Frandol Lyrics

For those of you who speak French, have you heard Frandol's album Oulipop? I think he has another album out now, but I don't have it, so I'm just going to tell you how great Oulipop is. Here are some lyrics from the song "L'un contre l'autre":

tu m'as, je t'ai, tu m'as plu, te t'ai plu,
tu m'as, je t'ai, c'est bon des bras
tu m'as, je t'ai on savait dès le début
qu'on s'enlacerait toi et moi....

tu m'as jeté, tu n'm'as plus, je n't'ai plus,
tu m'as jeté, bon débarras,
tu m'as jeté, on savait dès le début
qu'on s'en lasserait toi et moi

Clever, non? Don't you wish you could write like that? I certainly do.

It's Not Gettin' Me

D. was out sick today. My neighbor and friend was sick all weekend. JLR has been feeling a little iffy. But they're not getting me! Whatever they've all been sick with, I'm. Not. Going. To. Get. It. I have my sanitizing hand wipes (for cleaning off doorknobs and anything else they touch) at the ready. I am determined.

Charlie and the Chocolate Factory

When the new version of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory was released, I wasn't too keen to see it. The main reason was because I was never fond of the original. I don't like stories about stupid, badly-behaved children, and my feelings on the matter were the same when I was little girl. I may have mentioned this before, but we watched a movie instead of going to recess whenever it rained, and Charlie and the Chocolate Factory stands out in my memory as being the one watched the most. It rains a lot in Memphis (where I'm from). Having had more than my fill of that dadgum movie, I wasn't eager to see the new version. The preview looked mildly amusing, though (I particularly enjoyed when Willie Wonka says "I don't care" in response to a comment from one of the kids; it's what I usually want to say to children, too), so I considered going to see it until I saw a large billboard advertisement. The ad looked strangely reminiscent of another movie. I will give you a hint.
























There's an even stronger resemblance when you look at it like this.






















See what I mean?

Candy

Spent much of today thinking about the neighbor's large bowl of candy and wondering how I can get some.

When Do I Stop Being Busy? When?

Now that the fair is over, I thought I was supposed to have less work to do, not more.

What gives?

Um...Okay

Just had this conversation with Deals:

I asked her if I could eat lunch with her, or would she rather eat alone?

She assured me that, "as human beings, [lunch] tends to be a social activity, reminiscent of running in packs like dogs, but different."

Right. I guess that means she doesn't mind if I eat lunch with her?

Incident Report, 10/11/05

1. Ran in to doorway.
2. Banged hand on metal cart.
3. Banged hand on table.

For JLR

A bullet?

That's What the Fair's All About

Yesterday I met the third-place winner for the hand-crank ice cream contest. Cool.

Incident Report, 10/7/05

1. Ran in to door on way to get water.
2. Ran in to door on way back from getting water.
3. Ran in to doorway.

And the other day, I accidentally keyed my own car.

Fried Cheesecake

This is not a new fair food item, but it is the first year I've been able to afford to buy it. I liked it. It was 10 coupons, which is a bit steep, and 2 coupons more for the strawberry sauce, but I really enjoyed it. It was very rich, though, so it wouldn't hurt to split it with someone.

Cheddar Sweet Potato French Fries (Fair Food Reviews, Continued)

I liked them much better than did JLR. The fries came topped with, I believe, brown sugar, which JLR didn't care for. They also came with a side of ranch, which she did care for, as did I.

I liked them, but I don't believe I'd pay 7 coupons for them again. Like the fried apple taco, I liked them enough to buy them again but not if I have to pay for them myself. I have a limited budget, after all.

[Aside to JLR: Sweet Maui Onion!]

Chicken 'n biscuit

It was good. Sooooo good. Chicken and biscuit, two of my favorite things. Plus honey!

(three coupons each)

Grilled Cheese Sandwich

Not nearly as good as the ones I make at home (and not freshly made, either), but for only 3 coupons, it's a sweet Fair Food deal.

Fried Apple Taco

Good. Like the White Chocolate Bread Pudding (henceforth WCBP), it errs on the side of bland, but it's still a tasty treat. Don't know if I would again spend 8 coupons on it, but I'm glad to have had it once. If I had someone to share it with, I would be glad to spend 4 coupons. Also, as a good sign that part of it (I'm not sure which part) was freshly made, I had to wait a couple of minutes for it to be ready. Tasted better than the WCBP.

Tagged by Amstaff Mom

I was tagged by Amstaff Mom.

"I refrained from asking him why he didn't pull the file in the first place."

I don't know five other people in blogworld who haven't already been tagged.

One Down, Eight to Go

White Chocolate Bread Pudding

Good (if a bit bland), too rich for one person to eat. Very hot. Burnt tongue.

(see http://impatientchicken.blogspot.com/)

Have You Ever Had This Conversation with Yourself?

Quit talking to yourself! Just. Quit. Doing. It.

Oh, For Pity's Sake, Will You Clean off theToilet Seat? Please?

More on this later. Maybe.

Too Fat for My Pants

It's going to be an uncomfortable day.

Deals Out This Week

Deals is on vacation this week. I wouldn't expect any new posts from her until at least next week, if I were you. That way, if she posts something sooner, you'll be pleasantly surprised.

Well, Shiver Me Timbers, It's Talk Like a Pirate Day!

Ahoy, there, mateys! Today (Sept. 19) is Talk Like a Pirate Day. Yippee!!

To learn the basics, go to http://www.talklikeapirate.com/.

Go to http://www.talklikeapirate.com/howtogerman.html to learn how to talk like a pirate in German!!!!!

My Apologies to Mr. Kitchen

It's Michael Kitchen, not Kitchens.

When Being Helpful Backfires

Sometimes, when we try to help someone, it blows up in our faces. This is especially common among children (or at least the children in my family), as they don't usually have or understand all the information needed to make a good decision.

For example, one time my brother and sister and I (when we were about 10 and 7 years old, respectively) decided to wash my mom's car for her, the car my mom hadn't had for very long. We wanted to make it very clean, so we used what mom used to clean the tub. Softscrub with bleach. The paint job on that car was never quite the same after that, and since we didn't have any money to fix the problem, poor Mom had to drive the car that way. Then, when we got to high school, JLR and I got to drive it.

When my brother was a little tyke, he covered our parents' new sofa in Vaseline. You know, to make it shiny.

How about you? Have you ever been this kind of helpful?

How to Deal with Stress

I think I could handle being at the grocery store much better if Kevin Max would sing my grocery list. Yep, if his beautiful voice were to whisper in my ear "you need bread, milk, and granola bars," I'd enjoy the grocery store much more.

Also, if Michael Kitchens could provide the narrative everytime I'm on hold, I'd probably actually believe it when whatever corporation I'm holding for insisted that my call was important and that I should remain on the line. In fact, I'd probably want to stay on hold. Mr. Kitchens has such a pleasant way of speaking.

Blinky blinky blink

Deals has jury duty today, so if you're looking for a new post from her...stop looking. It's not going to happen.

She is, however, able to send me text messages on my cell phone. I've counted 9 so far (as of 10 A.M.).

More on Wally

It's true. I'm one of those women. I love my cats. I have decided, therefore, to post pictures of them from time to time so that you all can pretend that you love them, too (no negative posts allowed!).

Wally likes to cuddle. Wally also likes to chew on toes. I don't know why.

Wally as a Lightbulb?

JLR thinks that Wally is beginning to look like an upside-down lightbulb.

Wallis Olivia, Mutated Behavior

My cat Wally and I used to have a certain nighttime ritual of which I was—shall we say?—not so fond. Every night, I would crawl in to bed, turn on the lamp on my night stand, and settle in to read my Bible. Then Wally would come strolling in to the room, jump on the night stand, deposit himself on my alarm clock, and blink at me, purring. It was really cute. The problem was that he would also "knead" his paws. This activity, invariably, reset my alarm or my clock or, if he was especially productive, both. My attempts to shoo him off of the alarm clock (still purring) only encouraged him to rub the side of his face on my lamp shade, the force of which often knocked the alarm clock off of the table. He also was partial (accidentally, or so he claims) to knocking my water glass off the night stand. If he had a good night, he could knock over the water glass, the lamp, and the alarm clock. Water and electricity, oh boy. Because Wally is not often bright enough to connect punishment with bad behavior on his part, attempts to deter this nighttime behavior were not successful. As it turns out, the only effective way to get him to leave the night stand was to turn off the lamp. For some reason, when the lamp went out, he was no longer interested. Perhaps he figured out that if the lamp was out, I was going to sleep and would no longer be available to pet him. Whatever the reason, it worked, and I did not question it. It got to be that when I turned on the lamp, and then he--having heard the lamp go on--came strolling in to the room, I would immediately turn out the lamp. I started reading the Bible by flashlight. After a while, the sound of the lamp going on no longer signaled to Wally an internal urge to sit on my alarm clock. I could turn on my lamp, and he didn't even enter the room! I grew careless with this new power to read by lamplight. I was no longer careful to make sure I turned out the lamp when he came in to the room.

Recently, though, he started jumping on my nightstand again, and then...

You know how if you get sick, and the doctor gives you antibiotics, but you don't finish taking them because hey, you're all better now, right? And then the germ or whatever it was mutates and comes back and makes you twice as sick as before?

Turning out the lamp no longer works. Wally has decided that my getting in bed is the signal to jump on the nightstand. No lamplight needed.

So we're back to the hasty removal of the water glass and the covering of the alarm clock with whatever is handy that might prevent his being able to reset the clock or the alarm or both.

A Resolution, 9-6-2005

Whereas, JLR and I finally got to meet Amstaff Mom and K-Pinion this past weekend, and we really enjoyed hanging out with them (although K fell asleep part way through the movie, so we didn't spend all that much quality time together); and

Whereas, I should add, that JLR and I let no time waste in making our usual bad first impressions; and

Whereas, my mother had given me this fancy conditioner that was supposed to make my hair super soft and silky (which it did. Not having instructions for this potent stuff, I used waaaaay too much. My hair wasn't greasy, exactly. It's just that, well...when I complained of what had happened to my hair, the general opinion of my audience seemed to be that maybe it would look allright after it dried. Then I would explain to them that my hair was dry already. So I didn't exactly look my best); and

Whereas, JLR and I tend to get a little nervous when meet new people, so we talk even more than we usually do, if you can believe that (We don't want to pry in to other peoples' lives, so we talk about ourselves, considering it a safe, non-confrontational topic of conversation. The problem with this tactic is that we are B. O. R. I. N. G.);

JLR and RR do hereby resolve to make a better impression and to be generally more interesting company the next time we hang out with Amstaff Mom and K-Pinion.

Incident Report, 8/29/05

1. Spilled water on front of shirt.
2. Banged head on bathroom cabinet.
3. Tripped on flower bed border.
4. Tripped on floor plug.
5. Tripped on floor plug.
6. Tripped on floor plug. (I'm not the only one at my office who does this, by the way.)
7. Cut finger on something. Not sure what.
8. Spilled cats' water bowl...for the fourth time in as many days.

Weekend Incident Report, 8/26-8/28/2005

1. Spilled queso on pants leg.
2. Took gulp of water; most of the water missd my mouth and wound up on my face and my shirt (making, I'm sure, a great impression on the people I'd just met).
3. At mall food court, JLR accidentally squirted mayonnaise on her shirt and in her hair. This didn't happen to me, but I felt like sharing. I think it gets to count on my list because I cleaned the mayo out of her hair.
4. Also at mall, dropped slice of cookie cake (as well as the bit of cheesecake brownie JLR had given me) on the floor.

Incident Report, 8/22/2005

No major incidents to report, just my usual banging in to doors, door frames, counter tops, furniture, and protruding objects and, as usual, stepping on my own feet. Today I did bang my head on the underside of a table with three witnesses standing by. I assured them that I was fine, did not have a concussion, and suffered no real pain, being by now used to head wounds.

Mosquito Ambush

I opened my pantry a few minutes ago, and there was a mosquito, sitting on the shelf like it had been waiting for me. I swatted, missed, and closed the pantry door. A minute later, I opened the door again, and there it was. I swatted and missed again. The mosquito flew out of the pantry and is now lurking somewhere in my apartment. Makes it hard to relax.

Dadgum Bathtub

I declare, I have scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed that dadgum bathtub, and it never looks clean.

Wouldn't it be nice if I didn't have to reassure overnight guests that, yes, I have cleaned the tub, and, yes, it is safe to take a shower?

Someone Else's Incidents

His incidents are usually reported one at a time, but they're much worse than mine, and they make me feel so much better about myself. Just take a look at the picture of his arm displayed on the right half of his screen, for example.

http://www.youcancallmeal.com

Rustlin', Wranglin', and General Mayhem

Last Friday week, D. and I went on a work field trip with three other co-workers to several museums in the area. Now, I don't know that I'd pay six bucks to go back to the museum dedicated to cowpokes, but I had a great time. D. and I posed for one of those "put your face in a fake movie poster" things. It didn't go so well, but it was fun. First, D. kept trying to put bunny ears on me. (What's with the tall person picking on the average-height person? I think our boss rolled his eyes a lot.) There was also this fake bronco thing we did. They film it in front of a green screen, and they drop your picture into an old bronco ridin' scene. It's cool. The bummer part is that you have to work the fake horse yourself. D. was kind enough to let me talk her in to moving the horse for me so that it would--in theory--look like I was actually riding a horse. Didn't work. But you can download your video from the web! And I did! And now I have a video momento!

Plus, I paid $4.50 for a picture of one of the fake posters. The top part of my face is cut off in the picture, but I think it looks artsy.

At work, things are only somewhat improved. Blah. And since I've already complained about this to everyone at work (and they're tired of hearing about it), I'm telling the four people who read my blog that I'm supposed to be on vacation this week, but I have to be at work to take care of the crisis instead. Double boo.

Posting Postponed Until Further Notice

Crisis at work--I won't be posting for a couple of days.

Um, *No*

Ringwald Mulls 'Sixteen Candles' Sequel

http://movies.yahoo.com/mv/news/ap/20050606/111809268000.html


I can only think of two ways they would write it.  Either
they got married after college and now, 20 years later, they're having
problems, or they went their separate ways and run into each other now,
after 20 years.  I don't want to imagine them ever having any problems.
Ever.  It's supposed to be happily ever after, like a fairy tale.  The end.

Incident Report, 7/29/05

1. Cut finger on wire shelving
2. Tried to put slide box on counter in library but fumbled the pass (so to speak); fortunately, I managed to "hot potato" it up to the counter.
3. Got stack of papers stuck in the hole punch at work. Managed to get them free before D. noticed (I think...my muffled cry of "It's stuck!" might not have escaped her notice).
4. Banged elbow on chair.
5. Jabbed neck with thumbnail.

6. Okay, so as we were leaving work on Friday evening, D. and I saw a family of three stray, hungry-looking dogs. We immediately took pity on them, and D.--being the more active of the two of us--suggested that we run back inside the building, grab the leftovers from the other night's office party, and throw them to the dogs. We debated whether or not we knew the code to turn off the alarm, and after we came to the conclusion that we were pretty sure it was either xxxx or yyyyy, it was bound to be one of the two, I agreed to go back inside with her. Here's the thing, though: you only get 80 seconds to turn off the alarm before the security company sends out the cavalry. We knew we had to get in there in a hurry, especially since we really needed extra time in case the first code we tried didn't work. D. opened the door, and I launched myself inside just as quickly as I could.

When retelling the story for my sister the next day, D. said, "We had 80 seconds, but we were preparing for 3." That's an accurate summary of what happened. As I shot inside the door, I remembered thinking that morning as I left my apartment that my shoes didn't have good traction, had never had good traction, and seemed unlikely ever to have good traction, and that I should probably just throw them out. This is what was going through my mind as my left foot slipped to the right, my right foot and the rest of me slipped to the left, and down I went.

D. was useless after that because she was practially crumpled on the floor, she was laughing so hard. That left me to "play through pain" and get the alarm code entered. And I did. So there.

(And we did manage to get the food to the dogs, in case you were wondering.)

Too Much Effort

I was looking at the care instructions for my new panties, and they specify using a low setting for ironing said panties. This begs the question--who irons their panties? I don't.

Do you?

Incident report, 7/28/05

Failed to clear doorway.

That's it. Really. My number of incidents has steadily declined, while the number of incidents occuring to the people who interact with me has increased. Hmm. Food for thought. Is this something one can pass on to someone else?

Dirt is Sharp and Pointy

Okay, I don't know if "sharp and pointy" is a scientifically accurate way to describe it, but dirt is abrasive. Dirt can damage the fibers in paper and textiles, for example, so if you have family mementos that you're hanging on to, try to keep dirt off of them.

Just a handy little tip.

If you'd like to read more about dirt and caring for artifacts, go to this website from the Wisconsin Historical Society: http://www.wisconsinhistory.org/localhistory/articles/dirt.asp.

The problem with getting up extra early

It's only 9 o'clock, and I am sooooo hungry.

Incident report, 7/25/05

1. Cut finger on car key as I threw my over-filled laundry bag in to the back seat of the car.
2. Failed to clear doorway
3. Banged elbow on back of chair at dinner

Did you know that potatoes, if left to themselves, can eventually leak brown goo? Also, according to my friend H., zuccini will leak all of its insides out if you leave it for long enough.

Sad (as in pathetic) Monday

I have the day off from work today because I was expecting my friend H. to fly in from New York--plane landing at 9:30 A.M.--and spend the day with me. Due to bad weather out west somehwere, however, she had to spend 5 hours on the tarmac. Her plane took off at around 11 A.M. (instead of the 6 A.M. take-off time she'd expected). So I've been sitting around the house. Oh, sure, I ran a couple of errands and ate lunch with JLR, but the rest of the day has been spent doing things I have been putting off doing, flipping through old magazines, and--wait for it--listening for the postman. Yes. I'm waiting for the mail to arrive. I'm not expecting anything good. I'm just that sad.

*Sigh*

Back to the work I've been putting off doing...

(and yes, I managed to cut my finger within 5 minutes of leaving the house this morning)

The Call of the Yard

We don't have a yard, per se. We have two 10 ft. x 10 ft. beds in front of our apartment that are tended to by no one but JLR and me. At first, I wasn't too enthusiastic about messing with them, other than planting our annual "let's see how long they last before we manage to kill them this year" flowers. But, strangely, the plants we planted have not died (except for the daisies; I finally had to admit that they're dead, and they're not coming back). We've been so pleased with the results that we've caught some sort of yard fever. We've decided to do something with the bed in front of the vacant apartment next door, and this morning JLR mumbled something about the bed across from that. Money I had planned to save for a new pair of glasses is now being spent on mulch, sandstone, lavender, and pea gravel. Friday nights consist of a trip to Home Depot and a mosquito-ridden evening in the "yard." I don't know what we're going to do. Is there a cure? Taking a look at my parents, I would say the answer is "no."

Reasons Why Timothy Hutton Will Never Look Twice at Me

(Beside the fact that he's married, and beside the fact that we'll probably never even be in the same zip code at the same time.)

1. I've given up shaving my legs except for special occasions (or except for when I need to do laundry and I only have skirts left to wear).
2. I am not graceful.
3. I am not tall (but I'm not short, either, Deals, and I don't buy my clothes at Baby Gap!), and my legs don't "go all the way up." (That expression has always seemed strange to me. Technically, don't everyone's legs go all the way up?)
4. My hiccups aren't ladylike, and I sneeze like my father. That's right, I have a man-sneeze.
5. And then there's the fact that I'm so clumsy...


I don't know what I would do if Timothy Hutton actually did look twice at me. I certainly don't want to meet him because if I met him, then he would become a real person to me, and I wouldn't be able to enjoy any of his films. Instead of Archie Goodwin, for example, I'd see Timothy Hutton playing Archie Goodwin. "He's doing a really good job," I'd say, but the magic of Nero Wolf would be over.

It's a Good Thing I Don't Walk with My Mouth Open

A bug flew in to my lips as I was walking to the door at work this morning. Ran smack dab in to my lips.

Incident Report: A Guest Posting, by JLR

RR posts her daily incident reports, so you might be inclined to think that she is the clumsy one in the family. Sadly, this is not the case. She is not alone. For example, it’s exactly 9:37 in the morning as I type this, and I already have green ink all over one fingernail on my left hand and the palm of my right hand. I have no idea how it got there, but it’s a safe bet it will be on my face before the day is over.

It just runs in the family. Our mother has apologized profusely many times for it. Our parents feel very guilty about the negative genes they’ve passed on. Whenever I brought home a mediocre grade in math, my father was never disappointed in my performance—he just apologized. “Sorry about that,” he’d say, taking the blame. My mom does the same thing whenever one of us does something klutzy. But whereas my dad always apologized in a resigned, what-do-you-do-about-it type of way, my mom always apologizes in a way that makes it seem as though she’d given us the pox—and on purpose.

Then again, the clumsy factor can cause more harm than a bad math gene. My mom should know. She once got her hand caught in a mixer. Whenever I tell people that, they always say “how do you do that,” meaning how can someone possibly get their hand caught in a mixer, and all I can say is, I’m always careful when I turn on the Kitchen Aid. All three of us females have at some point sliced off some part of a finger with a potato peeler. For me it was my thumbprint. I had an urge to go commit crimes—no fingerprints—but I resisted. My poor father has had to assume the role of Accident Preventer. Back when RR was in college, when he discovered that her closet had very high shelves, Dad made her promise that she would not climb on a stepstool or anything else to get something down from there unless she had supervision. He has banned my mother from using anything sharper than a butter knife when she’s home alone. Every year when I need to replace my car inspection sticker, my dad removes the old one for me. Last year I said that I was old enough, that I ought to do it myself and could I just borrow a razor blade, and my dad looked at me and said, “well . . . why don’t you just bring your car over.” He didn’t add, “because I think you look better with 10 fingers,” but it was implied.

[RR's note: he also--politely but firmly--turned down my offer to mow the lawn for him.]
[JLR's note to RR's note: when we suggested it, he laughed at us.]

Our clumsiness can also harm those around us. RR has mentioned that she has recently punched herself in the face (twice), but she didn’t mention that once, when I was putting my arm through the sleeve of my coat, I punched her in the face. And then a few days later, when I was explaining to someone how I’d managed to do something like that accidentally, I did it again. I will say this for RR—she can take a punch.

Sometimes clumsiness isn’t an inconvenience, it’s just good entertainment. Some other time I’ll tell my two favorite stories of spills I’ve taken. I’ll save for another time examples of instances when we were injured by other people’s clumsiness, which we’ll detail in one of RR’s upcoming posts, “Head Injuries I Have Had.” For now, I just wanted to say that RR isn’t alone—it’s a family affair.

Incident report, 7/21/05

I'm in fine form today, folks.

1. Cut hand (small cut, don't panic). Not sure how. Just looked down and saw it. Oh, look. I cut my hand.
2. Jabbed finger with pencil.
3. Punched self in face (in check out line at Sam's Club).
4. Ran cart in to wall at work.
5. Accidentally rammed doorknob in to hip.
5. Knocked over four glass bottles of sparkling cider in one pass. Thank God, none of them broke.
6. Opened door, banged elbow.
7. Hit mounted display photo with arm of paper cutter.
8. Scratched finger with blade of paper cutter (no blood, though--yea!).

Incident report, 7/18/05 and 7/19/05

7/18

1. Overcaffeinated
2. Crashed
3. Punched self in face
4. Jammed thumbnail in carseat

7/19

Stabbed self in face with thumbnail

Incident report, 7/14/05 (Bastille Day!)

1. Failed to clear doorway.
2. Banged hand on cabinet.
3. Dropped cereal crumb in to JLR's laptop keyboard (sorry, JLR).
4. Scratched arm with seriously strong finger nail.
5. Interesting-looking raised mark on right arm. Is that where I jabbed myself with my fingernail, or do I now have some sort of worm?
6. Banged elbow on back of wooden chair at lunch. D. gave me a look as if to say, "This is going on your report, isn't it?"
7. Jeans too tight. Pressure on bladder. Frequent trips to bathroom. (Lay off the candy, for Pete's sake, RR. You can't afford to buy bigger clothes.)
8. Failed to clear doorway.
9. Accidentally kicked JLR's foot.

Incident report, 7/13/05

1. Banged hand on counter
2. Knocked curling iron into bathroom sink
3. Tripped on flower bed border

Had lunch with board member today and did not spill! No food caught in teeth, either. I did get some crumbs on the table (and none of the other people at our table did), but that's okay. Also, note to self: cute waiter at Dancing Marlin. RR will be lunching at the Dancing Marlin more often.

Now that she's re-joined the modern world

Deals is back at her desk and has finally posted something new on her blog. Yea! :)

A Whoopin' from God

I once heard a woman on the radio say that there was nothing like a whoopin' from God. Boy, howdy, ain't she right. As my hairdresser says, "He'll take you out to the woodshed." Today, after having failed (again) the daily "try to be more than just barely civil to jerk of a co-worker" test, I had to face an irritating drive home. Most of the drive was great, actually, but the last bit was more than my short-fused, impatient temper could handle. There was a stalled car at the intersection of the frontage road for 75-North and Lovers Lane. Happened to be in the turn lane. So happened I need to be in the turn lane and didn't know about the stalled car at first. I've just exited the freeway and am trying to cross over to the far right lane. There's a bit of a jam as the two right lanes merge into one, so we're all doing the we'll-take-turns-going-ahead-with-one-car-from-each-lane-going-forward-at-a-time bit, or at least, that's what we're supposed to be doing. One particularly malevolent driver in a white ford steadfastly refused to let anyone over, never mind the fact that these were not people who had tried to cut in line in any way. We had just exited the freeway, people. Anyhow, after going around white ford, I was left with just one lane to go, when driver of too-big-for-the-city white SUV and I came shoulder to shoulder. The cars in front of us merged. It was then my turn to pull ahead, but white SUV was having none of it. The other drivers in her lane weren't having any of it, either, so I had to fight my way into the lane behind her. Then JLR called my cell phone to tell me that there was a stalled vehicle in the right lane and that I should move over to go around it (and also to tell me that there was a big, beautiful rainbow just around the corner and I should be sure not to miss it). I quickly (and politely) maneuvered into the next lane and zoomed ahead. White SUV got stuck behind the stalled truck, and I had the opportunity to do the right thing, the Christian thing: show mercy and forgiveness and let the woman get over in front of me. I didn't do it. I was sorry almost immediately, of course, but then it was too late to do anything about it because of traffic flow. I was so eaten up with a combination of fury at her selfishness and disappointment in myself that I completely forgot to look for the rainbow.

Sorry to post such a long, boring post, but for those of you who've bothered to sit through this, there's a lesson. Do the right thing. There's no earthly reward for it (as we like to say, "No good deed goes unpunished"), and often, quite frankly, it hurts, but it's worth it. The feeling you get when you do the wrong thing, the feeling like you've disappointed the person whose opinion matters most to you, is not worth the satisfaction you get from getting your own way.

Do the right thing.

Incident report, 7/9/05

1. Banged elbow on desk.
2. Banged elbow on desk.
3. Banged elbow on desk.
4. Banged elbow on desk. Grrrrr.
5. Banged elbow on desk.
6. Banged elbow on desk.
7. Banged. elbow. on. desk.
8. Banged elbow on desk. It's getting to be a thing now.
9. Banged elbow on desk.
10. Scratched fingernail on aforementioned desk, which, strangely, had same effect as scratching one's fingernail on metal or on a chalkboard. Shudder.
11. Knocked lampshade askew.
12. Knocked lampshade askew.
13. Knocked lampshade askew.
14. Knocked lampshade askew.

It's been a busy day.

Updated incident report, 7/8/05

1. Tried to hang up phone handset on tape dispenser. Need caffeine.

2. Book dust on shirt. At least, I think it's book dust. I hope it's book dust...because if it isn't, it's a mystery stain. A brown mystery stain (or, as we say on condition reports, "Foreign deposit: unknown").

3. Banged elbow on metal doorframe. Ow.

4. Accidentally hit JLR's foot with cart at garden center. She then demanded that I keep an unnecessary amount of space between the two of us.

5. Accidentally hit display stand with cart at garden center.

(And now you're asking, "Who in the world let you have a cart? Haven't you learned your lesson by now?")

"We shall prevail, and they shall not."

Mr. Blair's words today are burned into my brain.

"It is important however that those engaged in terrorism realise that our determination to defend our values and our way of life is greater than their determination to cause death and destruction to innocent people in a desire to impose extremism on the world. Whatever they do, it is our determination that they will never succeed in destroying what we hold dear in this country and in other civilised nations throughout the world."

Incident report, 7/6/05

1. Sometime mid-morning realized I had skipped a button while buttoning up my blouse this morning.
2. Faithfully watered dead plants. Forgot to change shirts first so dress shirt I washed this weekend is now sweaty.
3. Spilled ranch dressing on table at restaurant.
4. Temporarily forgot how to tell left from right while attempting to apply the "lefty-loosey-righty-tighty" philosphy to turning off water spout. Mild panic for about 5 seconds while I couldn't figure out why the water pressure increased as I turned the knob. Shoes wet.

Incident report, 7/5/05

1. Banged hand on wooden bench
2. Tested home-made mosquito repellant. It didn't work.
3. Sat on ground while helping neighbor install do-it-yourself sprinkler system. Tip: white terry-cloth shorts + sitting on wet, dirty ground = embarrassingly-placed stains.

Apparently I didn't need to water the plants this morning

It rained today. That was good--we really need the rain--but, as expected, when the rain disappeared, the humidity did not. It was quite humid outside today.

So I'm outside talking to D.'s dad, and I certain that whatever he's saying is amusing...if only I could concentrate on what he's saying. Instead, all I can think about is how frizzy my hair must be. And how large my hair must be growing. By the time he and D. drove away, I was wondering if I was going to be able to fit my enormous coiffure through the doorway.

Weekend Incident report, 7/1/05-7/4/05

1. Kicked self in toe
2. Spilled box of toothpicks on floor in kitchen
3. Grabbed what I thought was a wad of cat hair from the floor but was actually a cobweb. Didn't panic when it stuck to my hand.
4. Spilled oreo milk shake on JLR's shirt I had borrowed

OHMYWORD my apartment is so hot. Can't run airconditiong because a/c just distributes the mildew smell. Sooooooo hot.

Incident report, 6/30/05

Not a bad day, klutz-wise. The blisters are healing up nicely.

1. Banged elbow on corner of dresser.
2. Got toner on right leg of jeans while cleaning toner catridge at work.
3. Got chocolate all over left leg of jeans and on the passenger seat of JLR's car (again)

On a side note, the oven just made an intersting "thud" noise. Is it supposed to do that?

My cat is staring at me.

He's staring at me rather pointedly.

Me: Honey, the bar stools are just not a good place for sitting in my lap. Sorry.
Him: [meows in protest]




He's still staring.

Incident report, 6/29/05

Not much to report today. Wheee!!

1. Failed to clear doorway at work.
2. Irritated blisters on burned fingers.

Also, I grossed out my co-workers at lunch by showing them the aforementioned blisters. Or at least, they seemed grossed out. It's possible that they were only humoring me. They're nice people.

X91 JXR

Everyone makes mistakes, and some of them are bound to happen while we're driving. You accidentally swerve into the lane next to yours and frighten the pants off the driver of the car that you almost swipe. You accidentally cut someone off because you honestly didn't see them, even though you looked over your shoulder before changing lanes. These are accidents. We should forgive them.

And then there are the Bozos. They make stupid mistakes on purpose.

There are two lanes at the intersection of Milton and Greenville. The right hand lane is for people who want to go straight or turn right. The left hand lane is for people who want to turn left only. Anyhow, Milton is a short street, so as I turn on to it, I see a car with a "Pic-A-Pal" bumper sticker sitting at the light in the right lane, and I see Bozo pull out of the bank parking lot on the right. He starts to pull into the right lane, then changes his mind and pulls into the left lane. You see, Picapal was obviously going straight, and this would not do. Bozo turns right from the left lane! Bozo is too good, too important to wait the 30 seconds for the light to change! That kind of driving is not only selfish and arrogant ("I shouldn't have to wait at the light! I'm too special for that! The world is my oyster!"), it's dangerous. If Picapal had decided to turn at that moment, she and Bozo could have met with accident because, of course, she would not have been expecting him to turn, as well.

Bozo deserves to be chastised. If you see Bozo, shake your fist at him. Tell him he's a lousy driver. Tell him the world would prefer him not to be so arrogant.

For your reference, Bozo drives a little silver convertible sports car, and his license plate is: Texas License Plate number X91 JXR. He may do his banking at Bank of America (that's the bank parking lot he pulled out of).

Incident report, 6/28/05

1. Stubbed toe on big square plug for flat iron, which I had rather stupidly left dangling off the counter.
2. Banged knee on desk.
3. Stubbed toe (again!) on plug for flat iron.
4. Banged elbow on corner of dresser and then, moments later,...
5. Burned middle finger of left hand and then...
6. Burned thumb of right hand.

Blisters have formed. Yowza. No more mishaps for today, please.

Something to look forward to (or, Something to which to look forward)

My co-worker (who thinks he's my boss) is going on vacation tomorrow. I think he may try to stick me with an unpleasant task that he's been putting off doing. Some man (we'll call him "Unhappy Patron") called co-worker a couple of weeks ago, and it seems as if co-worker didn't call him back, so Unhappy Patron called another co-worker, and now that someone else knows about Unhappy Patron, co-worker can't ignore him anymore. This morning he asked me to pull a file related to U. P. for him. I refrained from asking him why he didn't pull the file in the first place. U. P. probably wants an answer A.S.A.P., but co-worker is leaving for vacation tomorrow. How convenient.

He'll probably try to fob off on me the unpleasant task of dealing with U. P.

But I'm not going to do it! I will be strong!

I hope...

Horrifying discovery

Last summer I worked really hard to lose the pudge I'd put on in the years (7) since I graduated from college. I was still out of shape, mind you, but at least through careful eating I had lost the weight, and I figured that exercise would tone up the large quantities of flab remaining on my slender frame.

Then I got comfortable. Complacent. Lazy. I've been eating a lot of junk food lately. Still, after weighing myself on my grandparents' scale and seeing that I was actually 3.5 pounds lighter than I had been a month or so ago, I figured the 4 or so times I've exercised in the past month and a half must have really paid off! This weekend, however, I learned that it was not so. Alas, weight loss isn't that easy.

We were at Dillard's on Sunday, buying a pod coffee maker for JLR, when I happened to notice a scale sitting out in the housewares department. I looked around to make sure that no one was watching, and then I hopped aboard. Apparently, Granna's scale is off. By about 10 pounds. Make that 10.5

Looks like it's back to careful eating for me. Half pb & honey sandwich + grapes for lunch. *Sigh* So hungry...

Incident report, 6/27/05

1. Ran into electrician's foot with dolly/cart thing.
2. Ran into Deals' foot with cart.
3. Almost mowed down two people at UNT libraries with cart.
4. Put ding in wall at UNT library with cart.

(I am dangerous with a cart, people! Look out!)

5. Squished Deals' finger in bicycle wheel.
6. Banged knee on cart. (Owwwwwww)

Incident report, 6/26/05

1. Spilled water on foot while washing dishes.
2. Accidentally jabbed

JLR

with handle of Swiffer as she walked by. (side note: It's Swiffer, folks. Swiffer. Not "Swifter." There is no "t".)
3. Sneezed on arm.
4. Stepped on JLR's foot.
5. Hit self in other arm with cabinet door.

Hick Its Worsen Whirs

I thought that tennis this week would go better than tennis last week. After all, at least this time I remembered right away that if I don't keep my eye on the ball, I'll miss it every time. I was bound to be able to return at least a few serves; maybe we'd even be able to lob it back and forth 7 or 8 times.

I called D. to let her know when I arrived at the tennis court and to tell her that since there was no one else there yet, it was all ours (mwah-hah-hah). Then she gave me the news. There had been a small crisis when she'd tried to leave the house. For some reason, the canine members of her family (Dolly and Gypsy) were having none of it. Major fit-pitching...so D. brought them with her. I love those two dogs, so I didn't have a problem with this, especially since D. assured me that the dogs would very quickly get bored and go lie down in a corner. This was true for Dolly. Gypsy, on the other hand...

I guess the problem was that we were playing with Gypsy's tennis balls. We haven't bought any of our own, so D. brought some of Gypsy's. They're very friendly-looking (smiley faces on them), but Gypsy feels a sense of ownership towards them. We quickly discovered that if we wanted to hit the ball and forth, we really had to hustle because if Gypsy got there first, she would take the ball and run with it. Maybe she'd bring it back to you, and maybe she wouldn't. Maybe she'd put it somewhere on the sidelines. In any case, she'd get to chew on it. That brings us to the little matter of the spray.

It's what's been missing from my game. I tend to get overheated when playing tennis. No problem, says Gypsy. I'll just slobber all over the tennis balls so that when you hit one, a fine mist will gently descend upon your face.

Once we were good and sweaty, Dolly decided to get into the game. Have you ever tried to serve a tennis ball while a dog stands behind you, thoroughly licking all the sweat off your legs?

Also, we ran into D.' s mother and step-father, who were out walking their two dogs. No problem ordinarily, but Piper doesn't like D.'s dogs. Much barking. Actually, there'd been much barking throughout the neighborhood while we played. I wondered if all the dogs in a three-block radius could hear us yelling, "Go get the ball, Gypsy! Go get the ball!"

We accidentally hit one of the balls out of the court, and it landed in a bit of "nature." Now, D. assures me that it isn't actually "nature," and that the faint rustling sound I kept hearing was, in fact, a drainage ditch. This reassured me until we decided to go fetch the ball after our game. It was dark by this point, and I couldn't really see what kind of ground cover we were trodding through. What does poison ivy look like? I don't know, and neither does D., despite her camping experience. "It's shiny," she says. Great. And how do we tell if it's shiny in the dark? I got out of there as quickly as I could, and so far, so good. No rashes. Yet.

So now I'm just worried about West Nile.

New layout

Hap-beeeeeee. Get it? Hap-bee?

Incident Report, 6/24/05

1. Opened heavy old city directory, which landed on tip of left-hand ring finger.
2. Almost stepped on framed photograph sitting on floor. Weaved to avoid stepping on photograph. Almost fell during weaving. Spun around during weaving operation. Did a little dance move to make it look like I’d planned it all along.
3. Mowed down man in line at Half Price Books.
4. Hit self in head with tennis racket at tennis this evening (extra points for that one!).
5. Tripped on curb on campus when going to meet JLR.

Starts with "J," Rhymes with "Crackjass"

This morning on my way to work, I was sitting at the light at Greenville and Lovers Lane, waiting to turn left onto Lovers. Some bozo in a white Tahoe was sitting at the other side of the light, waiting to turn right onto Lovers. When I got the left turn light, I pulled forward, and Bozo waited until I started to turn and then turned right! He turned into my lane! I had to sit behind Bozo at the light at Lovers and 75. Booooooo.

Incident Report

Incident report, 6/23/05
1. Jabbed face with arm of sunglasses.
2. Over-vigorously scrubbed behind left ear, resulting in minor injury.
3. While in shower, dropped soap on floor outside of shower.
4. Dropped soap in shower.
5. Accidentally stabbed self in back with seriously strong thumbnail.

Incident report, 6/22/05
1. Put milk on second shelf on fridge, knocking lid off in the process. Spilled milk (didn’t cry).
2. Poured milk on second bowl of cereal. Put milk away, repeating incident no. 1 (didn't cry; muttered under breath).

I work in an archive. There are two types of patrons I don’t like to call. The first, I hate to admit, are the elderly. Now, don’t get me wrong. I like helping them. I just don’t like talking to them. Some, like my late grandmother, like to talk even more than I do, and you spend 20 minutes with them on the phone. I don’t really mind that, though, except on days when I have a lot of work to do. Some, like my grandfather, won’t talk to you any longer than is absolutely necessary to convey information, but they don’t bother to wear their hearing aids, so you have to shout into the phone and repeat every other sentence.

However, I’d take a whole day’s worth of elderly patrons to avoid one call to a “theorist.” I would say “conspiracy theorist,” but they aren’t all researching conspiracies. Some just have a particular theory that they aren’t willing to shake, even when it is perfectly clear to any sane person that their “theory” is actually “hooey.” I could stand that, though, if they didn’t then try to manipulate facts to fit their hooey. It’s not possible that you’re related to Famous Native American Person X. Your ancestors came over from Europe after Famous Native American Person X was born and never came within 50 miles of him or any of his descendants, unless one year they all happened to be at the state fair at the same time. I can do some more research for you BUT IT STILL WON’T PROVE THAT YOU’RE RELATED TO THE MAN. NOTHING WILL PROVE THAT YOU’RE RELATED TO THAT MAN. Because you aren’t.

Conversation I had this morning:

Me: Well, I’ll look into it, and if I find anything, I’ll let you know.
Patron: I just want to know the names of his wives.
Me: Right. I’ll check it out and will see what I can find.
Patron: I have the names of some of his wives. I just need the names of his other wives.
Me: Okay. I’ll see what I can find out.
Patron: I’ve traced his first wife, xxxx to 1891, and his wife, yyyy, to 1899.
Me: Right. Okay, well, let me see what I can find—
Patron: I’ve traced….

This went on for 10 minutes. I am not kidding. All attempts to get off the phone and get on with my work (and her research, I might add) were thwarted. She was a nice patron, and I wouldn’t otherwise mind talking to her, but I didn’t understand why we needed to repeat ourselves for 10 minutes.

A few years ago, a crazy woman called me who, I hope, will never call me again.

Apparently, according to her, John F. Kennedy is not the son of Rose and Joseph Kennedy (who, apparently, are from Montreal, and not from Massachusetts at all), but is rather the son of a Russian czar. His (JFK's) first wife was Maria, Queen of Yugoslavia. He was raised in Europe. He went to law school in The Hague. Rose and Joseph Kennedy are related to "negro gypsies" from New York. Also Ted Kennedy is Jack Ruby's brother. Also she claims that Fidel Castro is related to some folks in Buffalo who are related not only to Lee Harvey Oswald but also to Jackie Kennedy.

She said she was working for John & Robert Kennedy when JFK was assassinated, and she's related to John Kennedy, and she was shot in the head in Dallas, and I think it has affected her. She says that she was raised by John Kennedy in Yugoslavia and in the Netherlands around 1938.

She wanted to know if I had any proof, and if not, why not. I tried to fob her off on the Sixth Floor Museum, but it didn’t work. Apparently, they had no proof, either.

Why don’t we use insults like this anymore?

As Horace said to his friend Mike in Death at the President's Lodging
(much as my friends and I throw insults at each other without meaning
--or taking--offense):

"And you are a nasty, unwholesome, misshapen,
degenerate and altogether lousy scion of outworn
privilege.  And the increasing unpleasantness of your
personal habits, your thick and incoherent utterances,
and above all your embarrassing and indeed painful
inability to talk sense have long convinced David and
myself --though we have striven to conceal it--that
you are already undermined beyond human aid by the
effects of retributive disease.  And your
tailor--whose taste perpetually astonishes me, let me
add--would be grateful for any blood-money you might
raise on [solving the book's mystery]:  it would help
feed the eight children your bad debts are depriving of
sustenance."

It seems these days that most people use cuss words (or whatever
they can do without having to put any thought into to it) in
order to insult someone.

It's best to keep the fridge cleaned out

If I cleaned out my fridge on more a regular basis, I would have known that I still had two brownies left over from Friday night, but instead I didn't even check to see what was in the white unmarked Styrofoam container until last night. I had assumed--since I don't clean out the fridge very often--that it was something from so long ago that I didn't want to see what it was. Alas, I should have checked. Dang it. Wasted brownies.

Does anyone else use the word "frigo" for "refrigerator"? I'd like to try to sell a refrigerator to Viggo Mortensen so that I can say, "Frigo, Viggo? Viggo? Frigo?"

We’re in a fight

My co-worker, D., and I had plans to play tennis the other night. I told her I had to eat dinner first (food is my primary motivation in life) and that I would call her when I was done. Also, I said, I needed to shave my legs.

“You’re shaving your legs?” she asked, unhappily.

“I have to,” I replied.

“Don’t shave your legs,” she pleaded. “If you shave, we’re in a fight.”

This is D.’s most-used expression. Hand her a sarcastic comment? We’re in a fight. Make fun of her? We’re in a fight. Toss out a platitude when one of her projects goes wrong? We’re in a fight. It’s a handy little expression.

After dinner, I called her at her office because she was still at work (of course).

“I’ve eaten,” I told her.

“Are you shaved?” she demanded.

Rolling my eyes, I told her that I planned to take care of that part while she went home and changed.

We finally found an available tennis court (D. swore that the first two courts we went to were never in use when she jogged passed them at the same time of day on other days), but there were some people circuit training around the perimeter. We weren’t sure, at first, what they were up to. Some of the women were suspiciously perky. Do they not have to work for a living (this was Highland Park, after all), or did they have a crush on their trainer? Or, even worse, were they the type of people who got all cheerful at the thought of exercise?

I should mention at this point that D. and I are both terrible tennis players. D. played various sports in college, and she runs a lot, so she’s in pretty good shape. I, on the other hand, am not. I love tennis, but I can’t run for long periods of time, and since we’re not good at tennis, we spent most of our time running after stray balls. I was glad whenever I hit a ball too hard and D. had to run after it because it meant she had her back to me and I could surreptitiously check my watch. After about 45 minutes I declared an inability to play any longer.

“Let’s just play ‘til 8:30,” she said. “Then we’ll get in a full hour.”

I was sure to let her know when 8:30 rolled around, but then she wanted to play until we could hit the ball back and forth 30 times. When it became painfully obvious that we could play until next Tuesday and we still wouldn’t be able to make that happen, she lowered her standards to 20. Then 10. Then 5. Finally, she had to admit defeat. Or rather, she was willing to let me admit defeat. She ran lines while I cooled my tired body with a slow walk around the court.

What it must be like to be fit!

Holy cow, he knows the words to "My favorite things"!

http://www.postednote.com/marry.htm
see reason number 57.

JLR and I were excited when we discovered that Kuby's (in Dallas) sells schnitzel. Disappointed to discover that it is not sold "with noodle." Even more disappointed to discover that NO ONE knew what we were talking about when we complained about the lack of noodle. Glad to know that someone else out there understands.

Why I will no longer be scrolling through blogs using the "next blog" button

The last time I did this, pictures of naked people popped up on my screen. And I didn't even get to see parts of them that would allow me to determine whether these were attractive people. Ew.

The problem with working for a small organization

I was gone for one day--one day!--and my workload doubled. I have way too many phone calls to return now. Where did all these people come from? Why didn't they call me when it was slower? Why wait until I am already behind?

It was a good day off, though. I spent it with my dad. I couldn't see him on father's day (because I had to work), so I took the day off on Monday. We watched Perry Mason, then went to Denny's for lunch (we're breakfast-for-every-meal type of people), then to Home Depot to buy some mulch. We went back to the house to watch Magnum P.I. and Rockford Files, then the first half of Nightstalker. A good day, overall.

Who forgot to wipe their shoes?!?!

Not to sound like an overbearing housewife, but someone tracked muddy sticky stuff into the archives and did not clean it up. Now I have to do it.

And before anyone suggests that clumsy-me may have done it myself, I will add that if I had that kind of stuff on the bottom of my shoes, I think I would have noticed.

Why Interns Are Cool

One of our interns is lending me the first season of MacGyver, which she has on DVD.

Oh, yeah. That's right. MacGyver.

Link fixed

We've fixed the link for Anti. It no longer points to a microsoft page. Hurray!

Spill Watch

No spills or accidents yet today...

The spill factor

It doesn't take me long to spill something on myself each day. I'm thinking of creating some sort of grading scale for determining how clumsy I am on any given day. Perhaps I could use a scale of 1-10, with 1 being a spill-free day and 10 being a really bad day for spills and incidents. For example, today I managed to get a stain on my shirt before lunch but not before I got to work and, in fact, not before I left the house (which would put me on track for a 10). No bruises today, but the spill was a doozy, so I think I might put today at about a 4 or 5.

It isn't easy, being lazy.

I posted my first...um, post, on Friday. Then, on Sunday or Monday my sister informed me that two people had commented on my post. This was news to me because I hadn't bothered to look at the blog over the weekend. I only have the blog because my sister bugged me about it and I was too lazy to put up a fight. She signed me up and then picked the layout while I read a book (Her: Do you like this one? How 'bout this one? Me: Hmm? What? Did you say something?).

Anywho, when she told me about the comments, she also told me that I had to reply to all of the posts. She says it's rude not to do so. Man. I like reading blogs, but I don't know that I would have started one if I'd known it was going to be so much work.

A few statements about grapefruit:

I don't like it. I thought I might because it's fruit, and I love most of the different type of fruit that I've tried. I bought three grapefruit at the grocery store the other day because they were on sale (three for a dollar!). I tried eating it plain. I tried eating it with sugar. I tried eating it with salt. I just don't like it. It's like the grapefruit tree forgot to put the sweet part in the fruit. The discovery was rather disappointing.