Discovering Ardi : Discovery Channel

A. gets her own TV show!

Discovering Ardi : Discovery Channel

Disconnected

A.: The fax machine hates me.
Me!: I know. We had a nice, long chat about it.
A.: Stop it! Can you help me fix it?
Me!: What's the problem?
A.: Do I have to plug it into a phone line?

Toilet humor

Setting: Me!, on the toilet in the stall. A., not in the stall but in the bathroom. 

A. (turning off the light): "Just trying to help you out."


Me!: "I am 43 years old. Whatever I need to find, trust me, at this point I can find it in the dark."

Fish tales

I wasn't going to blog about this because it disturbed me so much. So I am only going to say this once, because I can only bring myself to say it once: A. believes in fish people. I'm not talking about the Bará, or Fish People, of the Northwest Amazon. No. I'm talking about fish, people.

A. was watching a documentary with her "boyfriend" (whom I will call "A.'s B." to protect what little innocence he may have left) and he convinced her that the show was about this little-known tribe of "fish people." They were newly-discovered by scientists, so he claimed, and were very shy, so few land people have seen them. She believed him, and told me, and I told her, "Boy, he really brings out the dope in you." A. laughed, and then pouted when A.'s B. laughed, too. A. actually believed the practical joke -- if for only a minute. Now, our reward is getting to tease her mercilessly.

But despite the taunting, A. has since spent her days carefully considering the fish people. Her "vision" of the fish people sparks concern. They live under the sea, with big suckers on their heads and a big, empty, black hole where their face should be. Their fingers are webbed and look like catcher's mitts with talons on the end. I have a suspicion she would offer the same description of a Republican, if asked.

I will not dwell on this subject any further, for I cannot. It saddens and silences me. Oh, it's fodder for a lot of teasing, but now I am convinced (more than I was before) that A. has been abducted at some point in her life. Surely she's back here now because whatever abducted her dumped her home with galactic speed after she regaled them with a few choruses of "You are not aloooone! I am here with yooooou!"

All in all, I now believe A. is a fish person. After all, she DID take the bait.

Work weak

Seriously, I have 15 posts. A. has 3. Three! And I'm slacking off? Pu-leeze.

Quick roundup of the past week or so:

1. Today (Monday) - A. kicked me. Twice. She teased my hair until it stood on end. Then asked me if I was going to cry when I complained. Realized there really is no way to stop A. Cried a little inside.
2. Yesterday (Sunday) - Day of rest, thank God! Used a lot of liniment in preparation for the upcoming work week.
3. Saturday - A. at wedding. I heard a rumor she did the "Beat It" dance at the reception.
4. Friday - Poked me. Pinched me. Told me she loved me.
5. Thursday - Scared the shit out of me.
6. Wednesday - Sat on my lap. My knee hasn't been the same since.
7. Tuesday - Sang "It's a Small World." Loudly. For an hour. And a half.

Not sure why I need to post daily when a weekly round-up could do the trick. Besides, nothing A. has done recently has especially stood out.

And, as A. has pointed out to me on numerous occasions, the elderly bruise easily. So it really is amazing I can garner the strength to post at all. What's your excuse, A.?

Army of one

I may or may not have pissed A. off today. I couldn't help it. I was having a bad day and thought of something really funny that featured her as the star, but I won't share what here. She said she hated me a little bit and pouted for a while. Then she punched me and skipped away. I guess we're good now.

Simple math

A. knows a secret + she's not telling me = not friends

A. clue! Yes, for you!

For a moment today, A. was discomboobled. It was sweet to watch. A. was a certified, benefit-eligible Clue Impaired individual -- in front of her boss. And once A. "got" whatever it was we were all talking about, her boss accurately pointed out that rather than a light bulb going off over A.'s head, it was more like a bug zapper. Awesome! Maybe everyone at work is finally "getting it."

Stapler remover

A. kidnapped my stapler and held it for ransom. The payoff seemed pretty reasonable -- "you must buy me 7 ice cream cones" -- but it was the principle of the thing. I don't negotiate with terrorists.

At first blush, ingenious. At second blush, I'm disappointed. This sad, transparent attempt for attention falls far short of the expected. First of all, the sadistic kidnapping of a stapler is in no way "new" (see also, "Excuse me, I think you have my stapler," "Help, my stapler has been kidnapped," and "Buy me lunch or the stapler gets it.")

Second of all, who the hell signs a ransom note with their actual name? That just puts CSI workers out of business. Maybe A. should have just waited there with my stapler in her hands so there could be no doubt at who's feet to lay blame. Oh, wait, that's right -- A. signed the note. Ok, one point for solid time management.

Finally, A. never actually removed the stapler from my office; just put it in a bottom drawer of my desk. That's not forward thinking by anyone's standard. Where were the pictures of the stapler tied up or, worst yet, being surrounded and taunted by a team of Crazy Glue, Binder Clip and Post-It Note thugs? Where were the follow-up phone calls demanding the requested booty? I never once had to look into how to tap my phone. And why didn't A. send me individual staples, one at a time, over the course of a week, as if to say, here's an ear, here's a finger, here's an eye... WHERE ARE MY GODDAMN 7 ICE CREAM CONES?

No, no A. Is it possible you're slipping? Perhaps I overestimated you. Is that really all you got?