Blue-Juke

So, the other day, my co-worker Johnathan walks in, obviously frustrated, and says
"We need to make a word for when you think someone is talking to you, but then you realize they're talking to someone else on their Bluetooth!"
Throughout the day he and I were both pondering on the best term we could invent. Some of his original ideas were "Bloothed" or "Blaked" short versions of Bluetoothed, or Bluetooth-Faked. After he presented his ideas to me I threw out some ideas of my own and together we decided on the term:

Blue-Juked!

Juked, of course meaning to be faked out or outmaneuvered in sports like basketball and soccer. Usage would go something like this:
Person A: "Oh, man! The most annoying thing just happened!"
Person B: "What's that?"
Person A: "I totally just got blue-juked!"

or

Person A: "How can I help you?"
Person B: "It's okay, I'm fine."
Person A: "Alright, I'll transfer you now. Please hold."
Person B: "Huh? Are you talking to me?"
Person A: "Oh, sorry, I was accidentally blue-juking you."

One doesn't have to be using a Bluetooth headset for this term to apply. Anytime anyone is on any sort of headset or hands free device, including speakerphone in rare cases, in which passers by may not realize the user is actually on the phone or otherwise engaged in conversation while appearing to be talking to those around them or to themselves.
Even though this term is the product of hard work and obvious genius, anyone is free to use this term at their leisure. You're welcome.

Married Life: Living with a girl, meals for two, and other interesting concepts.

The week before I got married I was sleeping alone in my new apartment. It was kind of scary being in that place all by myself, maybe because I had never lived on my own without any roommates before. Little did I know how quickly this feeling would pass as the walls and rooms of my life would forever be inhabited by the bizarre and mysterious Woman.

One day, as I was preparing the closet to accommodate a second occupant, it dawned on me for the first time that getting married meant, among many other things, having a girl for a roommate. WEIRD! My mind filled the shelves and hooks with all sorts of girly things. Blouses, shoes, scrunchies, jewelry, unmentionables...
Still winded with this new concept, I staggered my way into the bathroom where on the counter a blow dryer and curling iron appeared in my mind's eye, surrounded with- not electric shavers or Axe body spray, but bobby pins, lotions, MORE scrunchies, and pastel colored little containers whose purpose was a complete mystery to me.
I could see my panicked expression reflecting back at me in the mirror as if begging me for an explanation.
"Why is this happening?" the reflection pleaded.
"Calm down, calm down" I assured, "we're going to marry Lindsey in a few days."
"But, all the girly stuff! She's a girl! We're going to live with a GIRL?!"
"Yes, that's right. Lindsey is a girl. A very nice girl. We like her, remember? She's nice." I reasoned. The face in the mirror seemed to soften a little.
"Right... right. She IS nice... Okay."
With one last uneasy glance at the foreign objects on the counter, the reflection took a deep breath of resolve. The face hardened. The reflection was my own again. The counter top once more bare porcelain.

I spent a moment or two standing in the bathroom absorbed with my thoughts. After a short lull, I could feel the lonely scary feeling begin to fall upon me again like chilled snowflakes. With a shiver I shook it off before it could really settle. I felt like if I kept moving I could keep it from weighing down too much on my shoulders.

Upon getting to the kitchen, I opened the refrigerator mechanically. The fridge looked a lot smaller on the outside, but the mostly empty jug of milk gave the otherwise barren interior a cavernous feel. I wondered if having a wife would result in different refrigerator contents that those which came with living with other men.
I wasn't hungry, but I threw together a peanut butter a jam sandwich anyways.


I lost all my steam. Plus I've been writing this at work between copying and pulling charts. So, I should end here for now. By the way, most of the above is fictionalized, except maybe for how I felt. Meh, whatever.

New Job!

A week or so ago, a friend of mine called me up, knowing I was looking for work. He informed me that since he was leaving for his mission, his job would be available. I followed that lead and found myself employed at a Cardiovascular Clinic as a medical record office worker.

I've very grateful for this job but it is very boring. I'm in charge of taking patients' charts that are requested by doctors in other clinics, copying parts of them, re-sorting them, and stashing the originals away never to be seen again. I perform this task over and over again each day.

This week, to make things more interesting, I proposed a competition with one of my co-workers, Annette. She does the same thing I do, but a little more, and she works more hours than I do. The challenge is to see who, between the two of us, can copy more charts by the end of this week. We each have our strategies and edges. I am clearly at a disadvantage, being "the new guy" whereas Annette has been doing this for years. She also has more hours than I do to complete this task (10 more hours this week, to be exact!). But this is ALL I do and she has various tasks to complete.

As of my lunch break today, I am at 18 charts while Annette is at 10. But the day is only half over and it is only Monday. Much too soon to tell who the winner will be. As extra incentives, we have agreed that whomever is in the lead gets to decide what music to listen to, which means we're listening to my Death Cab for Cutie station on Pandora. Also, the loser at the end of the week must purchase for the winner an inexpensive candy item of the winner's choosing. I'm looking forward to my bag of peanut M&Ms.