I’m very happy, and I needn’t go into why. My peeps are all here. Didn’t do my homework. Sigh. Didn’t get my hat back from Mike’s, either, though I don’t need an excuse to go over there.
John sez the post offices in both Italy and Israel suck, and the Saudi post office is much more efficient. Paul finished his day four and is relaxing in a chair. For once his day four was showing a little slack.
Katie says SHE didn’t get enough sleep. Janna and her bf Morgan slept over. Then Katie didn’t go to school because A) she didn’t sleep enough cause she was up to all hours, beeg surpize b) her bed freaking collapsed in the middle of the night, which you’ll have to admit is inconsistent with restful sleep (and I woke up with the muffled thud and then listened to the bed slats get stuck back down therlumpa therlump therlumpa therlumpa therlumpa and then the sound stopped and I heard subdued cursing which I thought at the time was Katie and turned out to be Janna, and then the therlumping started again) and c) she actually was sick and slept most of the day.
Because I am a complete suckyfaced moron, (Look! A Suckyfaced Moron! Mind you they don’t look as good out of their breeding plumage) I dodged into the Sears Outlet and dowsed for children’s clothing. It took longer to check out, guh witness, than it did to select one pair of pants which fit Keith perfectly and of which he approved, and a blue blouse and Buffyesque black pullover pimped out with lacing and black ribbon for Katie, who yoinked the black top out of my hand with a laugh when I said that if she didn’t like it, I’d take it. As freaking if. Dang! And it would look good on me too, ‘most as good as the camo stretch pants which she is either wearing or washing these days. There’s no point me trying to dress young. If it isn’t effective Katie won’t touch it and if it is she yoinks it. As it is my children are happy with me.
Then three episodes (may I be struck with Jovian lightning) of B5 (2nd season). I think the guy who plays Londo should be strung from something, and the special effects bring into play the astonishing French advertising loan word “Fromidable!” which gives you that chemical, chimerical, cheesy tang. When John and I see something really big and really cheesy, we sometimes tandem bellow “C’est frrrrrrromidable!” The Fromidable is actually on the French speaking label of the generic form of that wizarding spreadable cheese I don’t want to mention by name.
My heart is full of the love of my coworkers. They are all wonderful people. There’s nothing fromidable about them.
Crap! Doesn’t this bleeding phone ever stop ringing! As Dorothy Parker (may her soul find an ashtray soon) frequently remarked, “What fresh hell is this!?”
