specifications for a busy cafeteria application.  What ideas do you have?


Really Nice Designer That I Want To Impress


My response from my Blackberry...

From:  Kim Antisdel

October 4, 2010 11:24 am

Hi, Really Nice Designer!

The Strive is a great option for heavy use cafeteria seating.  There are multiple versions so if there's a sample you need, just let me know.  I'll be farting all over the city today so I can stop by my storage shed and bring one by anytime!




And the response...

To: Kim Antisdel

October 4, 2010 11:15 am

Oops!  Did you mean "darting"?


Designer Who is Laughing Her Ass Off and Showing This To All of Her Colleagues


When I received the client's email, I just sat there thinking, "what in the world is she talking about?"  So, I scrolled down to re-read what I sent.  

Oh my God.

I definitely just told a client I was FARTING ALL OVER THE CITY.  Immediately I blamed my Blackberry's spell check.  But, to be sure, I retyped the word "farting" into an email and sure enough, spell check did underline the word to warn me there was a misspelling.  Apparently though, six small dots under the misspelled word is not enough for me.

Hence the iAppropriate app.

iAppropriate will revolutionize the spell check and grammar industry.  iAppropriate can be (and should be) installed on all career-driven devices that support emails.  When a questionable word that is spelled correctly (i.e. fart, toot, poop, pee, lick, dick....okay, you get the idea) iAppropriate will automatically recognize that word and notify its user with the following message:


In my case, the client knows me fairly well and was comfortable enough to call me out on my blunder.  And of course it will serve as future fodder every time I go in and see her. 

But seriously, if any of you bloggies know of a really great web-savvy person that could create this app like, yesterday, my reputation would very much appreciate it.

In other great news, I get laid on Friday.  

I mean PAID.

Please, seriously.  iAppropriate.  NOW.