Viva La Baby, or, I Accidentally Gleeked on My Boss

Coming back to work after a trip is never easy. What's also not easy is accidentally gleeking on your boss's face when you come back from a trip. Which is exactly what happened to me this morning.

But who wants to hear about awkward gleeking moments - especially how my boss wears glasses and I actually gleeked on his glasses and had to just stand there as he cleared his throat and wiped them off. Sigh.

So to avoid reliving that horribly embarassing moment from this morning, please to enjoy a synopsis of my Week in Review:

I flew to Philadelphia, basked in the humidity, cried when I saw Baby Owen for the first time, cried when I saw my sister again and marveled at the fabulousness of her boobs, peed a little when I met Terrence Howard at a diner (for more detail on this story, see Bone Senior's blog), gorged myself on artichoke dip, gorged myself on Rita's water ice twice a day, gorged myself more on Tastykakes, gorged myself on Baby Owen - I even changed THREE poopy diapers, and he drooled on me a lot and I didn't gag, although there were some close calls - sobbed immensely when I had to leave, and cried the whole way to the airport. It wasn't even the movie crying like when McBicep left - I'm talking full on snot and hiccups crying.

In all, it was a great trip.


My first attempt to get Baby Owen dressed. He got mad and I got frustrated so I decided to do his hair instead.



Baby Owen digs his aunt's sausage joke.


Baby Owen also got a little frightened and probably peed a little.


Baby Owen drools as much as me when I sleep.


Big Daddy Luke hearts him.

Owen hearts Samuel.

He got a little bothered when I told him that his nightie was actually a dress with elastic at the bottom. Then I promised to get him a nice pair of sparkly red tap shoes for his first birthday.


Baby Owen really digs his aunt's rump roast joke.

Baby Owen slips into Bone Senior's bosom a lot better than mine. Sigh.


My favorite part of the trip. Better even than Rita's water ice, Tastykakes, and Terrence Howard.

Hmmmm...

The Scene: The marble entryway of a 1.4 million dollar custom home that the company I work for has opened to the public for the Parade of Homes. It's 7:30 pm, and I've been working at the home since noon.

The Players: Myself, The Jam, and my boss Dave.

And....action.

Bone Junior: Dave, this is my friend, The Jam. The Jam, this is my boss, Dave.

The Jam: Hi! I'm also Bone Junior's hair stylist.

Dave: Really. (Gives me the once over; eyes lingering on my wind-blown, frazzled, hasn't-been-washed-in-three-days, slightly-crimpy-from-letting-it-air-dry-three-days-ago, I've-put-in-forty-hours-of-overtime-at-this-parade-home, messy, tired hair). Huh....well...I hope you didn't pay too much for that.

Bone Junior: Touche!!

Awkward pause.

Dave: I don't think you're using that word correctly.

Bone Junior: I don't think you're using that word correctly, Dave. You're being insegrevious.

Another awkward pause.

Dave: Is that even a real word? I don't think that's a real word.

Bone Junior: Touche, Dave. Touche.

End scene.

Dizzy Bat, The Perfect Sunday Afternoon, and McBicep Update

I'm sure many of you have been waiting with breath that is baited to find out the results of the DizzyBatapalooza '07 from a few weeks ago.

Please to enjoy a photo diary of the scariest thing I've ever done. Except for asking out McBicep. That was way scarier than doing the Dizzy Bat in front of a record-breaking attendance crowd at the BYU / UVSC baseball game.


Phase One: Poised and ready to begin our ten revolutions around the baseball bat





Phase Two: The Catcher couldn't stop staring at my butt.

Phase Three: I've already made it to first base when Heather gets man handled by the Wolverine, or as I called him, Teen Wolf.


Phase Four: After running back across the field to our seats, we realized that we had become the butt of someone's joke. And by "someone", I am referring to Joe, the accountant I work with. Joe, who's son plays for UVSC. Joe, who conspired with his son to have the UVSC players put grease on the ends of the bats we were using.

In other news, with the return of summer comes the return of my addiction to the sun. Last year, I spent every single Sunday afternoon sitting in my purple tri-fold lawn chair, which was sitting in my kiddie pool in the back yard. I became the color of terra cotta, lit'rally. And I loved every minute of it...until the server at Costa Vida started speaking Spanish to me because he thought I was Latina. Then I swore off the sun for a week.

But after moving into a townhouse on the side of the mountain with no back yard, I was panicked that I'd have nowhere to simmer in a kiddie pool. Luckily, Yanaj was dog sitting for Duke and Porter - two of the biggest, sweetest, dumbest dogs I've ever known. With a nice, private, fenced in yard, I knew how I'd be spending my Sunday afternoon.

Htebazile and Duke, who loved the pool. He loved it so much that he later ripped a big hole in it.

Porter refused to get in the pool with us. I called him a big baby for the rest of the day.

Since the pool was only a few feet wide, Htebazile and Yanaj stood in it while I set up my lawnchair and submerged my legs. I scoffed at their sunblock and proclaimed, "SPF this!!"

After an exhausting afternoon of sunbathing and paddling, Porter and Duke had the right idea.

In International News, I'd like to give a shout out to my Canadian readers, and say Happy Belated Victoria Day. I don't know what Victoria Day is or what it means, or if Canadians even get the day off work, but let's dance anyway.

In McBicep Update News, he's officially been in Detroit for ten days, and he's called me three times. That's right - he's called me. So to my bosses who say I'm just being used as a storage unit, I say, put that in your pipe and smoke it.

Dedicated to Anonymous

Lately, my life has been boring. I know this. And it's not always easy to consistently come up with amusing anecdotes and life lessons with which to create the cornucopia of humor that is my blog.

And now with McBicep gone, there's not much exciting boy drama going on either. I suppose I could blog about how he nestled me into his ginormous bosom, (and when I say bosom, I mean the biggest pecs you've ever seen in real life) and how my little heed fit perfectly in between them and below his chin as he held me and tenderly caressed my back when we said goodbye. I could blog about how even through my tears, I thought about how funny it would be to motorboat his pecs at that moment.

But who wants to hear about sappy crap like that?

Funny things don't always happen to me, so from time to time, I blog about the normal things, like perverted Hangman. Or like today, when I tell you that what's between my legs is worth over 100K:

Get your mind out of the gutter and feast your eyes on the glory that was my garage this weekend. We played storage unit to some fancy motorcycles that looked pretty nice next to the Camaro. That's a custom-made chopper and a brand new Harley, for those of you "Anonymouses" (or is it "Anonymi"? I'm never good with plurals) that are bored by my day to day activites. No, there's nothing funny or entertaining about the bikes, I just think they're cool. So get off my back, and please to enjoy a true funny story from my weekend.

How To Get a Good Laugh At The Expense of Others:

1. Volunteer to work in the ward garden at 7 AM on a Saturday for no other reason than to get a tan.

2. Gag a little when you see the huge pile of fresh poop that you have to put into each seed hole.

3. Convince the other girls there that it's a well-known Amish gardening secret to spit into each seed hole before you cover it over, complete with a proper spitting demonstration.

4. Stand back and laugh as you watch the girls bending over the seed holes, ever-so-delicately spitting into each one.


I knew the gardening experience would be a memorable one when I'd gotten an email from Hot Rob on Friday, asking if I had any seed requests. I told him that I wanted to plant swinging vines. And he didn't think it was very funny. I wonder if Hot Rob is "Anonymous"?

Why I'm a Dirty Perv and Also Immature

For two days this week, I was cooped up in a classroom with twelve construction workers and one other project manager for an OSHA certification class. Ten of the twelve construction workers were supers from my company, and thankfully, the other project manager was Nicole (yes, the very same Nicole from the bird trauma incident). Thank goodness for Nicole, or I would've gouged my eyes out with a spoon from boredom.

After ten hours at a table with Nicole, here's what I had to show for it:



And by "erection", I am of course referring to steel erection. And I couldn't help but giggle every time the instructor said it. That, and "nuts".

It's good to be a grown-up.

Reason #47 Why I Love My Job

Today, the Vice-President of my company sent out the following email to every single person in the company:

Dear Employees:

We have had several complaints the past few weeks from all the tenants in the building that employees and other tenants are parking in the parking stalls that are designated for visitor parking. Pleas make sure that starting on Monday next week and continuing forever you are not parked in any of the parking stalls marked visitor.

I don’t want to have to tow anyone (Bone Junior), but I will if must needs be. Especially because you put that big ugly Eagle on your window.

Thanks for all your cooperation and let me know if you have any questions or concerns.

-The Vice-President

My response was short and sweet:

Dear Vice-President:

My only concern is that the Eagle isn’t ugly…it’s freaking awesome and bad ace. Don't be jelly.

Thanks,

Bone Junior

Why Sometimes I Hate People

Turning 25 has officially turned me into an old woman of sorts. This was never more evident than yesterday. Take a ride with me in Ye Olde Time Machine...back to last night.

It was 11:30ish, and since both my roommates and McBicep have been out of town for the last week, I've been enjoying an earlier bedtime than usual. By "enjoying", I mean that I've been incredibly bored and therefore have nothing better to do than go to bed early.

There I was, comfortable nestled into bed, nuzzling with Soft Elvis, thisclose to falling asleep, when I hear some kind of strange ruckus outside my bedroom window. It was definitely a man's voice, but I couldn't be sure what he was saying - I think he was speaking Klingon or something, because I was only able to catch key nerd phrases such as "2001: A Space Oddessy is a thrill ride!", and "This girl is totally out of my radar, but I think she likes Battlestar Galactica!"

My ears perked up at the yakkety-yak of Sci Fi Speak, because should I ever hear the whisperings of a Nerd, I keep a carton of eggs by my bed for just such an occasion. Nerds are very spry, nocturnal creatures, and you have to be ready at the slightest inclination if you want to egg them.

But even the prospect of egging an elusive Nerd on his cell phone wasn't enough to get me out of bed. I was too comfy and on the brink of peaceful sleep, and I figured The Nerd would eventually get spooked by something and scuttle back into the shadows or wherever it came from.

However. The yakking continued. Echoing off the walls of buildings and rattling into my ears. "Blah blah blah....Star Trek......gwar gwar gwar.....hyper-space.......blah blah blah.....do you think she likes me?" on and on. It became clear that The Nerd wasn't going to leave on his own account any time soon, so it was time to take matters into my own hands.

Since I was in my muu-muu, I didn't want to make a scene, so I tried to be diplomatic about sending my message by slamming my window open and shut several times.

"Maybe I'll take her out on my vespa......." The Nerd blabbed on, completely oblivious to my passionate window slamming.

I knew I needed to take it up a notch. I still didn't want to start a commotion, so I cleared my throat very loudly in between window slams.

"I know! I've got a matching helmet! No, it'll do at least 35 unless I kick it into warp speed....." The Sci-Fi Speak continued.

That did it.

Believe me when I tell you that I did not want it to get to that point. I was tired, grumpy, and extremely annoyed at being disturbed, and by a Nerd, no less. I have zero tolerance for Nerds.

I grabbed my bath robe (yes, I know, a bath robe) and violently tied it on over my muu muu while sliding my feet into my purple fuzzy slippers and stomped down the stairs. I flung open my front door so vehemently that The Tasties rattled on the walls. I marched right up to The Nerd - who was standing in my front yard by this time with his back to me, completely oblivious to the wrath he was about to endure - and stabbed my finger into his back repeatedly.

The Nerd was so startled that he dropped his phone and faltered a few steps back. His shy awkwardness didn't phase me at all, and I think he nearly soiled himself at the sight of me. I was a crazed woman on a mission - in a bath robe - and awkward or not, I was out for Nerd blood.

Now, I'm not exactly sure what I said next. What I do know is that I was blinded by rage, I was probably foaming at the mouth, and I shouted something like this:

"ExCUSE me!!! THAT is my BEDroom WINdow, right THERE! YOU are talking SO LOUD and I can hear EVERY BIT of your CONVERSATION! EVERYTHING you're SAYING! I don't think you underSTAND how much it ECHOES up here! We live on a MOUNTAIN! EVERY WORD out of your MOUTH is being BOUNCED into my EAR canal! PLEASE! PLEASE! Please. Take the convention elsewhere. The world is not your phonebooth."

I don't know if it was the inital shock of a bath robed crazy woman charging at him, or the fact that I probably sent buckets of spittle flying into his wide open mouth during my seething tantrum, but The Nerd just stared at me for the longest time. He finally spoke, and when he did, I was shocked to find that contrary to popular belief, I could actually understand what he said. He timidly replied, "I'll go," before whispering into the phone, "Some crazy lady just came out and yelled at me," as he slowly backed away into the shadows, keeping his eyes lowered to the ground.

And just like that...*poof*...The Nerd was gone, and I was left to a most satisfying night's sleep.