Why did the tap dancer retire?

He kept falling in the sink! This blog is dedicated to nonsense, mostly born at Ford or during discussions about Ford.

I don't even know how to begin to explain this one. It's going to be random. It's going to be crazy. Hopefully, it will be freaking amazing (but I wouldn't hold my breath--mostly because I'm afraid of dying).

1. "Wa-bam"--in reference to my buttocks. My butt's famous at Ford nowadays. It's freaking weird. Cheryl Barrow told Rory that I'm great because I'm "so little, and then it's just like wa-bam: there's [my] butt!" She calls me booty butt. It would be one thing if she was the first, but she's like the fifth. I feel like I need to invest in a cape or something to cover myself up and stop the madness. Very few people who I trust much will comment on the situation. I mostly get patronizing condolences a la: "Your butt is just lovely, Smyth". Can't even get my name right, those crazies.
2. Let's talk about this "Smyth" business. Yesterday Rory made me a nametag, and it read: "Hello, I am a Smyth-osaurus" and if you flipped the bottom down it said, "Grrrrrrrrrrrrr". I don't know why Rory calls me Smyth, but I know he likes it. The main problem is why everyone else calls me Smyth. I think it might be easier to yell. Is it? At any rate, it is better than the other nicknames that have been (thankfully) abandoned: He-man, Teensy, and all the rest.
3. Bradyisms: I wanted to dedicate a whole blog to this, but I think a few lines will suffice. Brady is famous for saying things like "Right on, brother!" n shit. He is also famous for getting everyone riled up about the weirdest things. Today he was singing the Washington song (that is, he was talking about George Washington's 30 penises) and I said, "Oh no, not that song again. I thought we were over this song" and he replied, "No fuckin' way, man. This shit is makin' a come back!" And then I quit. Brady will be greatly missed when he leaves at the end of next week. He is a stabilizing force in our crazy group, and I really don't know what we'll do without him. Really. For real though. I mean it. I don't know. Know what I'm sayin? That's all I'm sayin' though.
4. A Walk to Remember. Rory and I went down to the beach Sunday night for our usual, I-missed-you-so-much-while-it-was-the-weekend madness. It was his idea: he wanted to watch the tide come in. There was no tide, but we did get to walk across the scary bridge and we found out that the RED lighthouse is on the side that doesn't require you be shit your pants crossing the life bridge. Not that I shit, ever: I was shot, it's like an appendix, it's just decoration.
5. It feels so nice against my body. Mark is a weirdo. I gave him a blue and black blanket and he didn't say, "What will I do with it?" or "It kinda looks like a bruise." He said, "I hope it feels good against my body." And then he came and assured me today that it did.
6. Whipped Dip. I love words that get me giggling. One of my new favourite people at Ford is named Cynthia Duchene and we had a moment during last break today: we simultaneously recognized the awkwardness of our situation, and burst out laughing. We just got made fun of. But it was hilarious.
7. I keep freaking messing up these numbers. Number 7 is always a little slow anyway. Aren't you glad you're wasting your life on this now?
8. French Bradyisms. Fuckin Jim unh? 'e wants everyone to come to 'is party, but no body comes, and what does 'e do? 'e fuckin dies so everyone will 'ave to come to 'is fuckin party. What a fuckin ass'ole unh? If Jim wasn't already fuckin' dead I'd fuckin kick 'is fuckin ass. You know what I'm sayin, unh? UNH?? UNH???
9. Japan is as bad as Bramalea. It's official: an entire country (that I have never visited) has failed me. Japan sent the WRONG part. We waited 10 days for our new transmission, and Japan sent the wrong one. Why was the transmission in Japan you ask? Let me know when you have an answer that doesn't include a look that suggests I'm an idiot for not knowing that "it's a Mazda transmission" and that should explain freaking everything.
10. I think my brother is a drug dealer. He was talking about it. He needs money. His msn name says that he found some crack. Oh good. This should be fun.

Good night and good luck with your decodations, young detectives.

I Hope You Die

I was just watching the Simpsons, and I heard the best line ever. I'm adopting it for use at Ford. Hell, why not work it into this entry? Anything is possible.

I hope that our few remaining friends, give up on trying to save us.
Ford has done nothing but bring us closer together. Rory proposed to me in C section last week. Want to know why? He said, "I figured it out. You are a prima donna" and I replied, "Fuck you I am not! I'll kick your fucking ass!" I'm hilarious. Well, maybe that was just one of my few moments. But I am one of those people that prefers illusion to despair. I'm so awesome.

I hope we come up with a fail-safe plot to piss off the dumb few that forgave us.
The plot is coming along nicely. My favourite part of it is where Rory and I drive around screaming this song at the top of our lungs and complaining that Ultramart never has the right kind of cake. The shorty shorts for swimming are also an important feature.

I hope we drive past the last exit. I hope it's already too late.
Fucking driving to Ford. I hate the rain the most of all. Today I left Jean's house at 5 after 12 and got to the Ford parking lot at 20 minutes after 1. What the hell. Driving sucks up my entire day. On Monday I didn't have to drive home because I got a migraine again. Oh thank God for Rory and not having a manual transmission this time. If the car hadn't been in the shop, we might have never made it home--well, that's not true, but some of us prefer illusion to despair.

I hope the junkyard a few blocks from here someday burns down. And I hope the rising black smoke lifts me up and carries me far away from this town and I never come down in my life.
The world is going to hell. It's all our fault. Working at Ford makes me feel personally responsible and that breaks my heart. I much prefer being as detached as possible from environmental affairs. When I do that, I get a chance to forget that my dad is working for the enemy to keep the production of gas-guzzling (I love that alliteration so much) SUVs and trucks (have you seen the truck) legal, in order to save heartless corporations like Ford. Oh, Ford.

And I hope I lie.
Actually I lie all the time--but usually to myself. Lying at Ford is a failing mission. Although, I did spend a good hour looking for Matt so he could assign me a cleaning job. How was I supposed to know he wouldn't look at Brady's desk in R section or the annex? By twenty to 10, I decided to stay in one spot in order to find him, but that failed too. I hope I don't have to keep this charade going or I'll get caught for sure.

And tell everyone you were a good wife.
Ouch eh? Someday I'll be a good wife, hopefully even if I am a prima donna. Don't believe me? Well, let the lie live on; some of us prefer illusion to despair. I don't want to despair today. Maybe tomorrow. Besides, I'm totally going to lie and tell everyone Rory was a good wife, even if he won't wear a wedding ring lest they become an obstacle for his extramarrital affairs.

I hope you die.
Hahaha. I told everybody at the bar that last week. It was the best. The week before I hypnotized Jared Goba (by smacking him in the forehead) and he is such a good sport; all he said was, "Oh wow. You really got me." There weren't even any daggers shooting from his eyes. They shot from the eyes of a few others. So by the end of that night, my head really hurt. Telling people I want them to die went over with much less pain. My favourite might have been Pat Borrelli because as we were filing out of the bar I kept saying, "Hey, Pat!" and he would say, "I know you hope I die!" and I said, "Don't be offended. I hope we both die!"

I hope we both die.
Cheerfully. That's the line that makes everything better. Don't worry: I'll be dead too and we can hang out in the afterlife. I'm pretty sure it will suck as bad as this life, but at least we'll be together.

When I'm at Ford I imagine the ways I could die there. It's hard to come up with anything that doesn't result in someone else being severely traumatized by the experience. (I.e. Getting run over by forktruck might destroy the driver) But I found the best solution to that problem: Brady is going to kill me. He almost accidentally kills me at least once a day--yesterday it was by pushing me into a metal rack.

I think I'm destined to die as a result of head trauma, and Rory is destined to stand over my dead body laughing. On Sunday I was trying to pick up the ball from behind the chair for Sable, and the chair tipped and I smashed my head off the wall and then hit my chin on the wood part of the chair. Rory laughed for ten minutes while I laid on the floor. He didn't ask if I was okay. He just laughed.

More to Come
Now you have something to look forward to--or an illusion to prevent you from succombing to inevitable despair--for another week or so at least.