Hail to the Chief

e threw a surprise birthday party for our boss yesterday. As his birthday isn't until February, we got exactly what we were looking for. Rick is one of the best bosses any employee could ever ask for. He is smart, witty, and sarcastic. He is also kind.

When I was facing very scary odds with my illness, he bought out the disinfectant division of the local grocer. We had lysol, tissues, hand gel, you name it. He insisted that anyone with even a hint of a cold only talk to me over the phone.

Rick also despises being the center of attention. We left it to cake and ice cream, and naturally butchered the birthday song in his honor. He turned all shades of purple, looked right at me, and sputtered 'thanks'. In my world, this equates to "just wait until YOUR birthday". The picture shown above was his present.

When a new employee mentioned how inappropriate the gift was, Rick looked at her quizzically and said "Why? It's part of our company Vision Statement!" The picture now hangs proudly on his office wall.

Rick will leave for Vegas on Monday, and remain there for 2 weeks. He planned it that way - so people would forget his birthday. Here's to breaking the dreams of "The Man" - especially when He wants to remain invisible!

[For those who may fear this was written in terms of sucking up, Rick has no idea that I have a blog. Considering his views on my 'gift', I don't think he'd mind. He thinks I have a future in stand up comedy.]

Weird, Weird, Weird

I have been tagged by Wordnerd to list FIVE weird habits about myself. Now is your opportunity to gaze quietly into my insanity - and proceed to run like wild.

1. The To Do List. I have one at work, carefully written on lined tear-off paper. It lists everything that I have to do EVERY DAY, with the date written at the top. One of the items on the list is "write out list for tomorrow". Though I do pretty much the same thing every day, I get flustered without the list.

2. The Forbidden List. At my house, there is a list of words you may not say in my presence. Surprisingly, none of them are curses. I have very little problem with you calling me a F---'n B----, but you may not express enthusiasm over words such as phlegm, pus or mucus (*gag!)

3. The Next Day. As soon as I return home from work each night, my clothes, lunch and purse are set out for the next day. I also pull food to cook for the next night, so all items are defrosted. (Most of the time). When I fail to do this, I am late, and we have sandwiches or breakfast for dinner.

4. My husband. Without him, I would be relatively normal. He finds it weird that I dip French fries into ice cream. (C'mon. It's the perfect combination of salty and sweet!)

5. The Roundtable. Most people have an inner voice to guide them. I, on the other hand, have the equivalent of 3 standup comedians and Marge Schott feeding me quips and curses, which I must stifle on a regular basis. You know, 'cuz I have a list...and they ain't on it.

Mental Cheese and other Southern Finery

When I first relocated to North Carolina some years ago, my palate was exposed to cuisine unfamiliar. Within a few months of the relocation, I began working at a bakery/diner that prided itself in a diverse mixture of grease and hog, with a little icing thrown into the mix for good measure.

Now, being a transplant from north central Maine, I was intrigued, nay, horrified, by some of the concoctions that I encountered. First, there was the sausage dog. It's like a hot dog, only bigger - and spicier. Then, there was barbecue, which is basically everything scraped off a hog as it runs by. Everything.

After the scraping is complete, said meat is doused in copious amounts of vinegar and hot sauce. My first encounter with this was a misunderstanding. In Maine, "barbecue" generally includes store bought sauce, chicken, an outdoor grill, and a holiday. Within two bites, I encountered something tough and chewy. I was informed that it was skin. I truly thought that I would die.

Other introductions were not so extreme. For example, I was fascinated with Red Velvet Cake. This cake looks as though it were baked on an alien planet, by one million nuclear suns. It is beyond red. Said cake is slathered 1/2" deep with cream cheese frosting, and each slice contains about 3,000 calories. The resulting sugar rush may throw a diabetic into a full blown coma. [It would be worth it].

Then, alas, there was the Pimento Cheese. I greeted this with a mixture of curiosity and revulsion. It is, basically, a cheese sandwich, right? With a LOT of mayonnaise...and those things that are in green olives. This mixture, however, is generally mixed and mashed to a pulp. The resulting view may remind some of Russian Dressing; I was reminded of cat vomit - or a second-hand breakfast burrito.

I believe it took a few months of serious contemplation before I dove head first into the pimento cheese. My coworkers constantly teased me about my northern roots. Who didn't eat black eyed peas for good luck on New Years? Who said a collard sandwich isn't 'good eatin'? Why wouldn't I eat the Mental Cheese?

I finally cracked. Between gags (related to texture rather than taste), it hit me. This crap wasn't half bad! I won't say that I have developed a full blown addiction to all things southern. But, at the end of the day, you can have your barbecue. I'm eatin' the mental cheese.

An Open Letter to the Wal-Mart Greeter (Who Hates My Guts)

Ma'am:

I am truly sorry. Had I known the impact of my presence, I may have chosen to shop elsewhere. Alas, your employer has driven off all competition. I have no choice.

I also have no choice when it comes to my Nextel. I must keep it with me at all times during work hours. This phone, this electronic albatross, must remain firmly on my hip regardless of what you say. You see, I am the company fixer. Today, my mission is to fix a truly frightening prospect. We are out of coffee. Now, if you will kindly step aside, I can get on with my day - and my job.

I do not know why my Nextel sets off your "Attention, Shopper..." alarm. See, I was ENTERING the store at the time. I am not carrying a purse, so I have nothing to hide. I am wearing a short sleeved golf shirt, dark chinos and work boots. I realize that, with this length of hair, it may be possible to hide something. I assure you, however, something would be a thrown cheerio or perhaps a broken hair brush handle. I am, however, wearing it in a bun. That should clear a few things up.

Please call your manager. I can not stand here, spread eagle, much longer. I would like to point out that this store has allowed more frightening people than a chick with a phone. Perhaps the door scanner should be looked at. I just saw someone pass by with an armload of electronics and nary a receipt to be seen. Why don't you go after him? Oh, yes. I forgot. That would mean jumping up from the comfort of your electronic buggy - which is for shoppers, by the way - and going out into the frigid Carolina air.

I will have you know that this interrogation is pointless. I still have no idea why my Nextel sets off your alarm. As you can see, I have my drivers license, my keys, and cold, hard cash that you are refusing to let me spend in your store.

There. That's better. May I go now? I have coffee to purchase and employees to comfort. You have officially wasted fifteen...fifteen! minutes of precious time. By the time I get back to the office, panic will reign. Thanks to your insensitivity, these poor people have gone without coffee for 45 minutes! Do you know what kind of time that is in the world of construction?

Now, that wasn't so bad, was it? It took a total of 5 minutes for me to snag six tubs of coffee, ten pounds of sugar and twelve cartons of shaved plastic shards (non-dairy creamer). I will be leaving now, Nextel and all. Oh, one last thing. The next time I shop here, I could really do without the attitude.

Thank you.

Dust Bunny

My husband strolled casually into the room one day last week, looked me straight in the eye, and uttered the following:

"I don't think it's you, but this room really smells like DUST".

Caught somewhat off guard, I paused, pen in hand, with wrinkled brow. I then calmly said, "So you don't think it's me?"

It was then, I think, that the reality of his wording hit him. He had just told his wife, casually, that the dust smell may be her.

I don't know about you, but tidbits like that do not lead to romance around here. Since then, I have quizzed him endlessly (ok, tortured) about this 'dust smell'. I am a bath junkie, and have the lotions, potions and bubbles to back me up. Since when have I stunk? I generally smell of shea butter. Or chocolate, if I am baking "Killer Brownies". As I work in construction, I am a stickler for deodorant and overall cleanliness. Why do men say these things out loud? Have they no edit filter?

I must admit, however, that this has led to fun all around. I laughed myself to tears while contemplating this phrase- generally just the first few words. I don't think it's you. Why thank you, darlin'.

This phrase has officially replaced my former favorite, which kept me laughing for about 6 years. "What is it, exactly, that is wrong with you?" (I have an auto immune disorder, and the poor girl couldn't remember which one it was!) The owner of that phrase was the new, young bride of a friend. Sadly, she was very quiet at the time, and did not take my screaming laughter well at all.

So here's my query for you : What is the funniest/most horrifying, accidental insult you ever received?