The Junk Drawer

Greetings from Bag Land! Some of you have been wondering how our beloved plastic bag is doing stuck in the tree outside my building. Here you go!

There has been little movement since it first landed there 111 days ago. I do check on it every day, despite having moved to a new office in my building. I’m only one floor away from my old office, so don’t worry, I can still see it whenever I’m curious.

About a month ago, I had two opportunities to try and get the bag out. Once when window washers were cleaning windows, using a vehicle that had an expandable ladder that might have reached the bag. Then later, some workmen were putting up outdoor tents for an event. The machine they used would have easily reached the top of this tree.

I declined to ask the men for assistance for three reasons: 1) I didn’t want to be known as the crazy lady who cares about a stupid bag, 2) They had more important work to do, and 3) A couple people whose opinions I sought said I should let the bag come out naturally, especially since there is a contest involved.

New readers may want to catch up on the bag story. This is where it made its first appearance. Here’s the story about how the bag got there. And this post was an update that includes video.

Among those who entered my little contest, 14 of you are still in the running. However, many guessed dates this summer, so your chances of winning are growing slimmer and slimmer.

Let me ask everyone now: If I get another opportunity to get the bag out, should I take it?

Like this post? Toss me a vote for the funniest blog at Humor-Blogs.com!

These are trying times. Kathy has no words. A whopping ten drafts in her queue and nothing worthy of posting.

I think if I don’t post something today, nothing will ever get posted again, the Junk Drawer will close shop and you guys will loiter outside wondering what the hell happened.

I have to get something on the page to kick start me out of this funk I’m in.

Come back in a couple days if this post bores you to tears. I’m about to tell you about my weekend:

1. I fell asleep on the couch at 5PM yesterday and awoke at 8PM thinking it was the next day already. I slept hard. I even had full, movie-length dreams. In one of them, I was standing in a reception line at a political function, holding hands with Henry Kissinger. Discuss.

2. I worked all day Saturday, brought a lunch, but ate it before 10AM. So the rest of the day I took from the other junk drawer in my life and gave myself a headache, a stomachache and left work on such a sugar high I don’t remember how I got home.

3. My husband cleaned the bathrooms, God bless him, but broke the toilet seat off one of the toilets. How is this possible? Broke an entire toilet seat off its hinges? Men, if you’re going to help clean the house, don’t do it in the manner you would, say, play football. Cleaning a toilet needn’t be a race nor a destructive act. It just needs to be wiped down — gently.

4. In the process of preparing to send DrowseyMonkey her prize magnet for having the fattest head, I got sidetracked researching whether I can mail it with U.S. postage or if I have to take it to the post office to get international postage put on it. I tried Googling for the answer to this simple question, but could not find a satisfactory one. I’m too embarrassed to ask Drowsey, so I’ll just head to the post office tomorrow where I’m sure a clerk there will tell me what a moron I am.

5. I didn’t have the energy to fix something that’s been bugging me for a month. Our wall clock is stuck at 4 o’clock. We don’t know why because the batteries are fine. The pendulum below the clock face continues to swing to and fro. I meant to check on why it’s malfunctioning, but now I’m getting really used to it being 4 o’clock all the time. Four happens to be my favorite number, so I’m keeping it.

6. Since I took such a long nap yesterday, I couldn’t get to sleep until midnight last night. But my body always, always gets up between 4AM-5AM, which means I’m running on fumes right now. I’m sorry. This is the kind of post you get on fumes.

Forgive me for having to post such lame material, but this was the prescription for funkitis and it had to be done. Pray I’m funkless tomorrow.

Night.

Back in November, I laughed through a post by one of my favorite bloggers, Cardiogirl. She wrote about her experience working in a fast-food restaurant as a teenager and how she had to wear a hat as part of her uniform.

Only one problem. She says, “I hate wearing hats. I do not have a hat face. I do not have a hat head. I don’t look good in hats and I will gladly let my ears succumb to frostbite in the midst of winter.”

I dropped her a comment that I didn’t have a hat head either, which made wearing a ridiculous cowboy hat as part of my restaurant uniform all the more humiliating.

I told her about my goofy hat and vowed to search high and low for the one picture in existence showing me in the uniform, complete with hat, in all its splendor.

Cardiogirl, this one’s for you!

Big Fat Head, Circa 1982

Here’s the thing about the hat and my big, fat head. This hat was issued to me on the day of my orientation. The manager pulled out a few hats for me to try on and none of them fit. None of the women’s hats fit. God bless her, she was so nice to me.

Kathy, it doesn’t seem that any of these fit. Let’s try some others.

She went over to men’s uniform boxes and pulled out a gigundo hat that would fit only me and Charlie Brown.

Here, try this one.

Practically sobbing, I tried on the hat and it fit. Sorta. I knew in my heart I could probably have worn an even larger one, but I decided to make do with the one I was given. There was no way I was going to try on anything larger or I’d have to quit the job I hadn’t even started yet.

But here’s the confusing thing. You know damn well that when I sat down to write this, I had to measure my head to know once and for all how fat it is.

It’s not!

According to several sources, the average circumference of a woman’s head is 22.5 inches. Mine is slightly over average, at 23 inches. I have to say I was really surprised. Only two things could explain why I had to wear a men’s hat as a teen. One, my head was larger in 1982 and shrank since then, or two, my head is so seriously misshapen that it just won’t wear a hat very well. I’m going with #2.

Now here’s a little contest for you: If anyone — family members excluded — can name the restaurant I worked at based on the above picture, I’ll send you a Junk Drawer magnet. It might be tough because I believe the restaurant went out of business sometime in the mid-90s and may have been located only on the East Coast, United States.

Let’s make it two contests! Women only. Go measure your head and whoever has the fattest head gets a prize, too. Of course, you may not want to admit your achievement, but if nothing else, you’ll have my sympathies. No lying just to get a magnet. I have it on good authority they’re becoming collector’s items.

For those following the Plastic Bag Adventure, I thought I’d update you with a picture today. I want you to know I’ll do anything for you guys.

I stood on the roof of my building to get a closer shot. Yes, there is a wall that kept me from falling to my death, but that didn’t make me feel any safer up there. I stopped taking pictures when my legs got weak.

Wal-mart Bag: Stuck 47 days and counting

I went a step further and filmed it flapping in the wind. It’s a breezy day here in Eastern Pennsylvania, but that doesn’t seem to be helping our little friend get out of its branchy clutches.

Some of you are out of the running for the contest. I’m sorry, but I warned you it would be a while. I’m still guessing November, 2009, and it wouldn’t surprise me if it took longer than that. Good luck to whoever’s still in the game!

As you all know, lots of stuff bothers me. What’s killing me now? This bag.

It got caught in a tree outside my office almost three weeks ago. I can’t help but notice it every time I pass a window that faces it. When I point it out to others, expecting shock horror, I just get “Yeah? It’s a bag in a tree.”

OK, so I’ll admit that I’m the only one in my building who’s bothered by this. I’m going to be seeing it for days, weeks and months to come, so we might as well have some fun with it.  I’ve decided to turn this into a little contest.

If you can guess closest to the day the bag escapes its branchy prison, you’ll win a prize! Simply leave the date in the comments box. You must give an exact date (month, day and year — yes, year, because it could be that long). The prize will be a set of magnets or mousepad with the Junk Drawer logo on it (your choice).

p.s. To my sister, Ann of the Shampoo Bag, the bag is from your favoritist store in the whole wide world! Another reason to hate “The Big W.”

Addendum, 4/18: If you’re interested in knowing how the bag got here, check out the back story over here. Just a warning — it’s heartbreaking.