Monday, January 25, 2010

This is why I hate not having walls

I work in a newsroom.

Newsrooms are supposed to be buzzing centers of activity, with people shouting out leads and such, working together to get the best sources and info possible. So our desks are set up in a clump with 3/4-height mesh walls separating us. When it's quiet (which is more common than you'd think), we can all hear each others' conversations, clear as a bell.

It's so awkward.


Guy on the phone: Hi, this is Joe?
Me: Hi Joe, this is Dani--
Joe: I'm unavailable at the moment, please leave a message--
Me: Oh, whoops.
The collective newsroom: (Silently.) What an idiot.

Another example:

Answering machine: Please leave your message at the tone.
Me: Hi, Pam, this is Dani Grigg calling. I'm a reporter at the IBR and I am working on an article--
Answering machine: Your message has been recorded. To re-record, press 2.
Me: BLAAAHH! Stupid phone! (I press 2.) (In an obnoxiously loud voice so the answering machine doesn't cut me off again:) Hi, Pam, this is Dani Grigg calling. I'm a reporter.... yadda yadda yadda.
The collective newsroom: (Silently.) What an idiot.

And another example:

Me: (Insert idiotic question that shows limited to no understanding of the issue at hand and a sad inability to use basic English here.)
The collective newsroom: (Silently.) What an idiot.

See what I'm saying? Endless awkward possibilities.

Friday, January 22, 2010

It wasn't even funny the first time

Sometimes when I'm restless and I'm sitting next to Seth (like at church or in the car or at the movies), I remove my wedding ring and place it in Seth's hand, saying, "I have no use for this." And then I refuse to take it back.

He used to pretend to be hurt, but I've done it so many times that now he just says, "Stop it, Dani," and puts it on my lap.

Then I have to put it back on my ring finger so I don't lose it.

Tuesday, January 19, 2010

Con quienes podemos comer

Once I decided I would never be fluent in Spanish unless I moved to a foreign country. So what did I do? I moved to the Spanish House. NOT a foreign country. I'm STILL not fluent. But it helped and it was fun.

This was in college, and they had houses where you could only speak certain languages. Actually, apartments. And there was one native speaker in each apartment. You had dinner together and activities together, giving you all the opportunity you could ask for to practice the language. Church was even in Spanish.

One night at dinner, I volunteered to give a blessing on the food. I was nervous--the audience was big. It all went fine until I said (in Spanish), "We are thankful for the food, and that we have friends we can eat..." WITH! When I got to the end of the sentence, I realized that it was too late for the "with!" I had forgotten to phrase the sentence the ONLY way it works in Spanish, which is "with whom we can eat!" You can get away with saying the "with" at the end in English, but NOT in Spanish. HORROR.

But at that point, there was nothing I could do. So I just had to leave my cannibalistic declaration and move on.

When I was finished, a girl down the table (who I later came to think of as my arch nemesis)/ (of whom I later came to think as my arch nemesis)/ (of whom as my arch nemesis I later came to think) said quietly to her friends, "Did you hear that she said 'friends we can eat'?"

I never volunteered to pray at the Spanish House again.

Thursday, January 14, 2010

This is a problem.

I can never remember if I live on a Way or a Lane. (They kind of sound alike, right?) So when someone asks me my address, I say "45 Spaceship..."* and trail off awkwardly.

Usually it's okay, but then sometimes the person says, "Is that a Street? or a Lane? or what?"

And I say, ".... umm... a... Lane." And I hope I'm right, because there's NO WAY I'm telling them I don't know.

UPDATE: I looked it up on google maps, and I live on a Lane. I should make up a song to remember that. Please tell me if you know any songs about living on a Lane, not a Way.


*Not my real address. Just an example. But wouldn't it be cool if I lived on a street called Spaceship Way or Spaceship Lane?

Friday, January 8, 2010


If you know me, you know I am a football expert. (Sike.) (Psych.) (Not even close.)

But I do have one thing to say about the sport. Actually, all sports.

The worst part of any game shown on TV is when they interview the coach or the players. Here are some examples of what you might hear if you make the mistake of listening to one of these interviews:

Interviewer: Mr. Quarterback, what was going through your head when you scored that game-winning touchdown?
Quarterback: I was thinking, I just need to score this touchdown. Blah, Blah, Blah.

Interviewer: Mr. Receiver, what does it mean to you to have won this game?
Receiver: It means a lot. Blah, Blah, Blah.

Interviewer: Coach, how does it feel to take home the national championship?
Coach: It feels good. Blah, Blah, credit to the other team, Blah.

If I were one of those interviewers, I would feel embarrassed to be asking the same questions over and over again (though I know it's unavoidable). And I would be bored of hearing the same answers over and over again. Do they ever say anything you wouldn't have predicted them saying? No!

So every time one of these interviews comes on, I become obnoxious and start aiming incredulous exclamations at the TV, along with pleas for everyone to stop talking about things that aren't interesting.

I don't think I'm getting anywhere with these requests.