Some of you will get it. Others will not. For those of you who do, you’ve been warned! *insert maniacal laughter*
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<a href='http://saphrym.com/blog/ranter/yes-he-did/'><img src='http://saphrym.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2008/04/yeshedid.jpg' alt='Rick Rolled - Yes He Did' width='350' height='300'></a>
(I had some server issues the last couple of days so haven’t been able to make any posts. This is the post that should have been posted yesterday. As for Monday’s MWF Read, I’ll post it later today as the Wednesday MWF Read. Sorry for any inconvenience.)
I was talking to Phirate yesterday and my weight loss came up. Then my strength training came up. And then a memory came back to me that I thought I’d share.
I used to work at a grocery store when I was in my teens. I had two jobs. I was a cashier and I was the day stocker. (I later got promoted to night stock manager, but that’s a different story.) The day stocker had to stock things like milk, eggs, water, and beer. At one point while I was working there I was able to carry 7 to 8 cases of beer that held 24 cans each. If the dolly or hand truck was unavailable, I’d just carry them myself from the back to the cooler where they were available for purchase. I ended up being quite strong because of this.
One day I was in the warehouse with another day stocker and the assistant manager. We were stacking beer cases on top of a wooden pallet for storage. There was a promotion going on for Budweiser, so we had many cases. At this point the stack was already about 8 to 9 feet tall. The easy way to handle this was for someone to sit/stand on top of the stack and the other person would throw the cases up to the person on top. I was the one throwing them. The other day stocker was catching them. The manager was taking inventory. We ended up with a really good rhythm. I’d throw, he’d grab and set down, and then I’d throw again. It was going very smoothly. That is, until I picked up a 12 pack.
See, the beer came in cases of 24 cans or packs of 12 cans. Well, I was used to throwing the cases of 24 cans and the next package I grabbed was a pack of 12 cans. I threw it up to the day stocker. The problem was, I threw it just as hard as I had been throwing the 24 can cases. I didn’t realize how close the warehouse ceiling was when a 12 pack was thrown that hard. The 12 pack hit the ceiling and all of the cans busted open. The 12 pack fell to the floor along with a nice rain of beer. At first, the manager got angry, but then he couldn’t help but laugh. All 3 of us were laughing. The actual store manager walked in at that moment. Remember, it rained beer. We’re covered in it and therefore smell like it and we’re all laughing.
We were all fired long enough for us to explain what happened and then were hired again as the store manager laughed too.
Do you have any stories about not knowing your own strength? Feel free to share.
Have you ever just had an awesome random conversation? Whether in person or by e-mail, these can be quite fun. I’ve had them happen in the past, but recently, it happened again and I really wanted to share it with you guys. Kristen from Kristen’s Guide is the person I had this particular conversation with. I featured one of her posts in my MWF Read and the conversation can be found below. Try starting one of your own. They can be very fun and really bring out the creativity in you. Without further ado, here’s the conversation between me and Kristen:
Kristen: Ahhhhh, thanks. Very nice of you. I’m honored. You realize though that this makes you my best friend. I’ll buy us matching bracelets and everything. 
Me: Cool! One of those two-pieces-of-a-heart ones? I like those. 
Kristen: OK, but only if it’s made out of certified organic, biodegradable, zero-calorie, hypoallergenic, non-comedogenic, non-toxic, not-from-China, PETA approved materials, is labeled with a warning to not let children under 3-years-old play with it, and has earned the Better Homes and Gardens quality seal of approval. Oh, and can we get it in bright orange?
Me: I completely agree, except with the orange. How about orange and pink polka dots?
Kristen: Brilliant! You and I should go into fashion design together.
Me: From student, to blogger, to dieter, to fashion designer? Ok. Let’s do it.
Kristen: Cool! You get to pick the brand logo. I vote for pickles.
Me: How about mustard and pickles? Then the name could be “Must Pick Clothing”
Kristen: Awesome! Then we could have runway shows and all the models will wear pickle costumes with mustard hats.
Me: Ooo! Ooo! The models could ride Harleys onto the stage!
Kristen: You realize what this means, don’t you? Orange with pink polka-dots fashion lines with our pickle and mustard logo and our models wearing pickle suits and mustard hats and riding Harleys on a fashion runway. It means that we’re more than just simple fashion designers. We’re artists, man. And that means we’ll get to charge lots of money for people to buy our stuff. We’ll have to open boutiques in shopping malls and maybe even a grand shop on Rodeo Drive in BH, CA where we’ll serve lattes and Champaign to the rich and famous, who will, of course, beg to buy our clothes (but we’ll laugh at them and refuse because of their recent tabloid scandals). And we can host huge parties filled with people we don’t actually care about just so we can sit back and make fun of them as they try to impress us. Then we’ll expand into other mediums like custom oil paint pigments and lawn gnome designs. Before long, we’ll be able to run for governor and work our way up to president, and, of course, finally, achieve the status of Emperor of the World. We’re starting a revolution, my friend.1
That’s our van during the blizzard we had on Saturday. Lots of snow. I used to be a fan of snow. When I was around 4 or 5 years old, we lived in Canada in my mom’s home town of Edmundston, New Brunswick. During the winter months I’d get up, drink some hot cocoa, and my mom would get me dressed in my snow suit along with multiple pairs of socks and thermal underwear. It’d take about an hour to get me dressed. Then I’d go outside and play for about ten minutes and come back in. Well, I would when I got bored that is. Sometimes I didn’t get bored. One time I made a snow horse and sat on it for about an hour. I had a lot of fun. I had a numb butt, but a lot of fun. After that year though, I’ve lived mostly in the Southern United States. I switched between Georgia and Alabama multiple times and then finally moved to Louisiana for a little over 20 years. I lived near New Orleans. It’s hot there. At least to me it is. And then the humidity is even worse. Some days I swore there was a bucket outside of my door that would pour water on me after I walked outside. Rarely did snow appear there. And since it’s basically a reconstructed swamp, everything is flat.
Less than 2 years ago we moved to where we are now: Kentucky. I remember the long trip in a U-Haul that had a malfunctioning transmission. I was worried if it would even make it. But I truly remember seeing and driving on all of the hills. Hills were not new to me, but seeing them made me nostalgic and happy. One of my favorite sights right now is looking out my door and seeing the wooded mountains in the distance. It’s quite beautiful.
Now, back to the blizzard. That snow you see all over the road next to our van is very pretty. However, it’s hiding something evil. I’ll explain. On Saturday, I decided I needed to go to the grocery store to pick up some road salt. They had a huge display of it near the front door last time I was there and I wanted to get some to melt the snow and ice on our sidewalk as a friendly neighbor should. Now we live 2 blocks from the grocery store, however our street is at the bottom of a hill and the street the grocery store is on is at the top. It’s not a very steep hill. I can walk it without getting winded. But Saturday, I decided to drive because I knew the sidewalks would be frozen and didn’t care to go sledding without a sled or ice skating without skates.
It took me about an hour to get the van ready to go. I had to get the snow off and found a huge layer of ice under it. I used the defrost and an ice scraper and managed to clear the windows so I could see. I pulled out of the parking spot and headed around the block so I could head up the hill. I made it to the stop light at the top of the hill and stopped, waiting for it to turn green. That was when it started.
See, underneath all of that snow on the street was a huge layer of ice, just like on the van. As my van was stopped, it was sinking through the snow layer and onto the ice layer. So when that light turned green, my van did not move forward when I hit the gas. It stayed right where it was. I made sure I was in gear and tried again. The van started moving. I was quite happy because I thought it was stuck. However, I realized it wasn’t moving forward. It was moving backward. I hit the brakes so I could check to make sure I was in the right gear again. The van kept moving though. It was starting to slide down the hill.
At this moment I took back every kind word I’ve ever said about snow and cold weather. I wished for a humid, hot, and flat environment. The back end of the van was moving sideways and heading into a parked car. I started cursing the snow, ice, and hills that up until this point I had loved and missed so dearly. I quickly put the gear shift into reverse and slowly pressed on the gas. This managed to give me control over the movement of the van again so I slowly backed down the hill, avoided the parked cars, and pulled up to the house. Later that night I had a nightmare about red lights and water slides. Go figure.
All right, who out there likes Collection Agencies? If you do, raise your hand!
For those of you who raised your hands, I have a few things to say:
If you are friends with someone that works for a Collection Agency, or have a relative that does, I’ll forgive you this once, and you can ignore #2, but not #1.
Come on people, I’ve never known anyone as rude as a worker for a Collection Agency. I swear this rudeness of theirs must be taught. There is no way it was born in them! (That is unless you breed Roseanne and Woody Allen. Caution: Imagining the last phrase could be hazardous to your health, and if you have done so, do not operate heavy machinery, ever again.) So, it must be taught! And I think I found the proof the other day.
I went to the local Books-a-Million and I actually found a section that was titled: “Collection Agency Training Materials”. Here are a few examples of the books I found there:
And that was only 3 of the many books on torture, hate, and any other evil thing you can think of, that were located in this section. As a matter of fact, not too far away was a book that was titled: “How to Beat the Bill Collectors”. I opened it up, and found it was actually “Bram Stoker’s Dracula” with a different cover. Seriously, though, folks. These people are the meanest people I’ve ever spoke to on the phone. They’ve made people cry, and whine, and hide in fear. No one on this earth should treat another human being like that. No one! I understand they just want to get the money that is owed their clients, but, uh, they don’t have to go to the point they do. “You don’t need food! You need to pay us! You should have thought about food before you maxed out your credit card! Go get a loan to pay us off! Drain your family of money! Sell your brain to science!” (Preceding were statements I’ve ACTUALLY heard from a bill collector who called me once. I’m not trying to pull your leg on this one.)
I think we should gather every bill collector’s home phone number, wake up at 6 a.m., call them, scream into the phone, “You’ll get your money when I give it to you!”, and see how THEY like it!
(This is the kind of stuff that comes out of my brain when some… person calls me during dinner and tells me I’m 2 days late for a student loan payment and then proceeds to yell at me for it.)
Blood Sugar: 108
Weight: 281.0
Fat Percentage: 48.0
Water Percentage: 30.4
Muscle Percentage: 34.8
Fluids: Water (16 oz - 5 times a day)
Exercise:
20 Curls of 85 pounds.
Friday from my exercise plan.
2 mile walk
Meal 1:
Mini Burgers from Applebee’s
Shrimp
Mozzarella Sticks
(Was an appetizer platter. I only hate half of the platter.)
Snack 1:
1 Slim Fast 220 Calorie Optima Bar
Meal 2:
Glass of Milk
Protein Powder
Snack 2:
1 Slim Fast 220 Calorie Optima Bar
Meal 3:
Leftover Pizza
(For more information about my dieting and weight loss, click here. For more information about the specific foods I eat, click here.)
(For more information about my dieting and weight loss, click here. For more information about the specific foods I eat, click here.)
So I’m sitting there with my family and just like clockwork when the clock chimed 8 o’clock, the phone rang. You probably get these calls too. They begin something like this: “Mr. White. I have an exciting offer to tell you about…” And they usually end quick enough like this: >click<. Do you just hang up on them too? I always have. Until tonight.
Since I’ve become an active member in the blogging community I’ve gotten to read tons of marketing blogs. They also basically spout the same information over and over so I’ve about learned it by heart. So I decided to have some fun this time. The conversation went like this:
“Hello?”
“Mr. White. I have an exciting offer to tell you about…”
“Would you like to monetize your phone calls?”
“I’m sorry sir?”
“Monetize your phone calls. You know. Make money with your phone calls?”
“Yes sir. I’m a telemarketer. Now this offer…”
“Have you ever heard of Con Jow?”
“Con Jow?”
“Yes. He’s a well known phone call monetizer throughout the callosphere.”
“The call o what?”
“Nevermind. My point is that he recommends that you use Callvertiser to monetize your calls.”
“Sir. I’m trying to tell you about a cruise, so let me tell you about the different stops…”
“Callvertiser can benefit your calling business tremendously. Throughout your calls audio ads will interrupt and get the caller’s attention so they can buy products from you as an affiliate.”
“One stop is in Cancun and the water is lov…”
“Grab a pen.”
“Grab a pen sir?”
“Yes. Grab a pen. I want you to take down this number real quick.”
“Ok sir.”
“The number is 1-800-382-5968. Make sure to dial extension 3825.”
“Is this your office sir?”
“No, that’s my affiliate phone number to Callvertiser. You’ll learn everything you need to know about this great service there.”
>click<
It was nice to be the one hung up on this time. So, next time a telemarketer calls, have a little fun. You might even start looking forward to 8 o’clock at night. I know I can’t wait. And thank you Internet marketers for the “ammo.” I appreciate it much.
Blood Sugar: 78
Weight: 279.8
Fat Percentage: 47.8
Water Percentage: 30.6
Muscle Percentage: 34.8
Fluids: Water (16 oz - 5 times a day)
Exercise:
None.
Meal 1:
Oatmeal
Multivitamin
B150 Vitamin Complex
Snack 1:
1 Slim Fast 220 Calorie Optima Bar
Meal 2:
Cheeseburger (Homemade so very lean meat)
Tater Tots (from a frozen bag)
Snack 2:
1 Slim Fast 220 Calorie Optima Bar
Meal 3:
Oatmeal
(This is a fiction written in answer to the challenge Alan made to me.)
I got out of the taxi and headed into the large building in front of me. It was raining and all I had was today’s newspaper to cover my head. I unfolded it quickly and caught a glimpse of the person I was about to meet. He always had a funny look on his face. I put the newspaper over my head and stepped around the puddles on the sidewalk leading up to the building.
Once inside, I was greeted warmly by a woman in a black business suit. She looked to be in her forties. Her skin was showing the wrinkles but her beauty still existed.
“He’ll be ready to see you in a moment.”
“Thanks,” I said as I followed her.
She walked me through the maze of a building until we reached the door to a room I had never been in and had always wanted to see. When she opened the door it was like the gates of Heaven opening as the light peeked out of the edges of the doorway. My eyes, of course, were playing tricks on me. It was probably my reverence of the place that made me see such a bright light. It faded quickly and I looked closer at the supple leather and old wood furniture behind the door.
“Go on in and have a seat. He’ll be with you shortly.”
I could only manage a nod. I was baffled that I had come this far to meet this person and be in this room. I went to a long leather couch in the middle of the room and sat down. I placed my briefcase on the table in front of me. A couple of books dropped off the table, so I rushed to pick them up, scared I had made a huge mistake. I was quite proud of what I saw. They were books that most men in his position should read.
One was titled “Why We Want to Kill You.” It was written by an ex-terrorist by the name of Walid Shoebat. It tells of the true nature of the Islamic fundamentalists. It is a great book to understand the mind of terrorists being as the author was of the rare breed of a reformed terrorist himself. Very honest and open.
Another was “Understanding Iraq” written by William Polk. This was a complete history of Iraq with detailed information on not only the geography of the land and shifts in borders, but also history of famous leaders such as Genghis Khan.
The door suddenly opened, and in walked the Texan to the oval shaped room I sat in. I jumped up like I used to when I was in the military, before I became a journalist. My hand almost saluted until I remembered I was a civilian.
“Mr. President,” I said.
“Nice to meet you son,” he said as he held out his political handshake. It was a good firm handshake. “Have a seat and we’ll get down to having that interview I promised you.”
“Thank you Mr. President,” I said as we both sat down on opposite sides of the table with the books and my briefcase. “Before we get started, I’d like to ask how you liked these books.” I held up the two books I had been studying earlier.
“Sorry son, I haven’t read those,” he said in his Texan drawl. “I just don’t have the time. Off the record, between you, me, and the can of sardines, those are for looks.”
No, that’s not an answer to some freaky version of Clue. It’s where I found an air conditioner.
See, after my escapade to Wal-Mart and Lowe’s yesterday, I swore my life as a cool human was over. Well, my life as a cool human is over depending on the definition of the word. But temperature wise, I was getting worried. Ok, so the weather was supposed to be colder come Thursday, and as a reader pointed out, that’s the same day the air conditioner guys are coming. But today, it became 90 degrees in my house.
90 degrees. Did I mention I love the heat? Parts of my house still are 90 degrees. But not where I’m sitting. See, a friend of mine told me to try Geno’s Taxi. I’ll repeat that: A friend of mine told me to try Geno’s Taxi. Now, not being from around here, I never thought to call a taxi company for an air conditioner. For a taxi maybe. Not an air conditioner. Well, they had one. A 6000 BTU air conditioner less than 26 inches wide that could fit in my storm window and provide a layer of coolness that the pet rock could never have provided. Even has a remote, which is nifty and all, but I doubt that sucker is going to be used at the moment as I want the air conditioner to stay on.
So right now I’m typing on my daughter’s laptop because it’s still 90 degrees in my bedroom where my computer is. But in here, with a blanket covering the archway, it’s about 75 degrees and dropping. There’s a fan behind me. I am in true bliss at this moment.
However, in about 5 minutes I’m going to have to go to the bathroom, and my daughter decided to use hot water when she took a shower earlier. If I don’t suffocate from the heat, I’ll see you guys tomorrow.
Moral of the story? When you need an air conditioner, don’t go to Wal-Mart who carries heaters in 90 degree weather. Go to your local taxi company. They are much smarter about such things.
The air conditioner went out. Picks the three hottest days at this point to be out until the guys can come and fix it. Yay. Heat. I dare say I love it dearly. *drips with sarcasm*1
So, we decided to go look for some window units. My daughter, wife, and I put our shoes on. We have those neat little rubber shoes with holes in them. I can’t remember what they’re called, but they have good arch support and work like sandals. This is good for me as my feet like to sweat a lot. Anyway, we load up into my best friend’s Cadillac because our van is not working very well and we’ve been borrowing his car. (That’s a whole other rant that deals with being swindled out of money from a mechanic. I’ll share if you really want me to.) We borrowed his car for two reasons: 1. To not have to keep filling our van with power steering fluid. 2. For air conditioning because that’s also broke on our van. (Yet another rant.) However, while borrowing it, his air conditioner stopped working also, so in 90 degree weather, we’re off to the stores. I love heat.
We pull up to Wal-Mart and practically run inside. However, my feet decided to sweat anyway, and for some reason feet don’t like to stay still on wet rubber. It’s quite slick. So, I’ll correct that, we STUMBLED inside of Wal-Mart. We head to the area where the fans and air conditioners are, and in their place, as determined by the marketing genius of the Wal-Mart corporation, are heaters. Little heaters. Big heaters. Skinny heaters. Heaters with remote controls. Heaters that use propane. Heaters that use electricity. If I was in the market for a heater, they’d have it. I ask someone where the air conditioners and fans are. “We don’t have any. But we have Christmas trees on sale.” I hope he was kidding. I love the heat.
We stumble back to the car, footprints of sweat trailing us, and head to Lowe’s. It’s only a block away. “They’ll have air conditioners. They’re Lowe’s. They’re big. They carry more of stuff like that.” At this point I’m wearing a shirt that is purely made of salt water molecules. It has transformed. I’ll call it my “ocean shirt.” So, we walk in and the air conditioner there creates an “iceberg shirt.” I’m now happy. I’m going to get an air conditioner. I walk to where the air conditioners are, and guess what I find? Heaters. Little ones. Big ones. Skinny ones. You know the drill. Of course, an aisle away are Christmas trees. I find someone and ask him where the air conditioners are. “We don’t have any. Want a tree?” I love heat.
So now, I sit at the computer in my renewed “ocean shirt” waiting for Thursday to come. That’s when the air conditioner guys come to fix ours. If they offer me a tree, I’m buying a rifle.
UPDATE: Found this site, and its ideas actually work: How to Cool Yourself Without Air Conditioning
Added 2 products to their wishlis:
New blog entry: Modified Poetry Reading: Yet Do I Marvel The Weary Blues http://saphrym.com/blog/?p=751
New blog entry: Lord of the Flies: Reading Strategies http://saphrym.com/blog/?p=749
Added a product to their wishlist:
