In a story about a high school, headed down the drain, that is trying to pass its students to other districts:
“My first year was butt,” FRESHMAN said while on a street corner with her friends on a sunny afternoon. “I didn’t learn nothing.”
‘Nuf said.
In a really terrible story about a pedestrian hit and dragged by a stolen car:
LIEUTENANT says: “She does have severe injuries throughout her body, but most severely, she has severe head trauma.”
I almost feel bad about putting this one up…but still…word of the day calendar? Thesaurus.com? Something…it really would have helped.
It’s Friday and although that doesn’t translate to the weekend for me (oh the joys of Monday/Tuesday weekends) it does translate to payday and that’s pretty exciting. Except for this one little thing…
So my employers switched their system of banking recently. I know, you’re thinking ‘how could this possibly affect you? Being an intern, you barely know the old system of banking, so any changes should really go unnoticed.’ Well, yeah, you’d think.
However, there is one thing I will DEFINITELY notice and that is if they direct deposit my check to someone else’s account. This would have been a very easily understood mistake…except that I NEVER SIGNED UP FOR DIRECT DEPOSIT! How does this happen?
My only option was to call and leave a message on someone’s voicemail–the benefits of working the night shift and not getting paid until Friday…no one’s around to fix stuff like this.
I did manage to talk to someone in HR who assured me that the problem would be corrected and I would have a check by Monday…which doesn’t actually help me until Wednesday, given that, weekends excluded, I won’t be in the office until then.
All I can really say is thank God for graduation money.
My friend Rachel and I have what some would consider a sickness but what we consider a way of life: an obsession with crappy dating shows on MTV. And by crappy I mean completely hilarious and totally worth our time to watch.
We’ve decided it would be fun to go on the show “Exposed” which, for those of you who aren’t reality show-savvy, is a show that stretches privacy law to the limits. The contestants think they are on a regular dating show but the datee has his or her best friend staked out in a “surveillance van” nearby, listening to the date.
The job of the friend is to let our adventurer in love know if their potential dream dates are lying–and to prompt them to ask completely ridiculous questions that have no actual bearing on whether or not they’d be a good match.
Rachel and I obviously need to be prepared if we’re going to head to the Hot Seat (the few minutes our daters get alone with one who’s love they’re vying for). I, taken as I am, will be van-side during this dating debacle and will prompt Rachel to ask the following 10 questions:
1. Would you let me paint your toenails?
2. Would you eat trash pizza?
3. What if it wasn’t in a styrofoam box?
4. Is it Pickles, or The Pickle?
5. Would you consider yourself to be irreverent?
6. If I ask ‘Does anyone want this dog?’ what would you answer?
7. Do you know the difference between ‘wrangle’ and ‘wangle’?
8. I like to listen to the screams of small children on my iPod while I work out. Is that weird? (this one, truth be told, is borrowed from a previous episode)
9. If you had a nickname that followed the word “totes” what would it be and why?
10. Who is the best character from the Muppets Show?
Our game, of course, will be Chubby Bunny. Because there’s no truer test of the value of a man than by seeing how many marshmallows he can fit in his mouth while still being able to say “Chubby Bunny.”
One of the things I enjoy most about my job is reading the (sometimes quite bizarre) world briefs. One last week mentioned something along the lines of a baby pound in Japan: you drop off your baby if you don’t feel like you can take care of it and somehow the baby gets placed into a loving home.
Tonight I came across this fascinating little blurb:
In England, young Britons would rather give up sex than live without their cell phones, according to a survey. One in three people would not sacrifice their cell phone for one million pounds or more, with women leading the way on those most likely to refuse, the survey by the Carphone Warehouse and the London School of Economics found.–from wire reports
Coming straight from a college town that’s all about getting laid–and texting around to find willing partners (aka booty calls)–I can’t fathom people in my age range willing to part with either facet of society.
I mean, damn. That really made me think.
What did we do before cell phones? And how much have condom sales dropped since the advent of our portable pals?
I always thought air travel was the way to go. You can cut a 5 hour drive down to a measly hour and a 3-day cross-country trek to a quick jet jaunt.
Then I tried to book a flight to Connecticut. Between battling for low fares and convenient times, I had given up. Nothing for less than $560 was to be found. But then, a glorious ray of hope shone down on my computer screen. Could it be that I could finally book a cheap flight or was this just another traveling mirage?
Yes, it was true! Southwest was offering reasonable flights! Excited, and relieved not to be spending all of my graduation money on airfare, I booked the trip.
Imagine my despair when, after reviewing the total, I discovered appromixately $40 in taxes. Seriously!? The taxes were nearly half the cost of the advertised ticket price.
That sad realization, coupled with my harsh welcome into the world of travel, has left me rethinking my initial praises of the airline industry
For a story about a guy who was pissed off about foul balls from a stadium landing in his yard:
Balls put man in foul mood.
In a story about a local city helping out the midwestern town that shares its moniker after it was destroyed by a tornado, the Kansas city’s treasurer had this to say:
“LOCALCITY, Pa.–they are the ‘superest’ guys I’ve every met,” Cash Chick said.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not heartless. I feel for the woman. I feel for the town. But superest is not a word.
So…tonight’s irreverent hed, the Sir Mix-A-Lot hed, was good enough for a laugh. It was made even better by the fact that after work, I turned on Friends and it was the episode where Ross sings “Baby Got Back” to Emma. Oh timing.
The mice will sit around and talk about how bad the cat makes them feel on a daily basis and how much they wish the cat would just learn to do his job and stop criticizing the mice for the way they do theirs.
I know some mice who are about to pull out the party hats, breathe a sigh of relief and actually look forward to coming out of the mousehole.
