Life in the Slow Lane

For several years, in the valley where I lived in my former life, there were large billboards along the freeway with a man smiling a cheesy smile as he draped his arms around the giant telephone number 222-2222. Aparently, if you were in an accident, he was going to be your buddy and fix all of your problems. What more could you want than a friendly accident lawyer who knew how to drape his arms around giant numbers? Fortunately, I never had cause to call him. But now I am curious, because on the same billboards, with the same giant red numbers 222-2222, there is a cozy little smiling family. They are smiling because they called the number to buy a house. They may also be smiling because they get to drape their arms around each other, but I'm not sure. I've thought a great deal about why a family would buy a house from an accident lawyer, and about an equal length of time wondering why an accident lawyer would change his career to realty without changing his advertising strateg...

I want to know why they don't make T-shirts that say "I survived the _____ Consulate". Because really, what is climbing Mt. Everest in comparison to enduring a trip to the consulate? After my many and varied experiences with the Brazilian consulate, I was actually brought to laughter when I stopped by the Chinese consulate earlier this week. Theoretically, when you go to pick up a visa, you wait in line for a couple of minutes and then quickly walk out, mission accomplished. But I arrived to find two lines of at least 50 people... the "Please take a number" was out of numbers, and there was only one woman beind the counter, and she was helping the line that was for "Drop Off Only". As I stood there for a couple of minutes, wondering whether it was likely that the line would dissolve itself before a week's worth of my lunch breaks passed by, I heard the typical stories... the guy who had stormed out a bit ago complaining about standing in line for 2...

I received this today: "I hope to see you in Heaven, or maybe a convention or seminar." This sentence was made doubly worse as the writer was talking about how many people believe they are going to Heaven when they are not.

Due to the demands for a poem I deleted, threw away, and otherwise got rid of, I have attempted to remember it for the sake of my devoted fans. The Legend of Peter D. As told by [me] Let me tell a story 'Bout a man named Pete He was salt of the earth And walked on two feet No ordinary man was this Peter D. He knew gadgets and gizmos Printers and PCs None dared stand against him he was witty and quick Brought order to chaos And health to the sick When screens went black and keyboards drank tea No need to panic, Just call Peter D. Mighty machines Tried their best But Peter D. - Fastest troubleshooter in the West. Some might say this story can't be But they just don't know Our Peter D. Now you guys can see how horribly this poem wobbles. Sorry to inflict pain on all of you who weren't curious about it.

When outside temperatures edge towards 115 degrees and inside temperatures don't lag very far behind, you begin to wonder about integral parts. For instance, is this scarf an integral part of this dress? Is make-up an important part of formal dress? Is this slip a critical part of being modest? But as you progressively decide that there are fewer and fewer real necessities for dressing up, keep in mind that yes, the bridesmaid dress IS an integral part of being a bridesmaid.

They say that when someone is talking about you, your ears burn. Either I've got too much wax build up (I'm sorry, I know that's gross.), or I need to get replacement smoke detectors. Besides not realizing that my time for Reception Desk Duty had finally landed, aparently a poem I wrote is making the rounds of the office, discreetly, of course. On of my co-workers (our techie) is moving on after working here for 20 years. Naturally, everyone decided that we should do something about it. So one person volunteered to make a scrapbook if everyone contributed something. Now in my two months of work, this man has only wrestled with my computer equipment twice, only knocking his head 6 times. Naturally, I don't have nearly as much to offer to the scrapbook as people who have his phone numbers memorized. But we were each supposed to fill a page. So I wrote a poem. And now I get phone calls like "Oh my goodness! I just read your poem! I had NO idea you were so talented! Ok...

My desk is located where the work room meets the water cooler. I can hear most of what is said at the Reception Desk. I can hear when they add more snacks to the snack area. I know how many people are standing in line at the women's bathroom. I can even give a report on the traffic on the 101. While it can be kind of embarassing to be on the phone when someone comes to fill up their water bottle (what do they think the noise is?), and rather distracting when the color printer jams and I think we are experiencing a small earthquake, it is an excellent place to pick up tips on restaurants, and news on last week's bowling scores, TV appearances, and what color looks fabulous on another co-worker. All from my little cubicle. But the amazing thing in all of this, I am near all of the prime spots to hear what is going on, and I still miss when there are developments directly involving me.