Tag Archives: humor

A nice reminder.

Weston & I decided to get away for the weekend. We wanted to go to Ojai, CA. He used to live there, and I wanted to visit… so we thought we’d hop in the car around 4:30 after work, stop somewhere and pick up food & gas, and be at the Best Western Casa Ojai by midnight, no problem. Wrong. We started our trip late, because neither of us left work on time. We weren’t able to get away until almost 6:00, so we were feeling antsy and wanted to get on the road FAST. We decided to stop in Stockton and pick up the food and gas, and we settled on RedBrick pizza (VERY tasty thai chicken pizza), picked up the pizzas to go, and got back on the road. (The clever observer will notice a small – but important – detail at this point.) We had some nice conversations, ate our delicious pizza, and were cruising merrily along on southbound I-5 (if you would like to see approximately where, just type “panoche junction” into teh googlemaps) when the car did something funny.

“The car is doing something funny,” I said.
“Funny-ha-ha?” asked Weston.

The needle on the speedometer was going down, down, down, and I was pushing on the gas pedal, trying to get it to go back up when Weston made an observation. “Um… We’re out of gas.”


It was a small mistake. One minor oversight. But it took us 3 hours to correct it. See, in order to call for roadside assistance, you have to know where you are. We didn’t have any idea. A nice trucker stopped by and tried to help us while we were walking to find a mile marker. I couldn’t understand him very well, but Weston figured out what he was trying to tell us. We went back to the car and called for help.

At 4:30 a.m., we pulled in to the Best Western, which was as welcome a sight as I’ve ever, ever seen. The hotel is lovely. Everything was ready for us. We slept, and now we’re off to wander Ojai. We’re going to visit the ice cream shop – I’ve heard Julia Ormond gets her ice cream there. But today, I will be paying attention to the small things. Sometimes they’re important.

My new BFF.

I think I’ve found my soulmate.  Her name is Tiffany/Amber/Megan/Nicole. Yeah, I’m pretty sure we’re soulmates, except that (A) I don’t believe in soulmates, because I follow the prophet, and (B) I’m not gay (see above).

How do I know we’re soulmates?

“I love diet coke. But more than that, I love to talk (and blog) about how I know it’s a WAY bad habit and I’m trying to cut back so I pretend that I only have one can a day. For some unknown reason, I love pretending a sugar-free soda is meth.”


Every girl’s dream.


I went to Jack-in-the-Box today.  (No, that’s not the “every girl’s dream” part.)  I got an Acapulco salad with grilled chicken.  I squeezed one wedge of lime onto my salad, and another wedge into my diet Coke.  I listened to some other people’s conversations, and ate my salad, and listened some more, sent a text message.

Then I looked up, and a well-dressed, tall man was standing next to my table.

“Hi!  What’s your name?”

“Shauna.  And yours?”

“I’m John.”

“Nice to meet you, John.”

“You’re beautiful.  Let’s get married.”

“Thank you!  No.”

“We’d have some beautiful-[redacted] babies, I’m telling you.  Can I have your number.”

“No, sorry.”

“No?!  Why not?”

“Um, I have a boyfriend.”

“Honey, he might not be the right one for you, you know what I’m sayin’?  Come on, please?”

“Thank you, I’m flattered!   No.  Bye!”

Little did I know that if I would just go into the restaurant instead of going through the drive-thru all the time, my lunch breaks would be a lot more interesting…