Mmm...Turkey...

I'm in Atlanta for the next few days for thanksgiving with my dad, my stepmom, my stepsiblings, their spouses, their collective children, and Mark, who is gallantly coming down from D.C. to save me from these loons.

The grand total is 17 people, seven under the age of 11, two under the age of one.

Mark, I owe you for this, buddy.

Work Fun

You know you've had a strange day when this is one of your more normal conversations:

(Co-worker walks by, does a double take, stops in front of the door)
Co-worker: What the hell are you doing?
Me: I'm inflating a Christmas tree.
Co-worker: Oh.
(Co-worker backs away slowly).

And yes, I really was inflating a Christmas tree. It was a promotional thing that someone in the office was sent, and said, "Hey, you got nothing to do? Wanna blow up a Christmas tree?" Clearly, the answer to this question is "Sure!"

Though I was inflating it with a hand pump, which caused said action to appear really, really wrong, which was likely a large part of what caused said co-worker's confusion.

I love my job, but some days I really do feel like it takes place in the Twilight Zone.

At Last, An Explanation

Those of you who were wondering about my frequent, inexplicable shifts into different accents (usually Southern or British) may finally have a reason, thanks to Dave Barry's weblog.

The explanation: I've been having a series of strokes.

Stupidest. Injury. Ever.

I've injured myself in a lot of dumb ways before, but this one takes the cake.

As I was opening a jar of tomato sauce, a piece of dried-on sauce sliced my finger open. At first just thought, ow, that hurt a lot more than tomato sauce should. Then I noticed blood.

And then I thought, "Oh shit, blood!"

I did not know that much blood could be produced by dried-on tomato sauce. Now I know. And so do you.

Please, for safety's sake, check your half-empty jars of tomato sauce before you open them. This message brought to you by the Complete Idiots' Society of Southern California.