Another good "Out of Office" message.

Here's another good "out of office" message.

I’ll be characterizing the performance (simulated vs. actual) of laminated composite low-friction materials against a low-temperature crystalline dihydrogen oxide matrix on Friday the 28^th.  I expect to spend 7 to 8 hours performing a complicated series of temperature / altitude / insolation shmoos.  Back on Monday.

The location is Colorado. The date, in case you missed it, is February 28. The intended audience is 12 engineers. Two of them understood the message. Do you?

All I wanted was some breakfast

This morning I went downstairs to get some breakfast.

I saw the high chair sitting in the dining room, and thought, "I should put that away."

I saw some crumbs and stuff in the high chair tray, and thought, "I'll take this into the kitchen and clean it off."

Someone had mounted the tray crooked on the high chair last night. The release mechanism wouldn't engage. I thought, "It's gonna take a screwdriver to pry this loose. But no, I don't wanna distract myself." (Too late!)

So instead I went into the kitchen to get a wet, soapy dishcloth to wipe the tray. The sink was full of dirty dishes from last night's family feast. I thought, "I should put these in the dishwasher first."

The dishwasher was full of clean dishes. I thought, "I should put these away first."

When the dishwasher was half-empty, my sweet wife called out from upstairs, "Now I know why the house smells like ham. I left the crockpot full of ham juice after last night's feast." I thought, "I should get rid of that ham juice for her." I cleared out the kitchen sink, just enough to pour the ham juice down the drain.

That the left the crockpot insert greasy and gooey. I set it in the sink and filled it with hot, soapy water, intending to scrub it out as soon as I took care of the other dirty dishes.

The aluminum foil that had covered the crockpot was covered with ham juice and couldn't be recycled, so I put it in the trash. I noticed that the trash smelled too, and it was pretty full. So I took it out to the garbage can.

Back in the house, I put a new liner in the kitchen trash can. I finished emptying the dishwasher. I refilled the dishwasher with dirty dishes. For good measure, I put the hammy crockpot insert in the dishwasher. I made a mental note to start the dishwasher after breakfast.

Breakfast! I'd forgotten all about breakfast.

But the sink was still dirty, so I scrubbed it out first. Then I got a wet, soapy dishcloth and wiped down the high chair tray. I went out to the garage, got a screwdriver, jimmied the tray loose, and put it on straight. I made a mental note to put the screwdriver away when I leave for work.

I put the high chair in the basement. When I got back upstairs, I looked around at my neat, orderly dining room and kitchen. My stomach growled. I thought, "This is a funny story. I should write it down before I forget it."

So I pulled out my computer and turned it on. Now I'm sitting at the computer, entering this story in my blog.  I still haven't gotten my breakfast. And I'm worried about what will happen when I try to put the screwdriver away.

Note: I know you read these funny stories online or in magazines, and you wonder what kind of creative mind could make up such a story. Well, it's not made up. This is a true story. It happened to me only minutes ago. 

Discretion

A friend of mine (a real friend, not just a Friend) posted this letter, which was sent from her apartment managers to all tenants. It's reprinted here with her permission. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.


I copied and pasted this from an email I received on behalf of my apartment managers. The email was entitled "Discretion."

Dear Tenants.

Please share this message with your spouse. We need to address the issue of discretion. We have had numerous comments that neighbors in general are very quiet although there are occasions when lovebirds forget that others can hear them and at that point the walls could not be thick enough. University Courtyard’s apartments are as well insulated as possible. The insulation in the double fire walls and ceilings is blown insulation, meaning they blow the insulation into every nook and cranny. The insulation could not be any more top-of-the-line. However the nature of apartments in close quarters is such that noise travels. Especially through the floor by vibration. Please exercise discretion and realize that sound does travel, particularly through open windows. We realize we have a lot of newlyweds with healthy relationships but please remember you need to keep it between yourselves. We appreciate your exercise of additional discretion in this matter. Thank you.

University Courtyard Managers

I love it, every word. From the gratuitous insulation explanation featuring the words "blow" as well as "nook and cranny" to "vibration" and "healthy relationships" as a euphemism for going at it like wild rabbits. This is what I live with everyday.

The best "Out of Office" autoreply I've ever seen

You know how you can set your email to autoreply if you're going to be gone for a while? Well, this one made me smile. I'll bet it does the same for you:

I will be away from school (getting married!) until February 26th.  As such, I will be in a state of marital bliss and will not be responding to e-mails.  I will respond to you as soon as I return to reality.

Best,
Lori Dxxxx (Stxxxxxx!)

Colors

Every now and then, a woman on Facebook will change her status to a single word, or post a single word in response to someone else, and it's always a color. I quickly caught on to what this was about.

I think it's an admirable show of solidarity, and I take my hat off to the sisterhood of women.

There's only one problem.

I know all of these women.

Not in the Biblical sense, but I know who they are. And when one of them calls out a color, a picture flashes on the movie screen of my mind. You can figure out the contents of the picture. It's only there for an instant, thankfully, but it's usually (okay, ALWAYS) a picture I really didn't want to see.

It's not their problem; it's mine. I'll deal with it. But I wonder how long it will take for Lance Armstrong to think that this exercise is a good idea for the rest of the species.

And how many men will be brave enough to honestly answer "white"?