JB’s Blog

This was a phone conversation from last night:

Me:  yeah so that’s that. (squish squish)

Dave:  Are you wheezing?

Me:  Nah, that’s my rubber duck

Dave:  haha…

Me:  Not even gonna ask me why?

Dave:  Why?

Me:  To keep the monkey company (i have a stuffed monkey in boxing attire in my room)

Now truth be told, I’m an impulse buyer.  I was at a store, approaching the register, and right by the register was a rubber duck for $4.  I have not had one/seen one since I was a little kid.  I picked it up, and…well…the monkey has company.

Perhaps one of my favorite phrases is the infamous, "I’ll let you go."  This phrase will normally come up at the end of a telephone conversation, although only one person knows that it is the end of the telephone conversation.  In fact, it is not even the person that supposedly is being let go.  They didn’t ask to be let go, but luckily for them, if they were hoping for an exit…well now they are allowed.  For you see, "I’ll let you go," roughly translates to, "I’m going…bye."  Yet somehow it has been turned around so that is your fault the conversation is ending.

Another closing line I love is, "Be good."  Does this mean I should behave nicely for the foreseeable future…and if so, for how long?  If I am not good, will I be put on that person’s naughty list…and in fact, how will they know if I am not good.  Or does it mean I should be good at everything I do.  What happens if I was in the midst of playing something I was really bad at?  Of course it could just mean having good health and a good state of mind…

Finally there is how my cousin and I have a phone conversation.  Usually the phone conversation will have dragged on way past when it should have.  Clearly someone should have "let someone go."  Clearly, one of us should have been told to "be good."  But for some reason we have missed the exits.  The only solution is to, mid-sentence, say "Ok Bye" and hangup.  It really works like that.  Say cuz finishes a 5 minute story such as…."and so that’s why I am never going back there…ok bye!"

Have you ever opened up the fridge and saw an item and could swear its not yours.  Well that happened to both my roommate and I.  The problem is we do not have a third roommate.  Thus the debate started. 

He hates whipped cream.  This was cool whip, low fat, south beach diet compliant.  It expires in 2007…if frozen.  It’s in the fridge, not frozen.  I buy the spray can if I am gonna have whipped cream, and I would not be buying a South Beach diet item.  Well someone bought it. 

I have the roommate call his girlfriend to see if she bought it at some point.  Nope…she hadn’t.  We cleaned out the fridge when he moved in here, and so it was not an old roommate’s.  We both swear we haven’t bought it.

Well there’s whipped cream there.  It’s not expired…we don’t think…I mean it wasn’t frozen…so that where we’re at.  If any of you bought a low fat cool whip and misplaced it, please shoot me an email.

Sorry for the long delays lately, but I am at the end of my semester and in the midst of finals (only one semester of law left though).  But this brings up something that has always intrigued me…nerves seem to drop a normally intelligent person’s IQ to levels of a goldfish.

Take the example of when you first walk into the room of your final.  People will be asking each other questions on material so obscure, that you wonder if they even were in the class and maybe just missed the big picture.  Next overly simple instructions are given and yet people cannot follow them.  "Do I put my name on the sheet, the test, the disk, or both?"  In bold capaitalized letters on the front page it tells you exactly what to do. 

Then there is the ID number problem.  There were only about 80 emails telling us we had to get our new ID #’s before we came into our finals since we were not allowed to use our social security numbers anymore.  Yet people come into the final like this is a newsflash.  You then see the sweat pour down from the forehead, they turn beat red, and cannot form sentences.  The solution to this problem involves them taking an elevator up to the tenth floor after they turn their test in to get their number.  Yet this seems to be an impossible task for them at the time.

Finally there are the people that come in late and seem to not notice that everyone else has signed papers and has all these forms by them.  The test is about to start and the proctor asks if everyone has signed and submitted their affirmation shets and the attendance sheet.  Then they hold everyone up by getting the sheets.

So while I deal with this for the next few days, I wish you all the best and I will be back next week.

I sort of have a gift that at time when I concentrate I can say utterly ridiculous things with a complete straight face.  This had lead to some awkward, but funny results.

First there was roommate Dave from college.  He did not cook that much for himself when I first was living with him.  This meant he would ask me a bunch of questions about what should go with what, in what or on what.  So one day he asked me what he could add to the chopped meat to make burgers.  I saw he had broccoli in the freezer and said well you could try broccoli as a healthy addition.  Well he added it, and broccoli burgers were born.  This may sound completely and utterly nasty to any non-152A resident, but it was quite good qith mayonnaise and ketchup on a roll.

The next issue involves my current roommate.  He used to make smores by melting marshmallows and chocolate on graham crackers in a microwave.  I suggested, seriously at that, that he should roast the marshmallows to get a more authentic taste.  He asked how?  I said over the stove.  I never thought about it anymore.  Two weeks letter I start smelling marshmallows in my room.  I go into the kitchen and there is my roommate with a fork over an open flame from the stove.  Authentic Smores…mmm

I know this is terribly out of season, but it popped into my head.  This is mainly because my uncle was hoping I would include him in a blog (which I have if you remember the buffet entry).  My uncle and many others, have this habit of going into a swimming pool and expecting that their heads will not get wet.

Look here are the basic facts.  A swimming pool is a large pit dug into the ground.  It is filled with lots of water, as shallow as a foot, all the way up to 15 feet or so.  If you start going past three or four feet of water and kids are having a good time swimming along and a splash goes up and hits your hair…DEAL WITH IT.  You could hang out on the stairs by the one foot section with all the soccer moms if you don’t want your hair to get wet. 

Secondly you will notice their great defense to water splashing on them is to put their hands up.  Unfortunately the water is an intelligent combatant and manages to pass by the hands and hit you anyway.  It’s been trained well.