Here’s mine. Last night I was cooking dinner on our gas range. The range has thick heavy iron grates that go over the flame. Nice ones. So I cook the penne pasta and meatballs and turn off the flame and remove the pan. I see i spilled some sauce under the grate. “I better wipe that up before it dries hard!” I think. So I grab a wash cloth and then lift up the grate in my free hand. I was actually HOLDING it there for a few seconds before the burn registered in my brain. It then proceded to fly through the air onto the counter where it melted a hole in the bread wrapper. I picked it up with the wet wash cloth and it actually sizzled! Ouchie.
I have a whole week left too. …now wheres my asbestos underwear?
I can top that. Yesterday the plumber came to fix the leaking toilet. All it needed was to be resealed where the tank meets the stool, because it was dripping a little whenever you flushed it. You just disengage the top from the bottom, put down some putty, and put it back together. But the bolts looked rusty so I didn’t want to mess with it. Let somebody else wrestle around upside-down with a socket wrench for an hour, you know? So, like an idiot I pointed out the problem and then went back downstairs, leaving them to it.
An hour later I’m presented with a bill for $116.00. For whatever reason, the Gods of Plumbing motivated these guys to replace the entire inside of the tank, all the gadgets like the ballcock, flush lever, float valve, the works, which were old, granted, but which worked OK, charging me fifty for parts and fifty-something for labor. Geez louise. Remind me to hang around next time.
(Not to mention an $18 solid brass flush lever. Solid brass. Jiminy Christmas.)
Yesterday, my hay fever acted up, so I popped a Benadryl. Which is always a mistake since it makes me groggier than hell.
I needed to send a fax, so I’m standning by the machine, trying to stay awake, and absently punching in the number from the coversheet.
After I punch in the number, my phone rings. I answer it and no one’s there. I get back to the fax machine and I see that the machine has disconnected. I punch in the number and my phone rings.
Rinse and repeat.
My head does eventually clear enough to figure out that I was punching in my own phone number.
What makes this worse is that I did the same thing today, again under the influence of allergy pills.
My husband and I took four children, aged 10 and under, up north for the weekend. Five hours in a van, then a weekend on a barely inhabited island that can only be gotten to by boat.
I operate a saw at work that slices 12’ aluminum “logs” into smaller pieces. At one point I go over to chat with two co-workers, when one of them points behind me screaming, “Slaughter!!!” I turn to see thick, white smoke billowing from my saw. No prob. This was the first thing we covered in training all those years ago. Just hit the Emergency stop to turn the saw off. There was a support column nearby, (Nice, safe place to avoid shrapnel) and you could practically see the Angel & Devil figures on my shoulders as they had their exchange:
:mad: SHHIIIIITTT! I’m not going near that thing!!! But Slaughter, you must shut it off.
:mad: ARE YOU WACKY?!?! LOOK AT THAT SMOKE!!! Please just shut it off.
Of course I hit the E-Stop, but not before spending a few seconds zig-zagging between the saw, and the safety of the support column. My co-workers described my movements as the “Icky Shuffle”. What made it so stupid, is that I did this in front of an audience. Those two will never let me live that one down.
I used the word “stupidest” in a thread title, instead of “most stupid”.
Just kidding. I told my girlfriend that I think one of her sisters is hot.
Oops!
The stitches come out next Friday, and the doctors say I’ll be out of the wheelchair as soon as the swelling comes down.
P.S. It ain’t worth it, folks…
A. It tastes like burning plastic.
B. The high is slightly better than snorting, but not
nearly as good as shooting.
C. The buzz lasts about 5 minutes.
D. It makes your lungs hurt.
I started a thread asking males to post how big their dinks are…what was I thinking??? Geez…and I got a good score on that damn “Do you act gay” test.
Oh well…back to my average sized Mr. Winky.
I told a nice looking female at work that I was glad she was wearing tighter clothes to show off her figure. She wasn’t wearing clothes any different, she was just putting on a few pounds. My efforts to convince her that the few extra pounds were damn sexy (which they are, she was too skinny) was not well received. Making matters worse: She had put on the extra pounds while trying to quit smoking (had 3 weeks under her belt) and now she’s back on the nicotine and not eating. And I feel like hell.
Well, yesterday I forgot to pick up my kid from daycare, which moves me that much further from my “Mother Of The Year” award. But that was more a miscommunication–that is, I thought spouse would get him.
So stupider would be the fact when I finished my Cap’n Crunch Peanut Butter Crunch this a.m., I let my cat drink the last remaining milk drops. She promptly yacked on the carpet, which I JUST CLEANED NOT TWELVE HOURS BEFORE. I knew she’d throw up, she always does.
Became infatuated with a married man. It’s not like I want to realize my attraction, because if he offered anything, I wouldn’t take him up on it (in fact, I’d probably become disenchanted really fast, I hate cheaters).
And normally, I actually like infatuations - they give an extra degree of interest to fantasies.
But I have a strange personality quirk; whenever I fantasize, the fantasy must work with current reality. In other words I can’t have a fantasy that poof he’s not married and run with that. And since I don’t like cheaters, and don’t want to wish the pain of divorce on someone I like, even in a daydream - the daydreams just ain’t working.
So I have all the frustrations of an infatuation, without the sweet dreams that usually make up for the frustration.
just today, i did a very very extremely very stupid thing. in a fit of rage, i posted the address to a certain figure in the local legal system, asking (only half-kiddingly) for people to send her nice little letters that i hate her oh so much.
luckily manny edited it before any harm could be done. close one, dummy…
But Slaughter, you must shut it off.