I tracked my facebook statuses from Last Thanksgiving until tonight and I basically saw 2013 unfold in forgotten hilarity. Also, I learned that my wife is funnier than I am. Here are some highlights:
How hungry was I today? Well, I found a bone in my turkey and removed it to my plate. After covering the plate with more food, I found the bone had disappeared. I ate a bone and did not realize it. Do your duty, stomach acid. We’re all counting on you.
I was walking through a nearly pitch black pre-school room when my passing apparently triggered an Elmo doll somewhere in the darkness to say, “I see you!” and laugh uncontrollably. In other news, every item on my Christmas list is now “new underwear”.
Need made me get out early to clean and scrape my car. Love made me spend an extra fifteen gloveless minutes doing hers.
You never EXPECT to hear the word “whorehouse” spoken that many times in the hall of an elementary school. But maybe you should. Maybe you should.
A child hit me in the nuts with his lunch box (on accident), realized what he had done, hugged me, yelled, “Wugga wugga wugga!” And ran away, trailing a crowd of comrades who also were yelling, “Wugga wugga wugga!”
Is there a name for someone who instinctively knows when people are going to pull a jerk move, as I do? I considered “The Asshole Whisperer”, but that moniker belies a whole other realm of talents I am not prepared to admit to.
If I take enough medicine and listen to enough Ziggy Stardust, do you think I can ride this floor scrubber to the moon and back?
People who say, “I seent that” make me angry to a degree I’m uncomfortable admitting to.
The new coworker just answered her phone with, “Whatchoo want, slutbag?!” And with those three(ish) words, my work environment just became interesting. Real Housewives of someplace interesting. Does anyone know what going “ziggity boom” means? Because that’s what the, I gather, new mother she is talking to just did to land herself back in the hospital.
I just went out to the garage to look for something, and I’m not going to go into everything… but it wasn’t even a minute later that I came running back to the porch, one shoe gone, hollering, “I was attacked by squirrels!” I didn’t find my book. Daring deeds are for daylight.
I never would have believed a first grader could bend such a large butt biscuit onto the floor of the bathroom. There’s a war brewing within me as to whether I’m repulsed or impressed. In the end, when I had to pick it up with a thin garbage bag because I had no gloves, repulsion won.
Hobbits. All I want are Hobbits. All day long.
They called me strange when I taped a rag to my forearm in order to clean the tops of the lockers. They can laugh all they want, but that stuff worked like gangbusters. I’ve cracked the code… Doesn’t make it hurt any less when the first graders move to the other side of the hall and call me “Scary Sleeve Man” when I pass by, though.
Apparently my job description will soon include herding a family of ducks and their ducklings out of the courtyard. This is a yearly tradition here at the school, I have learned. My only fear is that, my herding abilities as they are, I am going to trip and fall and destroy them all. It will be the 9/11 of adorable waterfowl, and it will play out in front of the impressionable and soon to be traumatized youngsters. I didn’t expect to worry about infant duck crushing when I awoke this morning, but such is my life.
"What a dolt," the teacher’s aid thought to herself as she watched the overweight bearded janitor sing the chorus to "Africa" by Toto through his lunchtime perspiration.
So the obnoxious secretary is limiting the amount of paper teachers can use because it is running out, despite the fact that she is hoarding a cache herself. This is the most trivial problem ever, but apparently it’s a big deal around here. A teacher was complaining to me about it and I said, “Yeah, she sits on a throne of lies.”. The teacher did not understand the humor and seemed to think I was truly up in arms. Good thing I didn’t go with my “this is the Auschwitz of office supplies” joke… Yikes.
Today I participated in a school lockdown drill for the first time. My role in a hypothetical crisis is to lock the outer doors and run around making sure lights are off. By the time that is over, I have been locked out of every possible hiding place in the building and can’t see where I’m going. Anything can happen in an attack on this school, and nobody can predict the outcome of such an event, but rest assured, the janitor will die.
I am certain a child heard me singing (after I saw the buffet being prepared in the school library), “Nah nah nahnah, nah nah nahnah, hey-hey-hey, food food!” I was rightly judged by said child.
I accidentally ruined my mustache today. Thus, for the foreseeable future, I am rocking the Abe Lincoln. Also, all rides have been cancelled for the month of June.
"My wife always says she likes my sweat smell, but lately it has been so strong that she demands I take a shower when I get home." - this old dude I work with
So Jackie and I got an apartment! Moving in two days after the wedding. Pretty dern stoked. Also, donations to the “We Now Have To Live Like Responsible Adults” fund can be made to my paypal. Or you can throw change at my bedroom window and I will fight the crows over them each morning.
Today has been the worst. I hate when people think you have nothing to contribute and talk down to you because you clean stuff for a living. I may be a janitor but I’ve read books by Stephen Hawking and I know why penal substitutionary atonement is a bunch of bologna, so back off with the tone and let me clean your messes, ladies.
"Okay, I know I referred to our relationship in terms of Kermit the Frog, and called you my Miss Piggy. I realize now that was in poor taste." - Jaclyn, to me last night.
Today some insectoid thing big enough to flap loudly, dove directly into my ear, which is a red alert nightmare scenario. It turned out to just be a small butterfly, but my nipples went all fear-hard just the same.
There’s an orchard near my apartment that apparently brews its own hard cider. I’ll take a bushel or a peck or whatever it is you do, just give it to me.
I don’t think the children get my sense of humor yet. A few of them helped me take out the recycling, and when one little girl asked me what we do if the trash bin fell into the dumpster while we were dumping paper, I turned to her and said, “Well, I will just have to throw one of you in after it, I guess.” She did not laugh. I need to work on my “only kidding” face before some child goes to a teacher and tells them that Mr. Dave wants them dead.
I’m holding out for a gyro ‘til the end of the night.
I was being attacked by bees, swatting them and cursing under my breath outside, and literally said to myself, “They need to have someone come out here and kill these things.” No joking, exactly 5 seconds later a truck bedecked with “Bug-Bee-Gone” decals pulled up and asked where the bees were. I spent the rest of the afternoon trying to bend spoons and spin objects in the air with my mind before someone told me they’d ordered an exterminator for the school playground’s hornet problem.
Me: What would you call, like, civil rights for fat people?
Jackie: I dunno… McRights?
"My God, if farts were string this whole apartment would be filled with yarn!" - Jaclyn, in opposition to my stank.
When I’m not around people, sometimes I say and do absurd things that I don’t realize I’m saying or doing until afterwards, and upon reflection cannot even attempt to come up with an explanation as to why I would make such utterances. Case in point: I came home tonight after a long day of running around, immediately took off my jeans because comfort, and then shouted to the empty apartment as I kicked them into a corner, “Screw you, pants! You’re not my real dad!” I had not planned on saying this. I did not realize I had said it until afterward. I am absurd.
If my life at work were a Hallmark Channel movie, it would be titled “Hiding In Stairwells To Fart: An ER Security Guard’s Story”.
One of my hobbies is writing off-putting things in the delivery special instructions for Hungry Howies. Tonight I told them about my chicken wings, “Make ‘em saucy as you can, boys. Davey likes ‘em spicy.”
Everyone be honest with me: did I ruin Christmas if I clogged the toilet at Bronner’s Christmas Wonderland ten minutes before they closed due to massive indigestion resulting from a misheard pizza order? I have a lot of guilt about this event because no matter how many sizes my heart grows when I hear those Whos singing “Fah who for-aze! Dah who dor-aze!” in the Whoville town square it’s not like I can just undo this betrayal of trust by sledding it back down Mount Crumpit.