Tag Archives: foot-in-mouth

I think there’s probably a lesson in here somewhere.

16 Mar

This has nothing to do with the rest of this post. But it's so disturbing I had to share. (Image source: http://www.tmz.com)

Thankfully, she’s been out of the news so long I couldn’t remember her moniker. Hence I found myself googling, “woman who wants to be Angelina Jolie” and “woman with too many babies” before I stumbled upon it: OCTOMOM.

While I believe whole-heartedly in Zero Population Growth, I wasn’t googling that Waste of Space  because I wanted to mount my soapbox. No, it was actually because I was trying to come up with a good comparison to make this statement come to life:

Today I used so much KY Jelly I think I may have outpaced Jenna Jameson and the Octomom combined.

Now I have your attention, don’t I?

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Doing our best to give HR job security.

16 Mar

Yesterday morning I was showing a colleague a piece of corporate swag I had received at an event. It was a rubber watch made in the style of those “Silly Bandz” or “Slapz” things that are popular with kids these days.

Don’t know what I’m talking about? First, thanks for making me feel better for actually knowing what these things are. I feel much less grandma-esque now. Second, for your edification: they are rubber watches that are straight and rigid until you hit them on something – then they curve and wrap around it.

Hence this watch looks kind of like a ruler until you smack it on your wrist – then it curves and becomes a bracelet around your wrist. Get it?

Anyway, as I showed it to my colleague, she said, “Awesome! I love this.”

And then, seeing it go from curled to straight, about a beat later she exclaimed, “It’s like a little orange penis!”

At this point, she happened to realize she had SPOKEN OUT LOUD and that we were not the only people in the office. In fact, the person closest to us was a guy, separated only by a cubicle wall, left to his own imagination to figure out what we were talking about. She collapsed into a puddle of embarrassment on her desk.

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You say tomato, I say Gestapo.

28 Sep

Saturday morning we ran to the farmer’s market so I could pick up some fruit and greens for a salad. (Side note: I discovered kiwi berries, which, if you like kiwi fruit but HATE peeling them, this is the fruit for you – think of grapes that taste like kiwis.)

On the way there, we were breaking one of my pet urban rules: we were walking three-across on the sidewalk. Fortunately, my mom was tuned into our surroundings, and realized someone coming up behind us would need to get around. She stepped aside, grabbed my dad and me by the shoulders, and loudly announced, “Let’s wait a second so this gentleman can pass.”

The thing is, that gentleman had breasts. No sooner were the words out of my mom’s mouth, than my dad and I exchanged an uncomfortable look and my mom clapped her hand over her mouth. We dropped back a few paces and let the woman gain some ground before we spoke again.

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Open mouth, insert foot.

23 May

As someone who often sticks my foot in my mouth, I revel in the moments when I catch other people doing the same thing.

Imagine then, about a week ago, when Alan – looking at my thigh – said, “Do you always have these?” and traced his finger along my veins, which sit close to the surface and show through easily.

I raised an eyebrow. “Only about as long as I’ve had blood flowing through me.”

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