Thursday, October 14, 2004
"Thanks for your message..."
An old friend of our family's died not so very long ago. This family is almost Joblike in the amount of tragedy it's suffered. If they've ever had any luck it's been bad. So, my mother is feeling horribly because she liked this woman, and she misses her friend, even though they had lost touch over the years.
Try to imagine her surprise and, yes, her terror when she went to check her email and saw a message in her inbox from this friend - dead for about two weeks at this point. Mater's heart gave a mighty lurch and she kind of looked around to make sure she was still in her living room and that the walls hadn't disolved to reveal a pod or something.
As it turns out, the message was sent from her account by her husband. He was thanking everyone for their kind thoughts and sending a picture of his wife (thankfully a picture of her from when she was still alive) to those who had been writing to her.
This got me to thinking about Outlook's very useful "Out of Office Reply" feautre.
"Hi, thank you for writing. Your email is important to me and I'd write back to you as soon as I was able, except that I won't be. So, if this message is urget, I could give a rat, 'cause I'm now in the hereafter and am really not very interested in your sad pathetic life. Oh, and I never really liked you very much. Cheerio!"
Or maybe something a little less on the bitter side?
"Hi there! Thanks so much for your message, I'm sorry that I won't be replying to it ever. That's a real bummer for you. If this is urgent you can try chanelling my spirit through any of the following mediums...."
My sister-in-law and I have started a new venture and we were meeting with the organizer last night. The project he's bringing us into is very interesting, and so far a lot of fun. I don't want to alarm anyone, but I've started writing romance novels. I am currently working on the "pilot," but rest assured once that's under my belt you'll all be hearing a lot more from me. I'm entertaining suggestions for a suitable pen name. Feel free to write and send one (note: really, please do. No one ever writes or comments with these suggestions. That email link is more than decorative, people! Throw me a fricken' bone, here!).
I had emailed this guy earlier in the week from his website and the email address was along the lines of general@soandso.com (note, not his real email. Please don't write to this one, as I don't know who will respond). This cracked me up because it never even occurred to me that he was using "general" in the sense of "administrator." I was thinking it was all military. When we had our meeting last night I said I wanted to be Brigadier, and B wants to be Commodor. Sadly, while she got her wish, no one will stop calling me Rear Admiral.
Okay, while our friend was over he starts telling us a story about a friend of his. This friend was out on his motorbike when he was hit by a truck and thrown a few hundred feet. His whole left side is now royally buggered. He has no ankle, his foot is fused to his leg. He has a series of pins and rods in his left leg. So many bones were broken in his hand that it is now twice the normal size, but still functional. While he was unconscious investigators went to his home to talk with his wife. While they were there they asked if she knew who "insert name of girl here" was. She replied that she did, that it was her son's ex-girlfriend. This is when the wife found out that her husband was having an affair with her son's (his stepson's) ex-girlfriend, and that this girl had been on the motorcycle that night.
Can you believe it?
Families are a tricksy thing. I know I said I was going to write about the wedding for this entry, but I just don't feel like it. It really wasn't that exciting a time, unless you count my being vastly uncomfortable for an entire day interesting. I'm sure that some of the people who don't like me very much would find it so. Those bastards.
An old friend of our family's died not so very long ago. This family is almost Joblike in the amount of tragedy it's suffered. If they've ever had any luck it's been bad. So, my mother is feeling horribly because she liked this woman, and she misses her friend, even though they had lost touch over the years.
Try to imagine her surprise and, yes, her terror when she went to check her email and saw a message in her inbox from this friend - dead for about two weeks at this point. Mater's heart gave a mighty lurch and she kind of looked around to make sure she was still in her living room and that the walls hadn't disolved to reveal a pod or something.
As it turns out, the message was sent from her account by her husband. He was thanking everyone for their kind thoughts and sending a picture of his wife (thankfully a picture of her from when she was still alive) to those who had been writing to her.
This got me to thinking about Outlook's very useful "Out of Office Reply" feautre.
"Hi, thank you for writing. Your email is important to me and I'd write back to you as soon as I was able, except that I won't be. So, if this message is urget, I could give a rat, 'cause I'm now in the hereafter and am really not very interested in your sad pathetic life. Oh, and I never really liked you very much. Cheerio!"
Or maybe something a little less on the bitter side?
"Hi there! Thanks so much for your message, I'm sorry that I won't be replying to it ever. That's a real bummer for you. If this is urgent you can try chanelling my spirit through any of the following mediums...."
My sister-in-law and I have started a new venture and we were meeting with the organizer last night. The project he's bringing us into is very interesting, and so far a lot of fun. I don't want to alarm anyone, but I've started writing romance novels. I am currently working on the "pilot," but rest assured once that's under my belt you'll all be hearing a lot more from me. I'm entertaining suggestions for a suitable pen name. Feel free to write and send one (note: really, please do. No one ever writes or comments with these suggestions. That email link is more than decorative, people! Throw me a fricken' bone, here!).
I had emailed this guy earlier in the week from his website and the email address was along the lines of general@soandso.com (note, not his real email. Please don't write to this one, as I don't know who will respond). This cracked me up because it never even occurred to me that he was using "general" in the sense of "administrator." I was thinking it was all military. When we had our meeting last night I said I wanted to be Brigadier, and B wants to be Commodor. Sadly, while she got her wish, no one will stop calling me Rear Admiral.
Okay, while our friend was over he starts telling us a story about a friend of his. This friend was out on his motorbike when he was hit by a truck and thrown a few hundred feet. His whole left side is now royally buggered. He has no ankle, his foot is fused to his leg. He has a series of pins and rods in his left leg. So many bones were broken in his hand that it is now twice the normal size, but still functional. While he was unconscious investigators went to his home to talk with his wife. While they were there they asked if she knew who "insert name of girl here" was. She replied that she did, that it was her son's ex-girlfriend. This is when the wife found out that her husband was having an affair with her son's (his stepson's) ex-girlfriend, and that this girl had been on the motorcycle that night.
Can you believe it?
Families are a tricksy thing. I know I said I was going to write about the wedding for this entry, but I just don't feel like it. It really wasn't that exciting a time, unless you count my being vastly uncomfortable for an entire day interesting. I'm sure that some of the people who don't like me very much would find it so. Those bastards.
Friday, October 01, 2004
Thursday Night Line Up
Pilates was last night and it was good. I could feel tired muscles all last night, and going up the stairs to work today actually felt like work. I was a little worried about this course because on the first night most of the people there were sixty or over. It didn't bode well for the strenuousness of the workout. Still, last night, we just gave 'er.
This week at work has been a busy one, but there was still time for a little bit of humiliation to remind why I need to keep looking for another job. My boss asks me to wait for a second:
"Yeeeaaaahhhhh, I have this thing about bellies? Whenever I see my daughters' I always slap or tickle them. And I really have a thing about belly-button rings. So, could we just agree on a "no-bellies" policy? Okay, that's great, thanks Lynx!"
All she needed to do was ask my why I forgot to fill out my TPS report and it would have been perfect. "That'd be greeeaaaattttt, thanks." Ugh. Die.
We've had a fly problem in the office. There are huge, black, sluggish flies all over the window above the boardroom, and periodically one of the flies will shamble over to someone's office for a little lie down. Because there are so many of them swatting is not a desirable mode of extermination. We're not talking three or four flies, we're not even talking twenty, it's more like Amityville. As such my job description took a new turn when English boss decided to delegate fumigation to me. Me and my trusty can of Raid waded into the storm and took care of the pestilence. I'm now either sterile or my offspring will be born without bones. You do what you have to for 28K a year. Administrative Assistant means more than just photocopying and answering phones, it's also about being a bit of a cowboy.
We weren't sure why all the flies were there. One of my coworkers cheerfully suggested that something must have died in the walls. It's probably just my spirit. They probably live in the insulation and whenever it's warm for more than a few days they spawn. It's almost poetic, really.
Anyway, I came home and watched TV with B for awhile. We were really looking forward to CSI and Without a Trace. CSI was a repeat, dammit, and Without a Trace was just lame. Jerry Bruckheimer, what happened? There was, however, plenty of mocking potential available in the commercials. Have you seen the new Lysol one that sells itself by being the spray that removes odour bacteria from the air? There's a happy housewife going around her immaculate home spraying the shit out of it with this revolutionary new spray, and thanking Lysol for finally providing the consumer marketplace with this new product. "Thanks for listening, Lysol." I can't be sure, but I think that they might have gotten to her.
B turns to me.
"Did you see that? Look at how much she was spraying in the baby's room!"
"Huh?"
"Jesus, what's the matter, didn't they have any Sarin?"
Oh man. Sometimes the things that come out of that woman's mouth. Whenever she's trying to give Rage his bottle and he won't sit still for it she always says, "now, come over here and drink your bottle like a Christian." This is going to be one sarcastic little boy.
Anyway, stay tuned campers 'cause next entry we're going to talk about the wedding I went to the other weekend. You won't want to miss that.
Pilates was last night and it was good. I could feel tired muscles all last night, and going up the stairs to work today actually felt like work. I was a little worried about this course because on the first night most of the people there were sixty or over. It didn't bode well for the strenuousness of the workout. Still, last night, we just gave 'er.
This week at work has been a busy one, but there was still time for a little bit of humiliation to remind why I need to keep looking for another job. My boss asks me to wait for a second:
"Yeeeaaaahhhhh, I have this thing about bellies? Whenever I see my daughters' I always slap or tickle them. And I really have a thing about belly-button rings. So, could we just agree on a "no-bellies" policy? Okay, that's great, thanks Lynx!"
All she needed to do was ask my why I forgot to fill out my TPS report and it would have been perfect. "That'd be greeeaaaattttt, thanks." Ugh. Die.
We've had a fly problem in the office. There are huge, black, sluggish flies all over the window above the boardroom, and periodically one of the flies will shamble over to someone's office for a little lie down. Because there are so many of them swatting is not a desirable mode of extermination. We're not talking three or four flies, we're not even talking twenty, it's more like Amityville. As such my job description took a new turn when English boss decided to delegate fumigation to me. Me and my trusty can of Raid waded into the storm and took care of the pestilence. I'm now either sterile or my offspring will be born without bones. You do what you have to for 28K a year. Administrative Assistant means more than just photocopying and answering phones, it's also about being a bit of a cowboy.
We weren't sure why all the flies were there. One of my coworkers cheerfully suggested that something must have died in the walls. It's probably just my spirit. They probably live in the insulation and whenever it's warm for more than a few days they spawn. It's almost poetic, really.
Anyway, I came home and watched TV with B for awhile. We were really looking forward to CSI and Without a Trace. CSI was a repeat, dammit, and Without a Trace was just lame. Jerry Bruckheimer, what happened? There was, however, plenty of mocking potential available in the commercials. Have you seen the new Lysol one that sells itself by being the spray that removes odour bacteria from the air? There's a happy housewife going around her immaculate home spraying the shit out of it with this revolutionary new spray, and thanking Lysol for finally providing the consumer marketplace with this new product. "Thanks for listening, Lysol." I can't be sure, but I think that they might have gotten to her.
B turns to me.
"Did you see that? Look at how much she was spraying in the baby's room!"
"Huh?"
"Jesus, what's the matter, didn't they have any Sarin?"
Oh man. Sometimes the things that come out of that woman's mouth. Whenever she's trying to give Rage his bottle and he won't sit still for it she always says, "now, come over here and drink your bottle like a Christian." This is going to be one sarcastic little boy.
Anyway, stay tuned campers 'cause next entry we're going to talk about the wedding I went to the other weekend. You won't want to miss that.
