Dear Hobbs Publishing,
I am no expert on running a business, nor am I knowledgable in any part about publishing, but after reviewing your website, I felt compelled to suggest a few changes to your overall business strategy.
1. As a writer, myself, who has considered self publishing a few times and submitted to major publishing houses as well, I find that I am most easily swayed in my opinion of a company based on the spelling, punctuation and grammatical errors on the site. What kind of writer wants their publisher to be illiterate? You may want to utilize the spellcheck ability that accompanies most Word programs these days. If somehow you dont have access to one, many can be found online. Just copy and paste your text into the box and tell it to check for spelling. A few misplaced commas wont make or break a deal, but spelling errors are a no-no.
2. I'm a little confused regarding your current "special offer". $949 to convert a manuscript into Microsoft Word format, then put it on a cd. That offer was going about a year ago when I first learned about your company, which leads me to believe that you either a.) dont update your site, or b.) are incredibly stubborn in your belief that you can get that much money just to put a manuscript on cd. I personally have my manuscript in digital format already as I typed it out in microsoft word to begin with. Few people still use type writers or the old pen and ink approach, so perhaps you should add something to the special offer to make it a bit less "special" and a bit more "realistic". I would suggest actually printing the book.
3. Your website is not viewer friendly. While the colors you have chosen are quite pleasing, the random quotes with even more random use of italics and bolding of letters/words is semi-stupid looking. It detracts from the overall message you're trying to send.
4. Uh, what message ARE you trying to send? From what I gather, you only have one customer who is also listed as a partner. What work did you actually do for him? Does he have anything positive to say about the company? Why dont you have any other customers? (*ahem* $949? Really?) I also think you should rephrase your motivational quote of "When you have your books printed, Many people will probably want to buy your book!". "Probably" really isnt the best way to convince someone. And nevermind the fact that you dont offer printing services in the first place.
5. What do you actually sell? Are you a real company?
In short, I appreciate your efforts in trying to break into the world of publishing as I am struggling through the same thing. I hope my suggestions can be of some use to you in the future. You may want to try some advertising as well... I'm just saying.
Thank you for your time.
Sincerely,
Scary
(P.S. Rainbow colored comic sans doesnt convince me that you design unique book covers. Try again.)
Friday
How many 6's in "History"?
I have developed a new problem.This isn't really news- as I am certain I am at all times in possession of 20+ psychoses, but this one has made life a bit more interesting.
As a writer, it should come as no shock that I have a myspace, facebook, and twitter... that I am fond of writing long email, constantly scribbling words I like, phrases, and poems wherever there is blank paper... All of that comes with the territory.
The fun begins with the fact that my short term recall has been damaged.
If I send an email, update my status, or do any form of writing, my instant recall of what I wrote comes back as if its been translated into Chinese, transcribed as such into painted calligraphy on wet paper- therefore smearing beyond recognition, "signed" to a deaf man who then retranslates from Chinese sign language into modern English and transcribed again... upside down... on a mirror.
I kid you not.
My recall really involves misspellings, grammatically incorrect phrases, improper punctuation, and misuse of words. I constantly have to go back and reread things to make sure I'm typing in English.
I always am... its very rare that I'll see a misspelled word, etc... but without fail, as soon as I go into my mental filing cabinet to pull out a copy of what I JUST typed out, there's a short in the wiring, and its just gibberish and vowels.
As a writer, it should come as no shock that I have a myspace, facebook, and twitter... that I am fond of writing long email, constantly scribbling words I like, phrases, and poems wherever there is blank paper... All of that comes with the territory.
The fun begins with the fact that my short term recall has been damaged.
If I send an email, update my status, or do any form of writing, my instant recall of what I wrote comes back as if its been translated into Chinese, transcribed as such into painted calligraphy on wet paper- therefore smearing beyond recognition, "signed" to a deaf man who then retranslates from Chinese sign language into modern English and transcribed again... upside down... on a mirror.
I kid you not.
My recall really involves misspellings, grammatically incorrect phrases, improper punctuation, and misuse of words. I constantly have to go back and reread things to make sure I'm typing in English.
I always am... its very rare that I'll see a misspelled word, etc... but without fail, as soon as I go into my mental filing cabinet to pull out a copy of what I JUST typed out, there's a short in the wiring, and its just gibberish and vowels.
Oh, there is!?
Repetition is funny when its coming from someone else.
If you watch Laurel and Hardy, and you see that piano falling down the steps- its still as funny the 17th time as it was the first. But that's outside your body. That's not attached. Its humor for humor's sake.
Now, my brain, while being humorous on accident, has a problem with repeating a joke if it thinks its particularly funny.
Of course, I'm allowing quite a bit here by assuming the constant repeats are from humor, not short term memory loss.
I used to see a particular billboard everyday when I was driving...
It said, very plainly, "Yes, There IS A Minimally Invasive Surgery For That."
Instantly, I felt myself sigh with relief and say "Oh, good. I was wondering..."
Then, of course, I giggled to myself. Billboards that answer questions I haven't asked never fail to prompt me into some form of gratitude.
That was the first time I saw it...
The second time I saw it, I once again couldn't deny myself the instant sigh of relief and "Oh, man, I was worried..." response. The third, forth and subsequent trips all ended the same way... "Oh! Good! Hey, babe, did you hear that? There IS a minimally invasive surgery for this!" ... every...single....time....
It wasn't until one of the last times I drove past it that the response, as usual, made its appearance, but it was followed by the other part of my brain replying with an "Okay! I GET IT! VERY FUNNY! STOP NOW!" ....
The halves of my brain had become aware of themselves again. One making the same joke over and over, the other getting increasingly irritated by it, and somehow unable to stop.
I was quite pleased when I realized I didn't have to drive that way anymore. The arguing in my cranium was louder than the stereo, no matter how much I turned it up...
If you watch Laurel and Hardy, and you see that piano falling down the steps- its still as funny the 17th time as it was the first. But that's outside your body. That's not attached. Its humor for humor's sake.
Now, my brain, while being humorous on accident, has a problem with repeating a joke if it thinks its particularly funny.
Of course, I'm allowing quite a bit here by assuming the constant repeats are from humor, not short term memory loss.
I used to see a particular billboard everyday when I was driving...
It said, very plainly, "Yes, There IS A Minimally Invasive Surgery For That."
Instantly, I felt myself sigh with relief and say "Oh, good. I was wondering..."
Then, of course, I giggled to myself. Billboards that answer questions I haven't asked never fail to prompt me into some form of gratitude.
That was the first time I saw it...
The second time I saw it, I once again couldn't deny myself the instant sigh of relief and "Oh, man, I was worried..." response. The third, forth and subsequent trips all ended the same way... "Oh! Good! Hey, babe, did you hear that? There IS a minimally invasive surgery for this!" ... every...single....time....
It wasn't until one of the last times I drove past it that the response, as usual, made its appearance, but it was followed by the other part of my brain replying with an "Okay! I GET IT! VERY FUNNY! STOP NOW!" ....
The halves of my brain had become aware of themselves again. One making the same joke over and over, the other getting increasingly irritated by it, and somehow unable to stop.
I was quite pleased when I realized I didn't have to drive that way anymore. The arguing in my cranium was louder than the stereo, no matter how much I turned it up...
Saturday
NO MORE CULTURE!
Sometimes, you click on a website link at work, not thinking the it will be blocked, and it is.
But it usually gives you a category and kinda tells you why it was blocked.
Sometimes, it makes sense.
Sometimes, it says "Your request was denied because of its content categorization: "Art/Culture"
...and then I think to myself "Oh yes. Good thing you blocked that culture. I was almost educated."
But it usually gives you a category and kinda tells you why it was blocked.
Sometimes, it makes sense.
Sometimes, it says "Your request was denied because of its content categorization: "Art/Culture"
...and then I think to myself "Oh yes. Good thing you blocked that culture. I was almost educated."
Friday
The Tug o' War
(aka Why Cousins Shouldnt Marry)
This morning, though starting a bit more slowly than most mornings (sometimes that pillow is just too persuasive!)- was a fairly ordinary morning. Nothing earth shattering to note. I got up, got dressed, did the "I have to pee dance" in the doorway of the bathroom while CJ finished up his morning get-ready-rituals... made coffee, got lunches together and walked out the door.
We climbed into the car, I drove around through the small apartment complex parking lot to the exit gate which borders a gas station. On the far end of the gas station (closest to me, furthest from the little convenience store), there is a big boxy metal air compressor thing for those pesky air-leaking tires... (or inflatable mattresses, pools and the like, I'd assume, if one were prepared enough to drag one to the gas station.)....At what I call "The Air Machine", there is a car parked.
Anyone who has ever had to use those noise boxes knows that its to your best advantage to position the car in such a way as to allow the tire that needs air to be in a somewhat close proximity to the Air Machine. This, however, works only in situations where only one tire, or one side of tires is needing air. Were you to need air in the right front tire and left rear tire, you are at a slight disadvantage, but its doable, nonetheless.
...unless you are Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum- of which, both were standing at the Air Machine this morning.
Now, despite my desire to refer to the female at the Machine as Tweedle Dee (as it has a bit more of a feminine sound to it and is less degrading), I find that I would be lying to you (and subsequently to myself) if I did not acknowledge her far inferior brain capacity by calling her Tweedle Dum.
A young female and young male stood beside the car. Tweedle Dee (the male), was crouched beside Tire Number One- passenger side, front tire. I assume he was unscrewing the stupid, oddly placed, inexplicably difficult to maneauver little cap on the "Air Insert Place" on said tire.
Tweedle Dum (or, in this case, Tweedle Stupid), was pulling on the Air Machine Hose, slowly unraveling it in order to reach tire number One.
With feet firmly placed on the ground, as if she were stuck in dried cement- roughly 2 feet away from the Air machine box- Dum bent at the waist, reached as high and far as her tiny arms could and yanked. A few feet of hose stretched. Perhaps envisioning that the tire was much further away than it was, she again bent at the waist, reeeached out, grabbed the hose and yanked. To watch her, you'd think she was trying to pull a man on a slippery rope up over the side of a ship he'd just abandoned. There was far too much effort in those pulls than should have been necessary.
But that still wasnt enough.
Tweedle Dee, is working on airing up the tire.
Tweedle Dum is still yanking on the hose.
I pull out of the complex into traffic on the street that runs alongside the gas station, meaning I can still watch the show in progress.
Suddenly, its time to air up Tire Number Two: driver's side rear tire.
You cant get any further away on a car from Tire Number One- passenger front tire, to Tire Number Two- driver's rear tire. They are placed that way for a reason.
But its okay. Tweedle Dum has it under control.
Now, the Air Machine is really quite unhappy at this point. Dum is trying to rip its arm outta the socket and Dee isnt paying any attention. He just wants air in his tires.
Dum has it under control.
Left rear tire? I'm on it!
She marches, with a purpose, AROUND the front of the car, with her sights set on that rear tire. Nevermind the fact that the back end of the car is nearly completely lined up with the Air Machine and would have cut a 3 day, 2 night stay off her trip around the front...
Dum is walking at an angle as if fighting a strong wind, with the hose wrapped over her shoulder. Determination is set on her face. She is frustrated and cold and just wants to get in the dang car and go.
...that is when Air Machine says no.
Had that hose been made of a bungy cord, I am certain Dum would have ended up somewhere near the Texas/Oklahoma border... instead it merely stopped in its trek around the car, and paying in kind by giving a nice solid yank on Dum.
I mentioned the tug o' war game going on to CJ who replied with a hearty laugh and a "You saw that too?"
"Of course I did," I say. "I think it deserves a blog."
Last glance I shot their way as I turned the corner, Dee had taken the hose from Dum, walked back around the other side, and was busy filling up the driver side rear tire... with the hose comfortable resting on the ground, just beneath the rear bumper.
This morning, though starting a bit more slowly than most mornings (sometimes that pillow is just too persuasive!)- was a fairly ordinary morning. Nothing earth shattering to note. I got up, got dressed, did the "I have to pee dance" in the doorway of the bathroom while CJ finished up his morning get-ready-rituals... made coffee, got lunches together and walked out the door.
We climbed into the car, I drove around through the small apartment complex parking lot to the exit gate which borders a gas station. On the far end of the gas station (closest to me, furthest from the little convenience store), there is a big boxy metal air compressor thing for those pesky air-leaking tires... (or inflatable mattresses, pools and the like, I'd assume, if one were prepared enough to drag one to the gas station.)....At what I call "The Air Machine", there is a car parked.
Anyone who has ever had to use those noise boxes knows that its to your best advantage to position the car in such a way as to allow the tire that needs air to be in a somewhat close proximity to the Air Machine. This, however, works only in situations where only one tire, or one side of tires is needing air. Were you to need air in the right front tire and left rear tire, you are at a slight disadvantage, but its doable, nonetheless.
...unless you are Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum- of which, both were standing at the Air Machine this morning.
Now, despite my desire to refer to the female at the Machine as Tweedle Dee (as it has a bit more of a feminine sound to it and is less degrading), I find that I would be lying to you (and subsequently to myself) if I did not acknowledge her far inferior brain capacity by calling her Tweedle Dum.
A young female and young male stood beside the car. Tweedle Dee (the male), was crouched beside Tire Number One- passenger side, front tire. I assume he was unscrewing the stupid, oddly placed, inexplicably difficult to maneauver little cap on the "Air Insert Place" on said tire.
Tweedle Dum (or, in this case, Tweedle Stupid), was pulling on the Air Machine Hose, slowly unraveling it in order to reach tire number One.
With feet firmly placed on the ground, as if she were stuck in dried cement- roughly 2 feet away from the Air machine box- Dum bent at the waist, reached as high and far as her tiny arms could and yanked. A few feet of hose stretched. Perhaps envisioning that the tire was much further away than it was, she again bent at the waist, reeeached out, grabbed the hose and yanked. To watch her, you'd think she was trying to pull a man on a slippery rope up over the side of a ship he'd just abandoned. There was far too much effort in those pulls than should have been necessary.
But that still wasnt enough.
Tweedle Dee, is working on airing up the tire.
Tweedle Dum is still yanking on the hose.
I pull out of the complex into traffic on the street that runs alongside the gas station, meaning I can still watch the show in progress.
Suddenly, its time to air up Tire Number Two: driver's side rear tire.
You cant get any further away on a car from Tire Number One- passenger front tire, to Tire Number Two- driver's rear tire. They are placed that way for a reason.
But its okay. Tweedle Dum has it under control.
Now, the Air Machine is really quite unhappy at this point. Dum is trying to rip its arm outta the socket and Dee isnt paying any attention. He just wants air in his tires.
Dum has it under control.
Left rear tire? I'm on it!
She marches, with a purpose, AROUND the front of the car, with her sights set on that rear tire. Nevermind the fact that the back end of the car is nearly completely lined up with the Air Machine and would have cut a 3 day, 2 night stay off her trip around the front...
Dum is walking at an angle as if fighting a strong wind, with the hose wrapped over her shoulder. Determination is set on her face. She is frustrated and cold and just wants to get in the dang car and go.
...that is when Air Machine says no.
Had that hose been made of a bungy cord, I am certain Dum would have ended up somewhere near the Texas/Oklahoma border... instead it merely stopped in its trek around the car, and paying in kind by giving a nice solid yank on Dum.
I mentioned the tug o' war game going on to CJ who replied with a hearty laugh and a "You saw that too?"
"Of course I did," I say. "I think it deserves a blog."
Last glance I shot their way as I turned the corner, Dee had taken the hose from Dum, walked back around the other side, and was busy filling up the driver side rear tire... with the hose comfortable resting on the ground, just beneath the rear bumper.
What I learned today:
1. The stupid person who decided to make tall corporate buildings out of shiny, light-reflective materials clearly designed them at night when the sun wasnt out. (number one cause of corneal flash burns in the U.S... for those of us that dont live near oceans or large quantities of snow... Look it up. Its a real thing!)
2. You can tell what the weather is like in Texas merely by counting the window-down-arm-hanging-out-floating-on-the-wind gestures going on. If there is more than one- the weather is nicer than it has been. If there are 12 in the immediate vicinity, the weather is phenomenal and you should join in on the fun.
(If in the event that while your window is down, a truck full of tattooed guys pulls up next to you in traffic and yells "hey!", the following steps should be taken: a.) Do not respond to the first "hey" as you wont realize they are talking to you. b.) Once you do notice that you are the one being "hey"ed at, then turn with a confused look on your face and say "...What?" back- or for the really daring, try barking. This generally stops all unnecessary conversation.)
3. If you nearly get run over by a man on foot who is racing out of a convenience store with his arms full of beer, not only a.) is he most likely stealing, but b.) saying "heeyyy..." out loud and pointing upon realization that he's stealing isnt a good idea, and c.) it takes longer than you'd think for your brain to finally understand whats going on- so anyone who says they know exactly what they'd do in a given situation is most likely lying.
(an additional note to women... How to Tell if the Guy Behind You In Line is Young and Stupid:He will, to his buddy, start remarking loudly about his friday night plans and attempt to sound responsible by saying "Yeah, but I cant get TOO trashed...I gotta get up in the morning." Do not justify his attempt to sound cool by even turning around. Pay for your whatevers, thank the cashier then wrinkle your nose at the boy as you say "Uh, excuse me." and squeeze past. You will nearly be able to hear his hopes and dreams crumble.)
1. The stupid person who decided to make tall corporate buildings out of shiny, light-reflective materials clearly designed them at night when the sun wasnt out. (number one cause of corneal flash burns in the U.S... for those of us that dont live near oceans or large quantities of snow... Look it up. Its a real thing!)
2. You can tell what the weather is like in Texas merely by counting the window-down-arm-hanging-out-floating-on-the-wind gestures going on. If there is more than one- the weather is nicer than it has been. If there are 12 in the immediate vicinity, the weather is phenomenal and you should join in on the fun.
(If in the event that while your window is down, a truck full of tattooed guys pulls up next to you in traffic and yells "hey!", the following steps should be taken: a.) Do not respond to the first "hey" as you wont realize they are talking to you. b.) Once you do notice that you are the one being "hey"ed at, then turn with a confused look on your face and say "...What?" back- or for the really daring, try barking. This generally stops all unnecessary conversation.)
3. If you nearly get run over by a man on foot who is racing out of a convenience store with his arms full of beer, not only a.) is he most likely stealing, but b.) saying "heeyyy..." out loud and pointing upon realization that he's stealing isnt a good idea, and c.) it takes longer than you'd think for your brain to finally understand whats going on- so anyone who says they know exactly what they'd do in a given situation is most likely lying.
(an additional note to women... How to Tell if the Guy Behind You In Line is Young and Stupid:He will, to his buddy, start remarking loudly about his friday night plans and attempt to sound responsible by saying "Yeah, but I cant get TOO trashed...I gotta get up in the morning." Do not justify his attempt to sound cool by even turning around. Pay for your whatevers, thank the cashier then wrinkle your nose at the boy as you say "Uh, excuse me." and squeeze past. You will nearly be able to hear his hopes and dreams crumble.)
Saturday
A Typical Morning...
Ipod alarm goes off, playing a random song from my list.
One morning, I hit the snooze and mumbled "Thanks ladies." to a SheDaisy song that started playing. I dont know why. It was a one time thing. I woke up in a good mood. Most mornings I cant wait to shut up whoever is playing...
Today went like this:
Alarm goes off.
"Thanks Fiona!" CJ says. I hit the snooze. "Its not Fiona." "Oh."
Alarm goes off.
"Thanks Katy!" CJ says. I hit the snooze and laugh. "Its not Katy." "Oh." "Its Missy." "Oh."
The kitten is purring and meowing and laying on my face.The coffee has started on its automatic timer. I can smell it. I try to move. Too sleepy.
Alarm goes off.
"Thanks Melissa!" CJ says. I cant reach the snooze. Too sleepy. "No. Its not Melissa." "Oh." "Its Missy."
"Thanks Missy!" CJ starts dancing.I try to dance, but the groggy is just not letting go. I end up doing some sort of seizure lookin' butt wiggle.
"Are you dancing?"
"I think so."
Hit the snooze. Its quiet. Its dark.
"Thanks ladies!" CJ says.
...dang it.
One morning, I hit the snooze and mumbled "Thanks ladies." to a SheDaisy song that started playing. I dont know why. It was a one time thing. I woke up in a good mood. Most mornings I cant wait to shut up whoever is playing...
Today went like this:
Alarm goes off.
"Thanks Fiona!" CJ says. I hit the snooze. "Its not Fiona." "Oh."
Alarm goes off.
"Thanks Katy!" CJ says. I hit the snooze and laugh. "Its not Katy." "Oh." "Its Missy." "Oh."
The kitten is purring and meowing and laying on my face.The coffee has started on its automatic timer. I can smell it. I try to move. Too sleepy.
Alarm goes off.
"Thanks Melissa!" CJ says. I cant reach the snooze. Too sleepy. "No. Its not Melissa." "Oh." "Its Missy."
"Thanks Missy!" CJ starts dancing.I try to dance, but the groggy is just not letting go. I end up doing some sort of seizure lookin' butt wiggle.
"Are you dancing?"
"I think so."
Hit the snooze. Its quiet. Its dark.
"Thanks ladies!" CJ says.
...dang it.
Friday
Who let Retard drive?
...I was explaining to the fiance last night that this new "schedule" with me getting up at 6 in the morning and working till 5 then spending 2 hours getting him from work and taking him home, then working again till 9:30pm has me living in a perpetual state of crazy. I quite literally feel as though I have lost my mind every second of the day.
Its kind of exciting!
So, this morning... I'm hitting the snooze and groaning... knowing I have to get up, get dressed and leave the house quickly since we have to stop and get gas on the way. We manage to get out the door a few minutes after 7:00 and get to the gas station right away.
I pull up to a pump. It has a plastic bag over it- which generally indicates "dont use this"... its not like gas pumps wear rain gear, so, I say a bad word and stick the car in reverse- pulling back to another pump. I backed ridiculously close to it.
Its raining. Still.
I park next to the pump. Now, mind you- I pulled into one of the outside pumps because clearly I dont like pumping gas under the conveniently placed roof on the other side. I open the door and watch a mini-waterfall pour into my car.
Oh, good.
So what do I do? Look at it in confusion for a minute, jump out, STAND in it for a minute- perplexed- then slam the door and run to the pump. Gas gets pumped without any excitement to note, until I realize I have to get back in the car. I walk around to my door and watch the water cascading down the driver's side window. I have to get in the car. I know this much. CJ is in the passenger seat and I cant very well climb over him. I know that much as well.
So I look at the waterfall.
Somewhere in the asylum that I call a brain, something is telling me that if I stand there looking at it long enough it'll stop, or atleast move to a different window.
It doesnt.
I sigh.
Then I open the door to get in.
Have you ever noticed that the harder you try to move quickly- the more retarded you get?
I get my butt-end into the seat, pull my head in, and cant get the door closed.
Why?
Because my leg is refusing to join the rest of us and wants to splash in the puddle instead. It's having a jolly ol' time playing in the rain while I'm silently cursing my limbs for disobeying the direct order of "GET IN THE CAR QUICKLY! I DONT WANT TO GET WET!"
Finally, the stupid left leg has had enough fun and hops in. The right leg kicks it.
I shut the door.
On my hip.
Apparently the left side of my body is controlled by stupid.
I'm in the car. My coat is bunched up underneath me and behind me and I cant lean back in the seat thanks to the mass of fabric which is clearly in on the game and wants to be as difficult as possible. My head is nearly through the steering wheel as I try to maneuver the coat around me. Elbows are flailing, the left leg wants to control the gas pedal as well... *sigh*
CJ made it to work on time, miraculously.
And I made it to work all in one piece.
Buckets of fun.
Its kind of exciting!
So, this morning... I'm hitting the snooze and groaning... knowing I have to get up, get dressed and leave the house quickly since we have to stop and get gas on the way. We manage to get out the door a few minutes after 7:00 and get to the gas station right away.
I pull up to a pump. It has a plastic bag over it- which generally indicates "dont use this"... its not like gas pumps wear rain gear, so, I say a bad word and stick the car in reverse- pulling back to another pump. I backed ridiculously close to it.
Its raining. Still.
I park next to the pump. Now, mind you- I pulled into one of the outside pumps because clearly I dont like pumping gas under the conveniently placed roof on the other side. I open the door and watch a mini-waterfall pour into my car.
Oh, good.
So what do I do? Look at it in confusion for a minute, jump out, STAND in it for a minute- perplexed- then slam the door and run to the pump. Gas gets pumped without any excitement to note, until I realize I have to get back in the car. I walk around to my door and watch the water cascading down the driver's side window. I have to get in the car. I know this much. CJ is in the passenger seat and I cant very well climb over him. I know that much as well.
So I look at the waterfall.
Somewhere in the asylum that I call a brain, something is telling me that if I stand there looking at it long enough it'll stop, or atleast move to a different window.
It doesnt.
I sigh.
Then I open the door to get in.
Have you ever noticed that the harder you try to move quickly- the more retarded you get?
I get my butt-end into the seat, pull my head in, and cant get the door closed.
Why?
Because my leg is refusing to join the rest of us and wants to splash in the puddle instead. It's having a jolly ol' time playing in the rain while I'm silently cursing my limbs for disobeying the direct order of "GET IN THE CAR QUICKLY! I DONT WANT TO GET WET!"
Finally, the stupid left leg has had enough fun and hops in. The right leg kicks it.
I shut the door.
On my hip.
Apparently the left side of my body is controlled by stupid.
I'm in the car. My coat is bunched up underneath me and behind me and I cant lean back in the seat thanks to the mass of fabric which is clearly in on the game and wants to be as difficult as possible. My head is nearly through the steering wheel as I try to maneuver the coat around me. Elbows are flailing, the left leg wants to control the gas pedal as well... *sigh*
CJ made it to work on time, miraculously.
And I made it to work all in one piece.
Buckets of fun.
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