Tomorrow I’m going to take a look at the pre-orders, and give the T-Shirt Lady a call. I need to provide her with quantities, by size, so we can get the proverbial ball rolling on Surf Report Shirts v.4.0. So, if you want one, and haven’t already done so, today or tomorrow morning would be a fantastic time to place yer order.
Here’s the link, with international prices added.
And if you’re having a difficult time deciding on whether or not we’re worthy of such a purchase, check this out. I’ve been recommended for a position in the new Obama Administration! So, there. Place your orders today.
Last night at work I introduced myself to a new employee, and here’s how the conversation went:
Me: Are you Jennifer?
Me: Hi, I’m Jeff.
Her: Oh, Jeff Strawberry?
Her: Isn’t your name Jeff Strawberry?
Me: No, it’s Jeff Kay.
Her: Oh, I thought it was Strawberry.
WTF? What in the hand-tooled hell?! My paranoid brain started wondering if people might be calling me Jeff Strawberry behind my back, and she believed it was actually my name.
But why? Why in God’s name would someone call me such a thing? Is my head shaped like a strawberry? I checked it out in the mirror, and just can’t see it. Does my shampoo smell like strawberries? Of course it doesn’t; I’m not a thirteen year old girl.
I’m completely baffled. Any ideas?
This is an exciting anniversary, my friends. Exactly one year ago today I installed three 5-year light bulbs above our counter tops in the kitchen. I was convinced they wouldn’t last three months, and created an icon on the homepage to illustrate the fact. Yes, I was being a smart-ass…
Previously I’d been switching-out those damn things every two weeks, it seemed. And they’re not regular-sized bulbs, either. They look like the one pictured, and cost upwards of five dollars each. There was almost literally never a day when all three were working at the same time, and it made me crazy.
Toney suggested we buy some of those weird Nancified bulbs, that have to warm up like a 1968 television. And, needless to say, I was skeptical. They were even more expensive, and represented things I didn’t want to be associated with. I was worried it might lead to clothes made of recycled windshield wipers and flip-flops, and a 40-gallon compost tumbler on the deck.
But I was wrong, I admit it. I still don’t believe those bulbs will last five years, but they’ve already exceeded my expectations. We even bought some for outside, and they’ve kept me off the ladder for months on end.
Yet, I’m still wearing good ol’ sweatshop clothes from the Pacific Rim. And how cool is that?!
A few days ago we received the Sam’s Club holiday catalog in the mail. Following are a few of the items being offered this year:
An “electric super car” from a company called Hybrid Technologies. 0 to 60 in 5 seconds, they say. Buyers will get to travel to Los Angeles and test it out on a race track, then Sam’s will ship it to wherever you live. Price: $100,000.
Or, if that’s a little rich for you blood, why not give someone a speaking role on As The World Turns for Christmas? They’ll get to travel with another person of their choice to NYC, stay at a luxury hotel, ride around in limos, and appear on a soap opera. For only $13,500.
Or, you can buy a Kenny Chesney concert “experience” for four, priced at $9900. It includes airfare for four to Dallas, limo service, luxury hotel rooms, concert tickets, a “photo opportunity” with the star, and an autographed guitar.
Last year I think Sam’s offered a full-sized passenger jet for sale, but I don’t see anything that extravagant this time around. Must be the weak economy? I don’t know.
Last week we found out we won’t be able to go to West Virginia for Thanksgiving, after all. It’s becoming a holiday tradition. Every year, it seems, we tell my parents we’ll be there, and cancel.
But I swear we’re not doing it on purpose. Shit just keeps coming up. Last year, for instance, I started my new job (on November 20 — another anniversary on the horizon), and we had to pull the plug.
This year Toney has to attend a mandatory training session on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, so dat’s dat. Our only option would be to travel on Thursday, and it’s not something we want to do.
Kinda sucks. I was looking forward to it. But we’ll make the best of it here, as usual. It shouldn’t be the worst Thanksgiving ever. At least I hope not.
The worst I can remember, probably doesn’t seem all that bad when written down like this. But it sucked big time when I was going through it.
When I moved out of my parents’ house for the first time, I also left the state. I went to Greensboro, NC, in September of 1984 (I think). I took a job as a stocker at a grocery store, and hated it all the way down to my skeleton. But the pay was good, much more than I was able to make in WV.
That first Thanksgiving, just a few months after I’d left home, I had to work and wasn’t able to get back to Dunbar. I spoke to my parents on the phone, and they were having a full-house, as usual. My Mom was busy cooking and preparing everything, and my Dad was getting the place ready.
I was wracked with homesickness, hating that stupid job, and feeling like I’d made a gigantic mistake leaving home.
I had dinner at Shoney’s, who were serving the traditional Thanksgiving meal, and the waitress wasn’t even the motherly type. She was some skinny skank who didn’t give a single-dingle about me.
In fact, I remember getting into some kind of low-grade argument with her. Something to do with pumpkin pie.
It was horrible. I knew nobody, was stuck in an unfamiliar town, sitting in a family restaurant with other peoples’ families, and being served my holiday meal by a junkie hag. I’ve been depressed plenty of times, but that one stands out as a highlight.
What about you? What’s your worst Thanksgiving ever? Tell us about in the comments.
And I’ll be back with more of this crapola tomorrow.