Archive for the ‘Funny Things That Happen To Me’ Category

25 Aug

A (likely incomplete) list of things that are wrong with my car

Posted by Allison | Squirrel Thoughts in Funny Things That Happen To Me.

Haha! But seriously — lemme know about that shit.

  1. Only the front passenger-side window rolls down. When I go to a drive-thru, I have to open my door to give them my order, close it, pull forward, open the door again to pay, close it, put my debit card back in my wallet, wait for them to come back with my food, open the door, take my food, then drive away while trying to ignore the laughter emitting from the car behind me.
  2. Half of the front bumper is missing.  It’s not technically lost, because I know where it is — it’s sitting in my back seat. Apparently a half-inch-deep stream strewn about with pebbles encountered on a hiking trip is too much for a Volkswagen to ford without  falling apart.
  3. The speedometer doesn’t work. That’s right — I’m just wingin’ it out there. If I ever get pulled over for speeding, and the officer asks if I know how fast I was driving, I can honestly reply “I have no idea. Do you?”
  4. Some trim fell off on one side and is stored in my trunk. Next to my fake hazmat suit/backup Halloween costume. Natch.
  5. First gear gets stuck after being in neutral at a stop light. I have to jam it back and forth until it goes in. I’ve heard I look really cool while doing this.
  6. If I leave the sun/moon roof cracked open and turn off the car, it automatically starts closing when I turn the car on again. Once it’s closed, it won’t open again for an undetermined amount of time.
  7. When I start the car, all the doors lock automatically. But the button to unlock them doesn’t work, so people have to pull them up manually (which isn’t as easy as it sounds). Since the lock on the back passenger side door is broken off, the person sitting there is just shit out of luck (this is actually much better than the driver being shit out of luck, though.)
  8. There’s permanent duct tape residue on one side. Once, I was driving around town, and my car just starting falling apart. I  had to glue one of the side panels back on after it fell off in the middle of the road. And I had to secure it with duct tape while the glue dried. My dad, who subscribes to the infamous you-can fix-anything-with-duct-tape philosophy, was really proud.
  9. There appears to be a mystery electrical apparatus hanging from the underside of the driver’s seat. I should probably get that checked out ..

29 Jun

Do you suck at softball? Try The Allison Squires Method For Sucking Slightly Less at Softball!

Posted by Allison | Squirrel Thoughts in Funny Things That Happen To Me, Rants/Tips.

It’s OK. Only everyone here saw.

Hey, you. Yeah, you. The one who just struck out for the third time in your podunk intramural league softball game. I feel your pain. Back in the day, circa 1995-97, I was just as non-awesome at softball as you are. Like, I was really, really bad. I was (am) scared of the ball, and I don’t like doing things I suck at. But my parents wouldn’t let me quit the team, because apparently doing something you suck at over and over again builds character.

It’s clear you’re also not playing because you’re good at it, so I’m sure you have a similarly ridiculous reason for continuing to embarrass yourself (your buddy’s team needed more girls to avert a last-minute forfeit, most likely).

But I’m here to tell you it doesn’t have to be like this. You don’t have to suck this bad. There is another way. And you seem nice enough, so I’m going to let you in on a little secret that will solve all your softball-related woes: The Allison Squires Method for Sucking Slightly Less at Softball. Yes, you heard that right — The Allison Squires Method for Sucking Slightly Less at Softball.

The Allison Squires Method for Sucking Slightly Less at Softball guarantees to bring your strike-out percentage down to 90 percent, if not better. And you know it’s not a scam, because a person has used it with unwavering success. And because it’s on the Internet.

I promise you right now that if you employ the following three tactics in your next game, your days of being known as “The Absolute Last Girl On The List To Call And Hey Wait Charlie’s Kinda Small So Maybe We Can Dress Him Up To Look Like A Chick Instead Oh Wait We Already Tried That And Got Disqualified So Yeah Call Her” will be over:

a) Be really short (under 5 feet, ideally) and crouch your elbows really close to your knees, so your strike zone is as small as possible. This throws the pitcher off, and you’ll have a good shot at getting walked without having to swing the bat once. This has worked for me at least four times. I like to call it “Crouching Squirrel, Hidden Strike Zone.”

2) Bunt. Bunting gets a bad rap because it’s actually pretty lame, so I want to share a little story with you: When I moved up to the 14-and-under league, I was still really awful and always batted last. Plus, I was on a really good team (Western States Insurance: 1997 Helena City Champs! What what! Wait … I sat on the bench for the whole tournament). This only magnified my lack of raw skill and talent.

But one time, the game was on the line, and I was up to bat. There was a runner somewhere on one of the bases. I think. I wasn’t really paying attention. That may have been another factor contributing to my suckiness.

Anyway, I was up to bat, and the coach — who had clown hair and whose intensity far surpassed that required to lead a team of rag-tag middle-schoolers — told me to bunt. So I did, not realizing it was basically to advance the runner, not to get me on base. But the other team was so shocked that I actually made contact with the ball that they couldn’t react in time to throw me out, and the ump called me safe.

Now, the details of what happened next are kind of fuzzy, but I’m pretty sure that my little bunt maneuver won the game for the team, and everyone lifted me over their heads and carried me around the field. It was my one shining moment in kiddie softball. Just like Rudy, but way cooler, because it was me.

(Ironically, my parents — who had attended every single other softball game I played, just to watch me strike out and cower in fear whenever a pop fly headed my way — missed this one.)

I can’t guarantee bunting will work for you, because that I managed to do it successfully that time was pure luck. In fact, my coach told me to do the same thing in the next game, and I struck out. Have you ever seen anyone strike out by bunting? It’s truly shameful. But hey, let’s not pretend you’re not already making an ass out of yourself. What do you have to lose?

d) When all else fails, take advantage of the third-strike drop rule. As in, if the catcher drops the ball on your third strike, you’re technically allowed to make a run for first base. A lot of people don’t know about this rule because it’s rarely invoked in leagues for people 6 and older. But rest assured that 20 percent of the time, it works all the time.

Now, because I truly believe in The Allison Squires Method For Sucking Slightly Less at Softball (and since the rest of us just can’t bear to watch you do this to yourself anymore), I’m going to let you use it, free of charge. You can call and thank me from first base.

7 Jun

Seriously, what the eff is going on in Kalispell?

Posted by Allison | Squirrel Thoughts in Funny Things That Happen To Me.

What is it, Kalispell? Is it the fresh mountain air your residents breathe in while admiring the spectacular view of the Missions from their backyards? Is that what makes the people in your town certifiable loonies?

Case in point:

I’ll apologize right now for the suckiness of my phone pictures. But trust me, there’s a horse there, and it’s using the g.d. cross walk.

Zach and I saw this girl walking a horse through the cross walk of a (relatively) busy street. Perhaps they were simply rehearsing for a new anti-DUI commercial, since apparently we’re encouraging people to drink and ride horses instead of drink and drive in Montana. Or perhaps they were running late for cowboy church, which starts promptly at 5:59.

But come on! This is the kind of thing I get defensive about when I visit other places and tell people I’m from Montana. “Oh, so do you ride a horse to school?” No, moron. It’s not 1850 there. We have cars. And we’ve at least made it to the mid-90s. How do I know this?

This is how:

What’s that? Noooooo, I can’t still rap all the lyrics to “I Wish”! What kind of weirdo could do that? (Editor’s note: She can.)

 

That’s right people. This is not a joke. I repeat: THIS IS NOT A JOKE. Skee-Lo, maker of such a smash hit as “I Wish,” will be at the Kalispell Elks Club for one night and one night only to bedazzle you (that’s right, bedazzle you) with his smooth rendering of “I Wish.” On repeat. Still on repeat. OK, we’ll throw “The Burger Song” in there, too,  just to mix things up. But then it’s back to “I Wish.” And when concertgoers leave, they’ll realize they’ve been magically transported back to 1995. Starter jackets everywhere …

Don’t get me wrong: I love my home state as much as the next born-and-raised Montanan. But man, sometimes …

3 May

Put the razor down. Now.

Posted by Allison | Squirrel Thoughts in Funny Things That Happen To Me, Life and Such.

Last night, a pretty epic Beardpocalypse went down when, after weeks of threatening, Will Ferrell shaved off Conan’s beard on his show. After more than a year with his scraggly addition, Conan’s back to the baby-faced self to which most fans are accustomed.

And I have to admit, I’m a little uncomfortable with it.

For some reason, men shaving off their facial hair really freaks me out.

If this guy shaves, I’m going to LOSE it.

Well, I know the reason, actually. When I was 4 or 5 years old, my mom, after years of begging, finally persuaded my dad to shave off his Ned Flanders-style mustache. But when he first came out of the bathroom to show everyone, I started bawling uncontrollably because I didn’t recognize the “mean man who kind of looks like daddy but isn’t and NO THAT’S NOT MY DADDY WHERE IS MY DADDY?!??!!?!”

From that moment, I couldn’t look at my dad without bursting into tears, and he had to regrow the mustache in order to have a somewhat normal relationship with his daughter. He didn’t shave it off again until I was 17.

Apparently, this incident scarred me for life, because I’ve had a weird issue about men changing their facial hair ever since. It doesn’t have to be someone I’m particularly close to: One time a co-worker, who had sported a beard/mustache combo the entire time I worked with him, walked into the office bare-faced. I did a double-take and shrieked “WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR FACE?!?” at him, in front of everyone. He did not appreciate it.

I thought I’d grown out of it a few months ago when Zach shaved off the tiny bit of goatee remaining on his chin, as I only exclaimed — rather than shrieked — those same words to him. But the Conan incident has me thinking I may never fully recover.

Basically, if you’re a male capable of growing facial hair who might cross paths with me someday, I advise against growing a fu manchu or jackass porn-star-looking mustache. Unless you want me to ask you what’s wrong with your face, you’ll need to sport it for a while.

24 Apr

Easter egg hunts = humanity at its worst

Posted by Allison | Squirrel Thoughts in Funny Things That Happen To Me, Life and Such, Politics/Society/Seriouser Stuff, Rants/Tips, Squirrels/bunnies/mascots. Tagged: , , , , , , , , .

Probably because you pushed him down, you little shit.

“I’m gonna push people out of the way and run over them.”

That’s what a 5-year-old at the egg hunt I planned said to a newspaper reporter yesterday. Apparently, these are the sorts of values I’m instilling in our young people by putting on this event.

I mean, I’m not really into the whole Jesus thing, but I’m pretty sure “pushing people out of the way” and “running them over” weren’t what he had in mind when he sacrificed himself for the good of  the order, or whatever.

And it’s not just the kids who have this mindset at the Eggstravaganza. Many of the parents aren’t afraid to block or push other kids out of the way just so their offspring have a better shot at getting some crappy Easter stickers and diabetes-inducing candy (and, some years, inappropriate tattoos). And apparently, before I took the helm, organizers would put the bike-winning coupons in special gold and silver eggs easily distinguishable from the rest of the field, and — I swear I’m not making this up — some parents would bring binoculars so they could spot these special eggs beforehand and tell their kid where to run.

Simply put, mass Easter egg hunts bring out the worst in humanity.

As you can imagine, this incites some conflicting feelings for me. On the one hand, I’m indoctrinating America’s future with the values of greed and selfishness. On the other hand, it pays the bills. (And hey, at least a convicted sex offender wasn’t arrested at MY egg hunt …)

Fortunately, yesterday’s event was the last that will cause this crisis of conscience plaguing my mind. That’s right, I have  a new job! Well, sort of. One of my co-workers is retiring, and I’m transitioning into her strictly writing/editing position that involves only minimal participation in events. We’ll hire someone else to replace me, and I’ll transfer this crisis onto that poor unsuspecting soul.

I hope whoever that is has the best Easter of their life this year, because it’s going to be a long, loooooong time before they enjoy it again.

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