Every Last Boring Detail

The other night I washed the wine glasses we’d used the night before (so sue me, I leave them on the counter until I get to them) and put them in the drying rack. I draped the damp kitchen towel over the drying rack–I also washed the pots from the night before (get over it! they had been rinsed but no soap applied). Not too much later, I needed the towel again and grabbed it. I’m not sure how this happened but the towel got tangled in the drying rack and the nearest wine glass flew through the air with the greatest of ease until it shattered on the floor.

I break wine glasses all the time when I am stone-cold sober. Fill that wine glass up, send me into a wind tunnel and have me run over hot coals and I will not spill nor will I drop that glass.

There were two unfortunate consequences to the glass shattering. I had to dump out the cat food bowls (that I had just filled) and refill them. During the part where I vacuumed after the better-half swept, I managed to strip another piece of the cheap-ass linoleum off the floor. Did I mention how much I dislike my kitchen? This is at least the third or fourth time I’ve managed to mangle the kitchen floor by vacuuming.

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Didn’t We Already Know This?

Why is this news-worthy? I don’t mean to be insensitive to those people infected, but come on—if no one was sure CJD could be transmitted via blood then why is it a standard question during the screening process for everyone who donates blood?

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Ways to Torture Me

Way Number 1 to torturing me: if I speak to you, speak back. You have no idea how long it took me to get to the point where I feel okey dokey about saying hello, smiling, etc (I was once very shy). I know you don’t know me but I see you frequently in the hallways and ladies room and it won’t kill you to pretend to be friendly. Otherwise I may retaliate to your rude behavior by calling you the nasty nickname I have for you.

Way Number 2 to torturing me: not keeping your websites up, blogspot. What is your problem anyway?

Way Number 3 to torturing me: if I tell you we (as in our company) are not interested in whatever crap you are selling don’t go around me and send us email asking us the same damn thing I just told you we weren’t interested in…just because I sit at the desk closest to the door doesn’t mean I don’t wield the power, sales jerk.

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The Sanctity of Marriage

If everyone is worried about giving gays and lesbians the right to get married because that right will somehow undermine “marriage” and disrupt the idea of “family”, then why aren’t people fined or jailed when they get divorced? Isn’t that act just as potent in the mockery of marriage and family?

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Peg Bracken

I had planned on starting Ariel by Sylvia Plath and Wintering by Kate Moses, but when I mentioned to the better-half that my head was still filled with all the heavy reading of One Man’s Bible, he said maybe you shouldn’t start reading those books since this is the season of depression for a lot of people. It seemed much funnier at the time given how forlorn I was about not wanting to use my brain for any tough reading and feeling bad about wanting to read something light instead.

Anyway, I’m over it and am now enjoying to no end I Hate to Cook Book by Peg Bracken. Although the recipes aren’t really grabbing me as something I want to make, the book is hilarious. Bracken encourages her readers to smoke a cigarette and stare sullenly at the stove or have to have a highball while waiting for something to finish in the oven. You’ve got to love that in a cookbook.

I suppose after reading this I’ll have to get to Sylvia and Kate. I’ve had the books for almost a year and it is just time to use my brain for something other than a hat rack.

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Skeptical

Do you ever find yourself in a position where you don’t want to be the big old skeptic but you really can’t help yourself? I find myself in that position a lot. Do you think you get skeptic lines on your face like worry lines around the eyes or smile lines around the mouth? Maybe that’s what those little lines on my forehead are–skeptic lines.

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Just When I think I’m All That

I have been known to kick the donkey (trying to keep the site a little cleaner than usual) when it comes to making Help helpful (software help that is). I am trying to figure out the clunky HTML Help Workshop. To demonstrate how hard I’m finding this–I can NOT keep HTML Help Workshop in my head. How terrible is that? I’m trying to figure out how to use it and I can’t even remember the name. Lame, I tell you, Lame.

Hopefully not so lame, and completely off topic, I’m going to attempt to create some scooby snacks for my dog friends. I’m thinking it can’t be that hard to make something a dog will eat since they will eat out of a litter box given the chance. My only issue is that I do not have a bone shaped cookie cutter. I figure the dogs don’t really know or care what shape their scooby snack is so I’ll be using some other shape.

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The Past Creeps Back

Last night we turned on the local news to see what was going on with the whole Saddam capture thing and to check out the weather. The local news had nothing but network feeds until they decided to do a “man on the street” bit. Imagine my shock and awe at seeing the Man from Hell on our screen. I ended up keening No No No on the couch during the entire segment with him telling the camera what he thought of the capture. I have no idea what he said since I was keening and covering my eyes. Just when I thought the streets were safe that Bozo pops back up on the radar.

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Decorations are Hung

We decorated the house yesterday and I thought I’d share a picture of one of our favorite items. This item was rescued from near disaster. When the better-half’s grandparents died and the family was cleaning up the house, we came across the item and it had been defiled. Defiled in the manner of having the power cord cut and then attached to a wreath (the item not the cord). When the better-half was little, the item was fully functioning and lighting the way to happy festive times.

We have restored the item and hang it in our kitchen every season. It is hung next to the liquor cabinet. We like to say the drinking light is on…tis the season.

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Come Out, Come Out

Wouldn’t it be great if the $750,000 recovered with Saddam could go to the team who found him?

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