I am once again a germy mess! I should be quarantined, in one of those rooms with the built in black rubber gloves. That way, someone could reach in safely and apply cold compresses to my fevered brow. Luckily, the wireless access extends to the bedroom. Once I am well, I am still not leaving the bed.
– People’s Choice would be a great name for a Chinese restaurant.
– The hawks that live along the river bank have figured out that we have a cat to eat, and they inch closer to the deck every day. They are practically pressing their beaks against the storm door now.
– I’m hungry, why does no one bring me food? Just a little Kraft dinner? Bastards. I give and I give.
In other news, the baby shower for a relative is a week away. People are pestering me by asking what they can bring. So I thought of assigning things I need around the house anyway. “Um, you can bring trash bags and dish soap.” Or maybe “The baby needs a massage gift certificate, or a tasty bottle of rioja.”
So, the project I’m dealing with is now officially in “flaming barge of school children heading right for the Statue of Liberty” mode. Did I mention the kids have explosives strapped to them? And head lice? In other words, an unmitigated disaster. Only Spiderman can save it now. You think I’m kidding? Well, someone just asked me a question about an “XML std.” Uh, that person meant dtd, but I’ll take all the comic relief I can get. Now I’m just going to sit back, put my feet up, and wait for the FBI and possibly the ATF to contact me regarding my earlier gratuitious analogy with the school kids. And tomorrow I’m going to call out sick with a bad case of the “XML.”
Speaking of firearms, I have a new hobby a’ brewin’. Target shooting with small side arms. With a wedding gift haul of unwanted Precious Moments figurines just a month or so away, I’ve got to learn to shoot. A friend has promised to buy me and Mr. H a gun for a wedding present if we get our licenses to carry. We actually hope we get some sad-eyed angel figurines now, so we can take them to the range and pick them off one by one. The destruction will be filmed. Sometimes just returning something to the store is not spiteful enough!
I’m feeling especially entrepreneurial lately, as I wile away the hours thinking of how to get out of this job without being totally poverty stricken. So Mr. H gave me the idea for “blowyourshitup.com,” an extension of our own awful gift disposal plans. It’s a niche market, to be sure. Newlyweds unfortunate enough to not receive wads of cash will mail us their stash of useless crap from Things Remembered, and we’ll do the rest. Just choose “shotgun,” “steamroller,” or “sumo” from our destruction menu, and your commemorative DVD in a flocked velvet box will arrive in 4-6 weeks.
But really, my true calling is designing escape fantasies. I’m a natural. No, really. It’s my number one export these days. The gross national product of Licketysplit.
On a much more positive note, Lambchop has landed! There was a sighting today on Newbury Street. It was hard to tell it was her at first because of the huge dark glasses, but the fawning throng that assembled gave it all away. So she’s back in Boston, and you should beep her 9-1-1 and call her on her cell phone. Meet her by the friendly-ass bear.
Annie got my gun