Saturday, November 26, 2016

Clash of the Duvet

I was in way over my head.  Literally.

And I thought I was prepared for the challenge. 

I had started training earlier in the day.

By putting towels in pillow cases.  I perfected my process: shove the towel all the way to the back, then grab both ends and shake.  

After hours of practice, my doggie duvet was perfect.

And I was ready for the real thing.

Or so I thought.

I laid Kimmy's duvet cover on the hallway floor and measured the duvet, determining which corners went in first.

"This hallway ain't big enough for the both of us," I said to the duvet.  "You're going IN THERE."

The duvet just laughed.

I took a deep breath, grabbed hold of the far end of the duvet corners, and crawled in, kneeling on the near ends to hold them in place.

As I approached the end, I dropped one of the corners.  CRAP!  Where the flip was it?  I felt around for it.  Nothing.  Maybe over there?  Or there?  

Hours later, Kevin came to my rescue.

And my brave dog led me out of duvet hell.

I was 5 pounds lighter.  And that was before I grabbed both ends of the duvet and "shook."

It was an exhausting experience, both mentally and physically.

I told my sister Jan about my duvet workout.  She could hardly get a word in.

"Holy crap!"  I said.  "Assembling a nuclear plant would be easier."

I chugged some wine.  "Next time I do that I'm going to lay down bread crumbs so I can find my way out."

I was on a roll. 

"And pack a lunch.  I could have starved to death."

Jan accused me of being dramatic.

Who me?

"You could do what I do," she added.

"What's that?"

"I use my duvet cover like a bedspread and lay it on top of the duvet."


What fun would that be?

Monday, November 21, 2016

The Race

As I was clipped from behind my car began to spin out of control. 

It was frightening. 

I circled 1,440 degrees.  (That's 4 times, for those of you without calculators.)

To say I was dizzy was an understatement.  My reading glasses only exacerbated the vertigo.

I screamed like a girl and managed, somehow, to straighten the car.  I gently pushed on the gas pedal and accelerated to 35 mph.

As an endless stream of aggressive sports cars passed by me on both sides, I wondered when this stupid NASCAR simulator race would finally end.


I'm lucky my lunch stayed with me.  Actually, the NASCAR Museum is lucky my lunch stayed with me.

After what seemed like an hour, the race finally came to an end.

I removed my reading glasses and struggled to open the door.  Upon exiting the torture chamber, I stumbled clumsily toward the exit. 

All around me I heard excited voices.  "That was great!!"  "Awesome!"  "Where'd you place?"

I was thinking, "Where's the bathroom?"

The race results were posted on a wall in 260 point font.  

Lovely.  Public humiliation.

There were 15 of us competing as part of our "team building  exercise".  For crying out loud.  Why didn't they do a Sudoku competition?  Or a quilting contest?  At least I'd have a fighting chance.

I was certain to be at the bottom of the NASCAR simulation race.

I looked at the race results.  The letters were moving.  I grabbed hold of the wall and focused, looking for my name on the list.

I was 14th.

WTH?  How could I not have been at the bottom?

Was it a clerical error?  I did not pass one car on the track.  In fact, cars pass by me like I was a kidney stone heading south.

Wait. One. Minute.

I beat somebody!   Hooray for me!

Maybe I should do this again.  I could get good at it.  My virgin NASCAR race and I wasn't even last.

If fact, I think I accelerated all the way to 40 by the last lap. 

Okay, maybe it was 39.  

I felt sorry for number 15.  He or she must really suck at NASCAR driving.  I squinted at the standings and saw that it was Ellen who came in last.

Poor, pathetic Ellen.

I decided to comfort her. (That's how empathetic I am.)

This was a delicate situation.  I did not want to embarrass her.  I mean, coming in dead last in a NASCAR simulator race.  How humiliating.

"Hey," I whispered.  "Don't feel badly about coming in last.  Who wants to win a NASCAR simulator race, anyhow?"

"Oh," she said, casually. "I didn't race.  I couldn't get my car started."

Saturday, November 5, 2016

No Use Crying Over Spilled Wine

I swear to God.  I was not drinking when I spilled wine on my laptop.

The wine was to be my reward for finishing the report.

I finished up, attached the document to the email, hit send, and reached for that well-deserved glass of wine.

What happened next was inexplicable.  Somehow the bottom of the wine glass became entangled in the laptop cord.

Did I mention that it was Halloween night and I was staying in a Myrtle Beach hotel?

The police were never able to identify the source of the reported screams.  Witnesses said they were certain a horrendous murder had been committed. 
Others suspected it was a werewolf on the prowl for young blood.

I immediately lunged for a paper towel and attempted to lap up the wine.  Unfortunately, the hotel did not have the quicker picker upper.  Instead a roll of three ply toilet paper masqueraded as paper towels.

I used the "knife in the ditch between keys" methodology and was able to completely contain all of the wine.

At least I thought I had.

The next morning I attempted to log into my laptop.  I typed in the password and was told quite rudely by said laptop that I had the incorrect password.  I tried again, unsuccessfully.


I looked at the screen and typed in the first letter of my password.  Here's what I saw:

Say what?  Two asterisks?  That's odd.  I only typed one letter.  

I entered the second letter of my password and this is what I saw:

Then I had a scathingly brilliant idea.  I started over.  I entered the first letter of the password.  Two asterisks appeared.  And I deleted one.

I was feeling quite proud of myself as I entered the second letter of the password.  When two more asterisks appeared, I deleted the second one.

Smarty Pants Clyde.  That's my name.

I entered the third letter of the password. No letters appeared.


I figured I had two options.  I could get the laptop repaired or I could buy a new one.  Neither option was ideal, and both options were expensive.

Way more expensive than that glass of wine.

Then I had my second scathingly brilliant idea.

Introducing the hottest, most technologically advanced laptop EVER:  the duo-keyboard laptop for those who want more than just 96 keys.

Forget Silicone Valley.  This baby was developed in Irmo, South Carolina.

And if you'd like your very own duo-keyboard laptop, I know where you can get one.  Just in time for the holidays.

And it's very reasonably priced.