We Can't Leave the Room Because He Won't Stop Blowing

I understand that we have an ungodly amount of pollen floating around the atmosphere right now and that it affects some worse than others.  BUT FOR THE LOVE OF GOD PLEASE STOP BLOWING YOUR NOSE SO LOUD.  Ok, I've got that out of my system.  I don't know if you fully understand what the Ladies of the Conference Room are being subjected to.  We are trapped in Conference Room C because we are afraid to enter into the hallway!  There are juicy sneezes coming from all directions, constant couching, and to beat all, the loudest nose blowing coming from one office the likes of which even our oldest of Grandfathers could not conceive.  He's not even blowing his nose - it's his SCHNOZ.  Once you can blow a nose so loudly that the entire office can hear you, it is no longer a nose - it becomes a schnoz and should belong to an old old Jewish man named Saul or Uri.  The problem is that he is blowing his schnoz (at top decibel) every 60 seconds.  We have taken to fits of giggles every time he blows - we can't help it - it is so ridiculously loud.  On top of Saul's (and that's not his name - we don't know who he is and we are too scared to get close) schnoz blowings - we have the juiciest sneezes coming at us from all directions - we can see the sneeze splatter floating by the Conference Room door.  The hallway has become a bacteria bath and it is no longer safe to leave Conference Room C.  We are terrified to cross the threshold into the land of schnozes and sneezes.  It might not be simple allergies - it might be SARS or the Plague or the Consumption.  No one but us seems to notice.  Someone should intervene - make the serious offenders seek medical attention.  I think if Saul blows his schnoz at this level of extremity one more time there will be blood.  Oh, there will be blood!!!!  We don't want to be here when that happens.

Help!!! 
Ladies of the Conference Room

[UPDATE - A little while later - I tried to blow my own nose that hard and I couldn't.  I blew so hard my ears popped and things don't feel the same in my nasal cavity anymore.  But I couldn't produce that sound.]

Parking Lot Mc-CAR-thyism . . . (emphasis on the "CAR")

I'm on the lamb.  I hope they don't find me.  I'm keeping my head low - my badge turned backwards so you can't see the "CONTRACTOR" written in bold letters across the top and I'm not making eye contact with anyone (did he just look at me? . .  I hope not).  I've turned my collar up around my face (metaphorically speaking).  I may even have to hide in someones attic or under the stairs or in the kitchen cupboard (so I'm closer to the food).

Several hours earlier . . . .

Jenny comes in to work today with a scowl on her face.  She had been dealing with the parking lot managers (reason enough to scowl, but there's more).  She was trying to get a monthly parking pass for the building parking lot so that she can stop paying the $17 per day "pay as you go" fee.  The manager tells her she can't get a parking pass for the building's inside lot or the outside lot (which is where I park) because they have stopped giving monthly parking passes to contractors.  She explains further that they have apparently rounded up all the contractors (and by rounded up - I mean knocked on their doors late at night with pitchforks and torches - no, not really - they just sent letters - but I bet they were thinking of pitchforks and torches when they wrote the letters) and informed them that they had until the end of February to find a different parking lot.  Word on the street is that they have oversold the parking lot and in order to accommodate all of the "permanent employees," they are kicking out the contractors (ouch).  I never received a letter.  No one has contacted me.  My parking card still works.  Jenny was of course perturbed that they wouldn't sell her a monthly pass and (wait for it) said "well, I have a contractor friend who is parking in the outside parking lot."  To which the parking lot manager replied (pitchfork and torch appearing in her head), "What's your friend's name."  OH HELL TO THE NO!!!!!  Jenny responded (smirk in place) "I'm not telling you that" and the parking lot manager (let's call her Evil Parking Lot Manager) just *laughs*.  Now, when I picture the *laugh* I picture cackling and the rubbing of hands together - as if to say - "I'll get you my pretty little contractor, I'll get you." 

So, I'm on the lamb.  The end of February has come and gone and I'm still parking in the outside parking lot (amongst the permanent employees and pay-as-you-goers).  I was billed for March - just like every other month.  I have not yet been discovered.  I am sure there are "permanent employees" out there without a monthly parking pass, just waiting for the chance to turn me in - to put my name on a list.

They will come looking for me . . . . . . . . . and I'll be ready for them........



Evil Parking Manager
with
corporate "permanent employees"



Rubbish Montage and Penis Photos

Well, I had a great time at the cabin last weekend with my boys.  It was a lazy relaxing weekend, but I did manage to get one walk in down ole County Road 642.  It amazes me that people still throw their trash along the road.  I think it is worse in redneck territory - not sure why, I haven't fully researched the connection, but it is.  I turned around and headed back before I reached the house with all the dogs because I just didn't feel like dealing with that.  Sometimes you just feel like being alone - and that includes dogs.  The boys wouldn't walk with me so I set out on my own.  I would like to provide you with a photo montage below of some of the delightful rubbish I found along County Road 642 - bearing in mind that I only took pics of the highlights - as there was no way I could capture all rubbish - there was just too much!!!!  Why didn't I clean it up???  This was scary rubbish.  I don't touch scary rubbish - well, because it scares me.

Not sure if I have mentioned this to y'all, but we lost a Lady of the Conference Room a couple weeks ago.  Tanya left us to go do some permanent contract work with a former partner of hers (although this gig - now six months in - is looking pretty permanent to me).  We assumed that this gig would be coming to an end soon so we figured they would just leave it at 3 and not replace Tanya.  Well, I was wrong.  We have a new Lady of the Conference Room now - she joined us on Tuesday of this week.  She is still on "Conference Room C Probation" right now (well, in our minds anyway) - but is quickly catching on to the mindset and culture of CR-C.  A conservative, snooty person would really put a kink in our hose so to say - because we really enjoy speaking our mind in CR-C - whether that means talking about the poop stall, a date Clare went on (with vivid details) or whatever.  We knew she would fit in just fine when she explained to us that she was getting inappropriate texts from unknown men on the weekends.  She reckons that someone is giving out her number as their "fake number" or something because for the past few weekends various men have texted her a picture of their penis - as if she knows them and would enjoy having such a picture.  We giggled about it for a while when she finally said - "I mean I still have them if you want to see."  Reading between the lines - her tone said "I can't imagine you would, but if you want to see."  We all looked at her simultaneously and said "Well, YEAH we want to see!!!!" annoyed that she didn't mentioned this earlier.  The pictures were indeed quite hilarious!!!  What's most hilarious is that a man would EVER think we wanted a picture of their penis.  No offense men, but a penis is not much to look at.  And we certainly don't want to see a stand-alone penis without seeing the face and rest of the body.  Most women would rather see the full package - and even then we still kinda cringe when the penis is exposed.  We like everything leading up to and around the penis - but the penis itself . . . .we would rather that be kept under wraps.  It's kind of like a scary movie (the suspense thriller kind - not the carve em up bloody kind) where you know something is lurking around the corner about to jump out at you so you are on the edge of your seat . . . excited yet horrified about what lurks around the corner and you end up turning away and closing your eyes at the last minute.  That's how we feel about the penis. I know I don't speak for all women - just 99%.  One of the penis pictures Jenny had (Oh, her name is Jenny) was taken by the dude while he was standing over the toilet - so it was a down shot of the penis and below the penis was the toilet.  Let me just tell you, if the day comes that I ever wanted to see a picture of your penis (and I'm using the royal "your" of course - not any particular "member" of this blog - so please don't start sending me pics of your junk) - and I don't anticipate that day ever coming - I would prefer that the penis not be hovering over the shitter, but that's just me.  Oh, and just so you know men - if you send a woman a picture of your junk (and I know none of the men on this blog would do such a thing) - and I am talking about sending a woman you don't really know that well a picture of your junk, as opposed to a long standing girlfriend or your wife (that's a different story) the woman you send the picture to will show it to ALL of her friends.  And they will all cringe when first looking at it and then break off into a fit of giggles.  I'm thinking that is not the result you will be hoping for.  I am not saying that there is anything wrong with the penis - so don't get a complex about it - I'm just saying that women don't view the standing alone penis as this awesome thing worthy of being captured on film.  We view YOU the man as awesome and admire and appreciate the body that goes along with you.  Send us all the pictures you want of you with your shirt off cuddling puppies or a picture of you playing with your niece or nephew and you will have sent us two of most powerful pictures you can send to a woman.   A picture of your penis - unless it is WAY out of the norm (and even that might not get the result you were hoping for as you may never hear from us again) will just result in cringes and giggles.  Those of you who are in committed relationships and have been since all things internet and/or texting took over the world - count your blessings.  You would be surprised how common it is for the modern man to court you by sending you photos of his manhood as if you need to view the merchandise before you purchase.  Guess what, we don't!!!!!!

I have pasted Jenny's penis pictures below . . .  .  .. .JUST KIDDING!!!!!  Admit it, you were mortified at the thought.

Now for a County Road 642 (Mentone, AL) rubbish montage - from my walk last weekend:

A Care Bear (I think this is "Cheer Bear" actually) -
He's not looking so cheerful here - looks like he has been assassinated
and left to be picked apart by wild animals - looks like no one's biting. 

Vertebrae
(not sure if it.s vertebrae or vertebra - never gave it much thought till now)
I know this is not necessarily "rubbish" but I had to include it
because it's not every day you see vertebrae on your walk - we see it a lot on CR 642



A nail cupcake - that's the only way I can describe this bit of rubbish.
It is all nails and held together with tar or something.  What is this??  Do you know?



Another shot of the nail cupcake.  It is really shapped like a cupcake.
I always said I never met a cupcake I didn't like - until now.

Old moonshine jars - I mean, don't you think?



Hpyodermic needle - there were several of these scattered about



A redneck molotov coctail.  I say "redneck"
because it's in a plastic bottle - which sort of defeats
the purpose.  I initially thought some sort of bong, but it's
filled with paper and looks like the spout was burnt.  You decide.

Redneck molotov coctail from a different angle



No redneck rubbish montage would be complete
without a discarded bottle of Mad Dog 20/20.  Obviously.

Ciao for now!
Amy

Schizophrenia Caused Darryl's Hiccups (but we didn't have time for that; we had to prepare for the tornado)

Darryl finally carried his hiccuping arse to the doc-in-the-box for a "real" remedy (although I stand behind my Whipped Cream Vodka tonic) and the doctor prescribed him Thorazine.

"Thorazine is used to treat the symptoms of schizophrenia (a mental illness that causes disturbed or unusual thinking, loss of interest in life, and strong or inappropriate emotions) and other psychotic disorders (conditions that cause difficulty telling the difference between things or ideas that are real and

things or ideas that are not real) and to treat the symptoms of mania (frenzied, abnormally excited mood) in people who have bipolar disorder (manic depressive disorder; a condition that causes episodes of mania, episodes of depression, and other abnormal moods). Thorazine is also used to treat severe behavior problems such as explosive, aggressive behavior and hyperactivity in children 1-12 years of age. Thorazine is also used to control nausea and vomiting, to relieve hiccups that have lasted one month or longer, and to relieve restlessness and nervousness that may occur just before surgery." 

[The words in red were highlighted for emphasis - just saying - I see where the doctor was going with this]

So I'm fairly certain that schizophrenia caused Darryl's hiccups. 

He picked me up on Friday afternoon so we could head to Knotty Pines cabin for a relaxing weekend (along with Lawrence and Rick, but they were driving separately).  When he picked me up he had already taken two doses of the Thorazine (even though he was only supposed to have taken one dose - I checked him for evidence of drool and when I didn't see any, I felt it was OK to get in the car).  The hiccups were not going away.  Still certain that I would be the one to find the cure for his hiccups (cause who needs doctors anyway, especially since we have the internet and imagination) I googled "diaphragm and pressure points" (because the diaphragm is the epicenter of the hiccups) and found this:

Face Pressure Point

Find the center of your philtrum, which is the groove between your upper lip and nose. It is more pronounced in some people. Press in the center of this groove, pushing in towards the teeth. Press and hold for 20 to 30 seconds.

So Darryl and I drove up I-75 together putting pressure on our philtrums (I don't know why I was doing it too, maybe I was afraid of catching sympathetic hiccups, but it just seemed like the thing to do at the time.  I hope he appreciated the show of support).  But alas, the hiccups prevailed, again.  Maybe something is wrong with his philtrum?  I think that happens when you have schizophrenia; It affects your philtrum first - then your mind - then the hiccup epicenter.  Our next idea was to try M&Ms.  It is always our hope that we can find legitimate reasons to binge on chocolate - "I have to eat these M&Ms. They control my schizophrenia."  Of course that means I had to eat M&Ms too - I mean I was "all in" at this point.  Sadly, the hiccups remained impervious to both traditional and homeopathic remedies.  They continued through Dr. Pepper, Velveeta  Cheese dip (Southern remedy of course), scoopable tortilla chips, wine, pizza with peperoni and jalapenos, gummy butterflies, honey BBQ Fritos and brownies.  Discouraged, Darryl took a third Thorazine and went to bed.  I had a half mind to set my alarm clock on 2 hr alerts so I could check to make sure he was still breathing and that he hadn't drowned in his own spittle, but I didn't.  Our friendship only goes so far and my philtrum hasn't been the same since I pressured it. 

While dealing with Darryl's "issue" (and by dealing I mean eating mass quantities of food)  we also had the imminent threat of "damaging winds, large hail and possibly a tornado" headed for Knotty Pines Cabin (i.e. Mentone Alabama).  Alabama has been batting a thousand when it comes to tornadoes these days, so we didn't take this threat lightly!!!  Mostly we built a fire in the porch fireplace and sat on the porch listening for the sound of a train (we argued whether it was the whistle or the chug-a-chug-a-chug we were supposed to be listening for).  We also all crammed into the games closet to see if the four of us could fit in there and rigged a phone cord on the door handle so we could pull it into the closet with us and hold tight so the twister couldn't rip the door open and scoop us out.  It seemed like a good plan so we all went to bed. 

This morning Darryl's *you-know-whats* were gone.  He doesn't want any of us to say the word because he is sure it will jinx it - so when he leaves the room we whisper the word *hiccups* like we are talking about *cancer* or *dead puppies* or some other such things that you are supposed to whisper about.  Other than the fact that Darryl occasionally yells out the word "France" he seems to be back to normal, relatively speaking.  Oh, and the tornado never came to Knotty Pines Cabin, so all is well in Mentone, Alabama, relatively speaking.  

How I began my evening at Knotty Pines Cabin. . .

 

The string and telephone cord I tied on the handle so we could
hold the door shut from the inside (brilliant)

 

Our "hunker down closet" (aka the games closet),
which is under the stairs so we would be in there
like Harry Potter