One of my friends who joined us for lunch had a building evacuation. I feel that calling in a bomb threat to get to your meat sooner if definitely an excusable offense. She said that they had to leave so quickly she wasn't allowed to turn off her computer, and was only able to minimize our gchat. We didn't say anything horrible, though, I worry that all our talk about meat may worry whomever was tasked with looking at the computers. Is "meat" a code word for "bomb," they might ask their superiors.
If only my brain had instant recall--I would transcribe a conversation that was held over our meaty goodness. It had us in tears and two of us had to resist the urge to vomit up the tasty meat bits. Here's a list of highlights from the convo:
- Silkwood
- wire brush
- genital scrub
- high-pressure-hose-created orgasm
- picnic
- adult-themed egg hunt
- dental dams
- ejaculate as "prize" in plastic egg
- how much ejaculate it would take to fill an egg
- keeping ejaculate "fresh"
- mistaking ejaculate for melted candy
Then there was the problem this morning where I was having a very realistic dream of being in a mansion (not mine of course, I never dream big for myself), where there was a glass cupola that exploded all over the room due to deep snow accumulation. I was picking up the glass in my dream, and kept getting slivers of it stuck in my fingers and under my nails, when I heard shouting that sounded a lot like, "Please watch football!" then a very loud noise. I woke up at the point, and the boy was already scrambling out of bed to check on the matter. Seems the house diagonal from ours is having some kind of issue. There were five policemen in riot gear, and they had rammed the door and broke a panel out of it (mostly likely scenario here is that no one was yelling for me to watch football, but rather announcing they were the police and to open up). There was a lot of very slow activity (no one was in a hurry here). An ambulance showed up about 20 minutes later, and they weren't in a hurry either. A lot of photographs were taken inside the house, and not a single occupant could be seen. I have no idea if anyone was hauled off before we actually got our glasses on to focus on the action. We could see the neighbors across the street peeping through their blinds as we peeped through ours, which gave me a good laugh that we were all probably standing around naked looking at something we'll probably never figure out. My three guesses are drugs, weapons or "illegals" in that order.
When I left for work at 8:30am (hey, I've been working late and needed some extra sleep--I mean, there were cops keeping me up at 6am after all), there was no sign of cops nor the people who lived in the house. There were no cars (cars had still be in the driveway when I went back to bed at 7am) or people around at all. There was still a hole in the door (what, no plywood to help out?), and the place looked empty. No crime-scene tape either. So, tell me, what the fuck?
My non sequitur for the morning: Damn this getting old crap, and showing up to work with sleep wrinkles on my face.
Corrections:
This blog post incorrectly listed my friend living in Dallas, when he in fact lives in Houston. I cannot vouch for what goes on in my head at any certain point. I apologize for shaming him with Dallas when he lives in Houston. Ha!
In this blog post I quoted a "coworker" without giving her proper credit. I hereby corrected this oversight, and would like all of you to know that my dear coworker, slag-bag, is the one who gave me a slightly backhanded compliment regarding my outfit. She's also the mother of Emma--the best dog in the world.
I hope everyone now feels vindicated and are able to have a carefree weekend with no thoughts to all that slander.
Look! Teeny seahorses on a Q-tip! (Thanks to dailysquee.com--I'm just a big softy at heart.)
No comments:
Post a Comment