Sunday, December 04, 2005
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.
Monday, November 28, 2005
Friday, November 11, 2005
There's an even stronger resemblance when you look at it like this.
See what I mean?
Wednesday, November 02, 2005
Tuesday, October 18, 2005
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?
Tuesday, October 11, 2005
Monday, October 10, 2005
Friday, October 07, 2005
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!]
Wednesday, October 05, 2005
Tuesday, October 04, 2005
Monday, September 26, 2005
Wednesday, September 21, 2005
Tuesday, September 20, 2005
Monday, September 19, 2005
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!!!!!
Sunday, September 18, 2005
Saturday, September 17, 2005
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?
Thursday, September 15, 2005
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.
Wednesday, September 14, 2005
Monday, September 12, 2005
Wally likes to cuddle. Wally also likes to chew on toes. I don't know why.
Friday, September 09, 2005
Wednesday, September 07, 2005
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.
Tuesday, September 06, 2005
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.
Monday, August 29, 2005
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.
Saturday, August 27, 2005
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.
Monday, August 22, 2005
Saturday, August 20, 2005
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
Monday, August 15, 2005
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.
Tuesday, August 09, 2005
Thursday, August 04, 2005
Ringwald Mulls 'Sixteen Candles' Sequel
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.
Friday, July 29, 2005
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.)
Thursday, July 28, 2005
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?
Wednesday, July 27, 2005
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.
Tuesday, July 26, 2005
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.
Monday, July 25, 2005
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)
Saturday, July 23, 2005
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.
Friday, July 22, 2005
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.
Thursday, July 21, 2005
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!).
Tuesday, July 19, 2005
Thursday, July 14, 2005
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.
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.
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
Monday, July 11, 2005
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.
Saturday, July 09, 2005
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.
Friday, July 08, 2005
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?")
Thursday, July 07, 2005
"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."
Wednesday, July 06, 2005
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.
Tuesday, July 05, 2005
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.
Friday, July 01, 2005
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.
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.
Thursday, June 30, 2005
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?
Wednesday, June 29, 2005
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.
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).
Tuesday, June 28, 2005
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.
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!
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...
Monday, June 27, 2005
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)
Sunday, June 26, 2005
2. Accidentally jabbed
3. Sneezed on arm.
4. Stepped on JLR's foot.
5. Hit self in other arm with cabinet door.
Saturday, June 25, 2005
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.
Friday, June 24, 2005
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.
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.
2. Poured milk on second bowl of cereal. Put milk away, repeating incident no. 1 (didn't cry; muttered under breath).
Incident report, 6/22/05
1. Put milk on second shelf on fridge, knocking lid off in the process. Spilled milk (didn’t cry).
Thursday, June 23, 2005
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
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.
Apparently, according to her, John F. Kennedy is not the son of Rose and Joseph Kennedy (who, apparently, are from
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
She wanted to know if I had any proof, and if not, why not. I tried to fob her off on the
(much as my friends and I throw insults at each other without meaning
"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
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.
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?"
Wednesday, June 22, 2005
“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!
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.
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.
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.
Tuesday, June 21, 2005
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.