I realize this is cheating, but I’m fairly certain that you won’t follow the link and actually watch the videos that I found so entertaining (the last two), so I’m going to embed them. That shouldn’t stop you from visiting The Bloggess, of course, particularly since her latest post is the funniest thing I’ve read in a while.
Here’s one in the same vein (musical geeks, not holiday music):
I think both. John needed wonton soup (he’s not feeling well), and since I was going to pick up the dry cleaning tonight (dry cleaning, dry cleaning, dry cleaning) and our favorite Chinese takeout place is in the same shopping center, I figured I’d just order in person and then come back for it after a trip to CVS. In the middle of placing my order, the woman behind the counter looked up and rattled off my address. Consistency is a good thing, right?
I think the fortune in my fortune cookie tonight was a direct response to John’s:
His: “Love in its essence is spiritual fire.”
Mine: “Lucky you. Get out your party clothes.”
XKCD is hilarious. Don’t forget to read the mouse-over text.
Weddings are fun. No. Rephrase. Dancing is fun. I don’t particularly like the actual wedding part. We whispered and giggled through most of the ceremony. Unobtrusively of course, although the people seated directly behind us might not agree. How else were supposed to get through this wedding we really didn’t want to go to? Whenever a response was given by the congregation, I had this urge to shout horribly inappropriate things. (You’ll be happy to know I restrained myself.) That’s more to do with my feelings on religion in general than this wedding.
Get down tonight.
I was washing my hands at work, and when I leaned forward to rinse them, I saw a glint in the mirror at the very top of my head. Looked a little closer and…yeah. That’s a gray hair.
Blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah blah blah blah-blah blah blah. Blah blah. Blah blah? Blah. Blah-blah blah blah blahblahblah blah.
Really, that’s all I heard today. Behind it, my to-do list ran on an endless loop in my head. Finish the test scripts, pack for the wedding, drop the dogs at the kennel, buy a wedding present, where are they registered?, finish the test scripts, leave work a little early to get the dogs to the kennel before they close, don’t forget clothes for Saturday in case we spend the day wandering in the city, make-up – where’s my make-up?, get out of some meetings at work so I can finish the test scripts, get off the internet and do some work, what else do I need to pack?, and so on. Yeah, I’m relaxed. I’m SO close to being able to leave work at work again. Thisclose. The end is in sight. And then I can be myself again. I hope.
We bought firewood over the weekend. Scads of firewood. More than a trunkload. To be precise, we bought a cubic yard of firewood. We didn’t think it was that much. Less than half a cord, however much that is. But then the nursery guys brought over a bobcat-load of wood. This kind of bobcat:
Not this kind:
But can you imagine a trunkload of baby bobcats? Just this one makes my heart hurt. I want to take one home.
I still don’t know how much a cubic yard of firewood is because I don’t think those nursery guys were really measuring. They brought giant shovels full of firewood over to the car and started loading. And kept loading. And loading. We had to put half the backseat down to hold all of it. I think we’re set for the winter, even if we have two more giant snowstorms.
We got all the wood home and stacked on the deck. It looks like even MORE than was in the car. Maybe it multiplied. Firewood = rabbits. Baby firewood = kindling.
It's almost up to my shoulder.
I had to go downtown today to teach a training class for the first time in five months (unexpectedly – I’m the LAST backup for that, which means that the other six people were all either sick or still out of town for the holiday, so I found out at 6:15 this morning), and I’m comPLETEly worn out. I’d forgotten how much that takes out of me. I love to talk, I’ll never deny that, but talking for eight hours straight while standing up and fielding questions is exhausting. And then I came home and worked, since I didn’t get any of MY work done today.
So. Short. Almost done and going to bed (hoping that the guy I was subbing for today feels better when he wakes up in the morning).
I bought a hat!
And then I got a haircut, but I’m not ready to show it yet. I need to remember how to use a hair dryer first.
John and I are becoming the neighborhood’s animal rescue league. First, the cat. Second, Max.
Meet Max
Max was adorable. I think he’s a Pomeranian, though much bigger than Chanel was (John thinks between 10 and 20 lbs). Unlike the cat, our dogs got along with him just fine. (They didn’t try to eat him.)
Hanging out
We saw him sniffing around a couple of the neighbors’ houses, so when we went out to run that morning, we kept an eye out for him. We spotted him at the bottom of the hill and spent the next 25 minutes or so chasing him EVERYWHERE. John finally caught him with the help of a friendly woman in a totally different part of the neighborhood, and I met him at home (I couldn’t keep up (I’m SLOW) and lost them when they took a turn towards home while I was still around another corner). Luckily, Max was wearing a collar with tags, so we left a couple of messages for his owners and got a call back within a couple of hours. The woman who came to pick him up said they were out looking for him ’cause he runs off all the time. That’s why they put their phone number on his tag. A better solution? Leash your damn dog! You know he’s a runner, so keep him on a leash! What is wrong with pet owners in my neighborhood?
Bridget has wise Thanksgiving advice. I don’t. Wait – I have one thing. Try not to overeat. There. Good deed done.
Jaime Pressly needs more work. She was hilarious in My Name is Earl.
Vote for France!
I’m not going to talk about Thanksgiving this year. Just because. Except to say that I don’t recommend going grocery shopping (for ANYthing) two days before Thanksgiving. Two nights before Thanksgiving, every grocery store in the country (and certainly the Wegman’s on my way home from work) is a madhouse. Tons of shoppers clearing the shelves, tons of employees restocking the shelves (thankfully – hee), tons of cars in the parking lot. And tomorrow, one day before Thanksgiving, will be even worse. Lesson: whether you’re shopping for the whole Thanksgiving dinner or just getting what you need to get through the week ’cause someone else is cooking, DO THE SHOPPING THE WEEKEND BEFORE. Plan ahead. Words to live by.
You’re welcome.
WHY am I incapable of remembering to go to CVS?
Roxy looks naked without her collar on. It’s kinda weird. How could a collar be the difference between clothed and naked for a dog? Not all dogs, either. Riley doesn’t look naked when we take his collar off. We took them off about a week ago, when we tried to let them sleep upstairs. (Collars off = no jingling. It doesn’t stop middle-of-the-night slurping, though, which is why we kicked them out.) Since then, every time I look at her, I see a naked dog. She doesn’t seem to mind. Maybe she’s an exhibitionist. Next thing we know, she’ll be out flashing the neighbors.
<Break to ask the dog if she’s going to flash the neighbors.>
She says she will if there’s food involved.
I’m on the run. Shh. Hiding out. Don’t tell anyone. My book is taking over my evening.
There’s something about running first thing on a sunny morning that puts me in SUCH a good mood. I listened to music during my run for the first time in a long time, and even though my legs felt heavy and it was hard to keep going, the sun was shining, I was singing (and gasping) along with my favorite songs, and it was fun. I got back to the house just when John got back from getting breakfast (bagels, mini muffins, hot chocolate) and plugged my mp3 player into the stereo for Buddy Holly’s “Rave On”. Good song. We’ve moved on to Brian Setzer.
Molly is unconscious upstairs. We’ll get her up soon.
I’m back from the future. An hour from now. Not that interesting. There are times being an hour ahead of everyone could be useful, but for everyday things, there’s not much point.
We tried putting Roxy in the cone of shame or despair or whatever the hell it’s called (I don’t have a 5-year-old, Mom. I’ve only seen Up once.) last night, but we didn’t last more than 30 minutes. Possibly not even that long. She was SO pathetic. And clutzy. Totally freaked out, but in a quiet way. A very tense, quiet way. I couldn’t take it. The sock method is working – why change now?
Enough about the dog. Until tomorrow, when I’ll have more to say about the dog.
Dog. Dog dog d-dog dog.
John texted me today to say he was going to be a little late coming home. I texted him back: “Damn.” My phone suggested a replacement: “Danny.” Good replacement.
It has begun. I had a consultation with the oral surgeon today, and I have an appointment to be knocked unconscious and have my jaw broken in three weeks. Okay, they’re not breaking my jaw. They’re just pulling a tooth. Still. It’s going to suck. This was actually a second consultation for the same thing. I was there about a year and a half ago, planning the same extraction (which totally sounds like we’re going to get our troops out from behind enemy lines, but behind enemy lines is my #2 molar), and they wanted to know why I’m back now. What changed? Insurance. We didn’t have dental insurance the first time around, then we were unemployed, then we were employed, but too lazy to go to the dentist, and that’s more information than the assistant to the oral surgeon really needs.
Have you tried pretzel m&ms? They’re really good.
I went to a weird place just now, on one of those thought tangents that’s so convoluted I can’t trace it back, and now I have “paranoia, they destroy ya” looping through my brain. Not what I want to fall asleep to.
It’s raining. Has been all day. Because some of the people I work with are AWESOME much of the time, I was able to spend the second half of today working from home. I spent most of yesterday at home, too, trying to work while keeping Roxy from treating her paw like a tootsie roll pop. Barely successful. Because of socks. My socks. Which I donated to the not-grateful dog. Not-grateful possibly because I have to wrap packing tape around the sock to hold it on. At least I trade dirty socks for clean ones and wet socks for dry ones. I’m not a jerk. She could be wearing a lampshade instead.
She does not appreciate the things I do for her. She also won’t pose for good pictures. (The foot is getting much better. She just won’t leave it alone!)
Poor Roxy. She just can’t catch a break. Her pads got abraded somehow and infected, which she then made worse with the incessant licking, so she’s on antibiotics and has a cute little sock-like bandage on her leg. She’s not thrilled. (I think it’s funny.)
This is the Cadillac of baby carriages. I was totally jealous of the baby boy who was riding in it. I could have taken a better picture (one that included the adorable little boy), but the nanny (I think she was the nanny. She gave off more of a nanny vibe than a mommy vibe.) wasn’t too keen on that. Understandably. After all, I am a total stranger who walked up and asked to take a picture of her stroller. Sans baby.
Let’s go in a completely different direction: tarp surfing.
Thanks, Ms. Nall (we’re pretty formal in these parts), for the video and for pointing me here. I haven’t read The Onion in a couple of years. I forgot about it. And now I’m a little sad.