Just a bunch of more random crap and a rant

Did you know the Rapture is happening tomorrow at 6:00PM?  Yep, it is.  Although I don't know if that's 6:00PM Eastern, Mountain, Central, Pacific or Greenwich Mean time and I don't think the dude who is predicting this here event has clarified that.  On the other hand, I don't pay much attention to the Doomsday Predictors.

Just like those who claim that the End of the World is supposed to take place December 21, 2012 because the Mayan calendar says so.  Or is it the Aztec calendar?  Incan calendar?  Gregorian calendar?  Julian calendar?  Which is why I (mostly) don't believe it because there are several different calendars in use and why would the Mayans (or whoEVER) use the Christian calendar to make their predictions?  Why not the Jewish calendar?  Huh?  Huh?

I'm always a little fascinated by those who predict The End of the World and the people who fall for it believe it.  I don't know about you but if there was an Apocalypse, I really don't think I'd want to be one of the survivors.  One of the most frightening books I ever read was Stephen King's "The Stand."  Because I could so see it happening and I really wouldn't want to live in that world.  

Okay, enough of the happy, uplifiting stuff!  

Yesterday, my little boy, Thing 1, completed his first year of college.  He survived Freshman Year and thinks he earned a B average.  Which means he'll get to continue to sleep in the house instead of out in the bushes, which is what I make the kids do when their grades drop below a B average.  Instills character, doncha know.

Thing 2 still has 16 days school days left, 17 if you count today.  And yes, she's counting down the days until she can get to work on her chosen career, which is "Professional Sleeper."  Seriously, if left unattended, she could easily sleep until 2:00pm.  Pacific Standard Time.  Girl loves her some sleep is what I'm saying.  Almost as much as she loves collecting vintage money.  And that's saying A LOT.

So, my leased car is due to be turned back in within the month.  My final lease payment was made so any time between now and June 20, the car goes back and don't let the door hit you in the ass on your way out, Gas Guzzling Saturn Vue.

That's the Good News.  The Bad News is, TheManTheMyth will not discuss what we're going to do about replacing said car.  This is how conversations about it typically go:


Me:  What are we doing about my car?
TMTM:  We're turning it in.
Me:  But what are we going to do after that?
TMTM:  What's for dinner?
Me:  Am I getting a new car?
TMTM:  This sock has a hole in it.
Me:  Well?
TMTM:  The dog peed on the patio again.
Me:  What about the car?
TMTM:  Woo-hoo, the new Dirt Bike magazine is here!  Hey!  I know that guy!


And at this point, I throw my hands up in defeat and walk away in disgust as TheManTheMyth then asks me, "Did you say something?"


Maybe he's waiting to see if we'll still be here day after tomorrow before he commits to a new car.  Which, seeing as how the Rapture is supposed to take only the True Believers, oh hell yes we'll still be here.


We ain't goin' nowhere.  Maybe not even to the car dealer.

The Florence Foster Jenkins of the Paint Color, Street Name and Concert Piano World

Today, over at the Pie, June asked us, her faithful and devoted readers, what would be our Dream Jobs, if we had enough money to be able to realize our Dream Jobs. 

Quite a few readers wanted to do Good Deeds, helping others in need.  

Yeah, that's not me.

Not that I wouldn't WANT to help the Underprivileged and Abused because I'm all about Helping Others, when I have the time and inclination, but it's NOT my "Dream Job."  

Because who is shallow, selfish and self-centered?  This gal (points to self).

No, seriously, for me, a Dream Job would be the person who comes up with Paint Colors and Street Names.  A Professional Paint-Color-and-Street-Namer.

A Noble Profession.

I have seen the paint chips at the local Lowe's Depot of Home Improvement Stuff and lemme tell you, some of the paint color names are just a bit WTF.  I know *I* could do a much better job of naming paint colors:  "Whispering Dawn" would be a lovely shade of pinkish yellow and NOT a section of the local cemetery.  "Kaylyn's Floor" would be the color of food left to rot under a bed.  Uh, I mean, a greenish-bluish-brownish color.  Yeah.  That's it.

As for street names, nothing that will take up the entire length of an envelope just to get the whole street name on it:  Avenida El Camino Del Rey Mar Vista in the lovely town of Nuestra Senora La Reina de Los Angeles.

Bob Road.  Dead Squirrel Lane.  Scenic Route.  Anchors-A Way.  THESE are good street names.

Primrose Lane is another good one.  Lots of families on Primrose Lane.

Okay, another Dream Job I have is to be a Pianist, playing in department stores, piano bars, concert halls.  Which would be great except for one small, insignificant detail:

I don't know how to play the piano.

I must be one of the very few people in the world who begged to take piano lessons as a kid.  BEGGED.  And pleaded.

And was denied.  Bitter Moment #31 in the List of Kelly's Bitter Moments.  Of which there are many.  I think I'm up into the four figures.

One of the flimsy reasons I was given was that we didn't have a piano.

What EVER.

One of our neighbors had a Baby Grand piano whenever they would play, I would stand in front of their house, listening and wishing I could play like that.

When I'd go to someone's house who had a piano, I would itch to be able to play it.  Sometimes, I'd be indulged and allowed to plink away, picking out tunes by ear.

If I was rich and could indulge my Dream Job fantasy, I'd be like 

Florence Foster Jenkins and say "Screw the critics!" and I'd give piano recitals despite my inability to play.

And there would be no more Bitter Moments. 

There's no mayonnaise in Ireland

Bu there's ketchup and mustard.

Anyway.

My family, who I love and adore, has a problem.  And it's a problem that has caused problems more than once.  Which is a problem.

The problem is that they do not enunciate when they speak.  All three of them like to mumble, slur and run their words together as if they're in some kind of contest to see how fast they can mumble and slur and run their words together while talking to me to see how fast my head will explode.

Obviously, they do it to fuck with me.

I don't know how many times one of them will ask me a question and I cannot understand a single word they're saying so I ask them to repeat it.

And they do.

And it sounds just as unintelligible as the first time around.

They also like to mumble and slur while facing away from me.  

And then get all huffy because I don't answer.

Just this morning, TheManTheMyth was sitting at my desk, looking at something on the computer.  I was sitting on the couch in the living room watching the morning news.

And he asked me a question that sounded like this:  "Hazzey dunn sanjay cast yet?"

And I, of course, said, "WHAT?"

And he repeated it, "Hazzey dunn sanjay cast yet?"

I muted the TV and again asked, "WHAT?"

"Hazzey dunn sanjay cast yet?"


Oh, Cheezus Effing Criminey, what the fuck is he saying?


So I get up and walk into my office and ask him to repeat his question.  With a heavy sigh, he asks me, "Have they done the seven day forecast yet?"


Oh.  Of COURSE.  How could I have missed that?  It was so OBVIOUS what he was asking me.  Any fool could have known that.


Just yesterday I received a phone call from someone with a slight accent and I had to keep asking her to repeat her company name and I STILL didn't know what the hell she was saying and finally I asked her to spell it for me.  Which she did.  And okay, I'd never heard of it because it was a foreign name.  So there's that in my favor.


Despite hearing tests that tell me my hearing is just fine and dandy, I DO have a problem hearing when there is a lot of background noise or when people mumble and slur their words together.  Everything sounds like Charlie Brown's teacher to me.


I've attended dinners and luncheons and meetings where I've pretty much just sat like a bump on a log because I can't hear what people are saying because of the background noise.


My Grandpa once advised that when speaking with people whose first language is NOT English, "speak slowly and distinctly so they will understand you."


I thought he was being a bit pompous at the time but guess what?  Grandpa was right!

When the man told me that there's no mayonnaise in Ireland, I asked what condiments are in Ireland.  And that's when I found out that he had actually been quoting John Donne's, "No man is an island."


Seriously, say it fast.  No man is an island.


No mayonnaise in Ireland.


I rest my case.