Fishing for Green…

No, this post isn’t about money or something cool, it is about something I thought that I had grown out of in middle school.  Not since the 7th grade have I been concerned about getting pinched on St. Patrick’s day for not wearing green.  

As a true Irish woman, I replaced green clothing with green beer some time in high school and haven’t looked back since.  But, for the first time in a decade, I am afraid of being pinched tomorrow at work if I don’t wear green.  But, what adult in their right mind would make their coworkers worry about a little pinch?  Corn Fed Cube Neighbor.  

Here is how I guess C.F.C.N.’s weekend went:  Alarm clock at 6 AM on Saturday, breakfast (with tea, not coffee, because even the smell of coffee will send him into a fit of dehydration), a bike ride around the block (so he can tell my ex-professional mountain biking boss he took a 22-mile ride up hill, both ways, in 45 minutes), and then a quick trip to every vintage store in Colorado to find green pants, a green long-sleeved shirt to wear under a green short-sleeved shirt, green socks, green whitey-tighties, and green shoe laces for his white sneakers (he wouldn’t want to go over board, the white sneakers keep the ensemble modest).

Why?  Because he is embracing his Irish heritage?  No.  Because green is his color?  No.  Because he had no friends in elementary school, or high school, or college and believes that the 8 people in the office will be his friend if he wears all green and pinches them all day just like all the cool kids in elementary school did to him, then make a scene about how cool he is for being the only festive person in the office hereby wasting not only my patience but also precious work time so we will all be forced into working late on the most sacred of all beer drinking holidays?  Bingo.

I can promise that I will find both his outfit and his existence disgusting all day tomorrow, but dammit, I will not shame the McDonald name by working late on St. Patrick’s day.  So C.F.C.N., green it is.  May the luck o’ the Irish be with me and may I successfully ruin your day.

Being a Near Retard is a Prerequisite to Work at Home Depot

Here is an application to work at Home Depot:

Are you an idiot?

If you said “yes” congratulations, you are hired.  

I went to Home Depot with the most in depth description possible.  ”I need 3 inch phillips head Grip Rite gold screws,” impressive, huh?  Well the guy who worked there wasn’t impressed, he responded, “Ma’am, they don’t make screws out of gold, it’s not jewelry.”  

FUCK!  And to think, I thought that the beauty of gold screws was that I could buy an extra to hang on my necklace because that shit is 24 karats!  Thank God you told me before I spent the extra 15 cents on screw jewelry, or screwelry as they say on the streets.  

Anyway, since you don’t have anything that fits the description of 3 inch phillips head Grip Rite gold screw, I need some sort of 3 inch screw that will hold a TV and wont strip, do you have any suggestions or have I said something that confused you?

What did the idiot hand me?  A box of 3 inch phillips head gold screws by Grip Rite as he said, “these wont strip on you, they are really strong because they are gold.”

Wow, thanks for the knowledge that you dropped on me today, jackass.  How’s your mom’s basement treating you these days, anyway?