Frog and Goat

Our street is being resurfaced. I was behind a car today and we were both going slow, which a rarity since everyone speeds past the 25 MPH sign and I hate that but it will be their kids who are run over and who will die terrible deaths and not mine so I say go for it you effing morons. I know this will be a surprise for you but I do abide by that particular speed limit because there are lots of people who walk, run, ride bikes, etc.

Anyway, the car in front of me came to a stop right in front of our driveway as the highly skilled road crew person indicated he/she should stop. Which is fine if you live down the road. It wasn’t so fine for me. So, I drove off the road, across my grass–the grass I cut and pay taxes on–and up my driveway. The highly skilled road crew guy gave me lots of arm waving like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Believe.

He was still standing at the end of my driveway staring at me when I got of the car. I just looked at him and walked into the house. I guess he’s never seen a Honda go 4-wheelin’ before, but that’s how we roll out here in Mechanicsville.

I just saw the clip of Green Day rocking out The Simpson’s theme song and then whipping out violins as their stage barge went down like the Titanic. It feels a bit like we’re rearranging the deck chairs here at the place of employment. While we wait for the end of September, when all those laid off leave, we’re stuck in a holding pattern of nothingness. The work I have to do is sporadic and short-lived. As impossible as it seems, there just isn’t enough interesting stuff on the internet to occupy my time for eight hours. I read a magazine, albeit one related to my work, yesterday and a co-worker said she brought in a book to read. A Tom Clancy. Another person prepared for an interview. The most exciting discussion is what to do for lunch. And, that was a failure yesterday.

Yesterday’s discussion about lunch had us going to Beauregard’s Thai Room and then suddenly it veered to the 3rd Street Diner. The diner was recently refurbished but all the glossy paint in the world won’t fix a lackadaisical waitstaff and an inattentive kitchen. I’ve already banished the restaurant next door from my list of possible lunch spots (seriously how many times can you screw up a sandwich and fries and think I’ll keep spending money there) and I think the 3rd Street diner is now on the list. I used to work across the street from the diner when I worked in a little place I like to refer to as Hell. They would make cherry cokes with actual cherries–this was before Coke took all the fun out of it by bottling a facsimile of the taste. The better-half used to meet folks there for beer and fries. But, now, the fries aren’t even all that great. We get better results throwing a bag of Ore-Ida in the oven for 15 minutes at 475.

Update: the man in charge used the word dissimilate in writing and in speaking when he meant disseminate. Any wonder we’d like to kick him in the crotch?

I got an email from a friend from college the other day. We haven’t seen each other in 11 years. She was at our wedding and then she and her boyfriend (now husband) moved to Florida shortly after that time. She occasionally emails, mostly pictures of her daughter. The emails are usually a group package meaning lots of people are on her list. I have responded to those pictures with actual conversation. She doesn’t respond.

So, the email I received the other day pissed me off. She is switching her email software and wants everyone in her contact list to email her so it will be easier to add people to her new contact list. She doesn’t want to spend the time typing in everyone’s email address into the new software package. My response was no response unless you consider using the Delete button a response. I haven’t seen her in 11 years and she can’t be bothered to respond to my conversational emails. And, she wants me to do her work for her? Not bloody likely.