The Junk Drawer

This month marks my 25th anniversary working at a local university.

Before y’all gasp and pity me for working at one place so long, I haven’t worked in the same job all that time. I’ve held several different positions in two vastly different departments, so it hasn’t been boring and I haven’t gotten stale.

Last week I was notified by the HR department that, as a gift for my years of service, I may choose between two kinds of $425 hand-crafted solid maple chairs.

Not a bad deal. They are very nice chairs, except I know deep down I will never sit in them because I’m not 93 years old.

Obviously, I would have to make a decision based on the seating preferences of someone else in my house:

Meet Shadow.

Her first favorite spot to sit is in the kitchen sink.

Her second favorite spot to sit is on a junky chair we keep in the dining room.

Shadow, my dear, you just got an upgrade.

I decided to go with the second chair since the rocker will probably slide on the floor every time she jumps on it and bang against the wall as a result of her girth.

The stationary chair will serve her well.

Of course, something tells me she’d be happier sleeping in a $2 hand-crafted cardboard box.

Too bad. She’ll just have to suffer in luxury.

I give up.

This is a picture of our living room “entertainment center,” which I prefer to call the “Ain’t gonna figure any of that out, even if you make me take a class on it center.”

All I want to do is watch TV. Regular TV. With one remote that has power, channel-changing and volume buttons.

Instead, we have:

1. An HDTV set.

2. A surround sound audio system with four speakers and two subwoofers that will shake your teeth and rip your face off.

3. A DVD player.

4. A Wii.

5. Wireless headphones.

6. A DVR.

7. Three remotes, all unfortunately necessary.

I’ve long since stopped trying to figure out how to watch DVDs. I don’t even know if I remember how to operate the Wii. The wireless headphones are a new addition, but luckily, they’re not for me. My husband Dave wears them so I can have some peace and quiet while blogging in the kitchen, which is feet away from this monstrosity.

I hate having to use two remotes just to watch TV, one for sound, another for channel-changing.

Sometimes I think I want to pop in a DVD, but I would need kindergarten instructions and by the time I figure it out, the movie will be free on regular cable.

All I’m saying is that if my husband gets hit by a bus, there’s gonna be one big ass yard sale at my house. I would sell everything for a dollar and not look back.

Do the men in your house have toys like this? Do you know how to operate it all? Do you need an assistant like me? Or does your house have a man cave where all this stuff lives and you don’t have to think about it?

I’m sending out a prize package to Babs of Beetle Blog for winning the latest What’s That Wednesday contest.

She lives in the UK. I’m in the US.

My post office insists I complete a customs declaration for overseas packages, including a description of items being sent.

The clerk probably thought I wrote this just to see if anyone pays attention because, aside from the card, tell me this doesn’t sound totally made up.

Note to Babs: Be sure to take the monster out right away and feed him. He’s going to be hungry by the time he gets there. And probably angry.

On Saturday I had to run to the store to pick up a bunch of things. Among them, salad dressing, paper towels, hot dog buns, pickles and a blog post.

I grabbed the first couple items and moseyed on toward the pickle aisle.

I selected a small jar, but put it back down for something bigger. When I picked up the next jar, I changed my mind again and put it back — atop another jar on the shelf, as they’d been stacked two-high.

And then, what charted in as the 78th stupid thing I’ve done this year, my finger slipped.

Ruh-roh.

I knew as soon as I withdrew my hand the jar was going down.

Down, down, down it went and all I could do was watch for the inevitable crash, the broken glass, the wayward pickles and juice splattered a la Jackson Pollock.

Awww, crap.

I parked my cart over the mess of glass bits, juice and pickles. So many pickles! All of whom I’m sure suffered massive internal injuries from the fall. I warned fellow shoppers about the glass and to be careful. A girl of about age 10 looked at me with such scorn, I the Pickle Killer, Destructor of Glass Jars, Spreader of Pickle Juice.

I set off to flag down a store employee so I could admit my klutziness and make sure it got cleaned up. For a moment, I wondered whether I should say “Someone dropped a pickle jar down there.” I could blame in on that mean girl who was still in the aisle. But I opted to fess up completely and announce to the cashier in lane #8 that it was I who dropped the jar.

She asked “Where?”

“Um. The pickle aisle?” Where chunks of glass will cut people’s feet and if you don’t hurry I’m going to cry and run away and never come back, do you hear me?!

I dutifully added “Aisle #1.” I threw in an “I’m sorry” and headed back to scene of the crime. I still needed pickles.

I didn’t even know what kind to take, flustered as I was. Should I even continue shopping in this aisle?  Can I pretend like this didn’t just happen and say to other shoppers “Oh, look what someone did! Tsk tsk.” What’s the protocol here? Do I stay and guard the mess until someone comes to clean it?  Somebody help me!

All those questions gave me a headache and so I just grabbed a jar — any jar — and scurried away.

Then I made the broken-glass, splattered-juice, injured-pickle walk of shame through the rest of the store, hoping no one would look at me and point “There she is! She kills pickles and cuts people with glass!”

I have never wheeled a grocery cart so fast in my life.

When I finished speed-shopping, I queued up to checkout lane #8 with the cashier who’d summoned a clean-up crew. She rang up my things and when she got to the pickles, I kid you not, she said “I’ll double bag them for you so they’re secure.”

Why? Because now you think I’ll drop pickles wherever I go? You think I’m a pickle-droppin’ loser whose face will be posted on the employee break room wall so that everyone knows to walk behind me with a mop and dustpan? Is that it?

I thanked her for her help earlier, took my change and slunk out of the store, possibly never to return without a bag over my head.

When my husband got home from work, he noticed the pickles on the counter and said “Oh, you didn’t have to get those. I was gonna get them later when I went to the store.”

Sure. Now you tell me.

Listen to me now and listen to me good.

No one — I mean NO ONE — should be found singing and dancing while vacuuming. But that was me while using my eagerly-awaited Dyson D25 All Floors vacu-suck for the first time.

It arrived with great fanfare on Thursday.

Easy to assemble, easier to use.

It picked up everything that wasn’t nailed down.

Cat hair, my hair, kitty litter, hairballs from three cats, crumbs, fuzzies and apparently all the dirt my carpets have held prisoner since 1997.

I’ve finished vacuuming my house. Want me to come over and do yours?

Behold, my beloved Dyson in action:

Ding! Ding! Ding! We have a winner!

Babs of Beetle Blog was the first to guess correctly that the What’s That object from yesterday was a boot spur.

I found the item in the woodworking shop of a friend of mine. He had all kinds of cool, antique, things in his shop hanging from the rafters (which explains all the dust on it that many of you pointed out). What keen eyes you have!

Way to go, Babs. You asked for the black cat bandaids instead of what was up for grabs. I’m nothing if not flexible. I’ll see that you get the kitty bandaids.

Thanks for playing and submitting such good and funny guesses, everyone!

And Cardiogirl? Six guesses? Maybe I’ll get you those cupcake bandaids simply because I’m afraid you’ll die without them.

Until next time!

I’m just under the wire for a What’s That Wednesday. I suspect someone will get this immediately.

I have one regular reader who should recognize it instantly. Do you wonder if I’m talking about you?

How to play:

1. The photo shows a small portion of a larger object.

2. First person to guess the object wins a Junk Drawer magnet and a box of cupcake, pickle or Jesus band-aids. Your choice.

Go!

What’s that?

I think we can all agree that Monday is the crappiest day of the week.

Not today, peeps!

Our Windy celebrated her 2nd birthday today with cake and curious visitors. The only downside is that when some of them saw how ragged Windy looked in her picture, they sadly proclaimed “Awww, that’s too bad.”

See?

It didn’t help that I hadn’t planned very well for the party and couldn’t get helium balloons in time to pick up before work today. So she got the Lazy Person’s version of party decorations. Lame balloons inexplicably shaped like light bulbs and no streamers or party hats.

Hey, at least I remembered the candle.

After I filled my belleh with cake, I decided to jump on the Zazzle web site to see if my delicious custom-made bacon shoes were due to arrive soon. I’d been tracking shipment for days, knowing a package would land on my porch this week.

I give you, the most awesome shoes known to mankind.

A little too big for my feet, but maybe if I fry them, they’ll shrink up to my size.

Admit it. You’re jealous.

Tuesday will be the happiest day of the week for me, as I plan to wear these babies to work tomorrow.

How many people do you think will try to have me committed?

Probably as many as will want to cut off my feet and steal them.

Hee.

Every spring a honeydew melon shows up on the roof of the university building where I work. I do not understand what’s happening here, but I’m sure students are behind it.

Is it a prank, part of a scavenger hunt or some weird tradition they keep up for the sake of tradition?

Sometimes the melon disappears suddenly. Sometimes it rots until it’s black and stinks. Sometimes it’s placed off to the side. Sometimes, like this time, it’s right in the middle.

Always I ask “why?” but I will probably never learn the reason.

And that gives me a one way ticket to Crazytown. Why? Why is it there?

Incidentally, this is the roof from where I take Windy pictures. She turns two tomorrow (!!!!!) and there will be a cake on Monday. If you work with me, come on over to my office and we’ll celebrate!*

* Tours of the Melon-Windy roof run every hour. Admission is free.

My employer has an electronic sale board where people can post items for sale or giveaway.

Here is part of a recent entry:

Laptop: SONY VAIO CS36H

I bought it this summer. It’s a pink laptop in good condition, very suitable for girls. I also bought the screen and keyboard protective film, which are free for you!

I forwarded it to my blog buddy JD at I Do Things and said “Very suitable for girls? Ya think?”

To which she replied: “Uh, yeah. Don’t see too many men walking around with a pink laptop.”

And then I confessed: “I would totally want a pink laptop! It’d make up for the Barbie Dream House I never had as a kid.”

JD should have left it at that, because I got intensely jealous when she reported “Tell me about it. Though I did have the Barbie Carousel Kitchen, which was the BOMB!”

Why was I so jealous?

I didn’t have a single Barbie or anything to put her in. I got my Barbie fix over at my best friend’s house. She had everyone and everything. The Barbie yacht, the hotel, the dream house, the cars, Ken, accessories, clothing, shoes, the works.

What did I have? A bean bag doll who slept on a fake bed I made out of cereal boxes. Her blankets were tissues. I built her furniture out of …. more cereal boxes.

But you know what? When I think back, I didn’t really need all that Barbie stuff. I was pretty happy with the homestead I crafted for my no-name brand dolls. I used my imagination, mad creative skillz and safety scissors.

So let’s hear it. Did you tend to have the latest, greatest name brand toys? Create your own stuff? Some mixture of both?

I’d love to hear about the toys you might have made yourself out of stuff lying around your house.

Sometimes the things that make the best toys were never toys to begin with!

Yeah, those would be tire tracks.

Not folded.

Not spindled.

Not bent.

Not torn.

Driven over with a two ton vehicle.

Dude, bad day?

At first I thought the envelope was special, you know, embossed with a pretty pattern of some kind. The tracks were so evenly distributed I thought my brother’s birthday gift thank you card was kinda cool.

And then I realized someone was just hatin’ on my mail.

I hope when they deliver my Ked’s bacon sneakers, they arrive in one piece.

That’s right, folks. I bought bacon sneakers.

Certainly, no one who reads my blog with any regularity will be surprised by this fact.

Fashion show to follow.

Oink.

I’d like to introduce you to a great new blogger’s network called Tribal Blogs, started by Jen of Redhead Rantings.

Jen wanted to start a new network for “writers whose outstanding blogs set them apart from the rest of the pack.” I joined a few weeks ago and I’m loving it already.

What you’ll find is a posse of awesome bloggers who take blogging seriously. They’re willing to lend you a hand, share and promote your posts, and toss ideas around that can be of use to everyone.

The network also has plenty of groups to join, even one just for men (Jen can’t even get in to see what they’re talking about, but she figures there’s a lot of belching and farting going on).

What you won’t find at Tribal Blogs are the crap blogs. You know exactly the kind of blogs I’m talking about. You probably visit them as part of other networks you belong to that require you to drop on blogs to earn credits or exposure.

Jen is careful to monitor membership and keep out blogs that aren’t updated, don’t have original material or whose authors don’t engage their readers. Here, there’s no wading through the chaff.

It’s free to join, but a premium membership is available for those who want to be listed in the Tribal Blogs toolbar. The toolbar is a great way to visit other members’ quality blogs all at once.

Come on over and check it out! You won’t be disappointed.

And thanks, Jen, for all your hard work getting Tribal Blogs off the ground. It’s an idea whose time has come.