iHateGreenBeans

Dear Work People:

The sound you just heard from the break room was me gagging. I’m so sorry about that. I took the liberty of throwing out the majority of the Tupperware containers in the refrigerator.  The mold on on the inside hindered me from identifying the original contents.  There’s no way I will allow the person who belongs to that Tupperware take the monstrosity home and try to scrub away the filth.  I’m sorry.  It was ingrained in the plastic.

There was also a nice little surprise in a Pappacito’s styrofoam take-home box.  It was sealed tight in a plastic bag.  Why on earth I decided to open the bag and investigate is beyond me, but I did.  The smell that wafted from said bag was indescribable.  There were no words.  That is why I had to literally go primal and make a guttural noise.  Obviously, the bag was thrown in the trash.  Good luck janitor lady.

All this to say, if you are looking for your Tupperware from four months ago, it died a slow painful death and was laid to rest today.

You are welcome.

Lincee

I had an idea to write this post when a friend of mine sent me an email this morning.  Let me set it up for you:

David and I are PowerPoint “co-captains” at church and I recently asked him for his September schedule so I could figure out who we need to bring up from JV while we are away doing various activities this semester.

He was quick to respond with all the dates in the fall that he will not be able to serve.  There was a wedding.  Texas Tech vs. A&M football weekend.  And this little nugget on September 6…

World Championship BBQ Goat Cook-Off.

Huh.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen those words connected together before in my life.  One might think that I would go off on some sarcastic tangent, but coming from a girl who is scheduling her pending knee surgery around Hallsville Western Days’ Civil War Re-Enactment…well…you all know that this Goat BBQ Championship thing sounds all sorts of AWESOME to me.   Let’s hope DQ takes pictures and sends in a report on who wins the big prize. 

I’d blog about it.  I’m just saying.

The goat championship BBQ sentence did tickle me though.  I started to think about all the random things I had heard on the phone, or read in an email/text or heard from friends and family the last week.  I have to say, I lead a pretty interesting life.  Or I surround myself with crazies.  Probably a mixture of both.

Example #1:

My friend Jill has a 16-month old little boy.  The other day we were on the phone and I heard this:  “No…no Sam…Sam…no…SAM!  Lincee I have to go.  Sam’s eating dog food.”

Not your typical run-of-the-mill sentence that acurately describes your kid’s diet. 

Example #2:

My other friend Rebecca has a brand new baby.  I hear her three-year-old in the background:  “Mommy!  Baby Sam needs you!”

What is wrong with that sentence you ask?  Yes…it is very normal.  However, the baby’s name is not Sam.  The three-year-old has named him Sam because the only other boy baby he has known is Jill’s Sam.  It’s been five days now.  The siblings are still calling him Sam.  The parents call him by his real name.  My Mom used to call the dog’s name when she was yelling for me.  I think this family is going to be okay.

Example #3

My Mom and I are watching the traveling Broadway production of Mamma Mia this past weekend in Dallas.  When the curtain rises, we find Sophie on the Greek island singing to herself about how she has a dream.  Mom leans over and says, “Why is her hair red?”  I look at her funny and she says, “It’s supposed to be blond.”

I explain to her that this isn’t Cinderella and that she needs to get over it.  Different actors play different characters on the stage.  Sophie’s hair color means nothing to the story line.  She rolled her eyes and was bitter for the rest of the show. 

Example #4

I was on the phone with Sergeant Cole last night (yes he’s back!) and he is telling me how he got from Iraq to the US.  In the middle of a very dramatic moment, I hear a bugle playing in the background.  He pauses and says, “Let me call you back.  They are lowering the flag.”

Oh how that warms my heart!  God bless the USA!

Example # 5

I drove in from Dallas on Saturday night and arrived back at my apartment around 1:30 in the morning.  I fell asleep immediately and woke up a few hours later to my phone ringing.  As you can imagine, there is a split second that is a mixture of figuring out where the weird noise is coming from, trying to find my phone and registering who is on the other side, because nothing good can come from a 3:00 a.m. phone call.

It was my boss.  Who is currently in the Middle East. 

I click the green button and yell “HELLO?” about 30 times.  Nothing.  I get panicky and start wondering if he is in trouble or stuck in a holding cell at an airport or in JAIL!  I text as fast as my fingers could fly and wait for the familiar BING to answer me back.

BING!  “I forgot it is 3:00 AM in Houston.  Going to tell you about rig in Oman.  Sorry to disturb you.  Go back to bed.”

Don’t you think that merits a free personal day?  One that corresponds with the World Championship BBQ Goat Cook-Off maybe?

I was at lunch (outside table) with the editor of an oil and gas magazine.  The day before, I had a questionable spot removed from my face and had to keep it covered for 48 hours.  We were talking about ideas for their future issues when he told me “your band aid is flapping in the wind.” 
 
Nice.
 
I looked at him and said, “Are we in that place where I can just rip this off here at the table?”
He said, “Yep.  I’d rather see it in the trash than in your nachos.”
 
All in a day’s work people.  That’s me.  Keeping the oil and gas dream alive for my clients.  One awkward moment at a time.

I’m in Montana for work. My cell phone does not get service in this state or in North Dakota. Although I’ve been twitching and shaking without the use of my crackberry for the last 24 hours, I did discover something interesting.

The small town of Glendive boasts that they are the paddlefish capital of the world. I learned this useless trivia at lunch while eating nachos at the Beer Jug.

It’s okay to be jealous of my job.