Tag Archives: work

Anomalies.

1 Feb

Monopoly.

Au gratin.

Onomatopoeia.

Abnormally.

Origami.

Cacophony.

Apostrophe.

Saskatchewan.

Say them out loud. They’re fun to say, but not often used. Especially apostrophes. Which also irritate me. Those who can’t use apostrophes should be stripped of the privilege of internet usage.

I’m not normal. Perhaps you’ve noticed. That alone makes me an anomaly.

But wait…there’s more!

I’m not a morning person, but with my work schedule, I now have trouble staying up past 1am. If I’m not a morning person and I’m not a night person, am I even a person?

I’m not the 99%. I’m not even the 1%. I’m just 1 person, which makes me 100% myself. And compared to myself, I am totally normal.

But compared to all you weirdos, I’m an anomaly.

For example, I don’t drink alcohol…don’t even desire to.

Iridescent. 

I wear skirts like it’s the unbreakable rule, except the truth is that I really do it because I want to. It makes me feel pretty, and like most girls, I like to feel pretty.

I have had the same best friend for two decades, yet I’m only 23 years old. That’s because loyalty is my strong suit, and loyalty is my downfall. I hold on to people long after they’ve walked out of my life. I also hold on to receipts, almost-empty favorite lotions, and cell phone pictures of every wonderful meal I’ve ordered at restaurants.

The front door I walk through every time I go to work and return from shopping ventures is the same door my parents brought me through when I was a newborn. I haven’t moved. I haven’t moved out.

Misconstrue. 

I’m always right. Which means you can’t always be right. Unless you’re agreeing with me.

I rarely brush my hair. After it’s washed, I run my fingers through it a few times, and that’s it.

I go to church three times a week. That’s why I have every single Sunday off and why I don’t work on Wednesday nights.

Sometimes my brain sends me a picture of what I’m trying to say, instead of words. When I force words out anyway, they come out jumbled and I get really frustrated and stop talking.

Effervescence.

I wear polka dot knee socks with striped shirts. In public. And I smile to myself at the kindergarten girls who are jealous of my rockin’ style.

I make my bed every day. That way I know one thing in my room is neat.

I’ve never liked my thumbs and toes. Ever.

I don’t like compliments. I have a high enough opinion of myself that when someone tells me something nice, I feel like it’s boring and repetitious because I already knew that about myself.

Spontaneity.

I like to smell my hair. In fact, I switch up my shampoos and conditioners every day to spice things up.

I have a mole on the back of one of my ears. I didn’t discover it until I was a teenager. Seriously, who looks at the backs of their ears?

I drive stick shift and change my own oil, when the weather permits. Oh yeah, and I’m a girl. Girls are capable humans too.

Immensely.

I live in a bakery and I’m not obese.

I take daily multi-vitamins. They’re gummies. Because somewhere inside me is a five-year-old girl who is still completely infatuated with candy.

Regardless of my age and maturity level, I do not and will not like peas. Not by themselves. Not in soup. Not in mixed veggies. Only in the trashcan.

In order to stay hydrated, I drink flavored water. Often it is carbonated as well. Clear, tasteless water is for those who are more committed to hydration than I am.

Astronomically.

Inordinate.

Ricochet.

Serendipity.

Chasm.

Volatile.

Plethora.

Expand your vocabulary. One word at a time. Try one word a day.

Per request

14 Jul

It has been with some gentle urging and prodding that I hereby make a guest appearance on my own blog. I have had no shortage of material about which to drone on and on. Time, however, has prohibited me.

To begin, I would like to expound upon a pet peeve.

“Me” is not a dirty word. It is the objective form of the personal pronoun “I.” Simply put, if I am the object of the sentence, “I” becomes “me.” See what I did there? I used correct grammar. Correct grammar was used by me. That’s easy enough if I use “I” or “me” by their own lonely selves in a sentence.

But the disconnect seems to come about when introducing a second party to the sentence. When Matilda and I went to grammar school, they doled out highest honors to Matilda and me, NOT to Matilda and I. Just like they wouldn’t dole out such honors to I, they would not dole out honors to Matilda and I. Do you see where I’m going with this? I am afraid that people are so tired of being corrected by us Grammar Nazis for saying “me and Billy Bob went a-huntin’ for varmints” that they equate “me” with bad grammar. It’s sad. If you catch yourself saying a preposition before bringing a personal pronoun into the conversation, you should probably use “me” and not “I.”

Remember this: I do awesome things, and you give awesome gifts to me. You and I are best friends, and people point and laugh at you and me.

*steps off soapbox*

*slips on soap*

*splats*

*picks self up, looks around to make sure no one saw that*

Totally unrelated to the slip, trip, and fall that nobody saw, I have a heart-shaped bruise on my forearm.

Isn’t it awesome?! It’s like a temporary tattoo from playing volleyball on Thursday. Which, by the way, was the perfectest day for volleyball yet this season. It wasn’t too hot, nor too cold. It was overcast, but not raining. There was a beautiful sunset, yet the sun wasn’t in anyone’s eyes to prohibit awesome spikes. And best of all, there were enough people for two full teams plus one sub per team, so everyone could take a water break every six rotations, but not soooo many subs that anyone had to wait more than a couple minutes to get back onto the court!

In conclusion, I would like to share a couple anecdotes.

First, my hair has gotten so long these past few months! With the exception of the days where it is like 90+ degrees outside, I like to drive with my windows down. Unbeknownst to me, I have been shedding as well, so my long brunette hairs flew off my head and onto the carpeted/felty back part of my car that covers my trunk. (I will call this part of my car “the rear dash.”) However, when I was gassing up my car the other day, I noticed that there were long white hairs strewn all across my rear dash! I felt anger begin to rise within me. What AARPer has been taking my yellow car for joy rides while I was sleeping, and leaving their telltale white locks on MY rear dash?! Then it occurred to me….it was MY hair that the sun had bleached! There was also a dead wasp, who had finally baked after taunting me on many an early-morning ride to work.

Lastly, I was pulled over recently on one of those aforementioned early-morning rides to work. It was actually a morning that I’d left on time, and was hitting greens instead of reds, and there seemed to be less congestion on the highways, so I actually consciously chose to drive within the speed limit. Doing so allowed me to people-watch. Other drivers are sometimes really funny to watch! Sometimes they’re really infuriating to watch since the dumb fools think they can text and drive. I always honk at them. Always. Then I pray that they crash into an indestructible tree in such a way that they need all their fingers amputated so that they can never again text and drive and endanger the lives of thousands on the road.

But I digress. Back to my leisurely morning drive…. I was taking the on-ramp between one highway to the next, and I noticed a police car parked on the shoulder with his lights on. Out of respect and an innate sense of caution, I slowed down even more than my already-within-the-speed-limit speed. Merged onto next highway, continued the mile or so till my exit. The police car had turned his lights off and pulled out a few cars behind me. No biggie. I wasn’t speeding. I hadn’t cut anyone off. I used my turn signals for merging. I had my lights on even though it was only slightly overcast. I had current registration stickers, and my inspection still had about a month left. I had taken the body out of the trunk and scrubbed the blood dribbles off the bumper. Kidding. As I took my exit, I was thinking to myself about how glad I was that I’d decided not to speed that day. Aaaaand the police car was suddenly on my tail with his lights on.

On the shoulder of the exit ramp, I pulled over with barely enough room for other cars to get by, put on my hazard lights, and rolled my window down before turning my car off. I’m a pro at getting pulled over. Upon the officer’s request, I produced my license, insurance, and registration. After a looooong silence, he told me why he’d pulled me over. I have an after-market amplifier on my muffler, and I could get cited for that. I asked him if he was citing me for it, and he said no, he was just letting me know that I could get cited. So I did what any good female would do, and asked the man for his advice on what I should do. I can’t remember exactly what he said, for he was an older gent, with really long nose hairs which danced disconcertingly and distractingly as he answered my question. I don’t think it helped that I was looking up into his nose from my perch in my drivers seat. In any case, I was not ticketed or warned or cited. Just politely informed that I could get cited, and to have a good day, ma’am.

Memoriable Days

8 Jun

See what I did there? Took 3 syllables away from “Memorable Memorial Day,” added a few more days, and felt pretty clever doing it!

Such memories all started off with coupons a-blazin’ on the Friday before Memorial Day when I got the chance to hit up JoAnns and all their fabulous fabric sales. 50% off clearance fabric?! Can’t beat that with a Twizzler!

Moving right along, Saturday was positively insane at work, and most of the insanity is already blocked from my mind. Just random flashbacks of . . . a table disappearing from the pool area? Not being able to check anyone in due to a credit card malfunction on a nationwide thingy? Not getting through to tech support for over three hours? Some other fuzzy memory of an hour on hold for some other techy issue? What kind of insanity is this? Oh yeah, the insanity that isn’t successfully blocked yet.

The true fun continued on Sunday with special services to honor our veterans, a church picnic, over four hours of volleyball, and a cookout with friends. Oooooh, I want to say that one part again. I played volleyball for over four hours. Yes, I did! I truly lost track of time, and ran out of water twice. I not only learned how to play speed volleyball, but also fell in love with it. And I only regret two things about Sunday: being so out of shape and realizing too late in the game that the sun was shining.

Such regrets made the Monday version of me look like a limping sprout of cauliflower that had dived face first into tomato soup. And my joints spent the day pretending they had aged 400 years in the 4 hours of volleyball. Nonetheless, Sarah and I went to Kohls to get our free $5-worth of stuff each before rendezvousing with the brothers at Lake Nockamixon. Ben has his own kayak, but the other three of us rented kayaks for 2 hours. Thus I continued to proverbially dive into tomato soup with my cauliflower limbs.

(See? Cauliflower skin, dipped in ‘mater sauce.)

Afterwards I crashed at the grandparents and even managed to slip in a lil nappy time in their spare bedroom. Memoriable days, to be sure.

A Tale of Windows and Speedometers

19 May

Have I ever formally introduced you to my car? No?! I apologize. Gender and name are still yet to be determined, but hey, don’t most parents have 9 months to decide on the name? Last Friday (the infamous 13th) marked my car’s 5-month anniversary with me. No, we didn’t go out for celebratory ice cream then, but we did have a little fun on Saturday! That story to follow…

First, a grand introduction! My sunshine/bumblebee car is a speedy lil 5-speed 1996 Mitsubishi Eclipse with a custom paint job, cold air intake system (that’s what he said!), a trunk that only stays open when it wants to, and a rather loud exhaust system. Tis grand indeed!

Tada!

I recently had to take my car in for a mechanic to “check clunk in rear.” Said clunk had begun clunking rather suddenly, which caused me due concern. Turned out to be a broken rear strut mount….whatever that is. It is now fixed, that’s what it is.

I also had the brilliant idea to have him check on my passenger-side window. It was spastic. Obstinate. Moody. Sometimes it would go down, sometimes it wouldn’t, and of course it was all the absolutely gorgeous days when that window would decide to stay up!

I was undeniably frustrated since the guy I bought the car from had specifically told me that he had fixed the passenger-side window. “Very fixed, hmph. Won’t even go down!” thought I.

“Window lock was on…” said the invoice from the mechanic who was kind enough not to charge me for “fixing” the window. Hey now, in my defense, all the other cars I’ve driven have window cranks, which can only be locked by maiming, paralyzing, handcuffing, dismembering, or otherwise impairing the hands that would crank the window. How was I to know my new car had a window lock?!

On to Saturday’s fun! I’ll give you a hint: it goes “WEEEEooo WEEEEEooooo!”

Time: an hour(ish) before my 3-11pm shift ended at the hotel.

Setting: torrential downpour.

(time lapse)

Time: 11:10pm(ish)

Setting: slow black sports car in right lane, followed by equally slow black Charger, being passed by a yellow and black car, in still-rainy conditions.

Introduction of characters:

–Unidentified Driving Individual – slowpoke in black sports car, undoubtedly updating his facebook status to reflect the following sentiment: “Just got passed by some woman in a yellow car, then passed her sitting on the side of the road…must’ve been one expensive ticket, the way she was flying!” (likely minus the correct spelling and grammar)

–Officer M – follower of said black sports car, driver of aforementioned black Charger

–Amanda – driver of speedy yellow and black car, recipient of the following warning: “Don’t drive so fast when the roads are wet.”

Conclusion: No ticket. Reduction of speed (for now). Knowledge of what a vehicle registration card looks like.

Light Reflectors

12 Jan

How many times have I driven past those two-inch-wide reflective markers on the curves of Route 100 and hardly noticed them?

Tonight I drove home in the snow. It was about 2 inches at the hotel when I left, and at home, the accumulation was already 4 inches. During one section of my drive home, there were no street lights. The windshield wiper blade was not getting all the snow off my window. And I could barely see more than 10-15 feet in front of my car. I tried to just follow the tire tracks in the unplowed road, but it was difficult to differentiate between the tire tracks that were ON the road and the tire tracks from the cars before me that had veered OFF the road.

What kept me on the road? The reflective markers. I could usually see one at a time. And as I would pass the one I could see, another one would blink its reflectiveness at me. From such reflective blinks, I found my way home.

It also helped that I was going about 20mph. (I only slid around once on a totally unplowed section of road that was an inclined curve. I’m blaming the road for that slip and letting my car off the hook.)

But I thought about those light reflectors.

They needed the light source of my headlights. But even my headlights could not reach very far.

This isn’t going to be a perfect analogy, but listen anyway! We are all like I was, driving with poor visibility and only reflective markers to guide me home. In life, our poor visibility is caused by our shortcomings, our lack of faith, or maybe just a trial that God has allowed in our lives. The headlights are like the light of God’s Word. It illumines our pathway, but not the whole path. Just the part that we must tread upon soonest. The reflective markers are the promises that God gives to us. But we won’t see those promises unless we “turn on” the light of God’s Word in our lives. Make sense?

Merry Pop (the sequel)

26 Dec

This story is based on more fact than its predecessor, Pop. The following events actually transpired to, and in the near vicinity of, the author and can be verified by the fire report bearing the name of the author.

Working at a hotel on Christmas day isn’t so bad. Guests are in a happy holiday spirit, and I get to meet (most of) them at their cheeriest moment. The hotel that I work at was pretty slow and empty most of Christmas day. There were two main families who had decided to host their Christmas festivities here at the hotel. Family 1 hosted theirs on the 1st floor, and Family 2 on the 2nd floor. It is to Family 2 that our eyes turn for the crux of this story.

9:00pm. It was hardly three hours into my shift. Coincidentally, it was also only three hours after having discussed with my manager the small handful of times the smoke alarm has ever gone off while I was working. I gave it not one more thought.

Until the alarm went off.

Keeping my head together as well as one can do when an alarm is beeping, I ran to the alarm panel to assess the situation. I then took half a step away from the alarm panel and towards the phone so I could call the guest’s room to assure their safety. Half a step.

Then the house alarm went off.

That means that instead of one room and the alarm panel in the back being the only two beeping items, the entire hotel’s alarm system was involved in a “beep-beep” cycle. A cycle that happened, oh, every second. Until I hit the “alarm silence” button a full two seconds later. I had undone that half step away from the alarm panel, located the button, and pressed it with very little delay.

I finally got a chance to make my way to the phone to call the guest, who happened to be a member of Family 2. I went through my mandatory spiel of “Please do not open your hotel door. Feel free to open a window, but keep your door shut.” It is then that they reveal the cause of the alarm.

“I just put popcorn in the microwave and forgot about it.” — member of Family 2 (Insert unpaid commercial for Brian Regan. He talks about this very scenario on his newest audio release. Finding something in the microwave that you forgot about. It’s hilarious, as always.)

*steps on soapbox* Really? Really?! It takes 3 minutes to pop popcorn, maybe 4, and in that time frame you forgot?! You didn’t smell it burning, but its smokiness managed to set the alarm off for the whole hotel?! That’s a bunch of baloney. Smoked baloney. *steps off soapbox*

By this time, I realized that there is no danger. This situation is so minuscule that even The Great Brian has poked fun at it.

I placed my next phonecall to the dispatch office to let them know that it was a false alarm. The lady was very helpful, but oh, the first responders were already on their way.

They arrived amazingly fast. I was honestly impressed. I feel safe knowing how quickly help can come when I need it. But how embarrassing it is when help comes when you don’t need it. It’s like Banana Man from Patch the Pirate.

I escorted the fire official up to the room of Family 2, so that he could ascertain whether there was any cause for fear or not. As I called the room to alert Family 2 of our arrival, I heard him talk on his radio, telling dispatch that he didn’t know the exact cause and not to stop the other responders from coming.

So they came.

By the time I arrived back at my front desk post, there was a grand total of four first responders with their red lights a-flashing merrily, and one fire truck pulling in with red and white lights a-flashing. Off in the distance, a stop light turned green.

And together, with our red, white, and green lights flashing at will, we celebrated Christmas with a ka-thumping heart.

grate topic

25 Nov

If one is grateful, are they full of grate? I realize that they are full of gratitude, but why not say “gratitudeful.” It would make more sense, albeit more syllables. Therefore, they must be truly full of grate.

I am full of grate. Abounding with thanks. Literally in awe of where I am today and where I’m not anymore.

People keep talking about being thankful during this season, and I, for one, am in quite the thankful spirit and have been for the past month (to approximate). As friends and acquaintances ask about my new job, my answer is, “I love it!” And then I try to expound on how much I love it and they end up with a confused look and simply reply, “Well I’m glad you’re happy there.”

I told someone recently, “I just hope my bosses and coworkers are as happy as I am that I’m working there!”

For I truly am happy. And grateful. Full of grate. Praise the Lord.