Two Types of Training

The Ineffective Training

is around the back 

of the building. 

Bring a pen to take notes - we have no training manuals.

 

 Snacks provided....

Company slogans

Wouldn't it be hilarious if

 the slogan for Viagra was....

"Go Big or Go Home!"

New Fashion Fad

Summer might finally be on the horizon and I realized my stock of tank tops is low.  So, today I was browsing the JC Penney website (when I was supposed to be working).
 
The search results came up on the screen and one of them has sleeves.     ??  

Doesn't that make it a shirt or am I missing something?  

Or maybe it's a New Fashion Fad - Slanktops!!*


The post is mine, but credit for Slanktops goes to Janice Limbaugh, editor of Wyoming Now/Kentwood Now at WKTV.  

DO NOT ATTEMPT

I am really tired of the high energy adventure commercials that have at the bottom of the screen in 4 pt font,

"Professional driver, closed course. Do not attempt."  

 I saw one commercial that showed a skateboarder doing tricks on a ramp. The disclaimer read, "Professional stuntman, do not attempt."  Don't they have skateboarding competitions with such stunts?  Does that mean we should we close down the competitions?

Traveling with the Sexes

When men and women travel, they pack different amounts of toiletries.  

Men: 

 

• Toothbrush
• Deodorant
• Hairbrush 

 

Women: 

 

• Toothbrush
• Deodorant
• Hairbrush
• Toothpaste
• Round Brush
• Comb 
• Mouuse
• Hairdryer
• Curling Iron
• Hairspray
• Eye Cream
• Face Cream
• Lip Cream
• Razor
• Loofah
• Body Wash
• Body Lotion
• Body Spray
• Shampoo
• Conditioner
• Foundation Cream
• Foundation Powder
• Eyeshadow
• Eyeliner
• Mascara
• Blush
• Lipgloss
• 15 makeup brushes

And they wonder why we spend so much time in the bathroom...

Hooters for Hair

Ever heard of a hair salon called Lady Jane's Haircuts for Men? 

• The stylists are all (shapely) women
• The clients are all (desperate) men
• The theme is all (boring) sports
• And I'm all (gag me), "Give me a break."  

Women go to the salon to look better. 
Apparently men go to the salon just to look.


I'm all for free enterprise, but this place is just a little too on the nose.

It's like Hooters dressing up their waitresses as Calendar Girls and claiming that the male clientele dines there for the food.  


Lady Jane's is simply Hooters - but for hair.

 

Golfers Be Crazy

Going after golfers again.  It's because I just don't quite understand the point of golfing.   Take that tiny, pocked white ball and drop it on a stick crammed into the grass where it sits immobile (unless there is a strong wind).  Next, spend a half-hour practice swinging, digging cleats into the grass pretending to be a baseball player - which every golfer secretly wants to be, otherwise they wouldn't wear shoes with spikes when all they are doing is standing in one place.  I mean, how hard can it be to stand in one place for crying out loud?  But I digress.  

Finally, after the wait, the anticipation and the windup, the swing is taken, contact is made and (if the golfer is any good), the ball goes flying!  Mission accomplished. 

But then uncertainty and confusion enters the golfer's mind.  Maybe I shouldn't have done that.  What if I need that ball again? Everyone else on the course has one.  I'll be the only one without a ball.  They'll all laugh at me in the clubhouse.  So, said golfer hops into a cart and at a speed that can only be described as "I'm 90 years old and even I can walk faster than that," the golfer takes off in search of the ball.  Should I mention that the carts are electric because a golf course is the only place in the world that a 100% electric vehicle will EVER be accepted by mainstream society?  No?  Okay, I won't mention it.  But it's true.

The panic-stricken and insecure golfer finds the innocent ball lying in the emerald grass.  Joy fills the golfer's heart.  Yay, I found the ball! I'm one of them again!  But you know what? I don't need to be like everyone else.  I don't need this ball to be cool. How dare they pressure me into being like them! I'm just as cool without it.  Said golfer channels that anger into the iron club he carries with him at all times (which only shows their latent hostilities, because I don't personally know anyone else who walks around with an iron club, do you?).   WHACK!  And the little white ball goes flying again.  

But I did like joking around in the clubhouse over a drink of Arnold Palmer iced tea/lemonade.  That sure was a swell time.   Maybe I do want to be part of the club.  Hmm, I'd better go get the ball.  And so the pointless process continues.  Hit the ball, chase after it, hit it again, chase after it, hit it again, chase after it. 

I guess the game of golf puts into action the phrase, "You don't know what you've got until it's gone."

 I don't know.  Maybe it's just me.  

Golfers Are Coddled

Why do golfers need it quiet when the rest of the world's athletes play before screaming crowds and those athletes manage to focus and concentrate?

Picture the World Series of MLB: Game 7, bottom of the 9th, score is tied, 2 outs.   The batter walks up to the plate.   All the pressure on that batter. The fate of the game, the fate of BOTH teams, the fate of the entire season rests on his shoulders.  Teammates, sponsors, agents, millions of fans - all screaming at the top of their lungs:  "You suck!", "You can do it!", "Your contract is almost up!"    

He digs his shoe into the dirt, he swings his bat back and forth a couple times, he centers himself and manages to tune everything out and focus on a ball that is about to come hurling toward his head at the same rate of speed as a car on a freeway.  

And then there is the pro golfer.  All dressed up in pastel plaids, he strolls out onto the green.  He casually drops a tiny white ball down on the tee.  Choosing a club from a bag, he takes his sweet time lining up the ball and practicing his swing.  He decides when he will hit the immobile little ball. It isn't decided for him at 90 miles an hour.  He alone decides.  And this decision apparently demands absolute silence.

Just as he is starting his swing, someone in the crowd farts!  Gasp!  Security rushes over with guns drawn!  The fan is promptly arrested and escorted off the green.  

Golfers are babies.

Relaxation can be stressful

I've had reason enough to be tense lately.  So I thought I would look into the mysterious world of meditation.  Wanting to try something for free first, I hopped onto the website for the local library.  It took me to the Lakeland Cooperative website search screen.   I looked up 'meditation DVD' and it returned a few hits, displaying that none of the copies were located close by.  I would have to request that they be transferred to my library.  Instant gratification - denied.

I clicked on one that said it was in Idaho or Pluto or something of equal distance.  It said, "on shelf."  I clicked on "Place Hold."  A message was returned, "We don't have any copies."  Huh?  I just saw one!

Thinking I did it wrong (but knowing deep in my heart that I didn't), I tried it all over again.  KDL.org, 48 digit library card number, Lakeland Cooperative, MetCal (whatever that is), look up the DVD and again got rejected. 

I ended up trying three different ways and almost dissolved in to tears, swearing at my laptop and yelling, "it's there! it's there!"

I thought of the irony and just started laughing.  I was about to have a stroke caused by the sheer anger of trying to locate a DVD that would relax me.  Laughing about it made me feel better and that is when I realized that laughter - not meditation - is the best medicine. 

My Pearls Are Where?!

Pearls are incredible. They are the result of the oyster's way of protecting itself from substances that do not belong inside of it.  The oyster combats the substance and in doing so creates the indelible pearl.  

Pearls come in many sizes, colors, and prices.  Despite these variations, they always convey grace and beauty, their soft and circular edges in contrast to the jagged harshness of today's world.

So why would anyone associate such nature-generated brilliance that hangs around the neck of royalty with something that catches the monthly excretion of a uterine wall?

Seems tacky.  But maybe its just me.

Diet gone wrong

I don't think I'm handling my diet very well.  

 

I was at a stoplight the other day and a pizza delivery car pulled up next to me.  

 

I considered carjacking him just to get to the hot gooey cheese!