Antique Crazy

Poster Child For The Ridiculous

Proceed at your own risk. Pointless drivel and digression ensues.


* * * * *


If there were a poster child for the ridiculous, it would be me.  I don’t go looking for the ridiculous, it just seems to find me.


For example, one morning last week, I got trapped in my laptop because I took the rug out of my office.


Digression:  A while back I took the rug that was in my office and put it in the bedroom because I needed a rug in my bedroom.  I originally purchased this rug for the bedroom, but then I needed it for the office.  And then I needed it for the bedroom again.  This rug, it has commitment issues. 


My plan is to get another rug for my office, but like the 29-jillion other things that need to be done around this house, it’s only gotten as far as being so noted on the list of things that need to be done.  It’s not actually on an actual list, per se, in actual ink. It’s on the list that is in my head, the one that is written in disappearing ink.  (Maybe I should get this rug?)


At any rate, to make a short and pointless story long and pointless, on that particular morning, I was sitting in my office, no doubt composing something brilliant to over-share with the world wide web when I got the warning that the battery was low on my laptop.  So I scooted to the edge of my chair and closed the lid of my laptop juuust enough so that if I sat up tall on the edge of my seat, I could lean over juuust enough to see behind it to the itty bitty hole where the plug goes. 


Yet another digression:  Are computers not the most temperamental high maintenance PMSy things ever invented? Do they not just flake out for no good reason?  Are they not just made of plastic and estrogen, sort of like an aging Hollywood starlet??  I think so.


And because I began this whole operation precariously perched on the edge of my chair to begin with, and because I’m leaning forward over my desk, and because I no longer have a rug in my office, my chair starts rolling backwards and away from my desk on the slick hardwoods.  As I roll away from my desk, so does my center of gravity.  And before I realize it, my chin begins to bear down on the lid of the laptop as the back half of me rolls away — and oh yes, small detail, smashing my fingers which are located between the screen and the keyboard.  


So then, to help you visualize the scene:  My chin, my fingers, my laptop and my desk are on one side of the room, while my behind, which is firmly planted in my chair, is on the other side of the room.  And I can neither move to nor fro.


Because my torso is now parallel to the floor and stretched to its elastic limit, I can’t stand up.  And I’m terrified to put my feet to the ground, because even though I’m not a student of physics, I get the sense that if I lean forward more than a centimeter? My chair will tip forward and dump me like a cheatin’ boyfriend.


So then.


In order to stand up or roll forward, I have to bear down the full force of my weight, through my chin, onto the laptop lid which is holding my fingers hostage.  I am imagining at that moment that I must look a little like Olga Korbut on the balance beam in the opening shots of ABC’s Wide World of Sports. Only I’m not doing that goofy shakey smile for the camera, but I do have lopsided bangs.  (I realize that reference is probably too obscure for most of you who were not yet born in 1972 and remain unawares of the thrill of victory or the agony of defeat.  And yet I can’t stop myself.) 


Just then I hear beeeeeeeep boop which translates to BUH-bye!  My computer laughed snidely in my face and then died.  Oh phooey! I say — or something similar to that.


I am left with no options.  The computer gods must exact their pound of flesh, specifically the flesh that is wrapped around my fingers.  So I give in, sacrifice my fingers and pull myself up. By my chin. 


I then jump quickly to my feet, and clad in my hot pink chenille robe, I do the silent scream while hopping around and shaking my bruised and battered fingers like a crazy Indian in some bizarre ceremonial campfire dance.


And that is the picture I’m going to submit for the poster. 



45 thoughts on “Poster Child For The Ridiculous

  1. ha ha ha ha ha! Thank you for that great mental image! 🙂 I especially liked the part about computers being made of plastic and estrogen just like an aging Hollywood starlet! *snicker*

  2. You need one of those surveillance videos mounted above your work desk to capture fine moments like this. Then you could submit it to “Worlds funniest Videos” and be declared not only best blogger, but funniest; Now thats what I’m talking about !

  3. ….except (Jim) the survelillance would most likely have been connected to the computer, and then would’ve died along w/computer. Humiliation and frustation, now there’s a way to start a day.

    I got he Olga reference and want to know why you didn’t back flip (or something similar) out of your chair?

  4. ROFL.. reminds me of your ipod story. They both had me in tears and hubby wondering what I was smoking.

    Hello, by the way, nice to meet you and your beautiful family 🙂

  5. Oh you make me laugh.And I am laughing at you, not with you and at the same time I am laughing at myself.Of course the endorphins that are being released are ricocheting all over my little office and spreading through the playroom and into the dining room and oh – wait now the kids are laughing too!I think the cat is smiling…no that is a smirk, but the dog is definitely rolling on the floor with laughter. Thank you for a great start to my day, over here acros the pond!

  6. I remember the ’72 olympics. Olga Korbut, and later Nadia Komaneci (sp?). My office chair rolled out from under me and dumped me on my poor knees a couple of months ago. He’s fairly new and we had a budding romance, but we’re kind of at a standstill right now while I wait to see if he’s gonna betray me again.

  7. Too funny! ThanX for making this insomniac chuckle. (Ever notice the similiar spellings of insomniac chuckle and maniacal cackle)? Me neither. I’m going to bed now…

  8. Those are the times when I am grateful I was alone and with no surveillance cameras in the house. Sometimes I still blush with embarrassment, even though I was alone (then you know it was REALLY awful)!

  9. Oh! My! Goodness! I haven’t laughed that hard, out loud, all week! I could just see the scene developing as you wrote! Hysterical!!!

  10. “My chair will tip forward and dump me like a cheatin’ boyfriend.” Great line…except unlike the chair, you didn’t need that cheatin’ boyfriend anyway!

  11. And there goes my Starbucks. Again. Although I must say that spewing beverages through my nose is now becoming somewhat of an art form for me. Oh the intricate designs and whimsical patterns that just appear on my screen….I’m a veritable Jackson Pollack.

    And to think, that talent might have remained forever dormant if I hadn’t stumbled on to your blog. The mind, it boggles.

  12. Thank you. I love that you weren’t clad in Anne Taylor for this escapade (okay, your pink chenille might be, I guess) and more than anything, I love that you sharedit with us.

  13. Antique Mommy, you are too funny. Your chair must be related to my chair, cause one day at work I stood up to reach something, my chair rolled back, I sat where I thought the chair should be, and ended up on the floor on my back like a spastic turtle! I quickly scanned the area to see if anyone saw, but thank goodness no one did.
    I’m curious how you deal with having no thyroid gland. I have Hashimoto’s Disease and am just getting the meds figured out, but I can see it’s not going to be easy. Email me at if you’d like.
    Thanks, Laura

  14. Poor you… And I assume that all this was done without the intake of wine. Please tell me that you had one afterwards, for medicinal needs of course.)

  15. I thought I was the only one who was able to do something like that. I feel better knowing that I am not.

  16. Having at various times cut off the end of my braid with a paper cutter, fallen down a 10-ft hole, slammed my hair in the hood of the car after checking the oil (hood release on the inside of the car), and shut my thumb in a folding knife while falling off a ladder, I can sympathize. Resistentialism: the belief that inanimate objects are out to get you.

  17. A digression to match your own. . .

    When you mentioned Olga Korbut I was like, “Who?”. . .but when you began to describe her particular pose, my mind flipped through its rolodex of images, and there she was. . .all limber and smiling on the console color t.v. my parents bought when I was 8. And the music was playing as was Jim McKay’s voice. (And my polyester clothes were scratching against me.) She. Was. There. Etched forever in my memory. When I am 90 and riddled with altzheimers, she will still be clearly etched in my mind–along with the poor dude who catupulted himself down the ski slope.

    And “the one that is written in disappearing ink” might well be one of the greatest lines EVER written regarding motherhood’s affects on one’s brain.

    Sorry about your fingers. (blows air kiss your way)

  18. Oh man, just read Monique’s comment above mine. She doesn’t have a link for me to go and leave a comment on her website, but Monique–honey–you are TOO much. That is HILARIOUS–I’m blowing an air kiss to you too.

  19. I too remember the wide world of sports! Yikes, guess that dates me – born in 1964.
    There are going to always be things that need done and those that never get done. I am impressed with the rug story – in your office and bedroom.
    I so sypathize and relate to your descriptive and very funny post!
    I hope you are all right!

  20. You are too funny. I remember that Olga Korbut face. Poor girl probably broke many many bloodvessels in her face doing that! I’d love to see a picture of her today – she probably looks 105.

  21. The sad thing is that I too have had a chair roll out from under me…while holding a laptop…and coffee.

    I am always grateful I do not have security (or stupidity) cameras.

    You made me laugh, you Olga Korbut, you.

    I give you all “10’s!”

  22. But you WROTE about it all so gracefully, you see, and that is what makes all the difference.

    I don’t have any wheeled chairs in my house. I’m in touch with my frailties and know for sure they’d be nothin’ but trouble for me.

  23. OH, you poor thing! That must have hurt.
    I feel for you and your painful fingers.

    You do keep us entertained with all your
    antics and Sean’s. I bet AD is happy you
    don’t write much about him!

    Betty in Oklahoma

  24. I loved Olga. She was so darn perky, petite and graceful. Everything I wasn’t. And yes, I am old enough to have seen it live and not just in the history books. Next time this happens you need to have AD take a picture of you, that would be perfect.

  25. HaHa!! You are so funny! I can just picture you in your office with your chin on you laptop…great word pictures!!

    I love the phrase “dump me like a cheatin’ boyfriend.”

    I will stand in awe and clap at the wordsmithing of AM.

    *clap* *clap*

  26. Oh, my….this is some story….and sounds like something that would happen to me!

    I love the plastic and estrogen thing, too….it does explain my computer’s PMS-ey-ness.

  27. Now, wasn’t that short lived pain worth all the endorphins you released in us, your readers, as we laughed heartily at your mishap? ;-Þ

  28. I thought, how the heck could she get trapped INSIDE her laptop? It must be typo! And then I kept reading, and discovered, that you can indeed get trapped inside a laptop. Thanks for the imagery!

  29. Best line ever, ” my chair will dump me like a cheating boyfriend. ” That is my new catch phrase.

    Funny, funny stuff.

  30. Wow! To be able to describe that so wonderfully after the trauma of the event! You are fabulous! (I think I’ll rethink the purchase of a laptop.)

  31. ROTFL!!! What is the ridiculousness of life, if not blog fodder?!?

    I’m glad you beat me to the poster spot. I come up with some doozies, but none that compare to your . . . I don’t really know what to call it. I just know that you have a gift for telling stories in a very hilarious fashion.

    Thank you for sharing your gift of hilarity and ridiculousness! 😀

  32. I laughed so hard I almost cried. And my poor baby sitting on my lap didn’t quite know what to think! It even drew my hubby from the basement to see what was so funny. Do you know how hard it is to read something that funny without laughing??

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