Why I love being single...

Last night, while working at my other job (at a food establishment), I noticed a young couple walking toward the door from the parking lot.

[I know they were dating because, once they sat down, he laid his head on her and snuggled, for the better part of 10 minutes.]

I paid special attention because I knew the boy portion of the coupleness from a road trip from my freshmen year. He was on crutches and she was texting. In midst of texting, she forgot about her crippled boyfriend, opened the door for herself, and let it slam on him. Stuck outside alone and failing to get her attention, he attempts to maneuver the very large glass door in hopes of wedging himself between the door and frame. He fights with the door for about 30 seconds before forcing himself inside. He hobbles over to her, making that very distinct clacking-crutches sound, and says, "babe, you let the door shut on me." She says, "JOEY! IT'S NOT MY FAULT! YOU KNOW I CAN'T THINK AND TEXT!!!!!!"

Let us all take a minute to pray she doesn't have a valid driver's license.

Dear Ford Truck,

Please do not wonder why I'm irritated at 2:00 AM when I can't pull into the parking spot in front of my house because you insist on fighting with your girlfriend from inside your car, on your iphone, in front of her house; be a man and just tell her she's a dumb b*. Go home; clearly, she's not worth it.

Adventures from owning the worst dog in the world (1)

After a hearty three hour nap, I woke up at 7:45 PM and proceeded to plan my evening. I made arrangements with some friends and decided I needed a shower because I had been at outside roaming around the bike surplus (see previous posts). I walked up the stairs and, of course, my dog had crapped on the stairs.

[For those who are not a Peyton follower, this is not a rare occurrence but actually quite a regular thing. My dog loves, more than anything in the world, to sh*t on the stairs.]

Because it was at the top on the second step I thought it would be easier to take it to my bathroom, which is upstairs, and flush it rather than carry it down the stairs.

As I went to get some toilet paper, I started the water for my shower. Then, I gathered it all up and dropped in the pot. I flushed, and nothing happened. I flushed a second time; the bowl filled up with water.

I was in a bit of a hurry because I needed to eat before partaking in total shenanigans for the evening and apparently not thinking clearly. I looked around for a plunger, but, being that Nicole and I are classy ladies and never clog the commode, we do not need one thus do not have one. In the trash, there were a couple of toilet paper tubes so I tried to clear the stoppage with those. This did not work. With a swift jerk of the wrist, I stuck my hand in the toilet and punched the t.p. wrapped poop wad down the drain. Needless to say, I'm currently not speaking to my dog.



And yes, I thoroughly disinfected my entire body after this delightful experience.

Sidenote 2

This morning my breath smelled so strongly of patron from the night before, that when I burped, I almost threw up.

Work Wonder: Volume 1: Bike-a-pa-looza

Preface: I work for Transportation Services at Texas A&M University as a Customer Service Representative. Any qualm about parking, lots, bikes, etc, goes through me. Once a year, all the bicycles that are left on campus are relocated to a surplus lot. Students who did not move their bike, after being notified repeatedly through email, can make appointments to come and look for it. Today, one girl in particular stood out from the pack. Here is her story...

Britney and I left the office around 8:45 AM to go out to surplus to meet the 13 people who had appointments. Everyone forms a neat line and checks in (so we know they have given us a description and aren't just trying to steal a bike). Most of the appointments showed up and went on their way to look through the 1550 bikes.

Britney went inside the building to help customers and I stayed outside, helping a particularly confused young man. After 50 minutes, everyone had left and we started to head back.

While driving on Olsen Blvd., I noticed a girl from the appointment walking a bike on the side of the road. I turn to Britney and ask,"hey, that girl found her bike?"

Britney replies, "No... SHE STOLE IT! What should we do??!?!?"

"Pull over!" I yell.

We pull the car over into Lot 67, and Britney gets out to talk to the girl. I pull out the appointment sheet and confirm she did not sign for taking a bike as well as nothing in her description except the color. Britney comes back and tells me that the girl is claiming it may be her bike, but she isn't sure and is unable to remove the lock.

[When there is a lock on a bike, we require the customer be able to remove it before taking the bike.]

The lock is a numerical, not key lock, and she doesn't not the combination. She says its not her lock. At this point, we call back to the office and ask what to do. Our supervisor says if she can't remove the lock, to take the bike away from her.

So, as kindly as possible, we requsted she give us the bike. She did and walked away. BP (Britney) and I loaded the bike in the Taurus and drove, with the trunk ajar, back to surplus.



This is why I blog, and this is why I spend an hour by myself when I get home.

Side Note

I hate people who wear swim suits literally everywhere such as the bank, on the Texas A&M Campus, sit-down restaurants, bars, and Bed, Bath, and Beyond.

Ahem...

Dear Jason's Deli,

If I order a Reuben, please do not suggest I accompany this particular sandwich baked chips. While the mouthy girl behind the counter may be watching her figure, this is clear not the case under my circumstances.

Sincerely,
Fay

Funny movie happenings

So Britney, my fellow office worker, is telling a funny story about being in a theatre. Here's my great story...

In high school, my friend Valerie and I went to see a movie, one that apparently no one else cared to see. We walked in and no one else had gotten there yet. So naturally, we picked the seats equidistance from all sides (in the exact middle for those don't have an education from Texas A&M University).

While enjoying our popcorn and Icee, an Asian couple came in and began to scan the seating. As we continued to chow down, they walked up to the row in which we were seated. I leaned over to Valerie and said, "No way..."

Way. They walked down, sat next to us, and shouted "HEEELLLLLLLO!!" with the biggest smile I'd seen in a while. They too, then proceeded to eat their movie snacks.

First Entry, and I already have something to say. This could be this worst decision I've ever made.

Yup, I've made a blog.

Britney, don't steal my background.

As I've spent my morning addressing thank you cards to gracious gift givers and employers, Britney and I have decided that employers should send you a notification that they have recieved your application or resume, and they don't want you.

I have applied to 50+ positions and if I am taking the time to write a cover letter, submit my resume, and then spend 20 minutes creating a profile for your company's account, the least you can do is email me to tell me what a piece of crap I am and how you would never hire me in a million years. Just a thought.

Once in the interview process, not notifying me is entirely fair. They haven taken time to see you, so not hearing anything back can only result in one obvious meaning.

I would like to think the resumes I send out are going to actually people and not the junk mail inbox of cyberspace. As of now, I'm not convinced.