Jamalyn (jamalyn) wrote,

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Long, pointless, rambling...i.e. Me

Okay, there is this man at work, a good ‘ole boy in every way. Nice enough, really, but he can be damned annoying. He’s an old school chum of C----‘s though, so I do my best to be pleasant.

I was reading Barry Trotter and the Unauthorized Parody over my break today when, as he was waking past, he snatched the book right out my hands. (I’ve been reading Barry for what seems like forever now. Its really very short, only, rather like some inane television show, I can only handle about 15 minutes of the pure silliness in any one setting).

“Barry Trotter,” he teased, “Those books are for children. Why are you reading that rubbish?”

The RN sitting across from me, an avid Harry Potter fan who had already expressed a dislike for my reading a booking making fun of her beloved series (much less mistaking Barry for Harry) gave a rather un-ladylike snort and asked, “You’re not the sharpest tool in the shed, are you S---?”

I couldn’t have said it, but I was oh-so-happy that someone else had. :)


Strange phone call of the day goes to… AnhMai! (shocker)

It began: What are you doing?

“Watching My Fair Lady and eating ice cream,” I answered honestly.

“No, really,” she insisted.

After considering my options for a second, I lied, “Mopping my bathtub.” Yes, I was going for slightly off.

“Figures,” she answered somewhat bitterly (I don’t know if she believed me or not), “I have a question for you.”

“Shoot,” I commanded, trying to read Audrey Hepburn’s lips from where I lay on the bed.

“When do you potty train a child?”

“What did you say?” I asked.

“When do you potty train a child?” she repeated, a la Wormmon. I had to fight to keep from snapping that it was just a figure of speech.

“Ahh,” I did my best to think, “Best guess says sometime between one and three.” I really don’t know.

“Um-hm, um-hm,” I could tell she was jotting down my response, “And about how many bowel movements per day would you say a three year-old-had?”

“What?” I asked again.

“Bowel movements, bowel movements,” she responded impatiently, “Aren’t you listening?”

I made a face at the phone, answering plainly, “I don’t know.”

“Can you look that up for me real quick?” she then asked.

“What!?” Did she think I just kept random How to Rear Your Child books around the house? (Honestly, I probably have a reference with the information somewhere, but…I just…couldn’t). When she failed to respond, I asked, “Why? What are you doing?”

There was a long pause before she finally answered, “Writing case studies.” She had taught a lecture or two at one of the local schools a month or so back. I assume that this is all somehow connected to that, but I don’t really want to know. “This sucks,” she complained, “Wanna do it for me?”

“No,” I answered, just before hanging up the phone and pulling the connection out of the wall.

The truly strange ones always seem to gravitate towards me and I don’t understand it at all.


Strange conversation of the day goes to … Simon!

I had popped my head into his office to say I was heading to Wal-mart over my lunch break and would he like me to pick anything up for him. At first he waved me off with a no, but then called me back and asked, “We’re friends, right?”

“Right,” I answered. Simon’s actually the person I credit as being one of my best friends as he is fun and easy going but still manages to always know when I’d rather he just sit quietly or when let me alone altogether.

Today, however, he was a man with a mission, “Would you mind grabbing me a box of tampons?” he asked politely, not that it mattered, I nearly toppled over anyway.

“You need tampons?” I clarified (after giving an all too humored snort of sorts).

“Oh no, not me!” I thought he was going to turn into a cherry tomato, “I’m supposed to go get some after I get off.” He paused, but must have suddenly realized that he still hadn’t said why he wanted a box of tampons because he nearly tripped over his own tongue in his haste to continue, “For my wife.”

“Ahhh,” I wanted to let he know that I understood but didn’t trust myself to say any complete sentences. I was fighting off laughter with every ounce of will power in my body as was. “Does she have any preferences?” I finally managed, only choking up a little at the end.

He muttered and sputtered for a second before finally, “It’s a pink box. It doesn’t matter. Just whatever.”

I didn’t have the heart to tell him that just about every other box of tampons is pink. I trust he won’t get in too much trouble if I grabbed the wrong one. As it was, I barely made it to my car before I collapsed in a fit of giggles.

Yeah, Simon, we’re friends. I hope that never changes.


Hunter x Hunter Update:

I’ve just ordered the second OVA (Greed Island – Episodes 71-78) and hope that it will arrive shortly. I do believe that I’ve become addicted.

That, and Hisoka is growing on me for some reason I dare not explain. ;)


What Flavour Are You? Cor blimey, I taste like Tea.Cor blimey, I taste like Tea.

I am a subtle flavour, quiet and polite, gentle, almost ambient. My presence in crowds will often go unnoticed. Best not to spill me on your clothes though, I can leave a nasty stain. What Flavour Are You?

Why do these things always come off with me having a quiet yet somehow evil nature? Hmm?

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