Valentine Madness

So my favorite of the Honey's car guy friends got married last night.

At the hockey game.

We're tickeld because Garry is over the moon for his sweetie, and if she would agree to get married on the ice at a hockey game for the texan-hockey nut? It must be love. It was part of a radio station promotion, so there were 103 couples doing the deed, including one guy dressed in a turkey suit. Whatever.

Garry looked sharp in his suit, Shannon was pretty in her polka dots, but as the hockey game went on, I became distracted.

Down in front, right up against the glass? I swear he looked like Biff Henderson. It may have been the baseball hat, it may have been the big earpiece.

The Honey was laughing at me as I snarled obscenities at the bloonde who kept blocking my photo. But I got him, Not until the game was over, and you can't see his earpiece, but I got him.

 

Not sure who Biff is? He's Letterman's Stage manager guy:



The Honey says it could just as easily have been James Earl Jones and maybe white girl should shut her pie hole.

I'm such a dork. ARGH! I'm a bad dork, though, 'cause I missed the Dorkteenth. Shit. Consider this my Dorkteenth confession.

Jennfactor 3.2

So we're travelling to a girlfriend's house today to meet her new daughter in law, and kiss her children before they head back to Iraq. (She has two sons and now a daughter in law in the military, and a daughter still at home. They managed to co-ordinate their leaves, so everyone is home at once!) She also has a daybed for Little O that we can have, if we can haul it. No Problem! I'll just zip up to my Brother's house and borrow his beast!

Oh, my friends, the Honey is LOVING the beast. It's a gigantic (remember, I'm a Honda girl, and the Honey is devoted to his ancient Acura) Ford F350 --complete with running lights and sideboards. It's also diesel, I had forgotten. It's like driving an RV. A noisy RV. Sadly, an RV that cannot take advantage of my thirty cent discount on gas at Safeway that I had been saving up. CRAP.

So last night after work we cleaned and tidied my car, and I asked the Honey if I should use the spare Honda key, because while it only has one key on the ring, it has a pretty large photo keychain that a guy would not want to stick in his pocket. The Honey says just give him your regular keys.

Side note: I'm not one of those people with fifteen keychains, are you? I had a friend that prided herself on the # of keychains she had, but it seemed a little high school for a grown assed woman. Maybe it's just me.

So I take one last look around my car to make sure I got the Honey's glasses, and HIS keys are gone, so I said--you've got the keys? He nods and smiles to me over by the truck (which is running), as my brother shows him all of his toys.

An hour later we pull into the driveway, home again and totally psyched for our journey south the next day. I smile at him and he smiles at me, and we're just pretty happy. Sitting there. Okay, enough of this, I have to pee.

"Gimme your keys, baby"

"You have them."

"I do? did you put them in my purse?"

Yeah, no.

**************************************

We think they are on the counter at my brother's house. But our sweet elderly landlady lives next door and while it is eleven at night, it's got to be done, so we call her, and yay! she has the spare keys.

Except the one to the big old security door does not work. So the Honey shimmies over the fence to unlock the back door, and the freaking doorknob comes off in his hand. Unreal.

He eventually found a way in, and all was well, except that we still have no house keys-- or a back door knob. Locking yourself out with any hope of getting in in a normal fashion being an hour away? Jennfactor 3.2

(Locking yourself out of anything is a 2, add a full point for the distance from the actual keys, and two tenths of point for the doorknob. I think we were eligible for an extra tenth because the spare key didn't work, but we would definitely have bumped it to a four if I had actually peed my pants.)

Dorky moments...

So I thought and thought about what story to share, and the one that kept popping up is totally inappropriate for a dork post. Someday I will reveal the shame of the sheep named Jenny, but I'm not ready to do that yet (Best Jen, you hush.)

But I will give you two stories from my tiny Hanford, California Bookstore.

Ours was the closest bookstore to the Naval base in Lemoore. We saw a lot of sailors. My store's good numbers were due in no small part to the pretty and friendly girls I hired to staff my store. We loved them and they loved us and there were certain boys we adored. Best Jen still remembers the super tight faded jeans of (James?) Heidi. They were something--so were his eyes... hmmmm....

right. back to it.

One day we got a couple of lovely Australian fellows. When I say lovely, I mean they looked like volleyball gods. We wanted them hot and sweaty and showing those dimples, and hmm? oh. right. Love God number one was trying to find a book for his Navy host, and asked us to look up the "pair of one." I was sooo happy to be helping him, and I searched frantically for his book. No luck. I was looking it up in books in print, even, which back in the day was--literally-- a set of huge books listing every book in print. It finally dawned on my lust-fogged brain to get him to spell the author.

It turned out that he was looking for "The Power of One" by Bruce Courtenay, a book I had sold a thousand times. I was just so ga-ga over him that I hadn't taken his accent into account for anything but it's lust-inducing qualities.

I was beet red.

Now I'll share a dork moment from my ex husband that I found endearing at the time.

I have always been baby crazy. So when a charming family came into the bookstore, with a moon faced baby in a bonnet, I played with that baby all night. The two older boys were well behaved at eight and four, and the parents were nice enough. That night we re-arranged the entire store, and the next day, this guy kept coming into the store, looking at everything and nothing, and then leaving. Best Jen finally told me she thought he was going to ask me out. I looked up and watched as he picked up a book from the shelf and pretended to read it while listening to us do our schtick, and laughing at all of our jokes. He was standing in what, the day before had been science fiction, but thanks to the shuffle, was now romance. I asked him if he had read anything else by that author, and he looked down at the book he was holding in curiosity which turned to horror.

He did, in fact, ask me out, and as I stood there talking to him it dawned on me why he was so familiar. He was the DAD from the nice family the night before. EEEEWWWW. I promptly told him what I thought of him in no uncertain terms and told him to hit the road.
He eventually convinced me that he had been out with his sister and her kids, and I agreed to go out with him.

*********
This has been a very weak post from Jenn Factor 10. I hope to post lots of fabulous pictures from my working vacation next week, up to the blazing heat of Redding to care for my mom after her eye surgery. Actually, my mom is horrifyingly self sufficient, so I'm probably going up to save her from a week of chili and corn from my dad. His entire repertoire consists of chili, corn, and bran buds cereal (Actually, he poaches a mean egg, too.).

Don't forget!

It's Friday the Dorkteenth.

I will post one from work, later.


Just wanted to remind y'all.

It's all an adventure...

Well, Frick.

I've been at this less than a year, and now I have two blogs, and I'm learning a little more each day. The Dorkteenth was a wild success, now it's voting week. There are some hilarious entries, and I encourage you all to go read em.

We had a problem with a full on (and I DO mean full-on) porn link, that didn't even have an entry. What's up with that?

I would like to play Dorkteenth any time there is a Friday the Thirteenth, but that may be too much pressure...whaddya think? I like the idea of not having a weekly or even monthly meme...

Anyway, go read the entries and vote for your favorite...even if--I can't say it--even if it's not me!

(Okay, it will not be me. There are some kick ass stories, and one hilarious photo.)

13 ways you might qualify for the Dorkteenth...

1. Have you ever worn your coat/sweater inside out?

2. Accidentally told your boss you loved him/her?

3. Made a situation worse by trying to explain what really happened?

4. Required the fire department to rescue you or put something out?

5. Been forced to admit that you may have been overstating it to say "we don't need no steeenking maps"

6. Locked yourself out of (or inside of) anything?

7. Had to post a comment on your own comment on someone else's blog?

8. Thought to yourself--I should pick up that penny--just as you sucked it into the vacuum, killing yet another home appliance for all time.

9. Hit the "reply all" button by mistake and emailed the joke to the entire company?

10. Lost your keys, permanently?

11. Looked down in horror at one black and one blue sock or shoe combo?

12. Thrown the mother of all hissy fits at a retail establishment, only to realize that you are, in fact, in the wrong?

13. Have you ever really INTENDED to enter a fun giggly contest, but forgot and missed the deadline?

Is Here!


Get your Dork On!

Thursday Thirteen participants can leave their linky in THIS box, but go register for the Dorkteenth, and put your link to your entry in THAT box! You'll make new friends, and they'll already know you're a dork!

My Own Dorkfession.

The time:
1980-something.

The place:
Church group camping jamboree-type thing, falling well short of Jesus Camp or whatever show XO was referring to.

The players:
Giddy Dorky middle schooler crushin’ on the junior high boys. Especially Mike, the buddy of my best friend’s older brother Rich. Unfortunately, those boys always ran in threes. The third, Kenny, was the classic loud jerk. When I say classic, I mean that I envision him as one of two things today… Best case scenario, he’s a power trippin cop that likes to demonstrate his chokeholds (and remember, I like the po-lice). Worst case scenario, far more likely in my opinion, he’s cooking meth in a trailer down a red dirt road in Igo. Part of this impression may stem from the early 80’s memory of his golden locks permed into the sweetest mullet you ever saw, complete with comb in his back pocket. Sigh. Sadly, I know the complete contents of his back pockets that day.

The Scene:
The church group structured itself loosely as a scout troop kind of gig. In the morning we would assemble to start our day, standing at attention. Being me, of course I was running late.
The boys were assembled in front of OUR tent. (WTF?) As I scrambled out of the stupid tent to assemble, I forgot the all important three inch lip at the bottom of the tent. I tripped, flailing my arms OUT for support, and somehow ended up momentarily suspended on the diagonal, with my nose buried in Kenny’s Butt--which he then screamed to our entire campsite, as well as the next three campsites.
He acted as if I had been yearning to root around in his ass like a pig looking for truffles.

There it is, one of my defining moments of dorkdom.

Won't you play along?

Bueller?


Anyone?

Bwoooop! Bwooop! Bwooop!

It's almost here.

I'm giddy with anticipation.

It's One Week Away!

Are you going to play?





Bring out yer Dork!
(ding-ding, ding-ding)
Bring out yer Dork!

Shall we open the links early to allow the maximum number of participants? To assuage CRSE's link-related stress? To calm Ash's Friday the Thirteenth fears?

Thirteen Reasons for Friday the Dorkteenth

Thirteen Reasons to join in the fun on



1. Maybe you have been in the dork closet for a long time, and this could help you break the news to your family (thanks, MERT!)

2. Hasn’t the whole black cat thing been done to death? Do we need one more news story about the origins of the superstition? Be a part of the NEW Friday the thirteenth tradition.

3. This is not the big commitment of other, WEEKLY memes. How many Friday the thirteenths do we get in a year?

4. Think of it as the blogging equivalent of a one-night-stand. You don’t HAVE to, but wouldn’t it be fun? Just this once?

5. We double-dorkk dare you to post your dorkiest moment.

6. You can totally vote for yourself once a day! Jeez, if you want to vote from multiple ISP’s, you really are a dork, and probably NEED the title.

7. Because we are whores for traffic.

8. Make new bloggy friends, and they’ll already KNOW you’re a dork. So much more comfortable to just get that one out of the way.

9. Read the dorktales of your bloggy idols. If they play.

10. Hot Dork on Dork action! (Okay, I just wanna see if we get a google hit on that one)

11. Because you may spit milk out of your nose, reading about knocking over the voting booth, or locking oneself in the garden shed.

12. You get to diplay the button ala Mert*, our techno Dork Goddess:

*The lawyers would like us to state that the Button ala Mert in no way resembles the Venus Butterfly of LA Law fame. Dear God, I AM a dork.


13. Who are we kidding? It’s all about the glory- Be declared the Prince(ss) of Dorkness!


Whaddya mean you've never heard of it?
Oh, all right, go HERE



Get the Thursday Thirteen code here!


The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in the magical linky box provided. It’s easy, and fun! Be sure to update your Thirteen with links that are left for you, as well! I will link to everyone who participates and leaves a link to their 13 things. Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted!

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p.p.s.--send your good thoughts to DK at A Flyover Blog. She's one of my favorite TTers and she could use some lovin'.