Friday Funspot: Blowin' In The Wind

Hello all, and happy Friday.

And if this isn't THE SPOT FOR FUN I don't know what is.

First up, we have my whining about my office building. ISN'T THAT SO FUN?

Because as I sit here in my office FUN SPOT, it is FREEZING. Wind. There is wind. As in, the a/c is on (for no known reason) and brrr because whoooosh. Literally. My papers are rustling and my hair is blowing and I am wrapped in a scarf as though I will be taking a sleigh ride to get to the conference room.

The building I work in is some oddly shaped, bizarrely conceived feat of architecture. It is airy and light and geodesic and weird. Mostly I love it for its funkyness and ample windowness. But it is notorious for its odd shapes and hallways and doors creating micro-climates. I am not kidding. It is at least 15 degrees cooler in my area than through the door over there*.


*And by "over there" I mean the door to that glassed in area RIGHT THERE in the picture that um, well, I would show you except for my not wanting to be fired.

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Next up, we have the thing that made me laugh so hard earlier today I would have snorted coffee had I been drinking it at the time.

Ish and I were in the car this morning (he was dropping me off) and we came to a red light, where we needed to turn right.

And because we abide by the rules of the road, we understood that we don't get to turn right on red until after all pedestrians have safely crossed first.

Well.

This morning, the only pedestrian crossing at the light was Mr. San Francisco Hipster Man in Black, who had an air of superiority in a I'm very cool and kind of dirty and totally anti-TheMan because look at my disdain and also puff-puff I am smoking a cigarette kind of way.

So, as you do, Ish turned his wheels right and slowly approached the intersection and then sat on the brakes as we waited for Hipster to cross.

Hipster, however, noticing the car approaching, decided to slow down. He was in no rush, and wanted us to know it. He quite obviously started taking sloooooooow and deliberate strides, while also making a big production out of smoking his cigarette. He had the right of way, and no one was going to take it from him.

Now, I would maybe understand this attitude towards us if we looked, in any way, um, powerful. Or something. You know, like, if we were tooling around in professional clothes and sipping lattes and yammering on cell phones and in a BMW. But we are no such people. Ish was wearing a simple button down, I hadn't even showered yet, we weren't drinking coffee or talking, and we were in a SUBARU.

We do not look like a power couple, we look like the kinds of people who might own a dog and occassionally go to Tahoe when we can afford it and manage to get the time off from work.

Well, anyway, Hipster had evident DISDAIN for us and our rude, wanting-to-turn-right kind of ways.

And I know this, not just because he stared at us while we were idling -- and I will point out that we were IDLING, not driving or inching into the intersection or going fast or trying to run him over or anything -- with a look that said he hated every fibre of our beings.

No. I know this because glaring was not enough, and because he felt the need to add what I can only describe as "the spirit finger oooh" wave.

(What?)

Okay, so while sloooowly crossing and staring at us as he walked, Hipster Man suddenly made his eyes really wide and bulging. Then he raised his elbows, hunched his shoulders, and extended his forearms like he was about to start conducting an orchestra. Then he leaned forward, shaped his mouth into an "O" while staring intently...

...and gave us spirit fingers.

As though to say, "OooooOOOOOoooooh! You think you're so...[fill in the blank]"

Except what was that blank? It's not like we give an air of being important. Who did he think we thought we were? Certainly not important. Maybe um, magical?

Yes, we are magical fancy Subaru drivers who think we are sooooo important because we stop at red lights and wait for pedestrians to cross.

Ish and I burst out laughing. And after the guy passed us, and we proceeded through the intersection, the guy turned back around to face us.

And did it again.

I tell ya, I just don't know.

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Rounding off this entry, we have more fun with keyword analyses:

Honestly, it is hard not to enjoy being the ultimate online destination for both "booty poetry" AND "uterus jokes."

Q: What did one uterus say to another?

A: Nice legs.

Huh? you're probably thinking. That doesn't make sense. That's not a joke. To which I say No, it isn't. And know why? Because THE UTERUS IS NOT FUNNY. (Unless you sing to it.)

If, for example, someone were to say to me:

Someone: Knock, knock.

Me: Who's there?

Someone: Uterus.

I would not then say, "uterus who?" I would stay inside my home, double bolt my door, call 911 and wait for crazy uterus person to be taken away.


Anyway, enjoy your weekend, everyone. I know I will, if for no reason other than that my cats may have their idiosyncracies, but at least they don't pee on the stove.