Ok, I don’t want to increase my manhood–because, frankly, I’m not a man. I also am not running this blog to serve as free advertising for whatever crap you are selling. So IP 61.189.229.61 you have been officially banned. Stay the hell off my site.
Last year for Columbus Day we went to visit R. & J. in Lancaster, MA. We had a wonderful time. I was going through pictures the other day and came across this one and realized that my copy was pretty bad. Then I found the one R. sent me and it wasn’t much better. I guess that’s what happens when you let some total stranger take a picture of you…the stranger doesn’t necessarily have talent. But, how whiny can you get when they are doing you a total favor. Looking at the picture reminded me that the better-half had a mustache then. I think he kept that thing for about 6 months then gave it the heave-ho.
The Honda had its first oil change yesterday and I feel like a little milestone has passed. I also decided that I was not going to clutter up my windshield with reminder stickers so I put a note on my calendar for January to get the oil changed again.
Stay away from County hospital because they are the most unprofessional group of people to walk the tv-land planet.
Abby gets her Dear Abby letter–at least the show had the smarts not to have her voice-over the contents of the letter. As I’ve said before, at least that romance is done and dead. And, what kind of look was that that she gave to the IV-toting Luka…was it an oh-you-are-back-and-Carter’s-not-so-come-here-you-big-lug look or was it me? Abby you need to find someone else. And, isn’t it great to work in an environment where no one is your friend? Time to whip out the vodka.
The confrontation between Weaver and Romano (never mind it was in front of everyone including a group of school children) was brilliant in a smack-down kind of way. Romano is Weaver’s bitch, heehee. Dude, it is time to leave Chicago and take your pinchers with you (first the resident asks about scalpel attachments for your claw, then Weaver makes you her bitch and then Corday has sex with the hot vascular surgeon). I have to agree that he had his arm cut off on hospital business, even if he totally did something stoopid to get it cut off, and they should at least spring for a more realistic arm.
The nurses are on strike and only a handful stay to finish their shift…Mmmm, didn’t Carol Hathaway have to deal with that too?
And, Pratt, I’m sick of telling you to run as fast as you can from Chen. Now maybe you will.
Don’t you just love it when someone tells you something stupid? VDOT was painting the line on the back road to my house. There is only one line-the yellow line. We live on a secondary road. So, Mr. Painting Man when you stop traffic after 4pm on a weekday afternoon to tell each of us that you are painting the yellow line we know already. It is the only line you could possibly be painting.
Don’t you love it when you are trying to hand correct change to a cashier and they snap at you “wait a minute”? Wait a minute while I shove this change down your stupid neck. Before anyone jumps on my stuff, I’ve worked retail. And, I’ve worked retail where my shop was one of the last shops that people could stop in before the amusement park’s gates slammed shut. I worked that job, pleasantly I might add, even after working a double. So don’t tell me I don’t understand what it is like to deal with the public.
Perhaps, I’m extra cranky because we finally have an answering machine again. Let the non-stop calls begin!
I just saw one of the new Nissan Maximas with the “Skyview Roof”. What rocket scientist thought that one up? So you can look out of the roof but how does that help you navigate traffic? Oh, yeah, in case Elroy Jetson does a fly-by you can see him.
If the roof can’t be opened and the people in the back and front seats have to pull the sun shade across, doesn’t it seem more of a hassle?
I have a moonroof and love it. I had one in the RIP boogamobile and loved it. But I love it because I can open it.
I checked out Emily Post when I got home regarding laying a teacup on its side to indicate that you want tea instead of coffee. Here’s what I found out: some very interesting table manners tidbits but not one thing about the teacup. I had to admit defeat. Does anyone know?
Here’s something else I am spending time on…organizing the files for this website. Yes, when this thing was started I gave no thought to organization–Hey, its a Blog, let me write something! Now that we’ve updated to v. 2.64 (not really sure what I’ll be able to do differently) I realized that all the images I’ve posted are just hanging out there willy-nilly in one folder. I totally need to work on that. If by chance you are scouring the archives and run across a broken image link, please drop me a comment. I really do have a “grip” I know no one but me checks out the archives.
I also promise to finally get some House Proud stuff out there. I know ya’ll are dying for some images of hideous 70s wallpaper.
I went out to lunch with my friend J.P. and afterwards she emailed me with a very interesting question. I can’t seem to find an answer on the web and have promised to check the Emily Post when I get home (yes, we have a copy of it).
Does anyone know the answer?
Is it possible to indicate to the wait staff that you want tea instead of coffee by resting your teacup on the side?
If Emily has the answer, I’ll be sure to post.
Ok, that was a pretty funny pun and completely unintentional.
Yesterday at lunch the better-half and I sat in a booth next to members of the Central Va Boy Scout council. The restaurant is within walking distance of their building. Some of them were wearing the uniform (at least the adult version). The entire time we sat next to them their conversation (which had to have entertained everyone in the small restaurant) was about sex and how much they’d had, who they’ve had it with, whether or not they’d ever had it in a moving vehicle and what kinds of girls go to the clutch of colleges in the Lynchburg area. I guess as long as it is sex between members of the opposite sex it is OK to make it public knowledge while eating lunch.
When I was a kid and got to actually set foot in a Toys R Us (which was only a few times a year), I would skip over all the dolls and Barbie stuff–what could she do really–and head straight for the area that held what I hoped would be robots. I had a serious need for anything that remotely looked like a robot and it was even better if the robot actually did stuff. Alas, unless you counted tiny plastic replicas of R2D2 there weren’t such things back in the day. I never gave up hope.
We have one of those 18″-24″ high R2D2s that actually walks, dances and responds to questions. But, aside from the amusement factor, he doesn’t really do anything. So, he sits quietly in the den waiting for Enlightenment.
Neiman Marcus is offering something wonderful for Christmas. But, I really don’t think Santa has that kind of cash to spend.
One day, kids, one day, I’m going to live in the future and vacation on the Moon.
septentrion=the north. That’s my word of the day. Pretty cool. I’ve never heard of it before. How does this fit in with the rest of my entry this morning? This is what I wanted to say to the dweeb at Bamboo Cafe who put his cigarette out on their floor last night “Take Off You Hoser”…heh.
The Bamboo is a small bar with big drinks. And lots and lots of smokers. What I want to know is why does the first light of a cigarette smell so good and then after that it smells so bad?
We used to go to the Bamboo and drink like fiends but now that we live more than 30 minutes away instead of 30 steps away we have dinner and a couple of drinks. The food there is great but if you live in Richmond pretend like I didn’t say that because I don’t want to have to wait for a table while all you West Enders brave the big bad Fan.
Here’s a disturbing revelation I’ve recently had. I think I’m slightly allergic to Bass Ale. I get all stuffy headed when I drink it. Last night I had Rolling Rock and even though there wasn’t a bit of fresh air in the bar and I was practically high from all the smoke, I hardly had any stuffy head feeling. Saturday I drank a couple of Bass on my screen porch and could hardly breathe through my nose. That’s not the first time I’ve noticed this problem. What’s a girl to do when her favorite beer makes her have the sniffles? Blow her nose that’s what.
