A Day in the Life

I get home just after 7 a.m.  It was a relatively slow night at the 911 Center, not much to speak of other than a few wrecks in the rain.  Idealistic me, I applied for this job because I wanted to help, to make a difference in some small way.  I accepted it because of the incredible insurance.  

Eighteen months later, I rethink that decision almost daily.  Working thirds is hard on the body, a strain on our marriage.  As I walk in, Luke is in his sit-me-up booster seat.  He smiles as soon as he sees my face.  He recognizes me.  And somehow it is all alright.

After getting him dressed and in his car seat, I hug Mrs. Bone goodbye and get ready for bed.  I can't shut off my mind.  I replay calls from the night before, mistakes I might have made, what I could have done better.  It is something after 8:00 the last I remember.

I wake around 1:30.  The five-plus hours is the most sleep I've gotten in four days.  I've been in a rut of waking up between 11:00 and 1:00 and not being able to get back to sleep.  Around 2:30 I give up and decide to get a couple of errands in before I pick up Luke at daycare.

First up is a stop at the grocery store where I pick up some fruit, nuts, and cheese -- snacks for work -- and some Martha White self-rising flour.  I've taught myself to make something close to biscuits over the past few months.

Next is a visit to Walgreens.  Desperate for sleep, I pick up some Melatonin and Calms Forte.  I avoid taking medicine if at all possible, to the point that my doctor will begin sentences, "I know you don't really like to take medicine..."  But at some point I figure the lack of sleep becomes unhealthier than the pills.

Then it's off to get Luke.  I skip the interstate and take the two lane, enjoying the ponds and pastures, trees and sky.  The 15-minute drive has become my "me" time.  I roll down the down the window, turn up the radio, and enjoy the one bit of my day where I'm not sleeping, working, or responsible for another human being.  

The first thing I notice is Luke is not wearing the same outfit he left home with.  This is a not uncommon occurrence.  He has had what we in the parenting business refer to as a blowout.

On the way home, we stop off at the Sonic.  Once a week I treat myself to a small shake and small chili cheese fries.  It's a guilty pleasure.  Besides, I got cheese and nuts and fruit for work so it balances out... ish.

The first order of business once we're home is to let Sunshine outside.  Sunshine is the cat, though we would never refer to her as "the cat" because doing so might imply she is just an animal, that she doesn't have a personality, that we don't consider her our daughter.  And nothing could be further from the truth.

She showed up at the back door a few years ago, starving and bloody-tailed.  After an ever-so-brief attempt to find her a home, we decided to keep her.  Honestly, she never gave us much choice.  Our lives have since become a "Who rescued whom?" bumper sticker.

Next I unload the dishwasher and start some laundry.  Not at the same time, that would be a trick sure to astonish.  The squeaking you will soon hear is the sound of the dryer dying.  The repairman gave it six months to live.  That was over two years ago.  She's a fighter this Whirlpool.

Luke gets fussy after a bit and when I pick him up I feel something wet.  It is blowout number two of the day.  It is the worst one I have experienced to date.  I may as well wear the Spray 'n Wash in a holster.

Mrs. Bone gets home and we begin the nightly routine: feeding Luke, giving him a bath, and putting him to bed.  

Our Hello Fresh delivery didn't arrive on time this week so we order Mexican.  (I'm gonna have to eat a lot of fruit and nuts to make up for this day!)  While I am at the restaurant picking up our food, I get a text: "Guess what just arrived."  Perfect.  I don't mind though as we have mostly found Hello Fresh to be more aptly titled Hello Bland.  

We eat while watching a couple of "General Hospital" episodes.  Luke wakes up during the first so I go and rock him back to sleep.  I doze off during the last, grabbing a much-needed fifteen or twenty minutes before it's time to shower and get ready for work.

It is 9:30.  Sunshine demands five more minutes of outside time before I leave.  I oblige.  Then it's another hug goodbye and I'm out the door.  

As I back out, Sunshine sits in the doorway and watches me leave.  Beyond, Luke sleeps peacefully in his room while the woman I married is going to bed, hoping to catch two or three hours before the little guy wakes up again.

Some decisions you never have to rethink.

"These are some good times / So take a good look around / You may not know it now / But you're gonna miss this..."

Announcing "Automatic Email Deletion Notification"

My friend, Axl, works for the government -- well, government contractor.  I'm not exactly sure what he does all day, other than perpetuating a stereotype perhaps.  I mean, I know he wears many hats, but that's literal, not figurative.

Anyhow, the way I figure it, he must work really hard and get really far ahead as he often seems to have an abundance of free time.  Many days, this results in him sending out a seemingly endless stream of emails -- sports articles, YouTube clips, and other links -- which most of the time I am too busy to read.

I'm generally fine with it, but there was one particular day last week where I was inundated with work and he was shooting off emails like fireworks on the 4th with the Boston Pops playing in the background.

So, hoping to put an end to his emails for the day, I composed this little gem:

The email you sent to bone@gmail.com has been deleted.  It was not read.  It was not opened.  It was deleted before opening.  

If you feel you have received this message in error, rest assured you have not.  Please do not resend.

Automatic Email Deletion Notification is a new service offered by Google exclusively for Gmail members.

Sincerely,

The Google team

Now, clearly I was just being a smart-aleck, never once imagining he would think it was real.  I figured, if nothing else, the "rest assured you have not" would give it away.

But then...

Later that evening I get call from him.  He asks, "Did you get an email from me today with blah-blah-blah in the subject line?"

"Hmmm," I pretend to ponder.  "No, I don't think so," I fib.

At that point, he proceeds to tell me about the email he got from Google and how at first he thought it was a joke, but then when I never said anything, he figured it must be legit.  He completely bought it!  And he's in IT!

So if you should see an email like this floating around, advertising Gmail's new automatic Email Deletion Notification service, it's most likely a farce.  And you can say, "I know the guy who started that!"

Who knows, maybe I'll end up on Snopes one day.  It's not Wikipedia or Guinness Book, but it's something.  It's cyber immortality.

Oh by the way, I never told Axl any different.  Was that wrong?

"If you ever get annoyed / Look at me, I'm self-employed / I love to work at nothing all day..."

I'm not sure I remember how to do this

It's been awhile. I'd like to tell you I have a great reason for being absent, like I quit my job and have been under the tutelage of David Gibson in preparation for this year's World Scrabble Championships. But I have no grand reason. No excuse.

Although my hours at work changed a few weeks ago. I now have to be in at Brandt-Leland each morning by 6 AM. It's kinda thrown my whole routine off. OK, so one excuse.

My first week working the new hours, I woke up one morning at 5:52. I shot out of bed and rushed into the bathroom in a panic. As I brushed my teeth, my mind raced. Why hadn't my alarm gone off? Or had it, and I turned in off in a semi-conscious haze? And what about my phone? I never turn my phone alarm off.... except for weekends... which must make this a... Saturday! It's moments like these that never allow me to think too highly of myself.

I've always been a night owl and I'm not sure I'll ever be fully transformed into one of those early worms. But there is one good thing about the new hours: I'm off in time to catch General Hospital most days now.

Speaking of, I'm pretty sure I had a small coronary when I read the headline "ABC To Cancel Two Of Its Long-Running Soaps" a couple weeks ago. Thankfully, GH survived. And so did I. Did you know we may experience hundreds of tiny heart attacks and never even realize it? On second thought, maybe that was hundreds of tiny earthquakes...

Spring was nice this year. It arrived on a Wednesday and was gone by the following Sunday. Like a girl you go out with a couple of times and she's not your favorite but then when she's gone you start thinking she must have something going for her if she's not waiting around on you. It would have been nice if spring had stayed a little longer. Not that I would ever complain about summer. Or girls.

I earned my first sunburn of the season last weekend at the Alabama A-Day game. You might recall that's where ninety-thousand-plus fans show up to basically watch the team practice. Yeah, there's not a whole lot to do around here.

Nephew Bone went to the game. He's learned to put his hand over his heart for the national anthem. So on over in the game a bit as the band was playing the Alabama fight song, I looked down and Nephew Bone was standing with his hand over his heart until they were done. My heart melted a little.

Otherwise, I've been golfing a bit, running a bit, and going to bed earlier than I ever dreamed possible. (Not that I have ever actually had a dream about going to bed early.) And even though I would think about blogging, it became easier and easier to let it go for another day.

It's kinda like a relationship where you stop communicating and walls start to form. And you know you need to talk but with each passing day it's just easier to watch TV or read. And so you let the distance continue to grow until finally... You know, actually these relationship analogies are starting to hit a little too close to home.

So anyway, I'm back. For better or for worse.

And if there should ever be another prolonged hiatus, just assume the Scrabble thing.

"A good muse is hard to find. Living one word to the next, one line at a time. There's more to life than whiskey. There's more to words than rhyme. Sometimes nothing works, sometimes nothing shines, like Hemingway's whiskey..."

In a parallel world...

I'm afeared Blogust has lost its steam. Or maybe in some parallel universe somewhere Blogust still has its steam and I'm writing like a man possessed... with writing.

I've decided to reassess and adjust my goals. Not that I don't still plan to someday set the world record for most consecutive games of Freecell won and run a half marathon -- although not in the same day, probably -- but I think it is time to put those dreams on hold for a bit.

In another universe, Parallel Me has probably already run a half marathon, backwards, while wearing leg weights and thinking up new higher dreams that I don't even know we have yet.

But here in the yellow sun universe, I need to set some realistic goals that I can reach, preferably without a lot of effort. Things like updating my resume, which is probably about seven years old. And I'm pretty sure was saved on a 5-and-a-quarter-inch floppy disk.

Or how about hanging up the remaining three 2010 calendars, of the six I received last Christmas. That seems doable. Maybe. When I have some extra time and nothing good is on ESPN. Parallel Me probably doesn't even need a calendar. He probably has one on his computer. Or a day planner.

Another goal could be, not having a conniption each day at work. This one may seem a bit far-fetched. Also I'm not exactly sure how much control a person has over having a conniption or not. But, so far so good.

I wasn't sure if conniption was the right word there, so I looked it up: "A sudden, violent emotional outburst generally characterized by a tirade of strong language and signs of frustration and/or rage." Yep! That's definitely the right word.

So I've reassessed and plotted a new course, at least for the short-term. And things are already looking up. For example, earlier tonight I achieved a goal I didn't even realize I had set for myself, when I threw away some turkey bacon (dated June 17th) which had literally turned green.

In a parallel universe, I wonder if that turkey was still good. Parallel Me is probably enjoying a delicious BLT right now while he writes his 25th blog entry of the month.

Sometimes I really hate that guy.

"If I was someone else, would this all fall apart? Strange, where were you when we started this gig? I wish the real world would just stop hassling me..."

Short shorts

This post is brought to you by Nair. For men.

Well, as it has every Friday evening since the advent of the five-day work week--which based on everything I know was somewhere around the time of The Flintstones--the weekend has arrived. I plan to spend part of mine watching some of the British Open as well as the Tour de France. I figure that'll suffice for my monthly allotment of British and French culture.

After spending the past couple of months sweltering, including one stretch of twenty consecutive days over ninety degrees, we're actually forecast to have near record low temperatures this weekend. As in, it could drop into the upper 50's Saturday night. I'm going to do my best to avoid cutting the heat on. Just my little way of going green.

I would like to close today with three short and unrelated anecdotes. My ultimate hope is that these brief glimpses into my life will bring a smile to your heart, if not your face, and a sunniness to your disposition, if not your sky.

Anecdote #1: My new girlfriend
Yesterday at work, the secretary burst into the office and with urgency in her voice said, "Bone, come here, I found you a girl! Hurry!" Well, I figured something was up, especially after I'd recently taped a piece of cardboard over the sensor on her optical mouse which took her like ten minutes to figure out. But I played along. After all, she did say the word "girl."

So I got out to her office and she pointed to the TV. The local 12 o'clock news was on and they were interviewing a roller derby girl. Is it wrong that I was more than a bit intrigued?

Anecdote #2: More than just a few digits short
I probably should provide some background on this story. LJ--you remember him from my tales of Wolfgang & LJ, also known as The Darryls--does not have a cell phone. He's never had a cell phone. You might recall that he procured a girlfriend a few months ago. A couple of weeks ago while we were hanging out at his house, he got to texting his girlfriend with Wolfgang's phone.

Zoom forward to this week. LJ is out of town for a few days. He left yesterday. This afternoon I have the following text exchange with Wolfgang:

WG: You're not gonna believe what I'm about to tell you. LJ called me this morning.
Bone: OK. What'd he want?
WG: He wanted to know if I could remember the first 3 numbers of his girlfriend's phone number.

Remind me again why I've not turned their lives into a sitcom?

Anecdote #3: Know your Woodys
Last, and least, this one needs no explanation.

"I kinda wanna see that new Larry David movie. Even though I haven't been to the theater in about two and a half years."
"What's it called?"
"I can't remember. It's a Woody Allen film."
"I've never been a big fan. Woody Allen is in my least favorite movie of all time."
"Really? What's that?"
"White Men Can't Jump."

You just can't make this stuff up.

"Call my line, call me anytime. I'll be there for you. I've been searching high. I've been searching low. Baa-ba-ba-baa, baa-ba-ba-baa baby, don't forget my number..."

The ratio of people to cake is too big!

And now for your enjoyment, Bone channels Milton Waddams from Office Space:

Well I was, I was under the impression that I would, I would be getting Sundays off, and that, that I would only have to work occasionally on Saturdays. And now I'm working almost every Saturday and I told, I told Bill that if this continues, then I'm quitting. And I told Jan, too, because, because they've changed my hours. I used to get off in time to see General Hospital, but now I get off later, and I don't have a TiVo. And I still, I still have five vacation days to take this year. But I haven't, I haven't been able to take my days because they keep increasing my daily tasks, but they haven't increased my pay any. But those are my days, and they better, they better not try to tell me when I can take them, because that's not OK. And if they try to, then I'll set the building on fire.

Thank you.

Just know that I was doing my own Milton impersonation out loud as I typed that, and be thankful this is not an audio post.

Yes, I had to work both Saturday and Sunday this weekend. I used to work seven nights a week all the time when I was at the factory. But having at least one day a week off is like urinating with no burning sensation. After awhile you kinda get used to it.

To me, the forty hour work week was instituted as the absolute maximum number of hours that a human being should ever be required to work. I really have no historical documentation to back this up, but I've always believed that is what the framers of the law had in mind. I think they figured most of us would only be working twenty or thirty hours, three or four days a week. Because (I'm sure) studies (somewhere) have shown that a happy, well-rested employee is a productive employee. Or at least a happy employee.

Of course, things could always be worse. I could not have internet at work. Or my parents could cut off my weekly supplement. Or there could be no term limits for the President.

Despite the heavily oppressed weekend, I did make it over to Axl's after work Saturday to watch some football. Highlights included going over to his on-again, off-again girlfriend's house and letting her dog out for a few minutes. Why he wanted me to come along, I'm not sure.

So there we were, just before sunset in the middle of the neighborhood. Axl was bent over baby-talking the dog trying to get him to "go" in this little ravine. Meanwhile, I was standing about fifty feet away, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible.

About that time, I noticed a lone female jogger coming down the sidewalk. As she passed, I smiled, while behind me in a high-pitched voice, Axl was encouraging the dog to "Go poo poo. Go poo poo."

There's really just no way to make that look cool.

"Work, work, work, day after day. Fifty hour week, forty hour pay. No time to get over all this overtime. Yeah, I'm always runnin', but I'm always runnin' behind.."

...But somebody's gotta do it

From Seinfeld episode #70, The Lip Reader:
Kramer: "Hey Jerry, do me a favor. The next time you see that lineswoman ask her how those ball boys get those jobs. I would love to be able to do that."
Jerry: "Kramer, I think perhaps you've overlooked one of the key aspects of this activity. It's ball boys, not ball men. There are no ball men."
Kramer: "Well, there ought to be ball men."

Lately, I've been considering looking for a new career. Or, as some might say, looking for a career. Obviously, my first choice would be to go from being the unpaid-disseminator-of-three-words to a well-paid-comfortably-living-writer. But what if that doesn't happen? I don't want to be sitting around in my mid-30's playing Nintendo and not knowing what I want to do with my life.

So I've been keeping my eyes open, and I've discovered there are a ton of fascinating career opportunities out there. And though I'm not quite sure how one would go about obtaining any of these jobs, let's look at a few now:

Career Option #1: Lindsay Lohan's driver

I was watching a VH-1 special this morning on the troubles of the voluptuous one. Now as I see it, the majority of Miss Lohan's legal troubles stem from driving under the influence.

Solution? Stop her from driving. And who better to drive around one of the great, misunderstood thespians of our time than yours truly?

The advantages would be tremendous. I'd live in California, could serve as both her father figure and trusted confidant, and in all likelihood I would be credited with helping to save her career and she would owe me big time.

Career Option #2: Commercial Lobster Fisherman

Last night, I was watching Lobster Wars on Discovery. Now I've heard people say this is a dangerous job requiring you to risk your life every single day. Friends, I risk my life everytime I sprint up and down the stairs in my apartment, running from whatever might be chasing me. Believe me, I've had a number of close calls!

Besides, not everyone on these boats are leaning over the railing risking their lives, right? I'm sure they have people who remain solidly in the center of the boat. Maybe I could work down in the hull, in the boiler room or something.

Wonder if I could get a note from my Mom. "Bone has a bit of an equilibrium problem. Please excuse him from hanging over the side of the boat and any other activities in which he might possibly die. Also, he dislikes loud noises and sometimes gets a tummy ache after he eats Mexican food." Wonder if that would work.

Career Option #3: Women's Pro Beach Volleyball Linesman

I was watching Misty May and Kerri Walsh on TV last weekend when the camera panned to this guy just standing at the corner of the court, signaling whether balls were in or out.

Where do I sign up! I could do that. I'm already sitting here in my underwear eating Doritos watching them. Why not put on my board shorts and watch them in person while getting some sun. Heck I could even apply sunscreen to the girls and get water for them during breaks in the action. I'm nothing if not a multi-tasker.

Don't discount this idea. Someone is doing this job right now. Why shouldn't it be me? They wouldn't even have to pay me.

Career Option #4: Sideline Cord & Wire Untangler

I go to a good number of college football games. Anytime the games are televised, there are several people who follow the camera operators and reporters around on the sidelines, holding their cords and keeping them straight.

I'm not sure what the prerequisites for this job would be, but I've always been good at getting shoe laces unknotted. I keep my garden hose coiled nicely when not in use, and I have braided a girl's hair before, in a standard, three-strand braid.

The benefits to this job would be tremendous. I'd get to travel around the country, take in a little football, and might even bump into Erin Andrews. Again, salary optional.

Career Option #5: Reality TV Show Star

This is probably the most obvious and natural career move for me to make. Here's the premise of the show. I would play the protege of a big-name celebrity, say for example, Scott Baio. The show could be called something catchy like, oh I don't know, Scott Baio Is 46 & A Mentor.

Scott would serve as my relationship mentor, with Nicole Eggert starring as my love interest. Since Scott is already unknowingly my relationship mentor, the transition would be seamless. Season one guest stars would include Henry Winkler and Willie Aames. Who wouldn't watch that!

There you have it, just a few of the career options stretched out before me on that vast horizon known as tomorrow. As you can see, the future looks bright for Bone.

"I study nuclear science. I love my classes. I got a crazy teacher. He wears dark glasses..."

Mine games

I was perusing my last several posts earlier today and realized I don't really do a lot of posts about my current life anymore. Most everything seems to either be a 24 recap, a piece of 3WW fiction, or a story from the past. I figure I can remedy that with a random post that's all over the proverbial map.

The problem with my car did turn out to be the catalytic converter. The guy at the exhaust place was nice enough to tell me the catalytic converter was covered under warranty up to 80,000 miles. My car has 70-something-thousand miles on it. So even though I vowed to never take my car to the dealership again, I made an exception in this case, since it was free.

At work, the walking carcinogen I so fondly refer to as Smokestack is still requiring me to use copious amounts of Lysol. I've also discovered that in addition to spreading lung disease, Smokestack is a notoriously poor speller. This is only compounded by his affinity for leaving post-it notes lying around.

A couple of weeks ago, I noticed he'd left a note for Big Sweaty on which he had spelled dairy, d-e-r-r-y. A couple of days later the secretary came in and told me he had spelled Wednesday, w-e-n-s-d-a-y, on his time sheet.

But the capper had to be when I came across a note he'd left for himself. It read:

"Thursday 8:45 AM - Meeting of the mines"

So now anytime Smokestack is talking to anyone, the running joke around the office is that they must be having a "meeting of the mines."

Do you ever feel like you're living that careerbuilder.com monkey commercial?

On the bright side, I already know what I'm getting him for Christmas: Hooked on Spelling! That is, if I haven't contracted emphysema by then.

"Smoking in the boys room. Teacher don't you fill me up with your rules. Everybody knows that smoking ain't allowed in school..."

Play ball!

Sniff Sniff

Can you smell it? Freshly cut grass, dirt, resin, hot dogs, peanuts... That's the smell of summer, my friends.

Although honestly the only thing I can smell right now is the poison stench of smoke. They've hired this little guy to come in and do some work part-time. He looks to be about 40 and lives with his mama. And when he comes into the room, the stench of smoke off his clothes is stronger than any I've ever tried not to smell. I've affectionately nicknamed him Smokestack. We basically have someone on Lysol duty to just follow him around with a can all day. And by someone, I mean me. He doesn't seem to mind.

But I digress (and hold my breath). Summer is here. Oh sure, maybe not solstice-wise. But now that Pluto is no longer a planet, I figure we can pretty much throw anything we've learned about astronomy over the past thousand years out the window anyway.

Today is Opening Day for major league baseball. Opening Day means a fresh start. Everybody is tied for first. It means my beloved Reds will be on ESPN, for one of the few times all season. It means a brand new season full of possibilities and optimism. Except of course for the Royals. But at least they have a stadium with pretty waterfalls or fountains or something.

Opening Day is about hope. And in that way, isn't it a little metaphor for life. Because really, without hope, what do we have?

You'll notice I've changed my sidebar scoreboard from basketball to el beisbol. That's just Bone's little tribute to the increasing number of Spanish-speaking baseball players.

Welcome, amigos. Vamos Cincinnati!

"Baby, if you've ever wondered, wondered whatever became of me, I'm living on the air in Cincinnati..."

Do you hear what I hear

Please stop by and welcome Pia home, and read about her adventures south of the border. Apparently, while she was in Mexico being mistaken for a puta, I unwittingly missed Thank Your Mentor Day. And actually, the entire National Mentoring Month. Oops. Who knew?

Oh, and Happy Groundhog Day. My Groundhog Day post last year got some very interesting responses.

For Christmas this year, Dad put a key finder in my stocking. My sister got one too. The key finder attaches to your keychain and when you whistle, it is supposed to emit a series of beeps, allowing you to locate your keys.

After testing it out a few times, I found it was erratic, at best. It wouldn't work half the time when I whistled directly into it. Other times, it would go off at random. So I tossed it into a bag with a few other stocking stuffers, which I'm not overly proud to say is still sitting in my living room floor. And the key finder was forgotten. Until last Thursday night.

My sister and brother-in-law were over for supper and we began to hear a beeping noise. I'd heard it a few times before, but was never able to figure out what it was. My brother-in-law knew right off. It was the key finder! I immediately ran to the Christmas bag and found it.

Friday morning as I was getting ready for work, I placed the key finder in my pocket. Having just watched The Office the day before, I had an idea.

Now the object of my office pranks is most often the secretary. She's in her forties, and looks like someone who would wear lots of sweatshirts with bears and stuff painted on them, even though she doesn't. And she's always a good sport.

When I got to work, I scouted her office for a suitable place for the key finder. Some place she'd be sure to hear it, but unlikely to find it. First I tried pushing up one of the ceiling tiles and leaving it in the ceiling. I whistled, but could barely hear it. No good. Then, I saw it--the tissue box! Perfect. I dropped the key finder in the tissue box and got ready for the fun to ensue.

As soon as she arrived, I walked thru and began whistling to the radio. Then listened. I heard the key finder. It was working. Although she didn't seem to notice it.

Oh, but she would.

The fun began shortly after 10 AM. She walked in with furrowed brow and asked, "Am I going crazy, or do you hear beeping noises?" She seemed to be alluding to the radio.

"Beeping noises? In the radio?" I replied, as if she may very well have lost her mind.

"Yes! It seems like almost everytime a new song starts, I hear a beeping."

"I haven't noticed. But I'll start listening closer."

About forty-five minutes later, I walked out to her office. Before I could say a word, she spoke.

"I figured it out!" she said, as if she's Bell and I'm Watson, and she'd just discovered the missing piece to make her invention work. "It's not in the radio. It's coming from my phone!"

I had her. Hook, line, and sinker. I began to smile, but she continued.

"Everytime my phone rings, it beeps. Here!" she said as she pulled out her cell phone. This was going even better than I had hoped. She dialed the work number. The phone rang. The key finder beeped.

"There! You hear it?"

I'd regained my poker face by this time. I squinted and leaned in as if trying to listen closely.

"Ummm, no," I lied.

"You don't hear that?!" she exclaimed, before letting out a sound that sounds a bit like a puppy whimpering. "You probably think I'm losing my mind."

At that time, I decided that I'd gotten my money's worth out of this joke. And while she'd been talking, I'd been reaching into the tissue box. As she had no idea what's going on, she simply thought I was getting a tissue. I finally retrieved the key finder and tossed it on her desk.

She looked at it, realized what is going on, and jumped out of her chair, all within about a second and a half. I took off running and she chased after me. She later told me the beeping noises made her think her phone might be tapped.

I guess the key finder worked after all.

There's nothing like seeing a carefully planned prank coming together perfectly. Although now I must await her revenge. I've been half-expecting a live snake to drop from the ceiling at any time. I must be vigilant!

Oh, and lest you think she doesn't deserve it, don't forget this.

Have a great weekend and Super Bowl Sunday! And remember, if your name was Punxsutawney, you'd stay in a hole most of the time, too.

"If you ever get annoyed, look at me I'm self-employed. I love to work at nothing all day..."