Oh, I can’t stop laughing at this. I suppose I’m punchy from a late night coupled with the time change and more nighttime GERD (curse you, GERD!), but dang. This is just… bizarre. And hilarious. Be sure to watch past the pained dialog on the park bench:
I just don’t even know where to begin with this–it’s like Jane Fonda meets Jackass meets Rosetta Stone. Then there’s the German text on their spandex tops. Wha?? I think I’d like to hear them do this little rap in German, too. And maybe Dutch.
Had a second bout of belly laughter reading the comments about making this a ringtone. Oh Japan, I heart you and your crazy game shows and language-learning workout videos.
As if there was any question of my mental age (Hi. I’m 12), I went looking for further colloquialisms for the Big D. I had no idea there’s an online slang dictionary. Read on HERE for the utmost in immaturity. They actually even provide the parts of speech and sentence examples. Who knew?
Put on your Poise products, dog & cat lovers, because you just may piddle with delight over these pictures from Bored Panda:
click here to see all of them!
They reminded Mr. Wombat and me of when Schmoopy was a wee pup and Annabelle did this to her:
Where the heck have you been hiding?
I suppose I was the one who disappeared again.
Very good, then. I’ll explain.
First, there was unbelievable cold. Then came the snow. And the never-ending grey skies. Then more of the cold. And just when we couldn’t take it anymore, we got on a plane to Florida.
One day late due to a storm in NYC, but we got there, and that’s what mattered.
The extra day bought me time to clean my desk and do some neglected paperwork. Oh, and get some very important meds for the GERD flare-up I was having. Oh, the fire, it was aburnin’.
Now we’re attempting to get the insurance co. to pay for the brand name of my GERD meds so I don’t have to continue to pay $10/per pill out of my own damn pocket.
That is not a typo.
The generic was feeling like a placebo.
“Is there any new stress in your life?” they inquired at the gastro’s office.
“Huh. Do crazy Girl Scout meetings count?”
So we decided to try the brand name, and it was like a fabulous fire extinguisher for mah belleh. And chest. And throat.
So thank goodness for that.
While we’re handing out thanks, how about a big ol’ thank God for Florida?
Thank sweet Jeebus for the Sunshine State and all its blue skies and swimming pools and totally bitchin’ beaches.
We cruised around with the top down and the warm breeze blowing through our locks while blasting Sirius Satellite’s First Wave on the radio and found sand in all our cracks and crevices most days.
And it was a delight.
We had something special awaiting us at home, as well.
Not the weather, silly! That continued to be created by the devil himself.
It was a sweet little black lab puppy who was finally toddling around and chewing her brother’s ears for fun.
There’s a breeder I’ve admired for years and as luck would have it, I caught her just at the right time to be first on her placement list for a black female pup.
The litter only produced two pups–one male, one female. Long story short, after many photos and emails and a few phone conversations, we met her.
The meeting was a bit undewhelming, though, because she seemed nervous about us. She excused herself to the corner or behind the couch more times than I could count. After a power nap she was a bit more playful, but not anywhere near the level of her brother or other pups we’d seen. Such a letdown.
We talked it over extensively and decided to pass on her. Maybe we just weren’t ready, or maybe she wasn’t the pup for us. All we knew is we should have felt giddy, and we didn’t.
I’m sure the right dog will come along one day. We’re all still smarting from the loss off Schmoopy, though. I guess I had hoped a new pup would fill that gaping void, but it must not be in the cards right now. We’ll just enjoy our freedom to come and go as we please for now (oh, hello, glass half full!).
In other news, the new season of RuPaul’s Drag Race has begun, and it does not disappoint, hunty! Got another hometown girl competing this year–go Darienne Lake!
And can you believe this contestant is a man under all that glam?!
Alrighty. I’m off to apply more makeup.
And maybe check Amazon for a big pair of those chicken cutlet fake boob inserts or something…
Mister Man reaaaaaally wanted to see this when it came out last Friday. We settled for a viewing on the second day in the theatres. Just he and I went and had a little mom & son date. He was so tickled by this film–it made it even more fun to see it with him.
I lerved it. It was fun to see how they incorporated so many current and classic Lego characters and sets in this. This movie left us with a great desire to go home and
If you have a Lego fan in your life, run, don’t walk. If you used to play with Legos, but you don’t have kids, take yourself. There were giggles and surprises for kids of all ages.
Also, be prepared to leave Lego Movie singing this song:
(no spoilers included in this clip!)
And just like that my lunch lady days are over. Yep, I’m not typically a quitter, but that’s just what I did.
VIA VOICE MAIL.
Because I’m Klassy like that.
Not my typical M.O., and though it felt a bit cheap, the reason I departed the cafetorium was due to being treated as if I were a commodity. A cheap one at that.
When I signed on as a sub, I thought I’d have a bit more say about the when and where of it all, but as it turned out, they just told me via the kitchen manager at the school where I was working where I was going next, or they’d call and inform me where I’d be spending the next week.
No asking, no checking to see if I was available or willing, just announcing where to show up and when. Too bad I couldn’t have stayed at the school where my kids are (they’re fully staffed). I really liked it there and enjoyed the company of the other ladies.
Then when a miscommunication occurred, and I didn’t show up for training somewhere, I was scolded like a child. To add insult to injury, the woman scolding me was the one who had been in error.
Ain’t nobody got time for that, betch.
I called later that afternoon and announced on the department head’s voice mail that I was hanging up my visor and I’d be by soon to turn in my aprons if he desired.
Got a call the next day from him (sounding surprisingly cheerful) saying he’d gotten my message and, yes, I could drop off my aprons at any time.
Didn’t even inquire about my reason for leaving. Odd, no?
Mr. Wombat and I guessed that they probably take bets on who will last and who will run screaming from the lunch line. Maybe they had bet on me as a runner, and he just pocketed some cash on my departure.
I presume there’s high turnover in that line of work, which might explain his chipper demeanor. After all, I did have second thoughts when I was introduced to the mop, but I could have done that kind of work for a while if it had been 3-4 days a week, and I’d been treated in a respectful manner.
My biggest regret? That I now can’t buy this totally awesome action figure to put on my desk at home:
As I discussed the situation with a friend, I was reminded that I did take the library clerk civil service exam not too long ago, and I’m high on the placement list. I scored 100, but I think five people finished before I did (and got 100), so they’re ahead of me.
For right now, I’m enjoying my time at home again. Also, I was sick in bed all day Tuesday, so not having to go anywhere in -25 degree weather was a plus. I find I’m less inclined to fritter away the hours now that I’ve worked outside the home a little, so maybe that was the takeaway from the whole lunch lady experience.
Life lessons, people. They’re all life lessons.
I find myself mired in uncertainty about my new occupation as a substitute lunch lady. I only touched down in Lunch Lady Land Tuesday of last week, and by Thursday, I was over it.
I called in and said I wouldn’t be in that day but would be there the next day. I was only training, and there didn’t seem to be an urgent need for me there. They were fully staffed. I’d also pretty much learned what I needed to know.
Two days of official work, and I was dog tired.
We served 100 more than we’d served the previous day, and I’d been tired after that lunch-time rush. And the fun didn’t end there. The warp-speed lunch line is followed by high-speed cleaning, which doesn’t happen often enough in my own home. Now I’m making someone else’s floor spotless* while mine is coated in crumbs and spotted in ice cream drippings.
To add to my exhaustion, The GERD appeared that night and danced a fiery little jig in my esophagus. Between that and the inevitable thinking about stuff and things and “Omigosh if I fall asleep RIGHT THIS MINUTE, I’ll get five hours of sleep” routine, I was seriously shorted on some much-needed Zzzzs.
Thursday morning arrived far too early, and I was spent. I gave myself the day off. What? I’m a sub. Surely they can’t expect me to work EVERY day, right?
In the plus column, I don’t have furry friends padding across my face at night like The Bloggess does. Because not only would that wake me from my precious and much-needed sleep, but also the germaphobe in me would be wide awake pondering where those wee paws had been before they sauntered on my eye sockets. Litterbox? Basement floor? Terlit? I’m sure the cuteness factor would eventually overpower the angst, but still. Mama needs her sleeps.
Speaking of mama, the lady who trained me today to fill in for her the rest of the week was a hoot. (I’m at a different school this week) Her first language is Spanish, and she’d tell me how many cheese sticks we needed in her native tongue. “Say it in French, and I might understand you,” I said in reply to her request for “ocho” fruit plates. She gave up on trying to say my name (it is slightly unusual, but very pronouncable) after about 20 tries. I felt like I was in the middle of this conversation from Little Britain, but our roles were reversed, because she couldn’t understand ME (skip to 2:06 for the exchange):
She called me mami or mama when she thanked me for something. I found this adorable, since many of the queens on Ru Paul’s Drag Race do the same. I might have to call everyone there “mami” for the rest of the week. Maybe that will make it more fun.
Oh, who am I kidding? Nothing is going to make this more fun.
I’m also dreading being sent to the school I heard about today that has a giant whirlpool you have to basically climb into with the dishes in order to clean them. Dear God, what have I gotten myself into?
On one hand, I guess it’s good to be forced to do something physical. Sitting here at the computer watching funny animal videos all day wasn’t doing Jack Squat for mah belleh. Or me bum.
Then I got to thinking about all the other jobs I could do that pay minimum wage. I mean, I could do freelance copy editing from home and make five times that per hour (though hunting those jobs down would be work in and of itself), but I ventured out into the working world hoping for some human interaction.
Part-time human interaction, to be more specific.
And a foot in the door in the school system.
Which I’m now thinking isn’t as greeny green as that grass was looking before.
But they have the hours that jive with my kids’ school hours, and the days off align.
And they offer a state pension plan (though at this pay/hours, that might not be my pot o’ gold at the end of the rainbow).
*School cafeteria floor “clean” is it’s own category of clean. The floor is 80 billion years old, and it’s hard to tell what’s really going on down there.