the comedy train

This rollicking ride pulled out of the station yesterday afternoon beginning with a welcome call from The Two T's. I thought T was crying at first. Coworker Mrs. D handed me the phone and let me know that it was T but all I heard at first was a little whimper. The she squeaked out, "You wanna hear something funny?" and began to giggle a little hysterically....this I HAD to hear! I said sure and she told me she had the other T (yes, my two friends have the same name, but we manage all right) on hold and conferenced her in. The other T is divorced from a philandering, lying, cheating, stinky, poopoo-head and has recently moved out on her own and begun dating again. One of her avenues has been via the Internet and, more specifically, eHarmony. I'll give you three guesses as to who eHarmony matched her up with out of the probable millions in their databases, and the first two don't count. Yes my friends, eHarmony matched the other T up with her cheating ex-husband. So much for those 29 components of compatibility. The first T pointed out that they obviously fail to (or have no way of) taking into account the fact that people LIE when they sign up. I have a difficult time believing this is not just another, more elaborate racket for taking people's money...some of whom are actually trying to find someone special, many of whom are just looking for their next booty call :(

The next stop on the comedy train track was my front yard that night. You can lie if you want to but EVERYONE has now (or has had in the past) a pair of underwear that have just plain worn out. The elastic is gone, they have been washed so many times they no longer have any real distinguishable color, maybe a hole or two around the waist/leg bands...you know what I'm talking about. Well, I wore my pair yesterday and fought with those bastards all day long. They just would not stay up! Finally, 6pm rolled around and me and my wornout underwear could go home. On arrival at mi casa, I went to the mail box and grabbed the trash can on the way back to the house since thursday is trashday and the truck had gone to all that trouble not to throw the can down the street as it usually does while making its weekly rounds. So I'm pulling a 95 gallon trashcan with one hand and holding a stack of mail in the other when I begin to feel the old, busted underwear head south. No big deal, I thought, I can make it to the house, surely. Suddenly, I feel them around my ankles. I take another step, still not too worried, because hey, I've got a skirt on. Um....no, no I don't. Somehow the band of the underwear had rolled up in the band of the skirt so I'm now standing in my front yard, my 32 degree F front yard, in a blouse, a hooded jacket and a pair of tennis shoes. My stunned brain takes a few seconds to comprehend the fact that I'M NAKED IN MY FRONT YARD! At that moment, a car swooshes by, very fast thank god. No horns were honked, no anti-lockk brakes engaged, the neighbors house remained dark and I heard no laughing. I dropped the trashcan and the mail, yanked my skirt up, grabbed the mail again and fled for the house on the verge of tears. In the past 24 hours I've thought back over the course of my life and I cannot think of anything more embarrassing happening to me, truly.

Today, Daxx and I were late getting our lunch breaks so we were off from 1:30-2:30 instead of 1-2. Usually I go at 12 or 1, meaning I get to watch either 2 episodes of Family Feud or 2 episodes of Who Wants To Be A Millionaire. Today I got to watch one episode of WWTBAM and one episode of Merv Griffin's Crosswords, a new game show that premiered after his death. It is an interactive crossword puzzle game obviously. I was listening with only half an ear when the host mentioned the next clue had this many letters and was worth this much money, but I guaran-damn-ty you that I heard him say, mickey mouse's willie. My head jerked up and I saw that it was indeed, Mickey Mouse's "Willie". The answer was "steamboat" of course, but I'd already begun to giggle. Daxx surfaced from his Mp3 player and began to laugh with me. I could not believe no one on the show laughed. I remained firm in my belief that I was not the only one with a sophmoric sense of humor since the clue writers obviously did too. Two clues later, 5 letters and $200 brought this clue: "small and sprightly, like Santa's staff" I'm sorry folks, but that is comedy GOLD and again, no one even cracked a smile! They had to have cut away or did a retake or something! No one could be that hard-hearted!

The train's final stop of the day occured right before I left at 6pm. One of our regular computer users was paying for his printing, walked a few paces off, then doubled back to the desk as I was saying goodnight to KT and ask me if I knew the politically correct term for "someone of weight". He said he's heard them talking about it today on the Tyra Banks Show and he couldn't remember what it was. "I want to apply it to myself" he said, with a big laugh. I wanted to say, "No, I'm sorry sir. I didn't make it to my tankass lodge meeting this week so I don't even know the secret handshake at this point much less what we're calling ourselves these days."

I'm fat, I know I am. I'm trying to change my life and get rid of it as well. But you know what? I don't know politically correct terms for "fat" because I've never been addressed with them. That's terminology thin people use to talk about fat people so they don't even have to verbally associate with us. They are generally just mean to your face. Busty women have their boobs talked to, most conversations patrons start with me are directed at my stomach. The young children I can deal with but the adults who do this just disgust me. I don't do that to people.

I ended up telling the patron that if I saw anything about it, I'd make a note and tell him the next time I saw him. I can't think of any reason (and I lug my personal baggage all around on this one) why in the world he would think I'd be an expert on that. He just said, "I thought you might have heard of it." Whatever. Thanks for putting the breaks on the comedy train, chump.