|Someone's been playing with Picassa again.|
1. I am in desperate need of a blow up doll. Not for that. I need one to ride shotgun so I can use the carpool lane. What? You think I could make this simpler by getting a real person to commute with me? Please. That would be way more trouble than it's worth. A real person would expect me to make conversation. A real person might ask me to compromise on the radio station we listen to. They'd expect me to not let out air. Which I never do, but still. If a chick toots and there's no one there to hear/smell it, it never happened. I'll bet a real person would be offended if I plucked a chin hair at a red light.
Human being = obligations, manners and expectations. Griselda the Amazing Latex Friend = speedier commute without the hassles.
2. There's that guy at the office. Two actually. You know. Very serious. Very busy. And these are very serious times. I don't mean to make light of the good work they're doing on behalf of the organization.
Anytime I'm doing something boneheaded or embarrassing like crawling around on the floor moving my computer tower or missing my mouth with a spoonful of yogurt as I eat lunch at my desk or like when the caterers spilled iced tea in the tiled foyer and needed napkins to sop up the spill and I wasn't supposed to leave the phones at the front desk, but dashed down the hall to the mail room where I know we keep the overstock of napkins....
A top-heavy woman dashing in a pencil skirt and pumps? Not a pretty sight.
Of course one of those guys was rounding the corner. One of them is always there to bear witness to my doofishness.
Which reminds me - whoever invented "soft" multi-line phone buttons that change when a new line rings in, should be strung up alongside the sadists who invented underwire bras, pantyhose, The Grapefruit Diet and Fox News.
3. Speaking of that guy, there was a different guy on I75 yesterday. He apparently enjoyed my singing with emotive facial expressions and hand gestures as we sat in bumper to bumper traffic. What can I say? Norah Jones makes me invisible. Or so I thought.
He beeped to get my attention and applauded when I looked his way. Lucky for him, me and my bad singing were walled off from the world. I blew him a kiss and he caught it with a big goofy grin.
My lane started moving. The moment was over.
4. At our house, they're called Sloppy Jews. But don't be fooled. They taste just like my mother makes them with ketchup, mustard and brown sugar.
5. I caught the stealth carpet pooper in the act today. Booing him loudly as he finished his business didn't stop him mid-dookie, but it sure made me feel better. Sadly, shame has no sway over felines.
6. Atlanta needs a decent traffic report that isn't part of the AM right wing talk station. If I have to continue listening to Sean Hannity just to find out if I should take I75, I285 or I20, I will very likely have an aneurysm. Today he and his guests were talking about why George Zimmerman isn't a murderer. One of his young female guests was quick to point out that young Martin had been suspended from school. Can we start executing kids for being suspended from school because that means I should at least be able to taze my kids for backtalk. Or, you know, that electric cattle prod is just collecting dust since MathMan and I gave up those particular role-playing games......
7. Every morning, it's the same thing - straight or curly? Burn myself on the flat iron or the curling iron? Life was much easier when the question was simply shower or not shower? This morning, I made pin curls which turned out quite nicely, but Mathman was concerned that I was going to leave the house with the coils pinned to my head with bobby pins. Bless his heart. But will he tell me when my shirt is on wrong-side out? Of course not.
8. Shredding is most gratifying. I like to call it destroying the evidence. I don't think the shredder is supposed to smoke though.
9. MathMan and I are in a bit of a standoff. I had a fit about the lack of division of labor around here. I shouted something about if I was going to do the majority of the housework, baseball bleacher sitting, kid management, hunting and gathering, doctor/dentist appointment making and keeping, bill paying and cooking, then I sure as hell will not be taking care of the yard, too. Then I scooched up a little higher on that cross and got comfortable.
All of which explains the backyard.
Weedy. But don't the dogwoods look lovely?
Hi! What's growing on you?