Open mouth, insert foot


Even when trying to compliment someone, I have no tact.

Today, at the Toil of Tears team fundraising event, Katie worked at one of the worst tasks I had listed: removing the wallpaper from the kitchen walls. Kevin commented that removing the wallpaper from the kitchen was horribly difficult, as he tried when he worked for me last summer. I can't stand painting over wallpaper (or painting over wallpaper over paint over wallpaper over wallpaper over paint over wallpaper), so off it needed to come.

And Katie went to it with gusto, removing over half the wallpaper by the time she was done.

At the end of the day, when she and Keith and Danger were getting ready to leave, I thanked her for all her help, then commented to Kris, "Katie did the crappiest job."

I wanted to die right then. Instead, I made things worse.

"Uh, I mean she did the worst job ever."


"That's not what I meant. I meant the job she did was really bad."


"The task she chose to do sucks. It's a horrible task. She did it spectacularly, but it was a crappy task. Yes, that's what I'm trying to say."


Worst compliment I have ever given.

I have $80 that says...

Last Friday night, Mischief descended on Wes' house for the inaugral event of the Shirley-Paul-I'm-gonna-kick-your-ass duodecathalon. The first event was, somewhat appropriately, a DDR dance off. Other events include Being Tall (Paul at 6'+ will probably win that one), Being Short (Paul will lose that one to Shirley's 5'5"), and others that, no doubt, include ro-sham-something.

The winner gets breakfast in bed. Said winner does not have to let the loser into the house. Should said loser wake up said winner before serving breakfast, the attempt doesn't count and the loser has to try again.

I arrived a little late, working on various projects. As I arrived, a ro-sham-eat had just finished up. Wes ran out of the kitchen and came back into the room dragging his dog's kennel. I looked at the crate, one made for the big, big dogs, and declared three people could fit in it.

Wes and several others looked at me like I was insane. Three people in that kennel? No way!

I responded, "Not only can three people fit in there, but if one is one of the small Asian women, the other two could be Tyler and I."

No one believed me.

Tyler was game, and, after taking off his shoes, crawled into the crate. He lay on his back, taking up most of the bottom of the crate. No, no, no way could more than two people fit in the crate, the men called out.

I asked Tyler to move to the back of the crate, and I "tried" to climb in next to him. The trick is, of course, to all great cons is to not quite fit.

Well, if I had truly been trying to con these guys.

When I didn't quite fit in the crate with Tyler, everyone started calling me on my "three people" declaration. I responded quickly by pulling out my wad of cash from my pocket. "I have 60, no, 80! Eighty dollars says I can fit in the crate with Tyler and Shirley or Pei. Eighty dollars."

Both Kevin and Paul immediately offered $20. Easy money they joked. Hand over the money, Kitt.

Silly boys.

I could get four people in that crate for $100.

Tyler unfolded himself from the bottom of the crate, I slid in next to him, and Pei zipped in, pulling the cage door closed behind her.

Easiest $40 ever.


Dollar call on Dollar

The slightly bigger but not quite major street that my street intersects has two lanes where it meets up with the closest really major street.

The left lane is a straight or left turn lane. The right lane is a right turn only lane.

Usually, drivers on the street know what's going on and move into the correct lane before they get to the intersection.

Not so today.

With three of us (Kevin, Chris and me) leaving from my house for practice, carpooling makes sense. Especially with Kris driving back from practice with only him in the car.

Given I have a two seater, and Doyle's truck cab isn't quite comfortable for three, Kevin had the honors of driving the three of us to practice. Kevin has a four wheel drive car.

And isn't afraid to use it.

We approached the above mentioned intersection behind a huge SUV, a tahoe or suburban or whatever those hummer wannabe vehicles are. The truck stopped early, several car lengths behind from the intersection. Another car had stopped in front of it, trying to move from the fewer-cars-in-the-shorter right turn only into the more-cars-and-longer-wait left/straight turn lane. The attempt failed, and said car stopped, blocking both lanes. The huge SUV stopped behind the first car, and we stopped behind the SUV.

As we stopped, Doyle piped up, "You have a four wheel drive. There's enough room to go around." as he pointed to the sidewalk to the right. Kevin looked at the space, nodded and said "Uh huh."

I chimed in from the back seat, "Dollar."

Kevin turned to me with a smirk that said, "You just called dollar on that?" and yanked the wheel hard right.

Up and over the curb we went, with me giggling and laughing the whole way. Omigod it was hysterical! We passed the huge SUV, passed the cluster producing car and into the clear right turn lane just as the light turned green.


Oh, I was laughing so hard. Doyle was in the front seat, laughing, too. As we stopped in the left turn lane at the next light, the driver of the car behind us before Kevin's crazy-man move pulled up next to us.

"That was awesome, man" he said, wiping a laughter tear from his eyes.

The Hodsden House of Smith Employment

Today is the first day of Kevin Smith's "internship" at the Hodsden House of Smith Employment. Much to my surprise, I'm actually nervous about it. This won't be the first time I've hired one of the Smith brothers. And it's not that I don't really enjoy the company of the Smith family (still unclear if Mrs. Smith will ever talk to me after last year's bitter zucchini incident), because I do a lot.

It's just that I've had all of three conversations with Kevin.


And none was over 4 sentences long.

And the longest email conversation I've ever had with Weak Sauce, er, Dollar, er, Kevin was my summer job offer, followed by an acceptance of the offer. As in, not much of one.

So, he's the quiet type. And I have no idea what he's thinking. And I'm all nervous about it.