The Pain of Volunteerism

There are some days when I think being a hermit is an awesome thing. Today is one of those days.

I have a friend who agreed to be a room parent but in a very limited way because her job is incredibly stressful and when you tack on our lovely suburban nightmare traffic scenario, well, she's lucky if she can get home much less to school. When she agreed to this insanity there were three other parents also signed up. Guess who flaked?

So last evening, my wonderful, patient, overachieving, faithful to a fault friend (you know I love you!!) called me to get some help with a letter to send to the parents. I think I could taste her stress level over the phone. And she doesn't have her first RP meeting until tonite.

Bless her big ole volunteering heart!

And then you have my beloved sister. She may mock me on the phone. She may have lobbed many a joke about my physical appearance and mental well being out there into the atmosphere. But she has a lovely heart and is a very generous soul. Being such a wonderful person, she decided that she would try to volunteer at her local hospital. She had orientation this morning. Please read along with me as I share the text message exchange we had DURING her orientation.

B: Is it possible to commit suicide by paper cut?
Me: Do I even want to know?!
B: Is it considered murder if someone bores you to death?

Me: I take it the job hunt isn't going well and you don't feel like doing school work? (And then I tried to call her thinking she was at home going looney.)

B: Can't talk. I'm in the hospital orientation. ALL DAY....

3 minutes later

B: Kill me now. It would be a mercy killing.

Me: Are you going to do this to me all day? Because I can't just start giggling like this in public!

B: Probably, unless boredom does prove to be lethal after all.

2 minutes later
B: Reading my text books is like riding all the coasters at Six Flags by comparison.

Me: HOLY CRAP! (Because I know my sister loathes her finance courses and if she prefers that to orientation...?!)

B: I'm pretty sure these chairs are banned by the Geneva convention.
Me: You know I'm going to blog this right?
B: Glad I could help out with the blog fodder. At least something good will come out of suffering. All things work together...
Me: Think N could use the chairs as torture training?

30 minutes later
B: It's a conspiracy! When you are done here they end up treading you for back injuries!
Me: **I lost this line somehow. I made some comment about an elaborate marketing ploy.

B: Of course the injury could be from the chair or throwing yourself out of the chair in an attempt to end this torture.

Me: Aren't you glad you signed up for this?
B: On the upside the quality of my doodles is reaching my precollege level. By the end of the day I should be at bachelor degree doodles if not graduate level.

Me: So you'll be ready to illustrate "The Dino under the Table"?

B: Seriously. (and a note I've edited out for other reasons)
Me: Should I call N and have him send rum to the house?

That was an hour and a half ago and I haven't heard from her. I think the chair finally broke her!

So here's to all the volunteers out there. Keep doing what you're doing. I'll be in my cave playing hermit.

Apparenly I am a 74 Year Old Woman...

With a teenie bopper fetish.

Yes ladies and gentlemen I am about to blog about my spam. And no I'm not talking the canned meat but there WAS a great M*A*S*H on the other day that that involved Spam and it was pretty darn funny. I love Alan Alda. Oh and Harry Morgan - he's cute for a little old guy. Now where was I? Oh yes. Spam.

I think I have laughed harder at my inbox the last few weeks than at anything else. It started with Ethel DeWitt. Now I think I have only known one woman named Ethel and she was the most wonderful woman on the planet. I still have a blanket that she made for us that I regularly snuggle under with the kids. But let's keep in mind that as long as I knew her she was 70+ so when you send me an e-mail from "Ethel" I'm seeing a very old, very tiny woman who raised Indian popcorn. You know the multicolored decoartive ears of corn that you see in the fall? I strayed again didn't I? Sorry.

Here's where the laughter starts. The subject line on my email from Ethel was "I don't know if you got my first note." Of course I blip it as spam without a second thought. But then my college roommate calls and says, "Hey! I've been trying to e-mail you from work but I don't know if I have the right address." My roommate is temporarily working as a long term substitute teacher for a woman who is on maternity leave so I thought perhaps she was using this stranger's email to contact me. "Oh! You're Ethel!"

"I'm WHO?!" I told her the story and of course she burst into hysterical laughter and tears because, well, she's not Ethel. So we've been having a great time with this whole thing and I have taken on the alter ego of "Myrtle."

Now for the teenie bopper fetish. I don't know whose blog I visited last week that flagged me as a porn stalker but suddenly I am getting all kind of spam about "newly legal teens with wild animals" and "new young boobs for the shooting." (Can't wait to see the keywords this week!) So not only am I being mistaken for Maxine of greeting card fame but now Maxine is branching out from the psycho dog she always has with her.

And that brings us to today. The sender is "Carlo." The subject line reads, "This is Hazel and I've been trying to reach you." Seriously? Let me guess the first line reads "I have to send this to you from my 17 year old grandson's account because mine got hacked by a naked zebra who was partying with the newly legal chicks at a photoshoot I was doing."

I promise you that I don't make this stuff up. It really happens to me. Ok so maybe I do a little techincolor touch up with the commentary but I assure you that this really IS my life. Did I mention that next time I'm coming back as a dog?

But I refuse to do any naked canine photo shoots. Unless they're done tastefully.