So. Very. Wrong.

But of course, “political correctness” means nothing in my world. Through the e-mail today, amidst a flurry of frantic management-level kabuki dancing over future budgets and whatnot, came a “Headline”* contest.  i’ll leave it as an exercise for the student to figure out topic du jour…

Dangling David Fires Last Salvo in Thailand Tie Up

Carradine Farwell: Final Gong, Hanging by Dong, Soooo Rong

David Carradine Fails to Snatch Pebble in Time

Grasshopper a Gasper

David Carradine Stars in Last Movie – “Spanking Monkey, Hanging Actor”

Chinese Rope Trick Does In Kung Fu Actor

Over Excited Actor Dies While “Raising” Quai Chang “Cane”…

Thai Coroner says: “Ack!” Is Not A Safe Word**

Grasshopper Dies from Asphyxia, Chicken Choking Suspected

And, in my opinion, the winner:

Actor Ass Fix Aided by Rope

Engineers are a bunch of twisted muthafuckahs...

Engineers are a bunch of twisted muthafuckahs...

* The Ninjaneer is the culprit.  For those of you playing along at home, that shouldn’t come as a surprise.

** Perhaps my primary contribution to the evil darkness…

Bitten by the Crazy Bug

Happy hour*.  Friday after work hanging out with the chemistry posse.  Some of the regulars, plus a couple of summer grad students from out of the area…  The conversation turned to parties past, including one completely off the chain rather spectacular event at chez daisyfae – with about 120 folks passing through the premises during the evening.

It was a farewell party for RK, a notoriously goofy and very fun young scientist.  Not content with regular picnic fare, he arranged to have an entire roasted pig delivered – carried in on a litter by Barbecue Delivery Technicians.  But it wasn’t the pig everyone remembered.  Along with RK came his good friend, Crazy Jimmy. 

Of course, as we’re telling the tales of the party, and mention Crazy Jimmy, the newbies had to ask how the guy got the name.  i mean, if you’re going to have a descriptive adjective permanently attached to your given name, “Crazy” is one that was most certainly earned. They don’t just hand those out for $1.99 at the WalMarts.  The stories of Crazy Jimmy ensued…

During RK’s party, Crazy Jimmy carried around a plastic tub of dog treats – Mr. Pickles’ bacon jerky meat sticks, to be precise.  Not only eating them, he politely offered to share them with the guests.  Mr. Pickles was not entirely amused.  At a subsequent party, while in a conversation with one of my son’s friends, Crazy Jimmy felt compelled to reach out and grab his junk.  Not just a quick squeeze, but holding on – maintaining his grip until my son’s friend punched him squarely in the head. 

After sitting silently through the stories, my favorite NASCAR PhD** topped them all.  “Crazy Jimmy bit my wife”.  Sitting next to her in a bar, engaged in polite conversation, Crazy Jimmy unexpectedly leaned over and bit her on the shoulder.  One of the grad students asked “Did she get a rabies shot?”  “Nah.  Didn’t break the skin.  Freaked her out, though…”

Lessons?  Who the hell knows.  All i know is that my first CD, should i ever get around to recording one, shall be titled “Crazy Jimmy Bit My Wife”…

animal

* Gee whiz… it sure seems like i’m always hanging out in bars, doesn’t it?  Ummm…. right….

** No, he didn’t get his doctoral degree in the art of driving fast while going in a circle.  He’s just one of those rare humans who never lost touch with who he is as he climbed the scientific ladder.  Guy is fucking brilliant as a scientist, is a great coach and mentor, and one of the ballsiest managers i’ve worked with in my career.  With NO PRETENSE.  He drinks Pabst Blue Ribbon, $1/can, on Thursday nights at the biker bar… 

The Drunken Truth

Tuesday night at The Pub.  Just the regulars, out on the covered porch on a lovely evening.   It was very relaxed, and easy to work multiple conversations down and across the table as alcohol was consumed in mass quantities.  One of the conversations started with “So, daisyfae, what is your new job?  What is it you want to do?”

i explained that the job i’ve just accepted positions me to skip town in four years, heading either to Europe or Washington, DC.  There are three potential dream  jobs – and they all make me feel a little squishy inside.  Several things prevent me from taking off today – including being professionally burnt out atrophied technical skills.  i’ve been in management and advisory roles for so long, i’ve forgotten how to engineer.  Need to get my techie chops back… Which is where my new assignment comes in!

The other key factor is Mom.  Until she’s in a stable care-giving situation, i do not feel comfortable being too far away.  The entire family made collective trouser chili last spring when i was in Annapolis on business and Mom’s lung rudely collapsed after her bypass surgery.  “Sheeee-it, people.  She was in Intensive Care in a perfectly fine hospital!  You think i can do more for her than the staff there?”

Rather than skip off to do my thing, and be plagued by frantic phone calls and guilt, i’m helping orchestrate The Big Farmhouse build.  Mom foots the bill, and my niece DQ and her husband get a lovely, custom-built house built on 17 acres in the country – with an attached apartment for Mom.  In return for the financial backing for her dream home, DQ – who has perfected the art of laziness and self-serving manipulation – will take care of Mom.  Doing all of us a TREMENDOUS service…. Oh, and she’ll get to keep the house and land when Mom dies.

As i was relating this to my friends at The Pub, i mentioned that within four years, one of two things are highly likely.  Mom will either die, or will be on the farm with my niece as round-the-clock caretaker.  And it was then that i said something that even shocked me for the coldness my words revealed:

daisyfae [breath forming frozen clouds]:  Worms or my niece…  One parasite or the other — so long as Mom is taken care of — i can leave town.

i am one cold, cold woman...

i am one cold, cold woman...

argh…

– If IT is driving a Lexus, IT shall do something stupid.  And i mean STOOOOOOOPID!  Not once, not twice, but three times — just during a lunch-hour errand run — did i encounter three different boneheads in Lexuses  Lexii.  Guess it is consistent.  If you pay $60,000 for a leather-encrusted Toyota, with fur-lined ashtrays, you ain’t working with a full set of functioning brain cells…

– If the person who owns the corporate resources tells you to do something, and you fail to do it – for several years, mind you – it should really come as no surprise when she reprograms the cash.  You bunch of dumb-fucks.  i told you i would.  You had a deadline.  To sit there, shocked faces staring across the table at me as if i’ve just taken a massive shit on the chest of a naked teenage boy, and pretend as if you didn’t see it coming?  Jeebus H. Obama Keee-RIST on a Triscuit…  Quite proud of myself for not telling them to “Suck my big black dick” on the way out of the room.

– Math.  It isn’t that hard.  Before you warn me – repeatedly – about the dangers of going to Mexico in light of the [ominous music] Swine Flu pandemic, do some fucking homework.  Over 30,000 people in the US die of influenza-related complications every year.  In the grand scheme of things, Swine Flu is mouse nuts.  Risk:  Probability of occurrence combined with impact of occurrence = who gives a shit?  i’m going to Cozumel to swim with the pretty fishies…

– If you panic every time the local news program predicts “dangerous storms”, you really SHOULD stay home.  Permanently.  In fact, you should be forbidden from breeding.  Here’s the dirty little secret, kids:  They want you tuned in… All fucking evening.  Therefore, they tease you with “Tornado in the Tri-State – more after the break”, prepare featured segments on “how to survive a tornado”, and tell you to “be careful, stay away from windows, there’s a potential for big fucking hail out there”.  Just go away, you bunch of stinkin’ babies.  You annoy the fuck out of me…

– It is generally a bad idea to put super glue on the end of your tweezers in an attempt to capture a particularly evasive “lady whisker”.  Yeah.  That’d be me… Shit.

yeah... maybe sometimes i'm a carrier, too...

maybe sometimes i'm a carrier, too...

 Fuck it.  i’m going out drinking…. Beer Bingo awaits…