The Scene: Pat and I are on our way back to my place after watching Supernatural and eating amazing homemade meatball subs with his parents. Pat is driving. I'm throwing a fit about street signs.

Me: What the hell? WHO NAMES THESE STREETS?! No seriously, I want to know whose job it is to name streets! Who gets to decide that a street is called Widme?! Or Big Rock?! Or Noll?!

Pat: (is laughing, and trying to pretend he isn't) Becca, a lot of these streets are people's names.

Me: Hidden Springs? Are there hidden springs down that road? Can we go find them?

Pat: No.

Me: Why not?

Pat: Because then they wouldn't be hidden anymore, and they'd have to rename the street.

Me: So? Anyway, I still want to know who decides - WHAT?! Seriously, Bjermerland?!

Pat: That sounds like it should be a nordic fortress or something.

Me: Well, there is a fortress down there.

Pat: There is not.

Me: Have you been down there?

Pat: Yes! That's where the driving school is!

Me: The fortress is new. You probably haven't seen it yet.

Pat: (turns off the headlights as we approach another street sign)

Me: (screeching) What are you doing?!

Pat: (turns them back on) Nothing. Just keeping you from reading every street sign we see.

Me: Knock it off! You're going to get pulled over!

Pat acquiesces to my hysteria and leaves the headlights on. There is a brief moment of silence while we hear some radio talk show mention Hilary Clinton is going to be Secretary of State (no idea if that's true, just barely heard it in passing).

Me: I don't even know what the Secretary of State does. What does the Secretary of State even do?

Pat: Mmm....

Me: You have no idea.

Pat: (gives me a look) Of course I know. The Secretary of State names all the streets.

Me: (laughing) Oh yeah?

Pat: When the Secretary of State first walks in his or her office, they're handed a bunch of boxes. In the boxes are lists of streets that all need names. The Secretary of State tries to name as many they can as quickly as possible. Because then they get more points. And if they get enough points, they get to go into the Street Naming High Scores Hall of Fame.

Me: Wow. I had no idea.

Pat: (laughs) If I was in charge, the government would be awesome.

Another thirty seconds of silence as my mind races around to places that aren't useful or intelligent in the slightest.

Me: Hey, remember Kongs?

Pat: WHAT?

Me: Kongs!

Pat: Are you just making up words now?

Me: No! They're dog toys! Rubber dog toys that go like bloop bloop bloop (making hand motions to indicate a small top widening to a larger base). And they're open in the bottom, so you can put treats and stuff in there.

Pat: I think you're making this up.

Me: Am not! They're red and black and who named that street CALDART?

Pat: That's probably somebody's name!

Me: CALDART?

Pat: Yeah! Look, Jensen! That's somebody's name too!

Me: All streets are not named after people!

Pat: Yes they are. Look, 10th. That's totally somebody's name. (a few seconds later) Highway 305! I'm totally naming my first kid Highway 305.

Me: You shouldn't be allowed anywhere near the naming process for your children. Why are you so stuck on the idea of streets named after Transformers?

Pat: ........ WHAT?

Me: I mean... I mean people's names! I was just thinking about the Transformers and my words got mixed up!

Pat: (laughing helplessly)

Me: Look, Viking! Are you going to tell me that's named after a person?

Pat: No, that's named Viking because there used to be vikings who lived here.

Me: You have absolutely no clue what you're talking about.

Pat: Of course I do.

Me: Do not.

(we pull onto my street)

Pat: You'd better watch it or I'm going to have the Secretary of State rename your road Becca is a Stupid Dumbface Lane.

Me: That would be a pain to write on an envelope.

Pat: You're right. And all your neighbors would be mad at you.

Me: I don't think you would really do that.

(we pull into my driveway and Pat parks the car)

Pat: (laughs) No, I wouldn't. I love you.

Me: Love you too. Lets go play Guitar Hero!

Caught my mom online this afternoon. Naturally we started talking about Supernatural, Jensen Ackles, and Jared Padalecki.

marmay5: god, those boys are seriously adorable. Why don't you go and get one?
We could use them around the holidays and such.

me: LOL

marmay5: I bet they play a mean game of Zombies

me: sure, I'll get right on that....
OMG I bet they would!
can I have both of them, maybe?
menage a trois?

marmay5: Sure.

me: I'd totally be down for that

marmay5: Looks like they're familiar with each other anyway.
Adding you wouldn't be much of a burden.

me: hehehehe down ALL THE TIME lol

marmay5: sigh You're nasty. Seriously.

me: you'd never see me again
I'd be too busy having sex

marmay5: No, you'd have to come up for air to at least have a holiday meal and play Zombies. or World of Warcraft

Ahhh.....

Good, intelligent, wholesome conversation....

Pat and I are standing on my front porch. Our lunch breaks are over and we're about to head to our cars to go back to work. The beautiful sunny weather we were enjoying a week ago is gone, bullied and shoved out by the typical Washington clouds. It starts to rain.

Pat: I'm getting rained on!

Me: Well... come here then. *I grab his arm and haul him under the eaves where I'm standing.* There, see? No more rain.

Pat: You saved me!

Me: I know. It was a monumental task, but someone had to do it.

Pat: *stares at me suspiciously* I think you're some kind of witch.

Me: Yes, you're right. I am. I'm also a ninja, remember? I'm a ninja witch.

Pat: *suddenly struggling to keep a straight face* You're a WINJA.

Me: ...........

Pat: Or a NINJITCH!

Me: The correct term is Winja, Pat. Not Ninjitch. Now get it right before I cast a curse on you. Because trust me, a Winja is the last person you want to piss off.


Would YOU piss off a Winja?

I didn't think so.

The Scene: Pat and I are sitting outside about to water plants. Pat appears in a contemplative mood. I am contemplative as well. I am contemplating very seriously how to bypass the spider webs without actually touching any of them so I can get to my hose.

Pat: I wonder what it takes to reach 'plague' status.

Me: Huh?

Pat: You know. A plague. I wonder when it becomes a plague, and not 'that nasty bug that's going around'.

Me: Oooh. (I'm thinking about something that logically should come before plague. I'm searching for the word, and I can't for the life of me remember the what it is. Of course, NOW I remember. EPIDEMIC. But I didn't remember at the time, so the silence stretches on as I wrack my brain which apparently retains information about as well as a colander retains water. )

Silence.

Me: I don't know.

Pat: But plague doesn't just apply to illness. Like 'a plague of locusts'. How many locusts does there need to be to have a plague of them? And can that apply to anything bad that there are a bunch of?

Me: Definitely. Like on my back deck there's a plague of bees.

Pat: (laughs) I think that any more than one bee is definitely a plague. And you definitely have a plague of bees on your back deck.

Me: And in my kitchen there are a plague of dirty dishes. And in my hallway a plague of disorganized CDs. And in my bedroom a plague of laundry...

And at work today I've been harassed by a plague of phone calls while simultaneously trying to handle a plague of faxes and help a plague of clients....

The Scene: Standing on my front porch with my friend Pat discussing various vigilante/revenge movies. We're talking about 'The Crow', a movie which (shamefully) Pat had never seen.

Me: You know, something that always kinda bugged me about that movie. Why was it that Brandon Lee's character that got to come back from the dead? It was his fiance who was raped and beaten to death, she had a lot more reason to be pissed. It's this whole, 'Man Avenge Woman' thing.

Pat: (nods decisively) As it should be.

Me: PFFT.

Pat: (teasingly) What? That's how it should be. Man protect woman. Hey, come here. (he pulls me away from the porch railing) See? I just protected you from that bee.

Me: BEE? WHERE?! Wait, don't change the subject! Are you saying women can't wreak havoc and take revenge as well as men can?

(pause)

Me: Revenge is an equal opportunity employer, Pat.

Pat: (bursts out laughing) Becca's quote of the day...



Note: Pat really isn't sexist. He just likes to tease me. ^_^

I stumbled blearily into my house on Saturday morning with a full on hangover, wanting nothing more than to sit on my sofa and play some Onimusha 3. It had been a long night of heavy drinking and live punk music, and I was definitely ready for some downtime. I was able to relax for what seemed like only a few minutes but was probably more like an hour when my doorbell rang. Confused, I looked out my window and saw a police car.

Great, I thought to myself. I'm hung over and reek of alcohol and cigarettes. Wonderful. WHAT THE HELL IS A COP DOING HERE? I quickly ran through the night before. My designated driver, Nils, had been stone cold sober until we got back to his house, and there had been no incidents involving motor vehicles. The small party at Nils's place had been quiet, and as far as I knew no neighbors had been disturbed. Satisfied that I hadn't done anything jail-worthy, I finally got up to answer the door.

"Ummm... hi," I said intelligently to the officer standing outside my door. Clearly I intended to dazzle him with my sparkling wit.

"Is Ricky here?" the cop asked.

"Ricky?"

"Ricky," the cop confirmed.

"Ricky?" It was as though I thought that if I repeated the name enough it would start to make sense. It didn't.

"Ricky." The cop had his hands on his hips and was giving me a steely look. He was apparently getting tired of this Repeat The Name game.

"Umm..." I wracked my brain one more time. "I don't know a Ricky."

The cop gave me a look. "You don't know Ricky."

"No. I don't know Ricky."

"Are you Rebecca?"

The cop's unprofessional attitude was really starting to irk me. "Yes."

"And you live here?"

"Yes."

"And you don't know Ricky." The cop's skeptiscism was very clear.

"No," I replied a bit waspishly. "I don't know a Ricky."

The cop wasn't finished. "Sandra said he would be here."

I thought briefly about repeating the name a few times, but I decided against it. "Sandra who?" I demanded.

"Sandra *****," the cop snapped back.

"I don't know any Sandras, either," I said, exasperated. "Maybe next door?"

I waited at the door as the cop walked over to the other side of the duplex to talk to my neighbor. Apparently he had as little luck there as he had on my side of the duplex because (lucky me) he was on his way back over. I waited as he positioned himself once more on my porch.

"You don't know a Ricky or a Sandra," the cop said finally.

"No," I said firmly. "I'm sorry I couldn't help you."

"Because," the cop continued as though I hadn't said anything. "If Ricky was here, I'd have to take him to jail."

Oh good. "Well," I said brightly. "I'm very glad I don't know a Ricky then."

The cop gave me one last look, then turned around and got back into his car. I closed the door, and went back to playing video games, but the encounter disturbed me. Who was Sandra, and why would she tell the cops that 'Ricky' was at my house? Who was Ricky? And why was Ricky going to jail? The more I thought about it the more it bothered me. I might make a quick phone call to the police station today to see if I can get any information about what's going on. >_<

The Scene: I'm getting ready for work at a slightly less frantic pace than usual, and have a chance to chat with Bob, who has the day off, before I duck out the door.

Me: So what's on your agenda for today?

Bob: My hidden agenda, or my regular agenda?

Me: *pausing to consider* Erm... both. Regular first.

Bob: I'm going to spend the first half of the day relaxing. I want to play some World of Warcraft and clean. Then after lunch I'm going to take a look at your car.

Me: Sounds good.

Bob: But my hidden agenda... I'm going to play World of Warcraft for the first half of the day... maybe do a little cleaning. Then I'm going to take a look at your car.

Me: *well, at least he's still planning to look at my car, which is making weird noises when I turn. I am convinced that it's going to blow up* How nefarious. I'm really glad you're going to look at my car today. I'm coming home for lunch, do you want to just drive me back to work and take the car? Or will that leave you enough time, if you have to pick me up at six?

Bob: It'll be fine. I just need to look at it so I can order parts.

Me: *groan*

Bob: Don't worry, it's not going to be expensive.

Me: How do you know? You haven't even looked at it yet!

Bob: Because your car has a simple suspension... blah blah blah Car Speak, front suspension blah blah Car Speak joint, blah blah blah Car Speak blah blah....

Me: *eyes glazing over* Oh. Uh huh.

Bob: *begins singing* It's got a top! And a bottom! And a turny turny turny! It's your suspension!

Me: OOOOH! Now I get it!

The Scene: It's 1 o'clock in the morning. I'm in the bathroom getting ready for bed, and I make a horrible disocovery. I bounce into the bedroom and hop onto the bed where Bob is already tucked in and reading TIME magazine.

Me: Bob! Guess what I forsee in our immediate future!

Bob: *suspiciously* What?

Me: A trip to the market!

Bob: Like... how immediate?

Me: Oh, like NOW.

Bob: WHAT? Why??

Me: I'm out of tampons.

Bob: You're out of tampons? There are none under the sink? Do we have to go out now?

Me: Yes, I'm totally out! All gone, no more! And yes, we have to go out now! I'm on my last one, and I'm going to need more tomorrow morning!

Bob: Well, how long do those things last?

Me: *I embark on a long lecture about the dangers of Toxic Shock Syndrome* ........so I can't just use one for that long, which means we need to go out NOW! God! And you have to come with me, because I don't want to go all by myself! MAN, I can't even BELIEVE you! "How long do they last" indeed!

Bob: OKAY! I didn't know these TSS things, I don't use tampons!

Me: Okay, let's go! *bouncing around on the bed impatiently*

Bob: *groaning* I can't even believe this. I'll go with you, but damnit Becca, you're buying TWO boxes this time! This is NOT going to happen again!



So..... I am lucky enough to be with an awesome guy who (even though he gives me some shit about running out of tampons at one o'clock in the morning) will crawl out of bed, put his jeans back on, and go with me all the way to the market so I don't have to go alone.

Wow.

How many women can say that?

<3

The Scene: I'm taking a quick break from work and calling up Bob to chat. We talk for a few minutes, and Bob mentions that he's going to take his car over to his parents' house to fix an oil leak.

Me: So how long do you think that's going to take?

Bob: I have no idea. It totally depends.

Me: You must have some idea. I really want to see the new Aliens vs. Predator movie tonight, and I'd kinda like to know when we could go.

Bob: *laughing* Oh, really? Well, if everything goes smoothly it should only take a hour or two. If there are problems it could take way longer. Like if blah blah blah Car Speak happened, it could take way longer, and if blah blah blah Car Speak pins broke off I would have to buy new blah blah blah Car Speak, and then I wouldn't be able to drive my car."

Me: *eyes glazing over* Oh.

Bob: It's a really messy job.

Me: Why? *I realize suddenly that I've made a huge mistake, but by now it's too late*

Bob: Blah blah blah Car Speak, blah Car Speak blah, coolant, blah blah Car Speak...... etc. etc. etc..... (for several minutes) .....then burp it to get the air bubles out.

Me: *out of the whole conversation, I recognize maybe two words and terms* Bob, you tell me these things, but I don't know what they mean and as soon as you tell me I forget what you said.

Bob: Well, you know what coolant is, right? Cools the engine, it's green....

Me: I didn't know that it cooled the engine, and I didn't know it was green.

Bob: Well, it's-

Me: Bob. If you try to explain, I will instantly forget. Do you know what I do with cars?

Bob: What?

Me: I push the gas pedal and make it go. I can even turn the headlights on. And sometimes, if I'm feeling really adventurous, I'll push the back window defroster. But that's kinda scary... it's pushing it a little.

Bob: Your back defroster is on all the time.

Me: What? My God! It's broken!

Bob: *laughing*

Me: So, what are we having for lunch?


......

For the record, I'm really not that bad. I can pop the hood, refill my own windshield wiper fluid, and pump my own gas and everything!

^_^

The Scene: I am relaxing on the sofa reading a book. I've braided my hair into two braids for the first time in FOREVER, prompting lots of Pippi Longstocking and Heidi comparisons, but I was feeling very cute and adorable. Bob comes home from work.

Me: Hi!

Bob: Hey!

Pause

Bob: (notices my hair) You braided your hair well.

Me: ......Thanks?

I learned something depressing the other day. The FTC does not cover business-to-business telemarketing under their anti-telemarketing laws. There is no 'Do not Call' list for business (by the way, the time you have to allow is 31 days for that list to take effect if you add your personal number to it).

I was particularily perturbed by this since I have been plagued by phone calls from the Yellow Pages Online while at work in my office for months and months. These are the people who call incessently for a while, then when you finally get really mad they stop for a month or two (just long enough to make you feel safe), then they start calling again.

Months ago their sales pitch involved starting out by cheerfully suggesting they are simply verifying some information. If you didn't catch on immediately, they went on to tell you about your amazing free business listing and transfer you to go through their automated answering service.

Then they must have gotten in trouble, because they started asking your title in the company, then saying, "I assume since you are the (insert title here), you are over eighteen and authorized to make changes to this account".

HA!

Now they start out right away by telling you that they're "updating information on your FREE online business listing".

This was the conversation I had with them today:

Telemarketer: Hello, this is ******* from the Yellow Pages Online. I am calling to update your free online business listing-"

Me: Wait a second. Your company has consistantly called this office even though I have repeatedly informed you that we are not interested in your offer and do not want to receive any more calls from you.

Telemarketer: (Flustered... he must be new) But this is for your free online listing that you-"

Me: I am aware of what you're offering, I've heard it countless times. Now this is a busy office and I don't have time to do this.

Telemarketer: But- but-

Me: We're not interested, now-"

Telemarketer: (Accent kicking in a little more now) But we chose you because you good business people! This free online listing only for good business people!

Me: Thank you, but NO.

Telemarketer: But it's free for fifteen days!

Me: (HA! He screwed up! Free for fifteen days, then you send us an OUTRAGEOUS bill!) Thank you. No. (I hang up the phone decisively)


I was chatting with Office Manager Hugh about this insufferable company, and he mentioned that a woman who worked her a few years ago had once accidentally signed up for this thing. It took a couple months for Hugh to realize what he was being charged for, and when he did it took forever to cancel. No one would answer his calls, when he left messages no one returned his calls, when he finally did get ahold of someone he was tranferred around fifteen times.....

The moral of this story is: never accept a free online business listing from Yellow Pages Online, no matter how sneaky and persuasive they are.

Bob and I are on our lunch breaks, chatting on the phone.

Bob: So, what are we having for dinner?

Me: I have no idea.

Bob: Oh come on, what do you feel like?

Me: ...... Italian Chicken Sandwiches? (As in from Burger King... food of the Gods!)

Bob: ..... Anything else?

Me: Brightening up considerably. Dominoes Pizza? (BETTER food of the Gods!)

Bob: ...... Anything else?

Me: Well, no.

Bob: Those are pretty much your two fallbacks, huh?

Me: Yeah, pretty much.

Bob: Maybe I'll just bring something home.

Me: Oh. Okay.

No Dominoes for me.....

I am at work, it's about 9:45 Friday morning. I wander out of my office, Starbucks coffee in hand. I see office manager Hugh standing in the middle of the room looking dazed. I walk up to him and sigh.

Me: Hugh, my brain just isn't working yet this morning.

Hugh: ......

Hugh: (pulls his wallet out of his pocket) Do you want more money?

Me: ....

Me: ..........

Me: ............... What?

Hugh: ......

Hugh: ......... I mean.... I'll buy you more coffee if you want to go get me coffee.

Me: (laughing) Looks like my brain isn't the only one not working this morning!

The Scene: Bob and I are hanging out at my house in the morning before I have to go to work. I'm sleepy. I yawn.

Bob: Oh, I learned something yesterday.

Me: What?

Bob: When you yawn, it's to cool your brain down.

Me: *thinking* No, it's because your body doesn't have enough oxygen.

Bob: Nope! There's this new study, and apparently that old school of thought is wrong, and the actual reason you yawn is to cool your brain down.

Me: *skeptical, as usual* Oh really? And where did you hear this?

Bob: An expert.

Me: What?! You're believing some random "expert"?

Bob: It was in the news! This leading expert in the field did this big study to prove his theory.

Me: First of all, just because it was in the news doesn't mean you should just blindly believe it! And second of all, one study certainly doesn't make a scientific theory fact!

Bob: It was a big study!

Me: And did you do any research at all into the other school of thought before you just decided to take what you read in this one article as absolute truth?

Bob: *gives me a look* No.

Me: Why not?

Bob: Becca....

Me: Yeah?

Bob: I just don't care that much. It's a fucking yawn.

Me: .........


The moral of this story is that sometimes playing Devil's Advocate is just silly.


Just for fun I found the article Bob was talking about on ABC News:


Aahh, the Science of Yawning
Expert: Yawning May Be More About Cooling off the Brain Than Tiredness
July 30, 2007

It can signal tiredness, boredom or even rudeness, and everyone does it. But, now, a new science may explain why people yawn, and even crack one of the world's most mysterious phenomena — the contagious yawn.

Some people think yawning stems from a need to stretch or change. Until recently, scientists thought people yawned to replenish oxygen supplies to their blood.

But University at Albany psychology professor Gordon Gallup said, as people yawn, they cool off their brains.

"Brains are like computers," he said. "They only operate efficiently and effectively when they're cool. And, therefore, there are some very intricate cooling mechanisms that serve to regulate the temperature of the brain."

He said many things associated with yawning, like being tired, actually make the brain hot, and yawning can alleviate the heat.

"Extended periods of sleep deprivation raise brain temperature and do produce excessive yawning," Gallup said.

In a sense, the yawn is like the brain's air conditioner, which may make some rethink societal assumptions.

"Many people have the impression when talking to someone that if they yawn, it's an insult," Gallup said. "But according to our hypothesis, it's really a compliment, because it suggests that brain mechanisms have kicked in to reinstate and optimize mental processing."

Gallup and his son tested their idea by creating an experiment where students were asked to watch a film of other people yawning.

When they held a cool compress to their head, or breathed through their nose — a natural brain coolant — they didn't yawn at all. But, if they breathed normally or held a warm compress to their heads, they were far more likely to yawn.

Gallup believes the yawn is more than just a way to cool the brain.

"During human evolutionary history, when we were subject to attacks by a group, then the ability to detect danger would have had a critical relationship to your ability to respond to it on a moment to moment basis," Gallup said.

"If everyone yawns in response to seeing someone yawn, it reinstates an optimal level of vigilance on the part of people in the group."

But, for those looking to avoid yawning, one of the best ways is to breathe through the nose.

The Scene: Standing in the market in the produce department where Bob works. Bob takes a ten minute break. We determine that he is going to come over to my place tonight. Big surprise - he practically lives at my place right now. ^_^

The Scene: At my office, sitting at my desk working on the company websites. The phone rings. I answer.

Anonymous Woman: Hi there, this is ***** from the yellow pages! I just need to make sure I have your company's information correct. Would you mind verifying it for me?

Me: *suspicious that this may in fact be a marketing call, but not 100% sure so I play along.* Sure.

I listen to the woman on the other end of the phone rattle off our office address, my boss's name, and our main phone number. I confirm all of it, then get really suspicious when Anonymous Woman asks for my name and title in the company.

Me: Rebecca M**, Marketing Coordinator.

Anonymous Woman: Great! We'll use the information you verified to update your free trial yellow pages ad, don't worry, you're not buying anything, it's totally free, and now all we need you to do is go through our automated answering service and answer our questions so we can send you the material on our service and management can review it and decide if it's a service that would benefit your company! I'm transferring you now, it's important that you not hang up the phone until you've answered all the questions for our answering service! I'm transferring you now!

Me: Right.

I hang up the phone. I remember now - I had to deal with this company months ago, finally having to sternly tell them off after they called for the fifth time in one week. I'm not very excited at the prospect of doing it again.

The phone rings.

I answer.

Annoying Telemarketer (henceforth referred to as AT): Hi Ma'am, it's ***** again! You must have gotten disconnected when I transferred you!

Me: No, we didn't get disconnected, I hung up.

AT: What?

Me: We're not interested in receiving the free trial.

AT: What...? *such utter incomprehension cannot possibly be feigned*

Me: My company is not interested in receiving the free trial that you're offering.

AT: Ma'am, you're not buying anything, this is just a free trial, now please answer all of the questions on our automated answering service which I will now transfer you-"

Me: No, I don't think you're understanding me. We are not interested in your free trial, and we are not interested in receiving any information about your services.

AT: Ma'am, you're not buying anything, please just answer the questions on our automated answering service so -"

Me: My company is not interested. And I am not interested in answering the questions on your automated answering service.

AT: What...?

Me: I'm not going to answer your questions. Please don't call here again.

AT: Ma'am, you're not buying anything (OH MY GOD how many times is she going to repeat this???) , this is just a free trial, and we would like to send you information about our services, but we need you to answer the questions on our automated answering service."

Me: I am not interested in your free trial or information about your serivce.

AT: *condescending tone* Ma'am, it's not for you, it's for your company.

Me: I realize that. My company is not interested.

AT: You're not buying anything, this is a free trial. Now please answer the questions on the automated answering service so that your management can receive the information about our service and decide if it would be beneficial to your company, and so you won't get a call back.

Oh, I don't think so.

Me: Not only am I not answering your questions, I do not expect to be called back.

AT: That's why you need to answer the questions on the automated answering service, ma'am, so you won't get a call back.

Me: I am not answering your questions. You will not call this office back.

AT: Maybe I'll call back and speak with your manager.

Me: Go ahead.

Good luck, dear! I answer the phone, and my office manager sure as hell isn't going to want to talk to you!

AT: *curt, clipped tone* Have a nice day.

Me: You, too.

Office Manager Hugh: *calling to me from the other room* Good job, Rebecca!!!!!

And that'll teach me to actually try to talk to the telemarketers instead of just hanging up on them. Although from past experience with this company if you hang up on them, they just repeatedly call and call and call. So I guess it was better to get it out of the way. And they haven't called back!

The Scene: Standing in my kitchen getting ready to make sandwiches for dinner. I'm next to the toaster making myself a bagel while Bob puts the finishing touches on his sandwich. Bob finishes and begins to eat, walking away.

Me: Well, it's great to see that I can buy you stuff for dinner, and you don't even bother making me a sandwich after you finish yours. Thanks.

Bob: You're picky about your sandwiches. And you like gross stuff on them.

Me: Mayonnaise is not gross. You're like an alien or something. Everyone likes mayo!

Bob has no retort. Obviously I'm right, and he is an alien.

Bob: Fine, I'll make you a sandwich.

Me: *smiling* Thank you!

I go to stand next to the counter to carefully observe the making of the sandwich as I munch on my bagel. My scrutiny proves warranted as Bob begins to put the mayonnaise onto the bun.

Me: What are you doing??? Just because you don't like mayonnaise doesn't mean everyone else is weird, too! I can barely even see the mayo on that bread! Good lord!

Bob: Not enough? How much do you like mayo?

Bob gives me a wicked grin, then dumps an enormous amount of mayonnaise onto the helpless bread.

Me: BOB! MY GOD!

Bob: *innocently* Too much?

Me: YES!

Bob: It's okay. I'll just use the extra on the other half of the bread.

Bob continues spreading the mayonnaise.

Me: You're getting mayonnaise around the edge of the bread. Where were you raised, that you were taught to make sandwiches like a barbarian??

Bob: You're the one who eats nasty mayonnaise.

Me: Just give me the knife! I'll make my own sandwich!

Bob: Like hell! I'm finishing this damn sandwich!

Me: But you do it all wrong! It'll go faster if I just do it!

Bob: I'm finishing the damn sandwich!

Bob carefully smooths the mayonnaise on the bread so it's perfectly level, then with exaggerated care makes sure he scrapes all the mayo off the side of the bun. He keeps giving me pointed, sarcastic looks. Finally he presents the mayonnaised bread to me as if it's a work of art.

Bob: Is that acceptable?

Me: *cheerfully* Looks good! Now, the barbecue sauce. You have to be careful when you put the barbecue sauce on. Just a couple dollops should be good. Otherwise it's too much.

Bob: *rolls eyes* Barbecue sauce?

Bob carefully squeezes barbecue sauce onto the bread.

Me: Stop! Stop! That's enough! Too much!

Bob: Calm down, I'll just put the excess on the other side of the bread.

Me: Just let me do it!

Bob: No, I'm finishing it!

Bob carefully spreads the barbecue sauce over the bread.

Bob: How's that?

Me: *examines the bread* Not enough. Put a little more on. But just a little!

Bob: I thought you said it was too much!

Me: It was, but then you spread it over both sides of the bread, and now it's not enough.

Bob drops a little bit more barbecue sauce onto both sides of the bun and carefully spreads it around.

Bob: Happy now?

Me: Yep! Time for the cheese! I want one slice of cheddar, and one slice of swiss, but I don't want that nasty swiss you used on your sandwich, which I told you not to eat, I want the Tillamook swiss that I just bought.

Without comment Bob carefully places a slice of cheddar onto the left side of the bread, then goes to put the slice of swiss onto the right side of the bread.

Me: WAIT!

Bob: WHAT?!

Me: Don't put them on opposite sides of the bread!! Put them both on one side of the bread! I don't like the meat sandwiched between the cheese!

Bob just stares at me.

Me: What?

Bob carefully positions the slice of swiss cheese on top of the slice of cheddar cheese, and looks at me for further guidance.

Me: Good job! Now, meat!

Bob opens up the container of thinly sliced turkey. It is scrunched together and difficult to separate.

Me: I want the turkey laid flat on the bread, not like the big lump you put on yours.

Bob: *sarcastically* Why don't I take each individual slice, roll it up into a tube, put that on the sandwich, and repeat that until you have enough meat?

Me: No, I want it laid flat.

Bob: Oh, my God.

Bob carefully makes sure that all my meat is relatively flat on the bread. I notice some errors, but since I can sense that Bob might be getting a little frustrated with this sandwich making process, I decide not to mention it.

Bob: Is that enough?

Me: One more slice should do it.

Bob picks up several more turkey slices.

Me: Just one!

Bob carefully chooses one slice and slaps it down on the sandwich.

Me: Hey now, respect the sandwich!

Bob: *laughing* I just don't believe this. Is it finished?

Me: Just put the two halves together!

Bob puts the two halves together and hands me the finished product.

Bob: This better be the best goddamn sandwich you've ever eaten.

The scene: Standing outside my office building, leaning on Bob's car, hanging out until my lunch break finally comes to an end and I have to go back to work.

Bob: "I was reading an article about the oldest man alive."

Me: "Oh yeah?"

Bob: "Yeah. He's Japanese, and is 111. He attributes his good health to never having smoked or drank alcohol."

Me: *laughing* Wow, never drank alcohol? What's the point of life???"

Bob: *laughing as well* I know. Anyway, he looks great. I mean, he's old, but he looks great."

Me: "That's cool. I guess I should stop drinking and start eating sushi."

Bob: "Weird thing is, the oldest living woman is from the same village."

Me: "Huh. How old is she?"

Bob: "114."

Me: *laughing* "Yep, that's because it's been statistically proven that women live longer than men."

Bob: *scornful noise*

Me: *lecturing tone* "Men say it's because women nag them to death, but it's just because they don't want to admit that women are the genetically superior gender. It's sad, but true."

Bob: "It's because women suck the souls of of men. They suck the life force away from men to sustain their own life. Soul sucking fiends!"

Me: *eyes widen, staring at Bob*

Bob: "What?"

Me: "YOU'VE DISCOVERED OUR PLAN! Our wicked scheme to one day control the human race and lock men away like the cattle you are, to feed upon at will and make us nearly immortal! How did you know??? We were so careful never to let on! You man, you could never figure it out on your own! Who betrayed us?!?!"

*long pause*

Me: "I mean.... that's ridiculous."