Category: Way too personal



Last Friday during my lunch hour, I had a small mole removed from the upper thigh/lower ass region area of my person. Everything went well, but I now have a small sore spot in the place where my mole once was.

Being me, I decided to name this sore place after the first person who ticked me off on Monday. It didn’t take long.

Tiny pain in my ass, I dub thee “Patrick”.

The original Patrick came into [ghostbank] Monday morning trying to cash a counter check drawn off of another institution. This is against [ghostbank] policy, since counter checks are among the most easily forged items out there.

The drive-thru teller told him “No.”

Three inside tellers, including the Teller Supervisor and Teller Manager, told him “No.”

I told him “No.” He also tried to get me to talk to someone on his cell phone so they could tell me that the check was good, but I refused to do so. I have no idea where that phone has been or who has used it and talking to a stranger on a cell phone isn’t going to change bank policy.

The representative he insisted on signing in to see after this also said “No.”

Our VP said “No.”

He left in a huff and came back late in the afternoon and tried to do it all over again with the same check, after everyone had told him to either take it to the bank it was drawn off of or contact whomever had written it to him and have them write a non-counter check to him.

I now have the urge to bounce a little in my seat to crush Patrick flat, but he’s still a little tender.


I think I’ve finally figured out why my freshly laundered clothing still has cat hair on it.

I know I've said I could make another cat every time I clean out the lint trap, but this isn't what I meant.

 

Every single time I open the dryer, Fearless thinks that means she can just hop in. Like maybe this time I won’t notice her and she’ll get to take that dryer ride she’s always wanted.

Press the button for "Fluff Dry", please.

Ugh


I woke up sick on Thursday.

I haven’t been feeling all that hot for a few days but I managed to ignore it for the most part.

Until Thursday.

Now I feel like I’ve been hit by a bus.

the monkey doesn't feel well,either

Like this, but without the washcloth or the monkey, and surrounded by kitties.

I would like to wish GhostSister a happy birthday – today starts the brief period in which she is two years older than me instead of one (at least until my birthday next year.)

:points:

Ha-ha! You’re slightly older than me and always will be!

Happy Birthday, old woman!

The Lady in The Hat


It occurred to me that even thought I consider myself a sculptor, I haven’t posted any pictures of my work. Mostly because I tend to use easily malleable materials like clay that I can reuse over and over and often forget to take pictures.

But then I remembered an old piece that I do have pictures of!

Since this seems to be “All About Me!” week, enjoy!

 experimental sculpture

 experimental sculpture

 experimental sculpture

 experimental sculpture

I made her out of spray foam insulation with plaster over it – I squirted a lump of foam, let it set, and started cutting away all the bits that looked wrong and then tried to smooth out the lines with plaster. She was – I think – about eight inches tall and probably less than three inches wide at the widest point.

I was never really happy with how she turned out, the plaster didn’t stick very well to the foam and the foam was too soft for any fine carving – the plaster just cracked and flaked off and I never really got the detail that I wanted. You  can see in the photos the little nuggets of plaster that fell off just moving her around to take pictures. She was really more of a three-dimensional sketch than anything else.

I finally threw her away after repairing her about a dozen times. An interesting experiment, though.

:sigh:


My brain is not cooperating with me anymore.

I think of really great blog topics while I’m driving back and forth to work, but as soon as I sit down and start typing, the thoughts vanish.

Damn stupid useless brain. I should poke you with a Q-Tip.

When I’d doing something else –  driving, crocheting, doodling – my brain responds with “Hey, you’re not busy! Here’s a bunch of random shit people might find interesting!” As soon as I sit in front of the computer where those random thoughts might actually do some good, my brain changes gears. “Oh, you’re busy now! We’ll just stuff all this interesting stuff in this closet so you aren’t distracted. Except for this thing about Smurfs. You can keep that.”

So I’m left with a few stray thoughts about Smurfs – mainly how Jokey Smurf should be considered a terrorist, since his only “job” in the communist society of the Smurf Village is to blow things up – and nothing else.

While I’m sure that there is some dark corner of the Internet where people argue all day about such things, I’m not really interested in becoming a part of that community.

Bunkin’ Down


Who wants to see an adorable picture of the Things?

Bunk beds on a budget

 

I love the way my nieces’ minds work. I am constantly surprised by how creative they are. To them, the entire world is a toy – they need only find a way to play with it. A normal person sees a bookcase – they see a bunk bed.

Bad Kitty!


Today I’m not going to post a picture of one of my cats – I’m gonna post pictures of one of my sister’s cats.

That looks extremely uncomfortable.

This is Bad Kitty, a cat my sister got in a roundabout way – he was passed down to her via a friend of her sister-in-law who was moving or something and could not take him along. He seems to be mostly Maine Coon but has a bobtail or “bunny tail” as Thing One calls it.

He is, as cats go, a pretty big fella. I’d say he’s about the size of Fearless, around twenty-five pounds or so, but his body is shorter and stockier than hers is and he doesn’t have her long bushy tail and extra long fur.

A bushelful of Bad Kitty - that's a large round laundry basket he's barely fitting into.

Here is the story of how Bad Kitty came to have his name.

I went over to my sister’s house one Saturday to do laundry, Bad Kitty had arrived a few days earlier and spent much of his time hiding. I had heard from GhostSister that they had a new cat and was curious to see it. Thing One, who was five or so at the time, was bouncing around when I got there and she wanted to tell me about the new cat. This is what she said, nearly word for word, in one long rush –

We have a new kitty his name is Bad Kitty – Bad Kitty scratched Daddy and Daddy calls him Bad Kitty his name is Bad Kitty now can I have a cookie?

Wisely I decided not to give her any more sugar, but the name stuck. He’s really a sweet cat, mostly a big lump that sleeps all the time.

You woke me up for this?

Oh, is this your laundry bag? I thought it was a cat-bed. Same thing, really.

Please Hold …


Yet another entry from the Weird Work Files.

I answer  incoming phone calls at work, among other things, and I’m constantly presented with further proof that people are crazy.

Take this particular caller – let’s call her Crazy Lady – who was trying to contact one of my coirkers who was out of the office for a few days. She called on Monday an we had the following conversation;

Crazy Lady – May I speak to [Coirker]?

Ghostie – I’m sorry, but she’s in class until Monday. If you like, I can take your name and number and give her a message to call you when she gets in then.

Crazy Lady – I’ll hold.

Ghostie – :stunned pause:  She isn’t here. At all. She won’t be back until Monday. Can someone else help you?

Crazy Lady – No, I’ll call back.

You would think that Crazy Lady meant that she would wait until Monday to call back – you would think that, but you would be oh-so very, very wrong.

This call took place on Tuesday and Crazy Lady called back Every. Single. Day.  She would call several times in the same day, often less than an hour apart, trying to reach the same person. I offered to take a message, I offered to find someone else to help her, but each time she just said that she would call back later.

Monday rolls around and coirker is back in her office. No call from Crazy Lady. Tuesday is the same – no call.  She finally calls back on Wednesday and is less than pleased. Coirker later asked me if Crazy Lady had called her during the week before, and I told her exactly what had happened – every time I offered her an alternative, she had opted to call back even though I had told her each time that Coirker wasn’t going to be there. Crazy Lady had complained to great length to Coirker that the “rude boy” who answered the phone had promised her that Coirker would call her back on Monday, even though she had not left her name or number once over the course of the week’s many calls, and –

  1. I am not psychic
  2. I am also not a boy

And after all of that, the only thing Crazy Lady wanted was a copy of her statement mailed to her – something any employee could have done, including me.

That’s Just Wrong


I’d like to share something that happened at work on Wednesday.

I was, as usual, working the phones and it was about forty-five minutes before we were closing. I answered the phone with my usual spiel and a woman spoke.

“This is Helga, the hospice nurse who stays with [coirker’s name] mother. Could you tell her that her mother has passed away?”

I was stunned – she didn’t ask to speak to my coirker, she just wanted to leave a message.

That’s just … wrong.

Well, There’s Your Problem …


I’ve had a busy Saturday doing doing swap-related stuff and watching Batman:TAS  instead of writing a post for today, so here’s a photo of Fearless in the sink instead.

If you need to wash your hands, I can skooch over a bit.