I’m leaving 10 minutes early.
Archive for December 20th, 2005
This year ACWF and I gave Christmas cookies to our coworkers instead of other types of gifts. You may have read about it on this blog that grows exceptionally poorer in quality as we approach the end of the year.
I gave my boss (the shrimp-sandwich orgasm one) a bag of cookies and she said, “Oooh! Cookies, I remember how good the ones were last year! Thanks!”
I wished her Happy Holidays (because I’m an America-hating foot-soldier in the War on Christmas) and wandered bemusedly into the hallway, recalling distinctly that the cookies I made last year were TERRIBLE.
I remember making only one dozen cookies that were not burned in one way or another, and having to ration out those unburned cookies to each bag. In fact, I spent the better part of two hours last year with about 150 cookies flipped over on their tops with me organizing them by level of burnination. It went from “Sweet Mother of All That is Good, These Avoided an Immolation” to “Uh, maybe they’ll just think that these were baked in soot” to “Old charcoal briquettes have fewer burn spots”. The bulk of the cookies went in the third pile, and I can say with certainty that none of the bags of cookies made it out with less that 50% of them being charred hockey pucks.
This means one of a few things:
1) My boss is remembering someone else’s cookies
2) My boss has a dead tongue, thus explaining her orgasmic reaction to a sub-par shrimp salad sandwich (from the previous post)
3) My cookie making is so artful, that even the destructive nature of fire cannot stop me.
I’m going to go with 3.
I am a cookie God.
One time we had a meeting off site, and the meeting was supposed to end with a lunch at a nearby restaurant. All day long my boss is talking up the shrimp-salad sandwich at this restaurant.
First, it was, “Oh, the shrimp-salad is so good there!”
Then it was, “Oh, I’d pay anything for their shrimp-salad!”
Finally it was, “Oh, I have a violent and raging orgasm any time I get within 10 feet of one of their shrimp-salad sandwiches, and then I have to go home and change my pants because the smell of the sandwich combined with the power of my orgasm also gives me a little diarrhea.”
So I thought I would try the sandwich. It sounded like it would be something I could blog about, even though I wasn’t blogging then, and was pretty sure that a “blog” was something that a doctor collected from your colon when you’d put too many pickles up there. Also, I like shrimp salad.
So when we got there we were met by two of our other coworkers, and they both ordered hamburgers. Boring-ass, grass-fed, stuck-in-a-pen-all-day, slaughtered-with-no-regard-for-worker-safety-or-factory-cleanliness, mad-cow-having, disease-laden hamburgers, probably-also-violated-by-hillbillies beef hamburgers. Do YOU go to Kansas and ask what the catch of the day is? No. So why would I order a hamburger in a seafood restaurant in a port town. It’s retarded.
But all the women ordered shrimp salad as well, so that suddenly made me less manly. I guess I had forgotten about the penis-inverting qualities in shrimp.
I guess I just don’t understand how some people can be so stupid. It’s not like THEY killed the cow. It’s not like they even cooked the damn thing. I can understand certain things being “male” or “female”. Like cooking, and cleaning, and raising kids are all the things women should be allowed to do. Men get to do everything else. And shrimp salad sandwiches are included in part of everything else.
(note from ACW: In light of one of Common Wombat’s posts, I’m posting this story from my brother)
Have you ever vomited from your nose? I would have to say it is the single worst vomiting experience I have ever had. Don’t get me wrong, I mean, I’ve never really had a good vomit. But when vomit comes out of your nostrils - yowza - it is simultaneously fascinating and horrifying.
Recently I had a night of carousing with Imported Wife, ACW, ACWF, and one of Imported Wife’s friends. As I recollect, I was drinking quite a bit and not exactly paying attention to how much nor what types I was imbibing. In the course of the evening, I consumed
- A single one-and-one-half-ounce serving of tasty, tasty scotch
- One humongous horseradish/garlic/onion/cheddar burger
- Lots of curly fries
- Five Miller Lites
- One twelve-ounce blended rum/mango beverage
- Four twelve-ounce blended rum/strawberry beverages
Remarkably, I went to bed feeling fairly content. At around 5am, I woke up to horrible intestinal discomfort and the urge to pee. As I got up to go to the bathroom, I realized I’d probably have to fire off a missle, too, and hoped that would take care of how nasty my insides felt.
Here’s what then transpired: I sat on the toilet, and my belly would violently gurgle or bloop. Immediately following that, poo would shoot out of me like canned dog food out of a fire hose. Gross. I was not as happy as a puppy with two peters - Li’l Brudder would be a much more apt description.
About ten minutes later I was done excreting, but felt no better. I realized then I was going to vomit, like it or not, so I sat down next to the toilet I had befouled (but flushed, thank you very much) and began to wait. I understand that some people can just force themselves to vomit one way or another, but not me - I just have to sit and wait for it to happen.
I was also thirsty. I got myself a glass of water but didn’t want to drink it because I felt so nasty, so I just swished some water in my mouth and spat it out. That didn’t do it for me, though, because the back of my throat was still dry, so I decided to do some gargling. I accidentally relaxed my throat a little too much, though, and gagged a little on the water… and it was vomiting time. Unfortunately for me, I discovered that I had somehow managed to open my nasal passage or something, because as vomit shot out of my mouth I noted with alarm that it was exiting my nostrils with equal force.
It was awful. Granted, it was only during the first heave that it shot out of my nasal cavity, but it left me entirely confused and unprepared when the next heave came. The worst part, I realized, was that the nasty vomit smell would be impossible to shake no matter how much mouthwash I was willing to use or toothbrushing I was willing to do.
Your send-off: when I was showering the next morning I blew my nose and little nuglets of vomit came out. Guhhhh.
