I couldn’t get through to him for a while, because he was on the phone with the bank. You see, he had just received a package in the mail that contained merchandise he did not order, and he was making sure we were not charged for it.

Behold: 

Yes, that’s right, FOUR of them. (I’m trying not to say exactly what they are, to avoid pervy traffic) This is QUITE the mystery. SB was unable to find any weird charges on our account. They were sent in plastic wrapping with a printed label from the makers of these DVDs, but no invoice was enclosed.

We are totally stumped. Who would send him these? Who would think that was funny? Who has the money to waste on a bad joke?

Anyone who doesn’t actually know my husband might be thinking, ”Oh sure, that’s his story,” but that’s just not possible. They arrived while I was at work. I never would have known about them if he hadn’t called and left me that girly message.

So, help me out:

1) What the hell? Hypotheses? Theories?

2) What should we do with them?

You know the mailman thinks SB’s a perve now. Heh.

The people who make the signs at the local Albertson’s must be 80 year old curmudgeon-ly types, I guess.

The chair of the Theater Department was Dr. Becvar. Hmm. Where to begin. I’m quite certain I can’t do this man justice, but I’ll give it a try. Picture a tall, skinny, Little Ceasar or a less crotchety Mr. Burns, in a cardigan with matching socks. Flamboyant, dramatic, and fabulous, he has awesome stories and a fiery temper. He smokes like a chimney and is a big fan of gin, and I can’t imagine him any other way. He’s one of those people who are just a CHARACTER, you know what I mean? He’s retired since we graduated and invites you to call him Bill, and for some reason you feel special.

Dr. Becvar was a theater pioneer of Tacoma and back in the 70’s was part of a group that founded Tacoma’s only (and recently folded) professional theater company. I worked at this theater for about two years. (This was the j-o-b I so lovingly detailed, you may recall)

When the theater closed down in financial ruin a couple of weeks ago, I went back to help a friend clean out her office. It was pretty sad. I put a lot of work into keeping that place open, too, and it’s a real loss to the community. When we were finished, we did something I’d always wanted to do while working there, we climbed out her office window and went out on the roof for a cigarette. Good closure and a great view.

As we were getting ready to walk out for the last time, I spotted the big, framed, photograph of Bill that used to hang in the hallway, leaning up against the wall among some other show posters. I worried that with the place closing down, who knew what would happen to it. With the best of intentions, I set about taping one of my cards to the back of it and asking to be called if it were getting thrown out, and that I would make sure that it got to the University. While I was writing all this out, though, it suddenly occurred to me, duh, I’ll just take it.

So I did. I stole Dr. Becvar.

When I got home, I exitedly reported to SB that I had committed a crime and that there was some particularly tasty booty out in my car. He was suitably impressed and informed me, screw PLU, we’re keeping it.

I can’t begin to convey how proud I am of myself.

And look! My nook problem is at long last solved.

Somehow we managed to entertain ourselves.

I kinda doubt the sanctity of a dollar store nativity scene. Let’s just say they weren’t displayed with a whole lot of reverence.

$1 Baby Jesuses
Originally uploaded by picture_ho.

The Joseph looked like a badass. He seemed to be some sort of bow staff fighter.

Bring it.
Originally uploaded by picture_ho.

Eventually we made it to the “food” section where we started to to play the “How much money would someone have to pay you to eat this” game.

Diabetes, anyone?
Originally uploaded by picture_ho.

In case you’re interested, SB would go no lower then $500.

442g of sugar
Originally uploaded by picture_ho.

SB and I noticed a few things about the religious shwag they left behind. Isn’t Jesus looking a lot more clean cut these days? Less like the hippie he was, perhaps? He looks more like, say, a chiropractor or a college professor here.

I’m going to hell -1
Originally uploaded by picture_ho.

And what about Adam? DAMN! Dude is ripped!

I’m going to hell – 2
Originally uploaded by picture_ho.

Can you read the text accompanying the picture? It says, “After the final test, in what sense will mankind be comparable to Adam?”

SB is hoping in body fat percentage.

The other night I was on the phone with my friend Brianna*. She had just finished telling me about the lovely dinner she and her husband Ron* had enjoyed that evening at a Thai place I have yet to try.

We were shooting the breeze, trying to come up with the next time we could get together, when the converstaion was abruptly ended.

Me: So blah blah blah, how about the 16th?

B: Huh.

Me: What, you are not committed?

B: Uh, no, that was an ‘I think I might have to shit my pants’, huh.

Me: Oh. So anyway about the sixtee-

B: IGOTTAGOI’LLCALLYOUBACKBYE. click.

I snickered to myself over poor Brianna’s misfortune and how funny it was that she had just been telling me about her great dinner. I thought that she would probably be calling me back in under 5 minutes, as these things are usually disturbingly quick, but about a half an hour later, there was still no call.

I called her back and found her grading papers, having completely forgotten she had been talking to me. We had a good laugh over her hanging up on me and how stressful an event it had been that she had completely forgotten she had been on the phone. She had just barely made it to the bathroom in time, apparently. No sooner had she recovered from her painful bout when she heard the lawn mower stop outside, and Ron come barreling up the steps, charging towards the bathroom in a strange, clenched fashion, tossing an ‘I have di-di’ over his shoulder as he went. Ron and Brianna’s downstairs bathroom has about 6 doors leading off of it, and OHMYGOD, poor Ron did not have time to close them. He had to suffer through his painful bout while the most private of noises reverberated throughout the house.

As I wiped tears from my eyes, a direct result of Brianna’s hilarious recounting of events, she said, “the real question now is, do I eat my leftovers for lunch tomorrow?” I thought she was kidding but she then said, “I say yes. I might shit my pants but that’s food I paid for.”

Me: STOP! You’re KILLING me!

* names changed to protect the afflicted.

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I am heading off today on a grand adventure. Loll and I are driving to Sacramento, California for a college friend’s wedding. I will continue my travel unit when I return on Tuesday. Thanks for reading!

One of the first things I tossed, however, was the ugliest rug you have ever seen. It was pink, with some sort of heinous aztec print. It was too big for the area, (it did NOT tie the room together) and that area happened to be directly in front of the new desk I was moving to. It just had to go.

(a bit of back story: j-o-b went bankrupt two years ago and all the employees were let go. They all just basically got up and left. Thus, there was all kinds of crap that was just left behind. I wrongly assumed that this rug was one of those things. oops.)

It was with great joy that I rolled that sucker up and placed it decidedly in the trash pile. The office looked immediately better. I went about my merry way, throwing things out with reckless abandon.

You know what’s coming, don’t you.

Monday morning, bright and early, I was sitting at my new desk, admiring the newly organized and freshly painted office when the board president walks in. She is a very nice lady and I expected her to begin complimenting our incredible improvements, but instead she said, “Where’s my rug?”

“Uh…I will look into that for you. But look! New paint!”

I passed her off to someone else and while she began oohing and ahing about the improvements, I scurried into the new Executive Director’s office and told her the bad news. She said naughty words for the first time in my presence, which was excellent, then got on the phone with the volunteers who made the dump run. Unfortunately, said volunteer SPECIFICALLY remembered heaving ‘that ugly thing’ out the back of the truck into the great abyss of the land fill.

Right. My next desperate attempt was to call the dump and ask if there was any way of retrieving something that had been mistakenly dropped off two days ago. There was a brief pause, wherein I imagine the receptionist was stifling laughter, then she dashed all our hopes of getting the rug back. Apparently it is NOT possible to retrieve something from the dump. Duh. What was I going to do anyway? Wade through the dump looking for a scrap of pink aztec?

So, I ended up telling her that I had set her rug aside because it was getting in the way of the garbage trolleys and that “someone” must have “accidently” gotten rid of it. Turns out that although if I’d had to guess, I would have said it was a Walmart special, it was actually handmade in India and had a fancy name which now escapes me. Awesome.

I have since had to make fruitless calls to the volunteers that were there that day, “in case someone thought we were throwing it away and took it home with them”. She even had possible suspects in mind, the types who would have done such a thing. I had to listen while she described it to the facilities manager in case it turned up in another office, as well.

There is no moral to this story, but the Lebowski tie-ins are unavoidable and everytime she brings it up, I am giggling on the inside.

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I am not a hip music scenester by any means so maybe everyone already knows about this guy, but right now I am LOVING Matt Costa. I have his new album “Songs We Sing” and every song is good. He is kind of like a less cloying Jack Johnson, or maybe even a young Paul Simon. Anywho, it’s great, and a perfect summer soundtrack.

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Do you see the face in my coffee? I dorkily freaked out about this, as if it were a Mary-like sighting, then realized the barista did it on purpose. Oh.