Bin There, Recycled That - The Honesty of January 
(If stress is garbage, I've...)
Bin There, Recycled That!
Non-toxic tips to recycle your stress, reduce negativity, and repurpose your life.
"Nothing is ever so bad that it can't get worse!"

Gattuso's Extension of Murphy's Law from

Murphy's Law: 26th Anniversary Edition

Talk about recycling our garbage...

A few tree needles on the carpet are all that remain of the magical season. Many resolutions are broken and the shiny new year was tarnished by Tucson. I don't want to be 'Bobbe Bummer', I just call it what it is. It's a tough world out there, and sometimes, you just need to laugh. If you found last issue's rendition of the devil dishwasher amusing, here's an update. Still no dishwasher, but we're getting closer! The story's awash with irony. Pun intended. Last week, the devil spewed water again. How is this possible with the water value closed? 'Tis beyond comprehension. Thankfully, the kids' winter break was a month long, so they were still home and mopped up the smelly water. Feeling quite helpless, frustrated, and furious with the situation, I found myself very agitated at work the next day, so I vented in a firm -and colorful- email  to my husband. I find this therapeutic when I'm too angry to talk sensibly. Hitting "send" felt amazing, and my mood improved. I sited three obstacles that perhaps stood between the devil and Jeff: time, money, or desire, and my solution to each. Was it time? Hire the sucker out. Money? Home Equity Loan. Rates were never better and I DO work at a bank. Desire? Just say the word and I'll do the appliance shopping. Turns out, he was waiting for the holidays to end. But by waiting, the mystery revealed itself. Our son, Nick, began grinding and dehydrating meat of every creature they'd hunted this fall, to make jerkey. In his cleanup, the scraps naturally went into the garbage disposal. Jeff figured out that this is the proverbial straw and because he understands plumbing a little more than I do. "There are two things you NEVER put down a disposal: raw meet and vomit." Who knew? Apparently, we've abused our dishwasher with other, less vile, things for years, and the raw meat, was the thing that caused the disposal hose's aneurism to burst.  Nick, feeling like the heel, of the family boot, soon felt like the hero, for helping to resolve the mystery for why we kept watering our carpeting. If he hadn't disposed of  meat, we might have gotten a new dishwasher only to find out it wasn't the dishwasher at all!


On Tuesday, after Friday's manifesto, the bank president calls me to his office and shuts the door. What are the chances that on the very day I hit the "vent & send" button" to Jeff, our tech department (IT) turns on a trial run of our new intrusion policy. It reports employees to management who are using company computers for personal use. Two samples are given to him for review. One was about a Super Bowl pool. Big deal. The other was my dishwasher. I am busted over the stinking dishwasher! Guilty. So guilty. I should have been embarrassed and remorseful. Instead, I surprised us both and began laughing hysterically. In the President's office. Because this is the FINISH(T) of the CASCADE(T) of stress I have harbored for a month. I desperately tried to explain to him, the humor in the situation. In trying to resolve one situation, I created a much more serious one...putting my employment at risk. I feel like the poster child for workplace policy violation. While we may think it's garbage, it has to be in place. I keep thinking of some past, personal emails, that I'd sent or received at work, and how it could've been so much worse! So I do the one thing that everyone who knows me, expects me to do. I take it all as a sign to lighten up. I also take it as a song:

"Hi Ho"

Hi ho, hi ho,  

our dishwasher isn't broke. 

It was the hose of the garbage  

dispos(al). Hi ho, hi ho, hi ho,

Hi ho, hi ho,

It's off to work I go,

Reprimanded for use

of the company tools,

I won't no more.

(It's not grammatically correct, but, it fit, okay?)

Bottom line?

Laugh. Learn. Let go.


 P.S. It is a sad day as I bid farewell to my readers at work who I have removed from this mailing list, lest they or I get tagged (again) for personal emails. Some employees feel publications like this help keep morale up. Others justify it that sometimes they just need a "Mental Moment." (Thanks Stacy!) If your workplace applies a similar policy, just subscribe from your home email! I don't want to lose you! bw


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A New Year's toast to your health!




Last week was  my maintenance  week. On 1/11/11, I had a colonoscopy. That was fun. The best part was the cheeseburger, fries and coke Korey and I had on the way home! After lunch, my daughter took me to get new glasses, ignoring the instruction that one should never make purchases of any amount after sedation. They aren't kidding. (Did I really pick these out? Really?) I suggested an oil change for the car after that, but she hinted that one of us having our oil changed that day -so-to-speak-  was probably enough and took me directly home so I could finish my Christmas cards. Yes, I'm late, so what? There are no rules.  On 1/13/11, I had a mammomgram in the a.m. I always have it on 1/13, because that is also the date that our Kenmore Vacuum has it's annual checkup. It helps me anchor the date to do both. You see, one pushes, the other pulls, so it's easy to remember. As I entered the dressing room for the human garage door that would soon descend upon my chest, was it any coincidence that Marvin Gaye was crooning "Sexual Healing" on the speakers? I think not. I mentioned to the breast tech that I longed for the day when they could compress both breasts with one lowering of their garage door instead of 4 times/views. Better yet, how about if TSA, at all airports, offers mammograms as part of their full body screening? What a time saver for those who fly! 

I picked up my vacuum yesterday, and it got a good report. Hopefully, I will too. lf this is your week, month, or year for medical maintenance, tackle it with zest, as distasteful as the procedure may be. 



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Bobbe White
Try Laughter! Inc.