Blogging Milestones

#1- I've posted enough that I finally pushed the "Dear Prudence" post to the "older posts" page! When I posted that one, I accidentally didn't change the playlist to the manual play setting. Even though I love the song and the story, it has driven me nigh unto madness! That squealy tire sound then the ringing, the ringing, the ringing! I won't make THAT mistake again. Believe you me!

#2- I've broken through to Germany, Sweden, and Russia! Don't ask me how. Of my abundant 12 pageviews this week, 5 of them were from those three countries. Are you kidding me? I don't know what random, accidental link sent them to this blog. I can pretty much promise that they won't be back. Could they even read it? I wouldn't understand a blog in their respective languages. Then again, I'm American and only speak one language... I'm going to go ahead and guess it wasn't the pictures of my knees that brought them here. Who knows? A mystery for the ages.

#3- Tomorrow is my blog's and my 3 month anniversary. I feel so lucky to have it my life. It's always here for me, even when I neglect it and threaten to abandon it forever. We have our differences of course, like when I can't get the font and text size to match from paragraph to paragraph no matter what I do and I begin shaking with anger and frustration. See, it's those little quirks that keep us together and make us the perfect match, that make us special. I love you, Blog. I love you.

I look forward to many more blogging milestones to come!

Um... I Fell Down

Remember that whole post I wrote that once about my constantly making an idiot out of myself? About the seemingly dire need of the universe to humiliate me any time it possibly can? Allow me to relate another tale supporting my claim.

About a week ago I went with my brother, Dan, and sister-in-law, Lorraine, to the World Market to look for some sweet stuff for my new apartment. I checked out with my spoils of war: A couple of baskets, a cool carved wall hanging, a stunning vase. On our way out the door we spotted a display with a gorgeous mosaic-top side table. I had said maybe 5 minutes earlier to Dan, "I wish I could find a table with a beautiful mosaic top." It seemed that the Fates smiled down on me at that moment. Little did I know they were building me up only to knock me down.

I turned right back around and bought the table. I was so pleased with my find. Once I'd checked out the second time Dan carried out my first purchases and I walked into the parking lot with my beautiful new table. We all walked along toward my car, when suddenly it seemed the ground had disappeared from beneath my footstep. In an instant I realized that I'd taken a step into a sink hole. My ankle turned, and my whole weight was falling to the asphalt below. My only thought in that instant was, "SAVE THE TABLE!" With both hands I held it up as high as could to keep it from hitting the ground. It meant that I couldn't catch myself with my hands or attempt a quick balance check and throw my other foot forward for a save. I was going down. All the way. And I did. I fell straight down on both my knees with a thud.

The pain was instant, but was quickly surpassed by shock and profound embarrassment. I scrambled to my feet, shooting glances side to side to see who had witnessed the folly. Dan and Lorraine were a given. I can handle embarrassment in front of family members. They're pretty much used to me at this point. Since Lorraine is relatively new to the family, if she wasn't used to it then, she would be now. I thought I'd get her on the fast track to seeing my idiocy. But there was someone else. Two people in fact. Getting out of their car immediately in front of me. They stared at me awkwardly for a moment, then shuffled past me towards the store.

The shock continued as I robotically started towards my car again. Then Lorraine's voice registered behind me. "Wait, Lace, your shoe! Your shoe!" It was still in the sink hole. I went back again to put it on. I was probably halfway to my car before some of the haze began to clear from my mind and I realized how ridiculous that whole scene had looked. I burst out laughing. To Dan and Lorraine's credit they waited to laugh until I did and they were sure I was alright, although I could tell they desperately wanted to.

Once I was safely hiding behind my car I surveyed the damage. There was some definite scrapeage, but no blood and no holes in my pants. I didn't slide or roll, just a direct impact.

Then Dan asked, "Do you still want to go to dinner?" As though the embarrassment of my fall had rendered me incapable of further activity. Of course I did! And I enjoyed the rest of the evening, even though sudden sharp pains from my knees served as constant reminders and set me into periodic fits of laughter.

Oh! The good news in all of this is, the table is fine! It didn't even hit the ground. My purpose was served and my sacrifice worthwhile.

Now I give you pictorial evidence! Enjoy! Or don't scroll down if bruised knees make you queasy or uncomfortable in any way.





Pretty colors!

The Secretary Files: My Nemesis

There is only one thing I truly hate about my job. It has nothing at all to do with the people I work with. It’s not the paperwork or the phones ringing off the hook. It’s a very simple and basic piece of equipment that shouldn’t have to be given a second thought. It is a staple puller. It is the worst staple puller in the history of the world. Lamentably, it is my staple puller.

Upon first glance it seems ordinary enough. Don’t let its unassuming appearance fool you. It deceives you. It’s manipulating you right now. Just try to pick it up and use it. It will leave you in ruins.

Figure A. This is how a normal staple puller is supposed to close. When you clamp the little claws underneath a staple needing to be removed, it will easily and cleanly pull the staple out, causing little to no damage to the document or the staple puller user.

Figure B. This is how The Worst Staple Puller in the World closes. The claws still clamp the staple, but they twist and maim the staple, jamming it between the claws, causing one to have to pull and pry them apart, all while tearing gaping holes in the document and pinching the daylights out of the user.

Figure C. This is an example of a poor unsuspecting piece of paper, ravaged by TWSPITW.

Figure D. This is a picture of a wound sustained by the primary user (me). It’s a blood blister received while attempting to free a staple from TWSPITW’s jaws. It’s been there for weeks with no signs of healing.

You may well ask, “Why don’t you get yourself a new staple puller?” How high-maintenance would it sound to ask the other secretary, who orders office supplies, to get me a new staple puller? “Um, hi. My staple puller’s performance is unsatisfactory. Would you please order me another one?” I can’t do that! Then you ask, “Well, why don’t you just use the functional staple puller pictured in Figure A?” That’s a communal staple puller that lives by the copy machine. It’s a different color than mine. If I tried to switch them, someone would notice and be mad when mine destroyed their papers. Then I’d be embarrassed.

And the truth is, TWSPITW doesn’t malfunction all the time. It’ll work just fine for a couple of days, lulling me into a false sense of security. Then, BAM! My successful-staple-removal walls come crashing down around me.

The Worst Staple Puller in the World leaves me churning in its devilish wake, a broken woman.

Get the Job Done!

Someone finally thought of a 100%, fool-proof method for getting rid of pests!

VERMIN DECIMATED!!!

Pay no attention to the pile of rubble that was once your home.

A Real Shot in the Arm

I just rented the cutest little two-bedroom apartment in the world to be my very own bachelorette pad. I’m really excited to have my own space. No more roommates with their ever-accompanying kleptomania, rogue drunken boyfriends, and late night Cinemax splurges. Oh yes, my friends, I’ve had some real doozies. I’ve had some great roommates too, but at this point in my life, the risk just isn’t worth it to me. And I really don’t mind being alone. I’m a solitary person. Isolation is my default state. Lonliness. It’s underrated.

There are some cons, though. I’ll miss my family excruciatingly, even though I’m only moving 25 minutes away from them. I just really like them a lot. And then, of course, there’s the whole safety issue. Being solo means being easier to pick off by a crazy man or a gang of thugs. We are just talking about the depths of Utah Valley here, but people have problems everywhere, so you never know. I asked the last tenants when I went to look at the place if they’d ever noticed any dangerous behaviors from the neighbors or groups of loitering hoodlums. They assured me it was a very safe place and the neighbors were great and thoroughly normal. Well, good! No worries then, right?

Wrong! My sense of security about the area was almost immediately tested. There I was with my brother. We were taking some of my fabulous new furniture (and by fabulous, I mean IKEA) to my apartment. As we drove down the quiet street, we noticed a haze of flashing, colored light glowing above the buildings ahead. As we drove past a side street a mere block away from my apartment, I counted 7 police cars surrounding an apartment complex. “Well, that’s slightly unsettling,” I said as we pulled into my building’s parking lot. From my parking spot I could see clear as day the surrounded building and police cars. We ran up to my apartment as quick as we could in case there was a shoot-out. About 45 minutes later, my brother went out to get something out of the car. When he returned he said that news vans and reporters now lined the whole street. Hmmmmm. I’m beginning to second-guess my decision.

By the time we left, the situation had mostly cleared up. There were a few bystanders here and there. There was no caution tape to be seen or white chalk outlines on the ground, which I took to be a good thing. As soon as I got home I got on ye olde intranets and started searching for the story. Another positive: it was only a 3-paragraph blurb. Maybe it wasn’t such a big deal. I read on. Some 17-year-old kid got in a fight with his friends. Apparently, one of them had a firearm. This dude shot his friend in the arm! Right through the shoulder! Fortunately it was an in and out kind of thing and the kid is fine. But, man! Who shoots their friends? What an awful idea!

I’m really hoping this was an isolated incident. Only time will tell. In the meantime, I think I’ll have bullet-proof glass, iron bars, and 3 more dead bolts installed.

Consider Me Illuminated

If I ever happened to casually bump into Josh Groban, I would immediately begin calling him Joshy Woshy. Or Honey Bunny. Maybe Tweetums. I love him THAT much and I don't care who knows it!

The Secretary Files: Highlight of the Day

Take a good look at this picture. This is a picture of my desk at work. This particular section of my desk almost always looks just like this. I want to point out to you, though you’ve probably already noticed, the peculiar arrangement of my highlighters. Let me explain. I may or may not have some slightly obsessive tendencies. Fortunately, these tendencies only manifest themselves selectively, usually with trivial things like the highlighter phenomenon you see above. I use all of these highlighters on a daily basis to color code things. I have assigned each person in my office a different color. When someone is going to be out of the office for a few days, I mark those days on my calendar in his or her color. I also use them to code different types of materials that I inventory and manage. So I have to have them easily at my disposal. I need to be able to grab exactly the color I need exactly when I need it. At least that’s what my brain tells me. And how did I choose the order of the colors? Pretend the pink one is red. And pretend there’s an indigo-colored highlighter. Roy G. Biv. In this case, I guess it would read Poy G. Bv. Close enough. It satisfies my neurosis.

While we’re looking at this picture, take a moment to notice the bottom right corner. You’ll see I have two rolly white out thingys. That’s pretty much a metaphor for my life. Just one will never be enough.

Also, take a quick look at the staple puller. Oh, that staple puller! You’ll be hearing more about that. It deserves a post all it’s own! A hateful one. A dark and bitter post of despair.

Well, I guess that wraps up today’s tour of Lacey’s craziness. Thank you for joining me.