Things That Don't REALLY Happen
Okay, so it is a couple of days after the attack, so I feel like I am in a place where I can talk about it. This is my version of the events. I am sure Bailey, Yo and Veronica, Yo will also be posting their take on the WTF???! Situation we all on the party barge now seem to be calling "the incident."
Okay so here's what went down. Bailey, Yo, Veronica, Yo and I went to a very popular and higher-end happy hour location--we'll call it "The Weekly Broil." It's a place right outside of our office and it is frequented by our coworkers. We have had many a lunch meeting there. It may not be our FAVORITE happy hour place (the drinks are overpriced) but it is ideal if you only have time for a really quick, mini-happy hour. We are all stressed, we are all tired. Our feet hurt. It's still the middle of the week, and we all need some time to just chill out, relax, gossip, eat, drink and make merry. But you know, it is US, we are going to a PUBLIC PLACE, so we should have sensed the impending doom.
Well there we are, minding our own business. Not EVEN being loud, I swear! And talking about, well, nothing bad. We're all young, we're in a bar. We're just making jokes and gossiping a little bit. Nothing harmful, nothing weird. And really it was turning out to be a rather pleasant and uneventful situation. Until, the man in the sweat pant short cometh....
Now you are probably already a little frightened to hear that we encountered someone in a nicer establishment wearing sweatpants cut-offs, but it gets worse. Because it wasn't so much the strange, out-of-place clothes that turned us off, but the threatening, bellowing rant of lunacy he hurled at us in a very public place.
He was a large man. Probably in his mid-to-late fifties. He walked up to our little bar table. He was probably only about 3 feet away. He had icy, leering eyes that shot us a look so saturated with venom, it could make silent even the mirthless laughter of the damned. You know, unhappy people who like bad stuff and crap.
And he screams, SCREAMS! So loudly so EVERYONE in the restaurant, and all their relatives a couple of counties over turn and look at us:
"WE DON'T WANT TO HEAR THIS S#&%!!! EITHER SHUT YOUR D%#$ MOUTHS, OR KEEP YOUR CONVERSATION CIVIL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
We stared. Veronica, Yo said she thought he was joking at first. I was just horrified. It was one of those things you can't say much more than "I'm sorry, what now?" or ideally, "F&%$ You!" But instead I think all I could manage was "um...Okay Buddy..." Which was quite possibly the lamest response EVER, but the only one I could muster nonetheless.
Long story short, we fled. I mean, we had already paid our bill, but we definitely left faster than we had intended. There are probably scuff marks in the floors from our pointy-heeled shoes. Come by, I'll show them to you.
Bailey, Yo was very upset understandably. I guess being verbally accosted by the crazy in a public place doesn't happen THAT often to her. Huh. And she had to go home, but Veronica, Yo and I were not quite through with the situation. We went back to the Weekly Broil, and talked to two different managers. We wound up getting a $100 gift card and a "Sorry you were screamed at by an insane person in our establishment." So is the story over?????
Well, no, otherwise I would have written "THE END" but I don't want to take all description and further details away from my two friends who were also involved, so I will turn it over to Bailey, Yo and Veronica, Yo.
Kisses!
Brit, Yo.
Snark!
Occasionally, being webmaster means I witness some marvelous gems of sarcasm with a soupcon of frustration following an interaction with the staff at our hosting company:
From: Snarky Co-worker
Sent: Thursday, October 26, 2006 3:51 PM
To: webtechperson@hostingcompany.com
Cc: Bailey, yo
Subject: FINDING AND DELETING INCORRECT XYZ
Dear Tech Person:
Well, you're right, I do review and approve all XYZs. But I don't memorize them.
Is there any way I can get into the database and look for myself?
Best, SC
"Yes, I do review and approve that, but I don't memorize it." This is the all-purpose justification phrase I have been searching for my entire professional career.
Guest Post from Wonderkiller
I'm in Boston, serving as dutiful arm-candy for Bailey, yo. I'm walking down the street near Copley Square, carrying my breakfast -- a bagel and some sushi, because when I'm on vacation, my breakfast habits become a bit catch-as-catch-can. Anyway, here I am walking down the street when a
duck comes driving by. This particular duck is being driven by a large hirsute fellow wearing a horned viking helmet. And of all the people on the street, he gives me a nod and wave as he drives by.
My question is, why does every character on the East Coast seem to feel the need to give me a shout-out wherever I go? Do they somehow sense a kindred spirit or something in me? That's a little alarming, because two weeks ago an authentic DC homeboy shot me a genuine much-love tap while I was taking the kids on a bike ride.
But, damn, it DOES feel good to be a gangsta. Albeit a very white, bald, suburban dad gangsta.
Town, Consider Yourself Painted Red
The Alligators are on parade, floating their party barges north to New England.
Seamus, yo; Bailey, yo; Britney, yo; and Veronica, yo, will soon be hitting the streets, bars, pubs, and clubs of Beantown. Consider yo'self on notice, Boston (but not the Corbert form of on notice...) Should you be a resident of these areas, please take any precautions deemed neccessary.
We'll try to keep it clean. We promise not to litter.
And we apologize, in advance, to the Commonwealth of Massacusetts for any ruckus caused, cocktails spilled, or tables overturned.
Back at the Office–Day 1
Where I'm not.
What I'm doing instead.
WebMD and Google are NOT a hypochondriac's BFF
Okay, so you may recall that I put "hypochondria" ON NOTICE when all of us here on the party barge were going through that phase. Well I'm noticing it alright.
Okay, so the body part worry/issue of the week (and it has TOTALLY been a month) is: Bloodshot eye/eyes.
So my eyes--especially the right one--have been bloodshot for the last month and as we determined not long ago, pink eye is the new herpes (it's going around y'all) BUT usually pink eye is paired with itching and gooey crap. My eyes do not itch or hurt they are just kinda red. Why I ask? WHY? Well I did what any hypochondriac worth their weight in doctor office co pays would do...I consulted Google, WebMD, and all my other favs. So here is what I have concluded. My Problem is one of the following:
1) Lack of sleep
2) Allergies
3) Eye Strain
3) Thyroid Eye Disease
4) Dry Eye
5) Dry eye caused by Sjogren's Syndrome
6) Dry Eye Caused by Dry Eye Syndrome
7) Alcoholism
8) Rock Star Lifestyle
9) Eye Injury
That helps. I hate that. I want to meet the people who write the content for those WebMD/Google Health pages. "The symptom will most likely clear up on its own in a few days. Or kill you."
I guess when we return from our party barge convention I will have to see a doctor. And by "see," I really mean "Dimly sense through a pink haze of anxiety and woe."
What's YOUR health anxiety issue of the week????
Jeff is psychic.
I think we should invite Jeff, recapper for
Television Without Pity, to join us in our little club.
We all have thoughts that are nasty, right? We all think someone we work with is an idiot. Someone is untalented. Someone has bad breath and stands far too close to us when we're merely trying to make a fucking color copy and could you please get off of me HELP! But we don't tell them. Because it's rude. And not only will it hurt someone's feelings, which we should probably care about; it will also only serve to ostracize us from society. People won't like us. And it's just a matter of time until we're in a room or a playground with all of the people that don't like us. And they all have rocks. And, well, it's too late at that point. (A more realistic outcome is that people won't want to work with us, but I like the violence of the stoning scenario.)
He must have been lurking around Bailey, yo's office this morning...
