Monday, February 28, 2011

Why Would You Do That?

The other day I saw somebody's name online with a weird spelling.  That's not unusual, but the name was "Jaine."  Basically, Jane.  You can't get more basic than that.  Jane.  Why would somebody do that?  Do they think it's cute?  It's not.  It's annoying.

I used to work in a doctor's office and the people who spelled their kids names in what I assume they thought was an exotic and unique way would get all huffy if I started writing, for example, "Jane" without a freaking "i."  Pains in my ass.

Here are some more I found online:

Payge = Paige
Emilee = Emily
Cacey = Casey
Keven = Kevin

On another note, while I was, researching...weird name spellings, I found out that I'm not the only person who doesn't know how to spell Gaddafi/Kadafi/Qaddafi.


Tuesday, February 15, 2011

What do hubcaps and blackheads have in common?

Yesterday, I brought my car to the Bay Bright Car Wash on Dowlen Road here in Beaumont.  I had heard good things about it, but I must have missed the part about having to stay in my car as it's being pulled through the scrubbers and sprayers.  As I sat trapped in my car at the mercy of the big scary machines, I imagined myself being crushed, drowned and electrocuted.  It seems the older I get, the more neurotic I get.  Something else to look forward to.

When I reached the end of Mr. Toad's Wild Ride, I pulled into one of the bays where my car would be detailed.  I was barely out of my seat when the guy assigned to my car sprinted toward me with some sort of spray bottle.  I got out of the way and walked across the driveway to some benches and watched him work like a fiend on the inside of my car. 

When he finished the inside, he moved on to the hubcaps.  I have hubcaps like the one in the picture above.  In the seven years I've owned this car, I've never cleaned inside those little holes.  I watched amazed as the guy cleaned each little hole on each hubcap.  At each hole he would scrub, look at his towel and scrub again until every piece of gunk inside that hole had been vanquished.  I wanted to walk over to him and say, "Dude.  Seriously.  That is totally not necessary," but, I was afraid if I did, he might give me a Travis Bickle "You talkin' to me?" and beat me with the vacuum cleaner hose.  So, I let him scrub.

As I watched Travis Bickle clean out each little hole, I thought about the time my brother e-mailed me about his first experience with Biore strips.  At the time, he was telecommuting from home several days a week and enjoyed e-mailing me about his cushy life as I sat in my cruddy office.  On this particular morning, he was sitting at his computer in his boxer shorts and a t-shirt with a Biore strip, which he had found in his wife's side of the medicine cabinet, resting across the bridge of his nose. 

Later, when he pulled the Biore strip off his nose, he e-mailed me that he was sure that some of the gunk on the strip was from a football game he played in 1978.  I'm sure that some of the dirt that guy got out of my hubcap holes was from a beach trip I took in 2005.

When my car was finally ready, I said goodbye to my fellow carwash waiting people, tipped the detail dude and drove away flicking dirt into my little hubcap holes.  See you next month, Mr. Bickle. 

Thursday, February 10, 2011


Dear Universe:  Why can't I get a red light when I need to open the sauce for my Chicken McNuggets, but if I'm in a hurry I get every red light between me and where I'm going...especially if I'm in a hurry?  Why?!  I need my sauce!  Sincerely, Laurie's Brain

Sunday, February 06, 2011

This and That


It's finally 65 degrees outside.  The heater has quit running constantly so I can breathe again through my gratefully lubricated sinuses and my joints have begun to unthaw.  Oh, happy day.


My friend posted pictures this week of her twin toddlers in their pajamas playing games and eating lunch and watching television.  She titled the photo album "Pajama Day."  Genius!  On days when I have nowhere to be, I always promise myself that I'll be out of my pajamas by noon.  Eventually, that becomes, "Maybe, I'll take a shower before I go to bed."  From this day forward, I shall title such days "Pajama Day."  Then, when I'm still in my pajamas at 6:00 p.m., I can proudly announce, "Mission accomplished!"


Every month, my Thomas Jefferson Port Arthur Class of '74 meet for lunch.  Sometimes we have four or five people and sometimes...on magical days...when people have cabin fever from being cooped up for days due to cold, icy weather...we have forty attendees.  See above.  We also had a contingency in Dallas who we conferenced with via Skype.  Pretty cool for a bunch of old people.

We're not as young as we used to be, but we're younger than we'll be ten years from now.  My message to all my classmates is that ten or fifteen years from now, we're going to look back at these pictures and rave about how "young" we looked.  So, my loves, lets celebrate our youth!  Such as it is.


Wednesday, February 02, 2011

My Sentiments Exactly

*Lewis Black..."Fuck it's cold!"

Tuesday, February 01, 2011

Stairway to Heaven...or is it?

At this time last year, I was taking safety courses in anticipation of my misguided attempt to work for a contractor inside a refinery.  Even though I was only going to be working inside a condemned trailer doing data entry, I still had to be safety certified.  The classes and testing lasted longer than my entire refinery working experience. 

Part of the safety orientation involved heights.  It didn't matter that I was never going to be higher than my 5 foot 4 inch height.  I still had to take the class and the test if I was going to be working inside the plant. 

I do not like heights.  That's putting it mildly.  I hate heights.  Worse than my fear of heights is my fear of falling off of heights.

I can promise you with every fiber of my being that I will never, never, never do this...